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pellucid-constellations · 3 months ago

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If It All Fell (11)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Angst, pining

a/n: Omg guysss it's been months but here it is!!! I'm so happy and excited to share this chapter ❤️ Things are slowly coming to a close with this story, but don't you fret because there are still some big plans 👀 The POV bops around a little in the chapter because I just want to capture a lot. Well, enjoy!! Thank you for waiting for me :)

Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)

Nesta Archeron was glaring at you from the other side of the room. The icy stare was a stark contrast to the warm, jubilant nature of those around you, and you found yourself continuously edging into Azriel’s side to avoid the harshness. If the Shadowsinger noticed your growing distress—which you were sure he did—he didn’t make it known. He only allowed you to get closer, subtly shifting his arm to accommodate your movement.

Feyre was speaking on the other side of you, retelling a light-hearted story about the creation of her art studio. You had been part of the construction and she was more than happy to share that information with you.

Meeting her had been immeasurably easier than meeting Nesta.

“I’m so happy you’ve been feeling well enough to do this,” Feyre smiled, her hand on your arm starling you out of your game of avoidance. “I’ve missed seeing you. I know we all have. Elain was furious that she couldn't make it. She got caught up on the outskirts of the continent with Lucien.”

You took a calming breath in through your nose and shifted your gaze away from the chair Nesta was occupying. “Lucien?”

Azirel’s low tone rumbled at your shoulder. “Elain’s mate. He has an interesting story. I’ll tell you more about it later.”

And you trusted that he would.

Since the night the two of you shared, Azriel had become an open book. He had spent half of that night making you privy to the story you shared—how you met, how the bond snapped, and his subsequent idiocy of keeping it from you while you knew the entire time. That point had sent you into a fit of laughter because obviously you would have known. Your magic revolved around parsing out lies and secrets.

Coming to terms with that truth also helped you better understand the bond itself.

Azriel had explained that the cauldron found mates in equals, pairing the souls of those that matched. It had been confusing for you to make a connection between Azriel and yourself. He was an Illyrian with forceful wings and so much power that it needed to be contained in the azure siphons lining his body.

But then, on a particularly quiet night, Azriel had shared his role in Rhysand’s court. His words had been cloaked in reproach as if sharing that piece of him would send you running. You had listened with rapt attention and pieced together the truth of your bond.

Azriel was the spymaster, and you were the truthteller.

It also helped—presumably—that Azriel had gotten into the habit of telling you how much he loved you. Regularly.

He never expected anything following his declarations and never even gave you enough time to think of a response, but he said the words so openly. Handing you breakfast, taking a walk along the Sidra, in between stories from your life; Azriel always said I love you as if he didn’t mean to, like he was making up for lost time.

You hadn’t said it back yet.

Maybe you’d thought it.

“There’s also a book club that I know has been eagerly waiting for your return—”

“So you’ve really lost your memory?” Nesta’s biting tone cut her sister off. You snapped your gaze over to the piercing eyes you’d been avoiding.

“Um—”

“Rather convenient, how cuddled up you are with the spymaster when the rest of us haven’t even seen you. What progression does that show?”

“Nes,” Cassian chided from beside her.

Something heavy made your chest hurt—embarrassment, you parsed out. You leaned away from the warm chest you found comfort in and glanced at Cassian’s exasperated expression as he stared at his mate.

“What? You all have been hiding her away with your typical ploy of protecting her. Why hasn’t she been training with the Valkyries? Who gets to decide when she’s let out for a walk? I presume Rhysand is one of her handlers? I’d ask him but he refuses to speak to me about it and doesn’t show his face unless absolutely necessary.”

“That’s enough,” Azriel cut through. You’d put about an inch of space between the two of you and the missing contact was glaringly apparent.

“Is it? You’re making her weak.”

“Nesta, we weren’t here the first time this happened. We have no idea what she needs,” Feyre argued, squaring her shoulders towards her sister.

Nesta only scoffed. “Well, clearly, she needs something else because she still has no memory.”

“I don’t know what’s going on with you right now, but cool it,” Cassian commanded.

Sharp features ran over your form, analyzing your every move as the conflict continued. You felt exposed, belittled under Nesta’s gaze, and the fae only sharpened the lines of her eyes the more you squirmed. Azriel closed the space between you again, covering your knee with his hand, and Nesta’s jaw worked at the movement.

You wanted to say something, maybe defend yourself, but you were afraid to open your mouth and be ridiculed. Everyone had said you were friends with Nesta. They had described her prickly personality but said you had been fast friends. They said she had been asking about you.

You breathed through your nose and pressed your lips together.

“She’s gotten memories back, Nesta. We were told it’s a slow process,” Feyre reasoned, attempting to lower the tone of the room as Azriel’s shadows became restless.

“Right. And they all happen to be memories of the precious Inner Circle. Another agenda I’m sure was purposeful.”

That was true. You’d gotten back a handful of memories now, all with either Azriel, Cassian, Rhys, or Mor involved, but those were the only people you knew. And they were all distant memories made centuries ago. You had no new context and had started to assume that this process would be chronological. Sort of.

“We are introducing things slowly,” Azriel all but gritted out, his presence large and looming at your back. “Even the process of getting those few memories hasn’t been pleasant. Based on what we understood we thought it would be better if—”

“It’s always what you think. She isn’t yours, Azriel,” Nesta fought, gripping the arms of her chair in a punishing hold.

“Careful, Nesta—”

“You’re scared.” Your voice was sure but quiet as it silenced the room. You stared at Nesta, brows furrowed, and watched the tells of her fear emanate from her. “Why are you scared?”

Nesta looked jarred, affronted. She glowered at you. “I am not scared.”

“I can see it. I don’t understand it, but I can see it.” You met her eyes and something looked different about them—something searching. “Is it about me?”

The room tensed, air becoming still.

Nesta stood abruptly. You straightened your back and were halfway up to follow her, a confusing urge leading you to comfort the woman who obviously did not like you, when pain took your breath away. You faltered, feet failing as you shot them out to balance your wavering posture. You fell forward instead, the ground a harsh pain against your knees.

Azriel

Azriel was so quick to find your side, any vitriol lingering in the room no longer his concern. He pulled you against him and slotted your head in his neck as a whine left your lips.

“What’s wrong with her?” Nesta asked, harshness tinged with underlying urgency.

He had known she was scared—everyone knew that—but you voicing it had made it real, and Nesta was not one to put that out in the open. In another life, just a few months difference, you would have confronted her privately. But you didn’t know.

“She’s remembering,” Azriel muttered, holding you closer as your body became dead weight against his. This part always sent terror shooting through him, but he was getting better at containing it. You needed him to be calm.

“Does she always collapse? You didn’t think to—”

“Nesta,” Feyre interrupted, placing a gentle hand on her sister’s arm. The High Lady shook her head with a wince.

Azriel watched the interaction with lidded eyes, his hands pressed to your head and back. He knew you would come to within a few minutes. Sometimes it took longer and you were far more dazed then, but he’d be willing to sit here for as long as you needed.

“I’ll get the compress,” Cassian declared, kicking up from his chair with a parting hand on Nesta’s shoulder. “Take it easy. It can be difficult when she wakes up.”

Nesta crossed her arms and shifted her weight between her feet as Azriel repositioned you on the ground. He looked down at your face, the way your eyes moved behind the lids, and then tucked you back into his chest. He reminded himself that this was something good; last time you remembered the first kiss you had had with him.

A turn of silence overcame the sitting room and Feyre excused herself to check up on Nyx. Nesta stayed, using Cassian’s return as her weak excuse.

“How long—”

“She’s okay, Nesta,” Azriel said, voice low. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but she’s okay. You need to give her time.”

Nesta’s brow furrowed and she bit the side of her cheek. “You all have made her weak. She doesn’t need to be coddled.”

“She does. For now. That doesn’t make her weak—to need people.”

Azriel moved your hair off your forehead as a harsh breath left your nose. You didn’t wake yet.

“She would hate it—being treated like glass.”

“I know,” Azriel admitted. “She hates it now. But, as Feyre said, you weren’t there before. This is nothing compared to how we were then.”

“I haven’t seen her in months.” Nesta’s voice was smaller as she dropped to the ground beside Azriel. “She looked so… timid when she came in. She was never like that.”

Azriel let out a sigh and held Nesta’s gaze. “I know how this feels, but you can’t… you can’t blame her for this. You can’t punish her, Nesta. She needs you, too.”

“She hasn’t needed me this entire time, obviously. That was decided rather quickly.”

Azriel sighed again, but before he could help his sister sort out the myriad of emotions he knew she was feeling, you groaned and the sound rattled against his skin. The Shadowsinger pulled you away from his body but kept his arms holding you up. Your lashes slowly fluttered before you pressed your palm into your eye socket.

“Gods, ow,” you complained. “I hate that part.”

Azriel offered you a melancholy laugh and brushed his lips along your forehead—always stolen touches with him. “I’m sorry, my love.” He paused, sending a sidelong glance toward Nesta. The younger fae was frozen in place. “Can I get you anything?”

“The cold compress, maybe?”

“Cass is already on it. He’ll be back soon.” Another pause as you gathered your bearings. Azriel rubbed soothing circles into any skin he could reach. “Share now or later?”

The question was routine now. Some memories were easy for you to share, spouting them off as soon as you woke up like in the case of the first kiss you had learned about three days ago. Others hurt as if you were reliving them in the moment, like when Rhys was taken under the mountain or when you remembered the pain of Day Court.

So Azriel would wait, and then he would ask.

And if he needed to hold you as you cried afterward, he would do that, too.

Your tongue darted out to wet your drying lips and then your expression pinched. You sat up fully to examine the room, still disoriented if Azriel could tell anything by the rapid way your eyes moved, but you were looking for something—or someone, maybe.

When you looked over your shoulder and found Nesta’s frozen form, recognition shone in your hazy eyes.

“I remembered you,” you revealed. You twisted from Azriel’s grip to sit on the floor before her. “We were talking. Or, I was talking and you were… angry at me for something. We were in a terribly awful apartment. I think it was yours.” Your brows came together as you searched through the memory. You looked back up. “You were afraid then too.”

Azriel didn’t have a moment to protest before Nesta had her arms thrown around your shoulders, her grip on your sweater visibly unshakeable. You had to stabilize a hand behind you to keep upright, and even though Azriel knew your head throbbed after getting a memory back, you didn’t make a sound.

“You’re going to be fine,” Nesta angrily demanded, sounding as if she were placing a curse. “You are stronger than this.”

A minute ticked by, and then another. Azriel sat idly by as Nesta held you against her and you held her back without as much context, but just as tightly.

“Well,” Cassian re-entered the sitting room, cold compress held loosely in his hand. “This seems to be going better.”

~~~

A few days after meeting, and somewhat understanding, Nesta Archeron, you found yourself on a walk with Azriel following the resurfacing of a particularly painful memory. It was something from the war—Azriel was hurt, barely alive, and you were helpless and miles away from him. The memory was mostly just remnants of pain and fear, and it had taken Azriel fifteen minutes to calm you down after.

But that was fine—it was good. Because for every painful memory came several good ones, and those memories made it worth it. You almost felt lucky to experience many of them for the first time again.

“Can I ask you something?” you posed, swinging your conjoined hands as they intertwined between you. You loved holding Azriel’s hand—especially after the first time you’d initiated the contact and he blushed so furiously it warmed his skin.

“Of course you can,” came Azriel’s soft reply.

The low sounds of Velaris winding down laid the background of the conversation. The occasional merchant sweeping outside their shop would wave to the two of you, and although you still didn’t recognize them all, it didn’t hurt as much to grin and greet them. A few of them reintroduced themselves with warm smiles after hearing of your condition, but others just appeared happy to see you in any context.

“When I remembered us after we were married,” you began. “Where were we? I’ve been in most of the rooms in the House and I can’t find it.”

“Ah,” Azriel hummed. His mouth curved up in a beautiful half-smile. “I was wondering when you’d ask about that.”

“You’ve been keeping something from me!” you accused with a playful gasp.

“No, no, not keeping it from you, angel. I wanted you to find it on your own.”

“What do you mean find it on my own? I’ve only recently been able to find my study in the House and I lose my way if I start in certain corners.”

Azriel chuckled, his eyes squinting at the corners.

This felt so good—so normal.

This felt like something that could last.

“How many times have I taken you on this walk?” he asked, gently guiding you forward on cobblestone.

“Are you changing the subject?” Azriel shot you a knowing look that had you rolling your eyes. “Fine,” you relented. “Almost every other day.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“It’s a nice path. The street isn’t too busy but there’s a lot to look at,” you shrugged. “I thought you just liked it.”

Azriel brought you to a stop away from the street. “Look a little deeper.” He gestured around with his chin.

There was nothing out of the ordinary, not at first. He had stopped you in a quieter corner of the street, one you always admired each time you passed it. Soft foliage lined each house you passed, purples and blues and muted yellows obviously cared for among old brick and stone. Gentle water could be heard in the distance, most likely from fountains or small wells meant to provide for families. In the setting sun, the houses were peaceful, serene.

Something called to you. It was inexplicable, but you found yourself without the urge to inspect why you were being called. Your power was usually unexplainable—at least that’s what it felt like—but this was different.

You turned to look on at the quaint cottage Azriel had stopped you in front of.

“Does this place mean something?” you asked, knocking your head to the side as you took in the ivy that trailed up tanned stones.

Azriel could be felt at your back, the Illyrian bringing his hands up to rest on your shoulders. “Yes. What does your intuition tell you?”

“I don’t think my magic works like that.”

“Just give it a shot,” Azriel chuckled by your ear.

It was when his lips pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, stealing your breath away, that you hoped for more. That your intuition prompted you to ask for more.

“Is this… Do we live here?”

You could feel Azriel’s smile near your skin. You turned to face him, his hands dropping from your shoulders as your expression shifted into pleasant disbelief. Azriel’s smile was twisted into permanent light on his face, and he brushed your hair behind your ears as you stared up at him.

“We do. Picked it out right after we were married. We didn’t think raising a family in the House of Wind was very feasible long-term.” Azriel jolted, stuttering for a moment. “Not that we need to raise a family! Now, or ever, actually. That was just something we talked about before, but things are different now and just having you—”

“Azriel,” you smiled, interrupting his rambling by sliding your arms around his shoulder. “Can I ask you something else?”

Azriel blushed, closing his eyes with a sigh as he nodded in defeat.

“Will you kiss me?”

His eyes snapped open, the hazel searching yours with a quickened intensity. “Are you sure?” he asked. His hands were on your waist and you couldn't remember him putting them there. “You don’t have to—”

“I remember our first kiss,” you countered. Your eyes flickered down to the ring hanging around his neck. That question would be for another time. “Seems only fair that I’d get to experience one in real-time, don’t you think?”

“You don’t want to go in the house? Go see it?” he whispered, but he was leaning down as he spoke the words, his eyes glued to your lips.

“I think I’ll have time later.”

When his lips met yours, Azriel exhaled deeply, the hands on your waist pulling you closer with desperation lining his skin. He deepened the kiss in a way that seemed unintentional, intrinsic, and you saw stars behind your lids as he covered your mouth with his and kissed you harder. You had to take a step back to steady yourself and he only followed, his wings coming around your back to press you tighter.

Something rumbled in the back of Azriel’s throat as your fingers twined through his hair. You only had the faint memory of a kiss, but that one was much different than this. That kiss had been sweet and tentative. This kiss was desperate and needy and you could feel the way Azriel missed you in each of his touches.

And, Gods, did you miss him, too. Differently—a way you couldn’t even understand—but you missed him.

When you pulled back, you were met with Azriel’s furrowed brow, his eyes flickering between both of yours. He kept you close as you let out a breathy laugh.

“Do you always kiss me like that?”

“I should,” he breathed, and then he kissed you and kissed you until your back met the front door of your home.

~~~

“Things wouldn’t be so bad, you know,” Mor announced, breaking the silence in the room. “If you didn’t get everything back.”

You glanced up from the diary you’d been poring over, bookmarking the page as you stared up at your friend. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean if you had gaps, maybe things you never remembered, that would be okay,” Mor continued, rising to sit beside you on the loveseat.

She had come to visit you in the cottage—your cottage—bringing you one of your diaries they had hidden in the House of Wind. You had eagerly ripped it from her hands and dove into the contents, barely greeting her as you ushered her in and flipped the door shut.

“Well, the goal is everything,” you explained. You held up the diary and gave it a small shake. “That’s why Az and I asked for these. And there are still people out looking for the witch.”

Mor kissed her teeth and sighed. “But it would be okay,” she repeated. “If you never got it all back. It would be okay if you were just like this, all the time.”

“What, is there something you’re hoping I won’t remember? Something embarrassing?” you teased, but Mor didn’t laugh.

“I’ve been thinking about something you said a little while ago. It’s been bothering me. I talked to Azriel about it too, and I just… I need you to know that we all love you—that I love you—just as you are now. You aren’t a ghost.”

The smile fell from your lips. You placed the diary down in your lap and turned to face Mor, taking her hands in yours. “Mor, I know that. I didn’t mean—”

“No, you were right. We were talking as if you weren’t there and that wasn’t fair. None of this is fair, but especially not that. You have to know, y/n, that the way you are, right now, that’s still you. I’m sorry. We’ve all been idiots.”

You huffed out a small chuckle. “I mean I wasn’t going to say it.”

Some of the light returned to Mor’s eyes, masking the grief that lingered there. “See, there you are.”

You gripped her hands tighter, yanking her in for a hug. “I forgive you, Mor.”

She clutched at your shirt and laughed. “Thank the Mother. Because Azriel wouldn’t shut up about keeping you all to himself. I was sick of the gloating.”

“Azriel? Gloating?” you feigned a gasp, pulling back with a teasing smile.

“You bring it out of him.”

Memories came in different waves as time went on. Sometimes they were quick, difficult rememberings. Other times you were out for much longer and would wake up disoriented and confused. But you were never afraid of them.

At first, the slow nature of their return did make you afraid. You had feared that this process would take too long and everyone would grow tired of waiting. Maybe Azriel would start rolling his eyes when you lost consciousness or Cassian would start to grumble every time you couldn’t connect the dots in one of his stories. The fear was real and it ate away at you for about one week before it was completely diminished.

Because this conversation you were having with Mor—you’d had it with Azriel too.

He had pressed his lips along your forehead and told you that it was fine if you couldn't remember everything, he’d just make you fall in love with him again.

And maybe you were too afraid to tell him that he’d already succeeded at that feat.

A comfortable silence fell over the room as you and Mor continued your independent tasks, you reading your diary, Mor flipping through a stack of correspondence she had brought along with her. The sounds of scribbling and creased parchment were reminiscent of the first few days after you lost your memory—Mor would bring work into your room and sit beside you as you nursed a headache. Hearing it in this context, in your home, felt like it had a meaning to it.

Azriel

It was later in the afternoon when the front door silently opened, Azriel removing his shoes by the door and setting off to find his mate in the cottage. He could hear someone else and mistakenly thought it to be Nesta before he spotted a head of bright-blonde hair beside you in the sitting room. Mor had been the only one in the family who hadn’t visited the cottage yet and relief filled his chest and the sight of her.

You had started to worry that she didn’t want to see you. Azriel had reassured you several times that Mor just thought you didn’t want to see her after the way everyone acted, but his sweet words had done little to quell your fears.

Your relationship with Mor had been different since you woke up; she had been the one person you could trust for a while. When he was afraid and messing everything up, Mor held your hand and talked you through his idiocy.

He was glad some semblance of a reunion in his sitting room.

“Hi, girls,” Azriel greeted, keeping his voice low to match the calm of the room. He leaned down beside your place on the loveseat, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Should I get a fire going? It’s cold in here.”

You turned your head to grin up at him, and Azriel had to calm his heart as it skipped several beats. He was trying to be casual about all of this—about you in the seat you had claimed as yours several years ago, sitting beside your best friend and smiling up at him, looking as if you belonged here because you did—but you were making it very difficult with your pretty smile and the pretty way you blinked at him.

“Hi, Az. Mor’s here,” you offered.

“I see that, my love.”

You smiled again, this time directing it towards Mor. “She brought one of my journals. It’s from before I met you all. I don’t have any memories of that time yet. Very informative.”

“Thought we could go chronologically,” Mor quipped. She leaned up from the couch and stretched her arms. “I’ll let you guys get to it, then. With… whatever mates do.”

“Will you be back?”

Azriel’s heart hurt a little at the question, and he could tell by the softness in Mor’s gaze that she felt the same.

“Of course. Just not when you and Nesta are having your book club. Made that mistake a few too many times,” she teased, sending parting words out the entryway.

As soon as Mor had vacated the seat beside you, Azriel was occupying the space, rounding his arm over your shoulders and smashing you into his chest as he pressed kisses to your skin. You laughed and attempted to push him away, the journal now lost in a cushion, but Azriel was unrelenting.

“I missed you,” he proclaimed.

“I saw you this morning,” you giggled back, finally giving up and allowing the onslaught of affection.

“Doesn’t matter. I spent weeks not touching you. You just started letting me kiss you.”

“We’ve been kissing for a few weeks now.” Azriel only hummed at your words and moved his hands to cup your face as he kissed your cheeks. “Gods, we sound like children.”

“I love you.”

Main POV

You opened your mouth to reply, but Azriel had already silenced you with his lips. You were breathless when he pulled away, all thoughts emptying from your brain.

“How was your day?” he asked, removing himself from the tight grip he’d captured you in. But he still kept you glued to his side.

You took a breath in and blinked. “Um, it was good. Mor came.”

“You mentioned,” Azriel teased. “Any memories you want to talk about over dinner?”

“None today. It’s been slow over the past few days, I’ve noticed.”

Azriel brushed hair from your forehead. “That’s okay. They’ll come with time.” He paused. “Or they won’t.”

The reminder of Azriel’s promise to you sat behind his words. It echoed Mor’s conversation earlier and you fought the reassurance and dread that battled within you.

Because he was right. They might come, or they might not.

Your family would love you either way.

But, would you have to live with this feeling of… incompleteness forever as well?

Would that fade with time?

You offered a soft smile and leaned up to kiss the corner of Azriel’s mouth. “The things in the journal Mor gave me,” you began. “Usually, when one of you tells me about something from the past I feel a connection to it. Or I get a memory back. But I’ve been poring over this book—” you fished it out from the cushions. “—and, nothing. It’s like I’m reading a story and not my own words.”

Azriel furrowed his brow. “That must be difficult to comprehend.”

“It is,” you nodded. “And, that’s fine—I guess. Because none of you can really reinforce memories when you weren’t there. I just feel strange about it.”

“Can I do anything to help?”

You bit your lip as Azriel stared back at you with concern laced in his features. He was already doing everything he could to help, already pushing aside so much so you could find comfort in this confusing life you’d been dropped into.

You watched the way he held himself back, the way he always kept himself close to Velaris and refused necessary missions to keep you near. You looked on without the means to help him as he stressed over the memories you’d receive. He spent countless hours retelling your story and holding you through difficult bouts of unconsciousness and taking it so, painfully slow with you.

Maybe, if you really thought about it, this hole within you wasn’t that big of a deal.

“Could you get that fire started?”

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #acotar #azriel angst #acotar fanfiction

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kentocidal · 1 year ago

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lucky winner

users: piercer!bakugou x afab!fem!reader x tattoo artist!kirishima

internal warnings: descriptions of needles/tattoos/piercings as they occur, long fic, wow there's plot in this!, consensual threeway, established krbk, oral (m and f!receiving), piv, spit, size kink, light dacryphilia, spitroasting, inaccurate positioning, ask to tag

internal notes: three way won the poll so i went ham. my fault og. final word count somehow came to 5.2k ish.

new notifications: @kaedescara

you stared blankly at the notification on your phone, wide-eyed and jaw agape. you blinked slowly, rubbed a hand down your face, and then clicked your phone off and back on again. the screen lit back up to your screensaver and the single notification that sat covering it. ‘@sincitytattoojp tagged you in their story! check it out!’

you looked up from your phone to your friend, who you now realized was calling your name and snapping her fingers. “uh, hello? earth to y/n? what’s going on? did your ex message you or something?”

“i think i won something.” you mumbled, turning your phone to show your friend. she furrowed her brows together and took your phone from your hand, studying the notification before cracking a grin.

“is this that tattoo parlor in tokyo that you keep talking about hypothetically going to?” she laughed as she punched in your passcode and opened up instagram, pressing on the icon to the parlor’s instagram story.

you were quick to snatch your phone back to watch the story yourself, raising the volume on your phone to hear it. it was a video of someone’s hand reaching into a very full fishbowl of printed instagram handles, pulling out a tiny piece of paper and unfolding it to reveal your instagram username. the caption read in big red lettering, “congrats to @[y/n] for winning the human canvas raffle. reply to this post by midnight to schedule your slot.”

you swallowed thickly and looked up at your friend. “i won the fucking raffle. i won the nine hour session.”

your friend sucked in a breath before laughing and lifting her glass to you. “godspeed, soldier.”

you looked back down at your phone and clicked back to rewatch your name be pulled from the bowl. you had entered the contest on a whim – you hadn’t expected to win. you had reposted the parlor’s picture and tagged your three closest friends to enter a bid into becoming a human canvas for a day, i.e. getting tattooed and pierced until you tapped out. the parlor owners couldn’t seem to decide on whether to call it the human canvas contest or the no mercy challenge, not that it mattered. both fit the bill to describe what you had just won.

you swiped up on the story.

you: i dont know whether to be terrified or excited.

@sincitytattoojp: both, sweetheart. sign this and get it back to us [1 attachment]

you had gone through an extensive back and forth that night, printing and signing and scanning different waivers and papers to ensure that you would be able to handle an entire day of sitting in a chair getting poked and prodded with needles and getting art permanently printed on your skin forever. you were grateful that they took so much precaution in ensuring you were well aware of the situation you were putting yourself in, and getting ample consent confirmed ahead of time. you already felt comfortable as you stepped off the train in tokyo and started towards the shop.

sin city tattoo and body art. the small tattoo shop had garnered a massive following around the globe for the gorgeous work that consistently poured from the studio. the artists had never shown their faces on their page, but it was clearly just a two man show. sometimes one of them would film the other doing their newest piece on a client they handpicked from the waiting list, and it was clear that the two were a little more than close friends.

you trusted their work. you were a new client, obviously, but after following their page for over a year, you knew you would be okay with going through with this. you were just… inexperienced. you had a tiny tattoo of a butterfly on your ankle and your ears double pierced in the lobes, but that was it.

you rounded the corner and saw the neon sign over the glass doors to the shop, the shutters pulled down. you took a deep breath and tried the door, mildly surprised that it opened up. a tiny bell chimed over your head as you stepped inside.

the shop was small, but it was clean. absolutely pristine. for a tattoo shop called sin city, you were expecting a bit more of a grunge theme, not exactly the creamy white walls littered with black picture frames of flash art available for purchase, a tall cabinet filled with various jewelry for fresh piercings, plants in the corners surrounding two chairs that were supposedly for a waiting area. there was a tall partition behind the front desk, and the shop stretched backward, most likely leading to a tattoo chair and then a piercing table, respectively.

you stood awkwardly by the front door, gripping your bag in front of you. you had brought a few little snacks and some water in preparation for being there all day. you shuffled your feet as you heard footsteps coming up from the back of the shop, and suddenly you were reconsidering your outfit choice. you had tried to be helpful by going with a tight spaghetti strap tank top and a high riding skirt, knowing that you would probably need to shuffle clothes around during the course of the day.

your thoughts got clogged almost immediately when a brick wall of a man rounded the partition, scratching the back of his neck and staring down at you with big red eyes that looked curious, almost playful. he had to have been at least six-five, looming over you with broad shoulders and bulky arms that were covered in tattoos that went all the way down to his knuckles. his red hair was tied half-up half-down, the black roots at his forehead showing through.

you gaped at him like a fish out of water, face starting to feel warm as he glanced you up and down, and then smiled, revealing a wide set of sharp sharklike teeth. “aye, kats! i think she’s here!” he called over his shoulder before stepping behind the front desk. “you’re our pretty contest winner, right?”

“uh-”

“my name’s eijirou kirishima. i’m the main tattoo guy here.” he grinned at you, boyish and peppy, and it stifled your nerves somewhat as you returned the smile, but you were flustered beyond belief. you had seen the videos of him tattooing, you knew at least that his hands were big, but not the rest of him.

“ah, yeah, hi. i’m y/n. it’s nice to see your fsce for once.” you giggled nervously, and he laughed and nodded.

“yeah, we’re not all about showing who we are online. the page got too big, tokyo’s a big place, we don’t want the extra attention, yknow?” he smiled warmly at you as he bent down and shuffled through some paperwork under the desk, pulling it out and gesturing for you to come closer. “i know we already got a lot of your stuff online, but this is the last waiver. pretty much a final agreement that we get to do whatever we want to your body until you either tap out, or the clock hits six, whichever comes first.”

you made a little squeaking noise at his phrasing, glancing at his face as he just continued to smile. he fumbled around for a pen and held it out to you, and you reached to take it, but he snatched it back and leaned across the desk. “just so you know, you can say stop at any time. we’re not forcing you to be here. if you say no to an idea, we won’t do it. stuff like that. okay?”

you blinked at him. he seemed so genuine, really making sure he was thorough in his explanations of the paperwork and of your position in this. it helped you take a deep breath and nod. “i know. i’m all good.”

“awesome. you seem like a real trooper.” he chuckled in a deep, rumbly voice, and finally held the pen back out to you.

you took it, your soft fingers brushing over his rough skin and making you feel like your hand was alight in flames. you signed your name at the bottom of the form, dated it, and slid it back across the desk to kirishima. he just grinned at you and shoved the paper into the desk again.

“bakugou! come on, man! she’s all good!” kirishima leaned his head around the partition, and you jumped slightly when the familiar voice of kirishima’s partner sounded from the back of the shop.

“i fucking heard you the first time, i’m not fucking deaf!”

“well, just hurry up!” kirishima laughed and turned back to you. “sorry, he’s a real stickler for making sure his spot is all clean. i’m clean, but he’s a neat freak.”

“who’re you calling a neat freak, red?” a slightly shorter man stepped out from down the hallway, and again you felt your breath catch in your throat.

he was still tall, but far more intimidating in his black wife beater and jeans. he took off his mask that had been covering the lower half of his face, revealing a nose piercing and snake bites around plush lips. his fluffy blonde hair was standing up in all the right places, piercing red eyes looking your form up and down as he cracked his knuckles. his arms were littered patchwork-style, much different than kirishima’s full sleeves, and he clearly liked to hit the gym seven days a week.

you gulped and shifted your weight as bakugou’s eyes drifted over you. “name’s katsuki bakugou. you’ve already met red. didya sign the form?”

“uh, yes. all of the forms.”

“great.” his eyes locked on yours. clearly, this guy was all about professionalism and business, at least while he was on the clock. then he turned his head to kirishima. “so, where did you want to start her?”

you found yourself laid down on your chest, head turned to the side to stare at bakugou’s back as he organized something off to the side. music was playing, but you could hardly hear it over the buzzing of the tattoo gun and the weight of kirishima’s hand on your back.

you chewed on your lip as you felt the needle trace over the skin of your lower back, occasionally lifting to get more ink, only to return and start the ministrations over again. it wasn’t an easy spot to get ink done; tramp stamps were adorable and sexy, but the skin on that part of a person’s back is notoriously thin. despite this, however, you always found the pain to be… enjoyable.

you felt kirishima’s free hand slide over to the middle of your back, splaying out, applying some pressure to get a better angle as he leaned over you. if he wasn’t wearing a mask, you would be able to feel his warm breaths fanning out against your sensitive skin. your eyes fluttered and you did your best not to move as your neurons fired over the sheer size of his hand against your back. splayed out like that, his fingertips were on one side and the heel of his hand almost felt like it was on the other. perhaps your perception was being warped on account of the buzzing needle poking your back, but you couldn’t be entirely sure.

kirishima added more pressure even as the needle lifted away from your skin, pushing you down into the bed, making you squeak softly. bakugou’s head turned briefly to you, glinting in the white overhead lighting almost devilishly, before turning away again.

“so,” kirishima’s low voice made you flinch slightly, having been entranced by the weight of him looming over your form, “i don’t really see any ink on you. is this your first time?” you heard him chuckle into his mask as he waited for you to relax again, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin to calm you down, before pressing the needle down again. “sorry, didn’t mean to scare you, hun.”

you felt like some kind of high schooler talking about her virginity. “it’s- it’s fine. no, it’s not my first, but it’s my first big one. i’ve got a little one on my ankle.”

“your ankle?” he repeated, still pressing the needle to your skin and definitely coloring a shape in. “who did that for you? wasn’t us.”

“right, yeah.” you giggled slightly, really trying not to move as you wiggled the foot that held the little tattoo. “just an old friend who was an apprentice somewhere else.”

“ankle’s a rough place for a first tattoo,” grumbled bakugou, finally turning towards you and sitting down in a chair a little ways away, manspreading in your peripheral. “how’d you sit for that?”

“it hurt, but i liked it.” you mumbled back honestly, glancing back when you felt kirishima put the tattoo gun down and reach with a gloved hand towards your ankle, bending your leg at the knee to study the work.

“hm. it’s real cute on you, but i would’ve done it a little different.” his thumb brushed over the tattoo, over the thin skin of your ankle, sending a spike of heat through your body. “i could touch it up later.” he guided your leg back down and brushed his hand over the back of your thigh briefly before picking his tattoo gun back up and reapplying that heavy pressure to your back again.

“yeah, okay…” you murmured breathily, feeling small underneath kirishima’s weight and the power of bakugou’s gaze where he was staring at you, at kirishima, at how kirishima’s hands left indents in your skin as he worked.

your mouth felt like it was full of cotton, your head feeling like all the blood had drained from it and gone south. you shouldn’t be thinking like this, feeling like this, not while effectively getting stabbed thousands of times per minute.

bakugou hummed as he stood up again to get within your line of sight. “you said you liked the pain, huh? you one of those weird people that gets a high off of getting ink done?”

you felt your face burst with heat, unable to move as you opened your mouth and stammered. kirishima chuckled behind his mask.

“don’t tease, kats.”

“‘m not teasin’. i was just sayin’ that i agree with her.” bakugou smirked at you before stepping around the wall to go get a water from the fridge.

kirishima’s free hand slid from your middle back to just above your ass, his thumb rubbing into the fabric of your tight skirt as he worked.

“you’re sitting really well for this, doll. ‘m proud. probably one of my favorite things to do is back tattoos. especially these.”

you hummed softly in the back of your throat, probably mumbling a thank you that just made him laugh again.

you didn’t say anything when his free hand squeezed your ass as he leaned back to get more ink in the gun.

kirishima had spread the second skin across your pretty new tramp stamp with precision, making sure it wouldn’t wrinkle or peel away until your tattoo was healed. you were given a snack of chips and a bottle of water to recuperate while bakugou prepped his area, pulling on a mask and snapping black latex gloves over his hands. “so, how ya feelin’?”

“good,” you took a breath as you capped your water, sitting quietly on the tattoo bench and waiting to move to the piercing table. “ready to move on, i guess.”

“hope you don’t mind, but i took some photos when red was doing you.” he glanced over his shoulder, and you smiled and waved it off.

“i don’t mind at all. my friend didn’t believe me when i said i was actually gonna come.”

“that so?” bakugou cocked a brow, his mouth hidden behind the black mask. “anyway, what’re you thinking for this next bit? industrial? nose?”

“ah.” you shifted on the bench, glancing away from him as kirishima rounded the corner. “i was, uh. i was thinking i could get my… i could get my nipples pierced first? get the worst ones out of the way?”

kirishima blinked once and immediately shot a look to bakugou, who made eye contact. it was like telepathy; there was a silent exchange between them before bakugou nodded and waved for you to step over. “sure, whatever. it’s definitely not the worst pain, though.”

“really?” you stood on jelly legs and walked over to the piercing bench, sitting down in front of bakugou, who pulled a chair over to sit.

“mhm. worst i would say for a girl is the clitoral hood.”

you flushed and shook your head. “no thanks. i think i’ll stick to this for now.”

“okay.” bakugou sat back in his chair, staring at you. you stared back, tilting your head. bakugou furrowed his brows and clicked his tongue, making an ‘up’ motion with two fingers. only then did it click that you needed to take your shirt off.

you looked around as you started to tug your tank top up, looking over at kirishima, who was leaning against the wall with fascination. “ah, sorry! if you really want, i can leave.”

“no! no, it’s fine.” you shook your head, and finally got the courage to lift your tank top up and over your head. in preparation for this, you had simply forgone your bra in the morning.

you were left in just your skirt and panties, essentially. kirishima hummed low in his throat, earning him a glare from bakugou. you felt like you were on fire when bakugou reached a hand out to your shoulder. “lay back. slow.”

you shuddered under his grasp and laid back on the table, bringing your feet up and bending your knees to be a little more comfortable. your nipples pebbled and hardened from the cold air of the parlor.

bakugou studied your tits with an intense gaze, clearly focused on his job in a way that kirishima was not. where kirishima was flirty, groping and grabbing, bakugou was cold and practiced.

“so this is gonna go something like this. one of these is gonna hurt more than the other. when i tell you, you gotta breathe in, and then breathe out all at once. it’ll make the pain a little easier to handle.”

“okay.”

“i’ll be quick, but we gotta do one at a time.” he grabbed a skin safe marker and finally his hands reached for one of your tits, rubbing his thumb into the skin as he marked where the needle would enter and exit. you felt like you were shaking, being grabbed and examined in such a professional manner.

“you can’t have any fuckin’ saliva or jizz or whatever touch these till they’re fully healed, you got that?”

you squeaked, almost jumping in surprise at his words, before laughing and shaking your head. “no worries there.”

“you sure?” bakugou tilted his head, eyebrow raised, and kirishima laughed as he walked over towards the bench.

you didn’t get a chance to answer bakugou, because kirishima was by your head, offering his massive hand to you. “you can squeeze my hand so you don’t pass out.”

you looked up at him through your lashes, squirming on the bench as bakugou squeezed your tit. you didn’t answer, just reaching your hand up to hold onto kirishima’s. his hand was large, warm, and so rough. you wanted to feel his-

“alright sugar. take a deep breath in for me.”

you sucked in a breath through your teeth, and then suddenly a white hot pain shot through your body, something never experienced before. your vision whited out and you may or may not have cried out and dug your nails into kiri’s hand, gripping it tightly.

your head swam as you were encouraged to breathe, and then to breathe in again as the wide bar was slipped through the new piercing. you yelped and jerked on the table, making bakugou put his gloved hand flat between your tits to try and ground you. “relax, brat. stay fucking still. gotta get this stupid ball on.”

“aw, she’s cryin’.” kiri chuckled and rubbed his thumb over your knuckles. your cheeks did feel wet as the pain subsided slowly. you whimpered as bakugou leaned away from you and reached to grab another needle package and the second bar.

“one more, drama queen. you can do it. just one more.”

“already?” you whined, shaking your head at him as he scooted his chair closer to get a better angle on your other nipple.

you did not get a chance to beg for mercy. “breathe in deep, good fuckin’ girl.”

you screamed this time. bakugou had been right, one hurt more than the other. your head felt so light all of a sudden, your vision blurring as you gripped kirishima’s hand like a vice and shook. your breath punched out of you when the bar was pushed through and the little ball at the end was screwed on.

you stared up at the ceiling and tried to get your bearings as kirishima let go of your hand to pet your hair and keep it away from your tears. “you did it, pretty girl. you got it. just breathe. did such a great job, yeah?”

you gathered your thoughts together as you listened to bakugou get up and take his gloves and his mask off, tossing them away, ever the professional. he walked back over to where you were laying and held up a mirror over you to show you your new jewelry. the sight made the pain worth it; your nipples, perky and red and hard, glittering with bars pushed through.

“what do ya think?” bakugou cocked his head at you, and you let out a deep breath.

“they look… really nice.”

“really sexy, more like.” kirishima chuckled over you as he openly ogled your chest.

you made a noise of surprise, which was immediately followed by your voice getting caught in your throat when bakugou’s free hand moved to start rubbing up and down your thigh. “you okay?”

“y-yeah.”

“you need a break?”

“i think so.”

bakugou nodded and looked to kirishima, who broke into a grin and bent over you just a little, his voice dropping an octave. “let’s take a nice long break, then, huh doll? you think you might wanna relax a bit with us? take your mind off the pain?”

“what?” you shifted to sit up on your elbows, wincing from the pain in your chest, looking between them.

kirishima laughed, “come on, doll. i know you didn’t come in here wearing just that tiny skirt for nothin’.”

“you can say no.” bakugou’s hand moved off your thigh, clearly the more level headed of the two. “we’ll take a break and come back in a half hour to keep going-“

“wait.” you flushed and put up a hand to make him shut up, glancing between them. “you’re not- together?”

“well, yeah, fucking obviously we are,” bakugou rolled his eyes at you while kiri chuckled, “but if we see a hot chick, we’re not gonna say no.”

“true.” kiri was practically purring.

they were standing over you, broad shoulders and tattooed hands and muscle, red eyes honed in on your shirtless form, and for some reason you allowed your inhibitions to fall away.

you took a deep breath and pouted. “just don’t make me get an infection on my new piercings.”

“never.” bakugou cracked his first real grin, foxlike and dirty, already moving back down towards your legs to start pushing your knees apart. you sat up a bit more, onto your hands, sucking in a breath when the bench dipped under bakugou’s added weight as he pushed your knees far apart and revealed your plain cotton panties with an obvious wet spot in the crotch, your pussy throbbing with the realization.

bakugou hummed as he slid rough fingertips down the insides of your thighs. “look at that shit, red. she’s already soaked. got this pretty pussy all needy even after pokin’ her.”

“figured as much. she was all spaced out during her tat.” kiri’s meaty hand slipped around the column of your throat, practically engulfing it in one palm as he turned your head to make you look up at him.

you gasped, and kirishima’s mouth came crashing down onto yours; he had to practically crouch to get even close to you where you were sitting. your hands flew up to his hair, body twisting slightly as bakugou started to work his fingers along your hips to further push your skirt up around them.

you felt yourself start to whimper as bakugou pushed your panties to the side and slipped two fingers through your wet folds. you shook and moaned as his fingers skillfully rubbed slow circles into your clit, making your hips jerk.

kiri laughed against your lips and squeezed his hand slightly around the column of your throat, pulling away from your mouth to look at your dazed expression. “lay back, doll.”

he guided you back to lay on the bench again, letting go of your throat only for a moment to start unbuckling his belt. “kats, i’m takin’ her mouth first, mkay?”

“hm?” bakugou glanced up from where he was licking his lips, about to press his nose to your pussy. “oh, yeah sure whatever. i’m getting a taste first.”

“someone’s got an oral fixation.”

“shut the fuck up, you red-haired loser.”

you felt yourself start to giggle at their interactions, but suddenly there were lips wrapped tightly around your cliff and a fat cock hanging over your face, drooling with pre.

you swallowed as your mouth practically started to water. your head was spinning as bakugou worked his tongue against your clit, a finger starting to push its way into your right, wet heat. you moaned and felt your eyes flutter, fingers curling into the sides of the piercing bench. “ah, i-i don’t know if i can fit-“

“shh. all you gotta do is swallow. can you try just the tip?” kiri cocked his head at you, suddenly all puppy eyes as he stroked his cock to his boyfriend eating you out.

you whimpered and nodded. how could you say no? you ground your hips against bakugou’s face as your lips parted, and kirishima pushed just the fat head of his cock past them with a low groan.

you felt full. bakugou started to push a second finger into your weeping hole, drool and your juices dripping down his chin and dotting the bench as he ate you out and found the spongy spot within you that made your back arch off the bench, knees attempting and failing to snap shut around his head. bakugou growled against your pussy, unhappy with you disturbing his meal.

you couldn’t respond what with kirishima shallowly thrusting into your mouth, working inch after inch into you. you felt his heady tip hit the back of your throat as your head hung down over the edge of the bench, and you coughed and sputtered.

“shh, careful, careful. breathe.” his hand returned to your throat, feeling the way he slipped further and further in. his balls hung down in your face as he started to effectively fuck your throat, groaning when you whined around him.

you did your best to suck his cock, slobbering and drooling down your cheeks as your eyes rolled back when bakugou removed his mouth and rubbed circles into your clit with his thumb. “she tastes fuckin’ good.”

“yeah? y’think so?”

“yeah,” bakugou breathed out, almost like an offering, and as he pulled his fingers out of your wet pussy, he shoved them directly into kirishima’s mouth.

kiri groaned loudly and sucked on bakugou’s fingers with the eagerness of a dog, gripping your throat with one hand and bakugou’s wrist in the other. he made sure bakugou’s fingers were clean before letting go and rolling his hips against your face. “shit.”

“mhm.” bakugou was panting as he hurriedly fussed with his jeans, shoving them down enough to get his cock free. it was difficult, positioning himself on the bench, but he made it work as he slapped his tip against your clit.

you cried out and gagged again on kirishima’s fat cock, gurgling pathetically while they both laughed at you.

“poor babydoll,” bakugou hissed, pressing his tip to your entrance, “she can hardly breathe, eiji.”

“she’s doin’ a good fucking job. i can feel how deep i am in her throat.”

“i can fuckin’ see that.” bakugou snapped right back before taking a deep breath and sinking so slowly into your pussy.

your walls fluttered around his cock as he sheathed himself inside you, one hand gripping your hip dangerously tight and the other reaching to grab for kirishima’s free hand. “fuck, red, she feels so fucking tight.”

“if- if you think her pussy’s tight, wait till you feel her throat.” kiri panted lowly as he grabbed his boyfriend’s hand over you.

you felt like an object, a plaything, lightheaded and so, so full, almost screaming when they both started to fuck into you at once; they were slightly off pace, both focused on their own pleasure, chasing their highs and smothering you all the while.

kirishima’s hand slid from your throat to the middle of your chest, a compressing weight that left you truly breathless as his balls practically smacked into you. you did your best to try and suck his cock, really, you did, but it was so difficult when bakugou was bullying your pussy and making you shake and cry out.

kirishima was the first to falter, his hips starting to jerk erratically as your vision blurred from tears of pleasure. “oh fuck yeah, fuck, ‘m gonna cum-“

“already? pathetic.” bakugou snapped, only egging kirishima on and making him whine as he tossed his head back and came deep in your throat, making you gag and choke.

he didn’t pull out until the thick, heady ropes of his cum were seated on your tongue, taking a step back to let his fat cock slap wetly against his thigh. it was clear, then, that his refractory period was short; he was already at half mast again as he watched bakugou fuck you into the bench, hiking one of your legs up around his waist to get deeper.

you cried out loudly, voice ragged and ruined as bakugou’s thumb returned to your clit.

“come on pretty girl, lemme feel you cum around my fuckin’ cock first. come on. i know you’re close. i can feel ya squeezin’ me in. shit, baby, fucking cum for me.”

your back arched off the table and your eyes rolled back as you came hard around his cock, your vision going white as you jerked and spasmed on the table. bakugou moaned and dropped his head forward, holding on until the last second when he could pull out and cum all over your twitching cunt, jerking himself off all the way. thick ropes of cum splattered against your skin and made you shiver, all parts of you sensitive.

kirishima, cock still out and hard again, stepped over to swipe his fingers through your pussy and get a taste of yours and bakugou’s cum, groaning deep in his throat as he pressed an almost chaste kiss to bakugou’s cheek. “you wanna fuck her throat next?”

“fuck yes i do.”

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #kirishima x reader #eijirou kirishima x reader #my hero academia x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #bakugou.txt #kirishima.txt #ask to tag.txt

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starkeysbabygirl · 5 days ago

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⋆˚࿔ meddle about 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

𝜗𝜚 rafe cameron x dancer! reader✨

𝜗𝜚 just a little something that popped into my mind about getting face fucked by rafe after seeing this photo of drew — please keep in mind i literally wrote this while at work when i had the down time and i haven’t written ANYTHING in MONTHS!😭🤞🏼it’s rushed and all over the place, not edited☠️ butttttt it’s done now it’s time to hide🫣

𝜗𝜚 cw: throat fucking, nose pinching, slapping, some degradation, i think that’s it?

“rafe! we’re in the dance studio, we can’t…” you gasp in shock.

“shhh, it’ll be okay baby girl. trust me?” rafe presses his index finger to your lips as he whispers in your ear.

you blush and nod your head. that’s all it takes for rafe to take control as he shoves you down to your knees.

you look up at him with innocent eyes, completely lost in how damn good looking rafe was, especially in this moment. he was in jeans and a plaid button up with a few buttons loose showing off his chest. it was such a simple outfit but it drove you wild, wanting and needing rafe in all ways possible.

your eyes wander down, watching as rafe unbuckles his belt and shoves his jeans and boxers down just enough for his pierced cock to spring free, his tip already with precum. his dick was rock hard and throbbing, ready to ravage your throat.

“you’re going to look so god damn pretty with your spit and my cum dripping from that filthy little mouth of yours. don’t ya think?” rafe rasps, gripping your chin and making you look up into his eyes.

“please, rafe. i need you. now, please” you beg. you reach for rafe’s cock but he grips your hand and shoves it behind your back. you huff knowing he just wants full control.

“nuh uh. no hands princess. m’going to fuck your face so hard you’re going to be a blabbering mess when i’m done with you.” rafe smirks.

“oh fuck rafe, need your cock in my mouth, please?!” you practically scream.

“i love it when you beg, such a good little slut f’me. ready to feel my big cock on that sweet, sweet tongue hmm?”

“yes, rafe! yes! give it to me, can’t take it any longer!”

rafe wastes no time as he shoves his cock into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. he thrusts in and out at a brutal pace making you choke on his dick. you try gasping for air but rafe was beyond feral and with one hand he grabs the back of your head forcing your throat deep onto his cock. the other hand lands a harsh slap to your cheek.

“atta girl. just a whore for my cock aren’t ya?” rafe pinches your nose, making it even harder for you to breathe and tilts your head so you can see yourself in the mirror, mouth full of cock. “shit, you’re such a good girl. look at you, you’re making such a mess. doing so fucking well f’me. m’so close already baby girl.” rafe’s groans fill the empty room.

“i just know your pussy is soaked, fuck i can’t wait to get a taste later” you look up, hopeful, and so desperate for rafe to touch you. he winks at you while his cock his slides out and back in.

rafe’s thrusts start to become frantic and sloppy and you know he’s about to cum.

“FUCK! here it comes princess, now swallow it. swallow every single drop like the good fucking slut you are.” rafe thrusts to the hilt and his cock pulses, ropes of cum hit the back of your throat. he slowly starts to pull his dick out but not before you suck on his tip and give it a pop as you back away and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

“mmm, wow. rafe, that was…” you begin to say as you get up while watching rafe pull his pants up and buckle his belt.

“fucking fantastic? yeah, it was” rafe says. he grabs you by the waist pulling you into his chest and gives your head a kiss.

“now fucking kiss me on the lips rafe” you demand, getting on your tippy toes.

“whatever my girl wants, she gets.” rafe smashes his lips onto yours. nevermind the fact that your mouth was full of his cock and cum just seconds ago.

tagging some moots: @cameronsprincess @rafesthroatbaby @rafesheaven @oceandriveab @bloodibambiidoll @cameronwillow 🫣

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron thoughts #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron obx #rafe obx #rafe smut

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sweetcherryharry · 6 months ago

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i love you, i'm sorry

based on the song 'i love you, i'm sorry' by gracie abrams.

pairing: harry styles x actress!reader

i promise the next one shot i post won't be angsty!! haha i just love it.

(masterlist)

Two Augusts ago, the world was theirs. Y/N, a rising actress with a radiant smile and a captivating screen presence, had just landed her breakout role in a critically acclaimed film. Harry, the soloist singer from one of the most known boy bands worldwide, was on the cusp of global stardom. Their paths crossed at a star-studded after-party, a whirlwind of flashing cameras and intoxicating energy.

Their connection was instant, a magnetic pull that drew them together like moths to a flame. Y/N was captivated by Harry's wit, his passion for music, and the vulnerability he revealed beneath his confident exterior. Harry, in turn, was mesmerized by Y/N's intelligence, her infectious laughter, and the way her eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief.

Their romance blossomed in the spotlight, a whirlwind of red carpet appearances, stolen kisses backstage, and late-night jam sessions in dimly lit recording studios.

Y/N's career soared as she took on challenging roles, her performances garnering critical acclaim and adoration from fans. Harry's solo career skyrocketed to fame, their music topping charts and filling stadiums with screaming fans.

But as their individual stars rose, the cracks in their relationship began to show. The demands of their careers pulled them in opposite directions, leaving little time for the intimacy they once cherished.

The constant scrutiny of the media added another layer of pressure, their every move dissected and analyzed under the harsh glare of the public eye.

As Harry's band embarked on a grueling world tour, the distance between them grew, a chasm widening with each missed call and unanswered text.

Y/N poured her heart into her latest film, a drama that demanded her full attention. Long hours on set and emotional scenes left her drained and craving the warmth of Harry's voice, the comfort of his touch. But his calls became sporadic, his texts filled with vague apologies and promises of making it up to her.

One sweltering August evening, after a particularly draining day on set, Y/N's phone finally buzzed with an incoming call from Harry. A wave of relief washed over her as she eagerly answered, her voice trembling with a mixture of longing and frustration.

"Harry! It's been days," she exclaimed, trying to keep the hurt from her voice. "I've barely heard from you."

"I know, love," he replied, his voice muffled as if he were speaking from a crowded space. "I'm so sorry. It's been crazy out here."

"Crazy? Or just too busy for me?" Y/N retorted, the words escaping her lips before she could stop them.

A heavy silence settled over the line. "Don't start this again, Y/N," Harry sighed. "You know how hectic touring can be."

"But you promised to call more often," she said, her voice rising with each word, like the crest of a wave before it crashes. "You promised to make time for us, even when you're on the road."

Her eyes, once filled with trust and understanding, now held a glimmer of doubt. The weight of his broken promises bore down on her shoulders, reminding her of the distance that had grown between them.

They had talked about this, hadn't they? It had not been the first time the topic had arisen.

Three times now, they had sat down together for a call, their hearts filled with hope, and he had reassured her with promises of improvement.

But like sand slipping through one's fingers, his pledges faded into emptiness after a few short weeks. The sting of betrayal pierced her heart, leaving her feeling lost and alone.

"I'm trying, okay?" Harry snapped, his patience wearing thin. "But it's not always easy. You have your work, I have mine. We can't expect to be glued to each other's side all the time."

His words stung, a harsh reminder of the growing distance between them. "Maybe you're right," Y/N said, her voice barely a whisper. "Maybe we're not meant to do this anymore."

A tense silence followed, broken only by the sound of Harry's ragged breathing. "Is that what you want, Y/N?" he finally asked, his voice laced with a hint of desperation.

Y/N closed her eyes, tears welling up. "I don't know what I want anymore," she admitted, her voice thick with emotion. "All I know is that this isn't working. It's not the way it used to be."

More silence. Then, a resigned sigh. "Maybe you're right," Harry echoed. "Maybe it's time we both moved on."

The call ended abruptly, the silence echoing in Y/N's ears. She collapsed onto her bed, tears streaming down her face. The love she'd once cherished felt like a distant memory, a fading dream.

Ever since that day, they haven’t spoken.

Two years drifted by, a silent chasm stretching between them, filled with unanswered calls, unsent texts, and a lingering ache of what could have been.

Y/N immersed herself in her career, her ambition a shield against the pain of their separation. Each successful role, each award, was a testament to her resilience, a badge of honor earned through countless hours of dedication and the shedding of silent tears.

Harry, on the other hand, had soared to fame. Sold-out stadiums, chart-topping hits, and a whirlwind of adoring fans marked his journey. Yet, amidst the deafening roar of applause, a quiet yearning gnawed at him, a longing for the warmth and laughter that had once filled his life.

One night, as Y/N mindlessly scrolled through social media, her thumb absently swiping past countless posts, a video thumbnail caught her eye. It was from a popular Pop news account, and the post was recent, just published a few seconds ago.

It was a grainy, fan-recorded clip of Harry's final show in Europe. The caption read, “Harry Styles singing a new, unreleased single about heartbreak on one of his shows on August 18th.”

A date seared into her memory, the two-year anniversary of their heartbreaking split.

Curiosity, mingled with a bittersweet pang of nostalgia, compelled her to click on the video. The familiar strains of Harry's voice filled her ears, but the song was new, raw and vulnerable, a far cry from his usual upbeat anthems. As the camera zoomed in on his face, she saw a flicker of pain in his eyes, a vulnerability she hadn't seen in years.

"This song," he began, his voice thick with emotion, "is special to me. It's for someone who I hurt deeply. Someone who I never stopped loving, even when I was too proud to admit it."

Y/N's breath hitched. Her hand flew to her mouth, stifling a sob. It was as if he were speaking directly to her, across continents and time zones, his words piercing through the carefully constructed walls she'd built around her heart.

Tears streamed down Y/N's face as she listened to his voice with the guitar melodies, the lyrics pouring out of Harry like a confession, a desperate plea for forgiveness.

I love you, I'm sorry.

The words echoed in her mind, each syllable a painful reminder of their love lost. The video ended, leaving Y/N breathless and overwhelmed.

A wave of emotions washed over Y/N – sorrow, longing, and a flicker of hope she hadn't dared to feel in years. It was as if the distance that had separated them had vanished, replaced by an invisible thread connecting their hearts.

The video ended, leaving Y/N breathless and overwhelmed. Lost in her thoughts, she absently refreshed her Twitter feed, her eyes widening in shock as she saw her own name trending alongside Harry's.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she scrolled through countless tweets, each one dissecting the lyrics of his new song and speculating about its inspiration. The consensus was clear: it was about her.

"Harry's new song is a love letter to Y/N," one tweet proclaimed.

"He's clearly still in love with her," another user declared.

"This is the apology we've all been waiting for!" a fan account chimed in.

The sheer volume of tweets, the overwhelming outpouring of support and speculation, left Y/N reeling. It was as if the world had become a chorus, echoing the unspoken truth that had lingered between them for two long years.

As the tweet became more popular, her phone buzzed with incoming messages from friends and colleagues, all asking the same question: "Is it about you?"

Y/N didn't know how to answer. A part of her wanted to deny it, to protect herself from the potential heartbreak that lay ahead. But another part of her, the part that had never stopped loving Harry, yearned for it to be true.

As she re-listened to the lyrics of his song, the raw emotion in his voice echoing in her ears, she couldn't deny the truth any longer. It was about her. It was always about her.

The emotions swirling within her were too powerful to ignore. With trembling fingers, Y/N typed a simple message:

“Hey.”

She hesitated, her thumb hovering over the send button. But before she could second-guess herself, she pressed send, the message disappearing into the digital abyss.

To her surprise, the three dots indicating he was typing appeared almost immediately. Her heart hammered in her chest as she waited for his response.

“Hey.”

His reply was a single word, but it held a universe of unspoken emotions.

“I listened to your new song,” she typed back, her fingers flying across the screen.

“It's for you.”

The words appeared on her screen, stark and unadorned, yet carrying the weight of two years of regret and longing.

Y/N's breath hitched. She didn't know what to say, how to respond to this unexpected confession. A million questions swirled in her mind, but the only words she could manage were:

"Can we talk?"

The reply came almost instantly:

"Please."

A surge of adrenaline coursed through Y/N's veins. She didn't know where this conversation would lead, but she knew she had to take this chance.

After two years of silence, the door to their past had been cracked open, and she had to find out if there was any hope of rekindling the flame that had once burned so brightly between them.

#harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harrystyles #harry imagine #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fic #harry styles series #famous!harry

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waiting-for-motivation · 1 month ago

Text

coffee and tattoos

summary: The road trip to the tattoo studio is filled with loud music and hearty laughter. Then, Daniel refreshens his colorful thigh tattoo, while his girlfriend gets a new one.

pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x Reader

warnings: fluff, one suggestive comment, mention of nipple piercings

words: 1331

a/n: because all of us are obsessed with his thigh tattoo <33

MASTERLIST REQUEST RULES

There are no worries clouding his mind, the loud music silencing even his deepest sorrows. The laughing coming from his girl encourages Daniel to sing along to the lyrics of his favorite song. His silly dance moves in the passenger seat, almost force (Y/n) to take her eyes off the road from time to time. Her smile is bright. She is more than happy to see her boyfriend this careless.

Eventually, Daniel takes one of her hands, trying to include her in his dancing. Her other hand tightens around the steering wheel, after all she is not the Formula One driver in this relationship. Despite her alerted mind, (Y/n) sings with her boyfriend, after all the street ahead is rather even.

Right before she has to reach for the gear shift, Daniel presses a sweet kiss to the back of her hand. He is indeed the best passenger princess, trusts his girl driving his expensive car, chooses the perfect music, and knows exactly how to entertain his driver.

“We should get some coffee and snacks“, Daniel suggests as they drive into town, already considering what the next hours at the tattoo studio could bring. He learned from past mistakes, recalling his first tattoo experience where he was so stressed he almost fainted. Although this is neither his nor his girls first tattoo, he feels concerned for (Y/n) more than anything. He took great care of her today, making sure she ate breakfast and drank enough water.

“Good idea“, (Y/n) says as she parks next to a smaller coffee shop. The music comes to a stop along with the engine. Daniel glances over his sunglasses, looking his girlfriend in the eyes and raises a finger. With an excited smile, Daniel leaves the car and opens the drivers door for (Y/n), pressing a kiss to her forehead the moment she stands before him.

They enter the coffee shop, holding hands and eyeing the sugary pastries. Both take their time in choosing what to drink and eat. Daniel pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and pays, giving the barista a generous tip.

As they wait for their order, (Y/n) takes a better look at her boyfriend, who is keeping an eye on the preparation of their drinks. Taking the sunglasses from his gorgeous nose is as simple as possible for (Y/n). Now she is the one who can eye him over the sunglasses, a habit he internalized a long time ago.

“You wear them much better than me“, Daniel comments with a flirty tone, holding their interwoven hands above his girlfriends head and therefore encouraging her to give him a twirl. No one can stop him from taking a picture from (Y/n) with much too big sunglasses almost slipping from her nose. He will keep this shot in his wallet for sure.

Finally, they get their drinks and pastries. Daniel made sure to also order a coffee for their tattoo artist, knowing her very well because she designed most of his tattoos. Getting back inside the car, they only have to drive for ten more minutes till they arrive at their destination. Once again, Daniel rushes out and opens the door for his girl like the gentleman he is.

Inside the tattoo studio, the artist greets them with welcoming hugs. She shows them her room and tells them she will be with them in a minute. Now, (Y/n) feels excited and nervous at the same time. Daniel notices his girls unsteady hands and immediately pulls her against his chest.

“Don‘t worry, darling, I will hold your hand the whole time“, Daniel comforts (Y/n), caressing her back with his soft hands. His lips wander from the top of her head to her nose and eventually to her lips, capturing them in a short yet sweet kiss.

“So lovebirds, who wants to start?“, the tattoo artist bursts into the room and forces Daniel and (Y/n) apart. Both blush, smiling innocently at the woman. Daniel decides to give her the coffee they got is apology and distraction enough.

“I would like to start“, (Y/n) says as she watches their artist sit down and spread out their finished tattoo templates on a side table. After a reassuring pat on the back from her boyfriend, (Y/n) joins the woman, discussing the perfect spot for her tattoo. They have to put the template on her left arm more than five times, which is actually not much according to the tattoo artist. To Daniel, it looks every time like the exact same spot, but he nods enthusiastically at the final placement.

“Don‘t forget to drink“, Daniel reminds his girls as she sits down, both watching the tattoo artist arrange the colors and needles she needs. (Y/n) takes a sip from her warm drink, causing the sunglasses she pushed onto her head to fall in her face. Laughing at the cute incident, Daniel takes his glasses back, followed by a very short kiss to her temple. Neither of them wants to fluster the tattoo artist any further.

Eventually, Daniel pulls a chair next to his girl while the artist starts the needle. A familiar humming fills the studio. The needle touches skin, and Daniel reaches for (Y/n)s free hand. To his surprise, she looks rather relaxed, no painful expression at all.

His mind is now at ease, so he can enjoy the croissant he chose. What Daniel does not notice is the powdered sugar on top of said croissant, which soon sticks to his moustache. Only his girlfriends giggles cause Daniel to stop mid-bite, his whole mouth covered in white sugar. His smile looks way funnier with all that sugar. After he finished his delicious croissant, (Y/n) helps him remove all the white powder from his beard.

“Why don’t you get a piercing today, Danny?“, (Y/n) asks after some time, eyeing his thigh tattoo, which will get some new color today. Although she loves so much about her boyfriend, this tattoo is her favorite part of him. It fits him perfectly and makes his muscular thighs look even better. Maybe the loss of color of said tattoo is part of her doing.

“No way, I‘m not as crazy as you“, Daniel whines, protectively crossing his arms before his chest. The tattoo artist can only shake her head, laughing, not actually getting what they are talking about.

“I thought you loved my piercings“, (Y/n) pouts, reaching for her bag full of cookies. With a mischievous grin, she watches her boyfriends eyes go wide in panic.

“I never said that! Please, never take them out“, Daniel begs, even placing various kisses on (Y/n)s hand. Shaking her head with a laugh, she assures him that she will keep her nipple piercings.

The bag of cookies is empty when her tattoo is finished. (Y/n) is excited to see the lovely art on her arm, having to hold herself back from touching the fine lines. Thanking the artist, she stands up to have a better look in the mirror. Daniel, ever the concerned boyfriend, wraps an arm around her waist and escorts her towards the mirror, complimenting her on the new tattoo.

Before it‘s Daniel‘s turn, the tattoo artist leaves the room for a smoke, telling him to get comfortable on the stretcher. Taking her by the word, Daniel grabs his girlfriend by the waist and sits her on one end of the stretcher. (Y/n) is rather confused till she watches Daniel lay down and rest his head on her thighs.

“That looks way too comfortable“, the tattoo artist laughs and stops in the door frame at the odd sight. (Y/n) smiles apologetically while Daniel ignores the comment and closes his eyes. Without even noticing the needle piercing the skin of his thigh, Daniel falls asleep rather quickly, the fingers placing with his curly hair lull him into a dreamworld.

“Sleep well, Danny.“

#daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo fluff #formula one #formula one x reader

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starlight-incarnate · 6 months ago

Text

House of Feänor as Aesthetics:

Fëanor — loud voice, commanding presence, analytical, natural leader, piercing eyes, foggy hillsides, black boots, tipping their head back to breathe the air, mirrored lakes and everything below the surface, tearing leaves from trees, blunt sarcasm, long dark hair, deep sleeper, rotting tree stumps, black leather jacket, songs that makes you want to create a storm, rebellious, ambition, unstoppable passion, fast trains, polaroids, empty castles.

Maedhros — walking silently, stronger due to all the stuff meant to kill them, ignoring their mental health issues, fiery red hair, crumbling marble, oversized hoodies, raw voice, lingering touches, faint music in the distance, calming down from a panic attack, long heavy cloaks, cold hands, disillusioned with the world, insomnia, unhealthy habits, sighs made visible by cold night air, strong hugs, never sleeps, loud music, freckles, dark under-eyes.

Maglor — hypnotising smiles, a broken mind, melancholy, driving through mountains and the woods, iced coffee, the faint feeling of raindrops on your cheeks, ripped jeans, tight hugs, whispered compliments, deep conversations, late night texts, nimble hands, thin blades, white lilies, vertigo, unkept journals, lightning and thunder, rhythms so raw the heartbreak is showing, shattered glass, walking alone on a cold night, silver necklaces, regret.

Celegorm — bright eyes, climbing rock formations, cold-hearted, hard breathing after running, wood cabins, gladiator arenas, wicked smiles, twisted branches, wild hair, growing more and more dangerous, night drives, adrenaline rushes, bruises, bloody cloaks, running from society, breathless laughing, that animalistic unpredictability, silver and leather bracelets, strong coffee after a sleepless night, city lights from a high rise, addiction, barking dogs, hurricanes.

Caranthir — ironic smirks, bitten nails painted black, lightning in summer, empty threats, sunglasses hiding dead eyes, thick chain jewellery, temperamental, goes to car races just to watch the crashes, deep glares, tongue/lip piercings, midnight walks, lightbulbs burning out, diamonds, crushed ice, a glint of cat eyes in the dark, gold coins in storm drains, cold hands, storm clouds rolling in, theatres, suppressed emotions, wrought iron gates, motorcycles.

Curufin — cherries and Diet Coke, white marble, a studio apartment on the 67th floor, tattoos, neon lights, sweetened coffee, smudged makeup, too-loud music, cursive notes written in red ink, veiny forearms, sharp canines, fresh snowfall, high rise buildings, white light, sheer robes with nothing underneath, fog, stained glass windows, colourful hair, slow heartbeats, long-forgotten love, cold mountaintops, eternal silence.

Amrod — burnished copper, feverish eyes, hues of orange and gold, stars and spades, brewing tea, freckles, hardwood floors, poisonous flowers, listens to Hozier, messy hair, fake circle glasses, bullet point notes on a restaurant napkin, comfortable silence, broken wings on insects, old hungers, the whispering of trees, kicking stones on deserted paths, forgotten places, origami stars, old overgrown stone castles, morning mist, horse riding.

Amras — misplaced keys, wandering aimlessly, selectively mute, deep lakes hiding secrets, pine trees, restless nights, misunderstood, reliving the same day over and over again, graphic tees, dead moths, visual mind, muffled screams into a pillow, listens to asmr, doc martens, profanity, burned cigarettes, zoning out often, heart fluttering nervously, confusing satellites for stars, comic filled bookshelves, radios, old jeeps, glowing keyboards.

Celebrimbor — ravens, white-hot metal, the darkest shade of black, glittering skin, low waist pants, stars falling, the heat lingering in the evening, petals falling off dead flowers, trusting the wrong people, blue veins, cobblestone paths, linoleum tiles, bruises/scars easily, the heat lingering in the evening, cities awake late, card games, overanalysing everything, shiny fabrics, the slamming of a shot glass, the sting of betrayal.

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lessi-lover · 2 months ago

Note

Cute fic idea for your Cheeky series.

katie and Caitlin bring cheeky to get her ears pierced and she super excited but gets nervous once they get their and freaks out a little and once they’re done cries from the pain but Katie and Caitlin comfort her and spoil her after to make up for it (bonus points if you throw in another person Kyra, Vic or Teyah who come with them)

new gems II c.foord x k.mccabe

summary: katie and caitlin take cheeky for her first ever ear piercings

★ new gems II k.mccabe x c.foord

you’d been looking forward to this day for ages. your mums had promised they’d take you to get your ears pierced as a special treat for being so well behaved during the international break, and you had been waiting for it since you hopped off the plane and drove back home.

even though you were still little, katie and caitlin had agreed that they were both okay with you getting your ears done. katie had decided herself that it was bound to happen at some point anyway and she'd rather give you the freedom rather than have you doing it on your own.

it had taken katie many years to reverse the effects of the stretchers she had gotten done without permission at about fifteen, and she didn't want you to make any kind of decision like that without telling caitlin and her first, so this was her way of building the trust before you became a teenager.

you’d spent the morning brushing your hair so that it would perfectly show off your new earrings, planning to have your hair tucked neatly behind your ears just like mummy had suggested when you had made the appointment the other morning. all week, you’d been counting down the days, your mums were lucky if you spoke about anything else.

when the day finally came, you could barely contain your excitement. you had raced down the stairs at the crack of dawn, waking up everyone in the house as you went to find your cat. if not for caitlin coming down to make katie a coffee, she's sure she would have been too grumpy at the loud wake up call to make any kind of conversation on the car trip there.

katie held your hand tightly as the three of you walked to the piercing shop, caitlin walking alongside, laughing at how you almost tripped over your own feet at the speed you tried to pull your mummy's hand. they were honestly surprised at how calm you were, they'd seen the video of stärnli getting her ears pierced and they knew that even at this age kids tended to cry when getting them done.

a few of the girls from arsenal had tagged along; steph, kyra and beth, meeting you at the coffee place next to the piercing studio when you arrived. beth had even brought her dog along and she told you that you could hold him when you went in.

"thank you auntie beth!" you smiled, reaching down to pat the small puppy as he wagged his tail excitedly. myle's soft fur felt warm under your hand, and you let out a giggle when he licked your hand. holding myle would definitely help take your mind off the pain and you were grateful beth had brought him with her.

as you stepped inside the shop, though, you could feel yourself starting to get a little nervous. the thought of getting your ears pierced sounded exciting until you realised it might actually hurt. you clung a bit tighter to katie, and she looked down with a soft smile, understanding instantly that you were not feeling so excited anymore.

“you doing alright, cheeky?” she asked gently, her thumb rubbing reassuring circles on the back of your hand. you gave her a small nod, trying to be brave, but the flutter of nerves in your stomach made it hard to stay smiling. “just a little pinch?” you said, forcing a smile. “nothing i can’t do.” you took a breath, looking back up at your mummy. “exactly,” katie replied, her hand brushing over your hair.

“you know, i was super nervous too when i got mine done,” she whispered, giving you a warm grin. “i even cried a little, but it was over so fast i didn't even notice.” her honesty made you feel a bit better.

knowing that your mum had felt the same way as you made you feel a little bit more confident, and hearing that she was okay afterward made it feel like something you could get through just the same.

kyra sat next to you, telling a story about when she’d gotten her ears pierced and had ended up with uneven earrings because she’d moved too much. her story made you giggle as you imagined trying to keep still so that you wouldn't end up like kyra.

when the piercer finally called you back, katie and caitlin came along, holding your hands as you walked to the chair, your fingers playing myle's fur as he sat comfortably on your lap.

you took a deep breath and walked inside, glancing back at your friends, who were all smiling and giving you encouraging thumbs ups. but the bright lights in the piercing room made everything feel a bit suffocating.

“so, which ones do you want to get today, darling?” the piercer asked you, passing you a chart that showed the different earrings you could get. looking over the different options, a pair of pink diamond studs caught your eye as you pointed to them for the lady. “these ones, please!” you replied, beaming up at her.

“great choice!” she said, marking the spots on your ears with a gentle marker. you couldn’t wait to see how they would look once they were all done.

the girls tried giving you all the comfort they could as your mum lifted you up onto the piercing table. katie brushed a strand of hair from your face, her eyes reassuring as she bent down to kiss the side of your face. “we’ll be right here the whole time,” she promised, “just look at me if you feel nervous, okay?”

you nodded, feeling a little calmer with your mummy being so close. katie always made you feel safe. your mum cracked a small joke about how now you’d be able to borrow her earrings, which made you giggle and forget your nerves for a moment.

“alright, sweetheart, here we go,” the piercer said with a kind smile, holding the piercing gun up to your ear. beforehand she had marked in blue pen where the earring were meant to go, but a small part of you was scared the lady was going to miss the marks.

your mum squeezed your hand gently, and you took a deep breath, focusing on her face. but as soon as you felt the pinch, a sharp pain shot through your ear. before you could fully process it, the first ear was done, and you let out a small gasp, feeling the sting shoot through your earlobe.

“ow,” you murmured, blinking back tears. it stung more than you’d expected, and tears quickly sprang to your eyes. before you knew it, the second ear was done too, and you were holding back little sobs as the lady held a a cool wipe to your ear.

instantly, your mums were there, rubbing your shoulder and gently wiping away your tears, katie's fingers gently running through your hair. “oh, sweetheart, you did so well,” she murmured softly, rocking you just a bit as she held you close.

“you’re braver than i was,” beth said, “i was in tears for way longer!” that made you giggle through the tears, her confession bringing a small smile to your face despite the sting that was still lingering on your ears.

you looked up at the mirror, tears now dry and your eyes widened as you admired your new earrings. they sparkled in the light, and you couldn’t help but smile at how shiny the new gems were. “look at you!” steph said, crouching down beside you with a big grin as she pointed them out in the reflection.

you turned your head from side to side, watching the way the earrings moved. “so shiny!” you exclaimed, reaching up to touch one gently. "baby, don't touch them because they might get infected." caitlin told you, bringing your hands down into her lap.

“but they’re so pretty!” you protested, pouting a little. “i know, sweetheart,” katie spoke, “but we need to make sure they heal properly first. you can look at them without touching for now, okay?”

as you sipped on your chocolate milkshake, the girls took turns showing you pictures of different earrings you could get, kyra getting told off when she showed you pictures of katie when she had many piercings as a teenager.

“look at this one!” kyra laughed, holding up the phone for you to see. “katie did you have a little rebel phase?” the blonde teased, shaking her phone in front of your mummy.

"no kyra, you pest stop it!" katie exclaimed, trying to grab the phone out of the aussie's hand before she gave you any ideas. “we’re not doing that! those piercings are not approved for cheeky!" she said, sliding kyra's phone across the table to steph who deleted the photo.

the milkshake worked like magic, distracting you from the pain. katie and caitlin kept smiling at you with such amusement as you kept looking back to the cafe window to look at your new earrings. they were a little sad that you were growing up so fast, caitlin almost had to stop her girlfriend who was so deep in thought as she watched you play with the filters on beth's phone.

“but you know what?” katie said, tickling your stomach as you jerked away. “you didn’t give up, even when it was scary. you're a very brave girl, cheeky.”

as you were finishing up, vic popped in to see your new earrings, having promised to meet up with you all. when she saw them, she clapped her hands and made a big fuss, telling you how brave she knew you’d been. the dutch girl saying she’d never seen anyone look so grown up, which only made you smile even more as your mums shook their heads.

caitlin held your hand, explaining about how now you had to take care of your earrings properly, and katie kept smiling down at you, promising you’d go shopping as soon as they healed and you could switch them out.

katie could tell you were about a minute away from falling asleep in her arms as you made your way home, it had been a long day for you. “you did so great today, sweetheart,” she whispered, your arms wrapped around her neck and caitlin hand in hers as you walked.

#woso #woso community #katie mccabe #caitlin foord #woso imagine #katie mccabe x caitlin foord #cheeky series #cheeky #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso blurbs

136 notes · View notes

mmmichyyy · 2 months ago

Note

if you’re still taking prompts, 53+94?

#53. "take off your shirt."

(1.6k words of ian being a lovable dumb idiot and mickey going along with it)

it was a spur of the moment decision. one minute ian's getting off his shift, the next he's pushing open the door to the tattoo studio he passes by every day just around the corner from his apartment, a sign blaring MILK in bright neon lights welcoming him.

"hey," ian greets the overly-pierced girl sitting at the front desk. "do you take walk-ins?"

the girl snaps her gum. looks him up and down. "are you looking to get pierced or inked?"

"uh, inked." ian fidgets with the hem of his sleeve. "something small, on my arm, maybe. i don't know what i want, though. i haven't really... thought it through."

"well, all our artists are busy right now," she says, unbothered, handing him an album and a clipboard. "so if you don't mind waiting, flip through our flash book and see what kind of design you want, then fill out the consent form when you're ready."

ian nods. "should i wait here or..."

she points down the hallway. "room three is empty right now. i'll send one of our artists over in a bit for a consultation."

to ian's relief, the studio isn't like the grimy tattoo shop he went to a couple years ago. from what he can see, the place is kept clean and sterile, everything neatly organized and spotless. he settles into the leather-cushioned chair and aimlessly flips through the album, eyes glossing over page after page of designs.

honestly, he has no idea what he wants. he doesn't even know why he's doing this; why he wants a tattoo memorializing someone who was barely a fleeting presence for his entire life. how do you sum up a whirlwind and a hurricane? how do you solve a problem like monica? he and his siblings always jokingly asked each other.

but there was always a hint of despair, an unsaid sliver of yearning every time monica was brought up, because... how? how?

which is the very reason why he can't talk to his siblings about any of it - everyone has their own complicated relationship with monica, but no one wants to acknowledge them out loud. their mom is dead and all she left behind are faded memories, paper cuts on their hearts, and a couple kilos of meth.

...and now ian is getting a tattoo for her. go figure.

the longer he sits, however, the more his self-doubt starts to creep in. he starts to wonder if it's too late for him to back out.

"you my seven o'clock?"

ian looks up and finds a man staring at him curiously. a man with dark slicked-back hair and pale skin and a single silver bar piercing above his right brow, framing clear blue eyes. swirling intricate designs run down his arms and disappear underneath a tight black t-shirt - one side all colour, the other black ink only.

shit. this guy is fucking hot.

immediately ian's mind goes blank.

"uh... yes?"

"cool." the man closes the door. "name's mickey. did you fill out the consent form yet?"

mickey. the synapses in ian's brain short-circuits. "not yet...?"

mickey nods, as he heads towards the sink in the corner of the room. "you can fill it out while i set everything up. is this your first time?"

"no." ian lets out a breath and picks up the pen attached to the clipboard. "i've done it before."

"really." mickey surveys him up and down. "i don't see any."

ian winces, glad mickey can't see the patriotic eagle under his shirt. one of his many regrets, unfortunately. "it's um... hidden."

mickey's brows furrow for a moment, before his eyes light up. "ah. gotcha, man."

ian's not sure what to make of mickey's reaction - but he doesn't trust his mind to not say something dumb to who just might be the hottest guy he's ever seen standing in front of him, so he keeps his trap shut and quickly fills out the form before handing the clipboard over.

"so," mickey looks down at the form, "ian. do you know which side you want it on?"

ian blinks. "side?"

mickey blinks back at him. "right or left?"

ah. which arm. "left. i need the right one for work tomorrow," ian jokes.

mickey gives him a strange look. "sure."

ian watches as mickey snaps on a pair of black disposable gloves, then sets out some needles in sealed packages on a silver tray. he didn't think mickey would be a stick and poke kind of artist instead of using a tattoo gun, but at this point ian could care less the method in which he gets inked.

"you nervous?" mickey asks, noticing ian's fidgeting fingers in his lap.

ian lets out a breath.

"kind of," he admits. "my mom... she died recently, and i wanted to get something small to remind me of her."

"you..." mickey pauses. "you're doing this for your mom?"

"why?" ian asks, getting a bit self-conscious now. maybe mickey has seen a lot of his clients regret getting tattoos for their parents. "you think i shouldn't?"

"it's your choice," mickey replies slowly. "if you want something to really remember someone by, then this will do it."

ian lets out a breath. "yeah," he nods. "let's do this."

"take off your shirt, then," mickey says, and ian's brain once again goes offline because of course it does. "i'll sterilize the area first and then we'll get started."

in hindsight, if mickey was just some average-looking guy or literally any other person at all, maybe ian would've caught on earlier. do his due diligence and change the fire alarm batteries in his head, instead of letting the warning bells beep incessantly. he might've thought to himself hey, that's weird, why do i need to be shirtless if i'm getting a tattoo on my arm? and before i confirmed what design i want? when i don't even know what i'm getting? hm? hello?????

but alas, because clearly all rational thoughts have been thrown out of his head (did he have any to begin with?), he quickly unbuttons his emt uniform shirt and tosses it over the side of the chair. subtly yet not so subtly flexes his arms a bit, because hey, why the fuck not? he works out. he's fit. sue him for wanting to show off a bit.

except nothing, absolutely nothing, could've prepared him when mickey wipes a cool, stinging alcohol wipe across his left nipple.

ian yelps. practically falls out of the chair and almost lands on his ass. mickey just stares at him, gloved hand still held up.

"i– uhhhhh– look, there must be some misunderstanding–" ian sputters, feeling his cheeks heat up. "i'm getting a tattoo on my arm, not my, uh...."

"nipple?" mickey supplies, the corners of his mouth turned slightly upwards.

ian wants to die.

blames himself for thinking with his dick. or rather, not using his brain at all.

either way, he wishes he could pass away on the spot. cut the brakes. burst into flames. end it all, right there and then.

before he can say any parting words and then forever perish from the mortal realm, he feels something drape over his shoulders. looks up to mickey a mere breath's distance away, covering his shivering back with his shirt.

is that a smile on mickey's face? or is ian being delusional once again?

delusional. definitely delusional.

"sooo,” mickey drags out the word, “i guess you're not my seven o'clock nipple piercing appointment?"

ian shakes his head as he hastily buttons up his shirt, ignoring the heat filling his cheeks. "i guess there was some kind of mix-up, the girl out front told me to go wait in room three."

mickey rolls his eyes. "i swear sandy messes up on purpose just to fuck with me. how hard is it to keep track of three rooms?"

"you didn't think it was weird someone would need their right nipple for work? or that they want to get something pierced for their mom?" ian asks, a little incredulous.

mickey, ever full of indifference, merely shrugs. "hey, i don't know your life, man."

there's an awkward lull in the air. ian's eyes dart towards the door, hoping he can make a quick exit and then, perhaps, find a cliff and walk off it. "well, i'll just go then..."

"come back tomorrow night," mickey cuts him off, to ian's surprise. "you said you wanted something small, right? mandy's the best at doing fine line shit, she can help you design whatever you're thinking of."

"sandy, mandy, mickey. what, are you all related?" ian jokes weakly.

"cousin and sister," mickey shrugs. "it's a whole family affair up in here."

"okay," ian nods slowly, watching mickey turn on the tap to wash his hands. guess he’ll postpone his cliff walk for another day. "i'll come back tomorrow then."

just as ian’s about to bolt out the door, he hears a soft hey call out to him. when he turns around, he almost gasps when mickey’s standing directly behind him, and quite nearly has an aneurism when mickey reaches out his fingertips to straighten out his collar, blue eyes directly staring into his soul.

"don't take off your shirt for her though," mickey says, and ian's breath hitches. "bitch doesn't deserve a free show."

before his brain could stop his mouth from running (seems to be a common occurrence today), ian asks, "you liked what you saw, then?"

mickey pats ian's cheek twice, then steps back. "i don't hook up with clients, as a general rule."

"well," ian can't keep the hopeful tone out of his voice. "maybe after tomorrow then, when i’m not a client anymore?"

this time, ian knows he's not being delusional.

mickey's lips are definitely curved into a smile.

“guess you’ll just have to wait and find out.”

#five months later i finally finished this ficlet #they're both dumb (affectionate) but i love them #gallavich ficlet #michy ficlet #my words #gallavich fic #ian x mickey #gallavich

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mantratattoosblog · 7 days ago

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Find the perfect tattoo at the best shops in Denver.

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mantratattoousa · 6 days ago

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Explore the best tattoo artists in Denver who combine creativity and precision to create unforgettable ink. From intricate designs to bold statements, find professionals renowned for their artistry and hygiene standards. Perfect for first-timers or seasoned tattoo enthusiasts seeking top-notch body art.

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frenchkisstheabyss · 9 months ago

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♥︎ ₵₳₦ĐɎ ♥︎

♥︎ Pairing: lead singer!boyfriend!yuta x chubby!fem!bassist reader (you get mark & johnny as bandmates too so that's fun)

♥︎ Genre: rockstar au/fluff/angst/smut

♥︎ Summary: Joining your favorite band was a dream come true. That is until you fell for the lead singer who has no shortage of groupies throwing themselves at him. He says he loves you but can you really trust him? I mean, you used to be a groupie too after all.

♥︎ Word Count: 4.1k-ish

♥︎ Warnings: Strong language. If you don't like curse words I'm sorry babes. I'm a potty mouth. Unprotected sex, creampie, shower sex, rough sex, a lil choking, nibbling, scratching, fingering, marking, oral sex (f receiving), tattoos/piercings, pet names (daddy, baby, etc), a lil drop of mutual possessiveness.

♥︎ A/N: I've really been trying to have more fun with my fics and just let my brain do it's thing so I hope y'all have fun with it too, darlings.

“Yuta, I fucking love you!” an obnoxiously tipsy female voice screams from the crowd.

A bra comes soaring from the sea of bodies packed into the pit at the edge of the stage. The pink lace fabric lands at Yuta’s feet, draping itself across his scuffed black combat boots. Any band knows that when you stop the show to do something — tune your guitar, take a sip of water — it’s prime opportunity for anything to happen. And it almost always will.

It’s not like you can blame her. Once upon a time you’d been one of those girls in the crowd, lost in the chaos of the night. There’s nothing like it, the rush that you get when your heart seems to sync with the violent bashing of the drums. The distorted guitars like electric coursing through your veins. Every lyric floats through the air, becoming more and more a part of you with each breath you take in.

Then there was him…

Nakamoto Yuta. When your friends were all drooling over him you’d pretend you weren't interested. You’d never be so basic as to fall for the lead singer of the band. Maybe he did have the sort of voice that makes a girl melt even when he’s growling the filthiest lyrics. Especially when there’s growling. And maybe he did have bone structure to die for.

Then there were the tattoos, piercings, and the way sweat glistened on his chest halfway through a show. You weren’t won over by any of that. It was all about the music, one artist appreciating another. So when Yuta’s bassist quit the band and your manager broke the news that she’d gotten you an audition your intentions were purely artistic.

In this industry, a girl’s gotta work twice as hard as the guys to prove she can do half of what they can. You worked your ass off session after session, easily demolishing any other bassist their label could’ve suggested. You earned your spot in the band ten times over. Made sure no one could question why you were there. Then and only then did you let Yuta fuck your brains out.

Before shows, after shows. Tour buses. Hotels. Airport bathrooms. Green rooms. Whenever. Wherever. However. In the studio and onstage it was still about the music but everything else? All of it was driven by how much you lusted for and, much to your dismay, loved one another.

Recalling the heavenly experience it is to be bent over a bathroom sink with Yuta so deep inside of you that you feel it in the back of your throat, you can’t really blame Ms. Pink Lace for tossing her bra at him.

Kneeling down to pick up the bra, Yuta takes a look back at you. The most innocent face in the world, his baby angel, geared up and ready to commit murder.

You can’t really blame her but—

Fuck it. You do.

“I think she wants to come backstage after the show!” a guy shouts from the other side of the stage, garnering laughter from the crowd. Yuta smiles as he approaches the mic stand, the bra dangling from his fingers by the strap. “I think she wants my girl to kick my ass,” Yuta laughs, pushing his messy hair back out of his face.

“Kick his ass” Johnny whispers into his mic from the safety of his drum kit. Nearly spitting out the sip of water you’ve just taken, you toss the rest back at Johnny. The years of experience he has over you come in handy as he expertly dodges it.

“Boo, she doesn’t like to share!” Ms. Pink Lace shouts, not quite ready to back down.

Yuta steps aside and turns to you once more, “You wanna come answer this?” You unplug your bass and stroll to Yuta’s side with the sweetest smile on your face. “Do I share him?” you ask as if it’s the dumbest question you’ve ever heard in your life. It is. You lay your hand flat on his chest, running it all the way down to the waist of his pants. Looping a finger around his belt, you pull him closer and into a kiss deep enough to make you both forget you’re on stage.

When you finally break away, you borrow his mic for a quick announcement. “Our next song is called ‘In Your Fucking Dreams’!” Taking the bra from Yuta, you put it on over your dress. Ever the supportive boyfriend, he clasps it in the back for you and plants another kiss on your lips before you skip back to your spot.

“Well, then…” Yuta sings, “This is ‘In Your Fucking Dreams’” Mark laughs, strumming his guitar to warm up, “In your fucking dreams, parenthesis, thanks for the new bra.” The crowd cheers, basking in the chaos of it all. You plug your bass back up, ready to shred hard enough that your fingers bleed. You’re pissed, all of the boys know it, but the show must go on.

There’s no crying in punk rock.

“Are you crying?” Mark asks, spotting you amongst the legions staff shuffling around the halls backstage. “No” you sniffle, wiping the tears from your cheeks, “The lights were just hot and—” He grabs you by the arm, turning you to face him. “You’re a shitty liar. You’re crying. What’s wrong?”

Overhearing the conversation as he passes, Johnny doubles back. “Are you—” Johnny starts but figures it out before he has to speak another word, “Wait, don’t tell me you’re upset about that bra thing.” Feeling cornered, you try to push them aside but they don’t budge an inch. “Look, no. I don’t know. I’m just—fuck just leave me alone okay!” you snap, another wave of tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

Yuta finally catches up, his exhaustion turning to concern when he sees you. If you’re upset, even over the tiniest thing, everything stops for him including the urge to pass out after a show. He takes you by the hand, bringing you into his arms. He’s sticky and wet but his embrace is comforting all the same. “Baby,” he says softly, petting your hair, “What’s going on? Talk to me.” With so many eyes on you, you aren’t quite sure how to admit that Johnny’s right.

You are upset about the bra thing. Upset, embarrassed, angry, hurt — every mixture of things — and you can’t make sense of any of it. “Can we just go back to the hotel?” you ask, gathering whatever composure you have left. Yuta hesitates but gives in when he sees your eyes begging “Please”. “Uh, yeah. You guys—” he sighs, looking to the others. Johnny and Mark nod, getting the hint.

Mark pats him on the shoulder before walking ahead, “Got it, bro. We’ll catch you tomorrow.” Johnny hangs back for a second, leaning in to whisper into your ear, “Don’t worry, he’s so whipped for you. It’s, like, super sad.” Johnny’s comment gets a giggle out of you which is all he needed to feel okay walking away.

Yuta leads you back to the green room where he stays glued to you as you wait for the okay from your manager to leave. You’re relieved when you can finally go, the fresh night air soothing the suffocating feeling that’s been terrorizing you for the past hour. The ride back to the hotel is quiet with most of your time spent zoning out in the kaleidoscope of lights cast on you as you pass the local shops.

You can feel Yuta watching you, his hand firmly and lovingly holding yours, but can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. Not only are you the only girl in the band, you replaced someone fans already loved. Each night you have to fight for their respect, you knew this already. Now falling for him meant you had to fight for it in more ways than one. The girls will always be there in numbers your brain can’t even fathom, willing to do things that your brain, unfortunately, can fathom in nauseating detail.

“A girlfriend to a rockstar is like a bicycle to a fish. Fucking useless.”

That’s what one of the producers had advised him when you were supposed to be in the booth cluelessly recording your portion of a song. Those words crawled into the pit of your stomach, spreading doubt like a disease ever since.

By the time you’re done spiraling, you’re upstairs seated at the foot of the bed in your hotel room. Contrary to popular belief, your band’s not the type to trash hotel rooms. That’s why you get to book places as beautiful as this with little to no resistance. Everything’s sleek and modern with large three-panel windows that overlook the city. Abstract paintings adorn the walls making it feel more like an art gallery than a place you sleep but the warm overhead lighting saves it from feeling too stuffy.

“Hey, uh, could you shower with me?” Yuta asks, drawing your attention to the bathroom door. It’s only now that you notice the shower running and Yuta standing there in a towel. “I’d shower alone but I have a fear of showers” he adds, “Shower phobia. I’ve had it really bad since I was a kid.” “And Mark says I’m a shitty liar” you tease, flopping back onto the bed.

You can’t see Yuta but you hear him shuffling across the smooth carpeted floor. He stops at your feet, dropping to his knees and laying his head in your lap. Almost on their own, your fingers find a way into his hair and silky strands swirl around them. Yuta breathes in deep, hoping what he says next will soothe you. “You’re enough for me. You know that, right?”

Time seems to freeze and you along with it. Something you love about him, his ability to seemingly always know how you’re feeling, has finally come back to bite you in the ass. Why can’t he just be content pretending nothing happened?

“Yuta, I—” you say, sitting up enough to catch him staring at you the same way he had in the car. Only this time you don’t dodge his gaze, you let it pull you in. The man looking up at you isn’t the one in the magazines or on stage. There’s no act, only him and a heart pledged to you before you'd even known it. “What happened tonight, I’m sorry” he apologizes, “I can do better. I will.”

“What? No!” you gasp, bringing you both up so that you’re eye to eye, “Please don’t apologize. That’s not what I wanted.” Still on his knees, Yuta slips his hands beneath your dress, fingers massaging your plush thighs. Touching you isn’t always sexual. Sometimes he just wants to be connected to you. This is one of those times. Feeling your body warm against his palms eases the anxiety knocking around in his head. Even though you’re upset your body still responds with pleasure to him, giving into his touch. That’s how he knows he hasn’t lost you. The day it doesn’t—well, he tries not to imagine that.

“Do you think I’d cheat on you?” he asks, catching you off guard with his directness. You place a hand on each of his cheeks, squishing them together so his lips purse like the cutest fish you’ve ever seen. Yuta makes little smooching noises and you give him a peck on the lips. “I know you wouldn’t do that” you sigh, relaxing your hold on his cheeks, “But there’s a million girls out there who want you. I’m only one. What if someday you meet a girl and she’s everything you never knew you wanted?”

Yuta says nothing in response, simply staring at you for so long that you want to shake him to see if he’s alive. “There are a million other girls…” he admits, “Which is good for all of the guys I know want you because there’s only one of you and you’re mine.”

“Oh, Yuta, come off it—”

“I’m serious. I don’t give a shit how many girls are out there. You never have to worry about me finding what I never knew I wanted” he promises, gripping your hips to bring you in so tight that your legs are already wrapped around him. His lips brush yours, hitting you with a wicked mixture of chills and hot flashes. “I know who I want,” he whispers, nibbling at your bottom lip, “Who I love. I choose you. No one else. Can you trust that? For me?”

The sincerity in his voice, how it trembles with emotion when he says that he loves you, resonates more than anything he’s ever sung. His hands ease towards your inner thighs and they part for him instantly. The pad of his thumb brushes your clit through your panties and you shudder. “Yes,” you moan between his lips as his mouth captures yours. His kiss is like quicksand, the more you move the faster it drags you in. But there’s nothing to be done about it.

You’re ravenous for each other, your tongues performing an intricate dance that tangles you together. The movement of his thumb against your clit quickens, your hips arching to beg for more. “You love me baby?” he asks, trailing kisses down your chin. Tugging your panties to the side, his fingertips tease the slippery warmth of your entrance. “Yes, I…” you squeak, shivering when his fingers plunge into you, “Love you so much.”

Yuta’s tongue tickles your neck, love bites marking his way to your cleavage. “Tell me I’m yours,” he says, making no attempt to hide how desperate he is to hear you say it. Your walls clench around his fingers. He flexes them in response, the stretch so satisfying that your eyes nearly roll back. “I want you to own it so say it” he urges, pushing in deeper, “Tell me I’m yours.” Your arms come around his neck, your best attempt at staying upright.

“You’re mine. All mine” you moan, the faintest hint of possessiveness peeking through. It’s music to his ears, turning him on to the point that the towel’s virtually useless now in hiding how hard he is. Reaching between your bodies, you take him into your hand to delight in what you’ve done to him. Stroking up and down you feel the blood rushing up his shaft — veins throbbing, his arousal decorating your chipped nail polish.

“Is this mine too?” you joke, teasing the head of his cock with light circular movements. “Fuck, yes. You want it?” he mumbles, his face buried between your tits. He can barely breathe, he’s probably lightheaded, and it’s worth it. Gripping him by the back of the head, you bring him eye to eye with you again. “I want it” you grin, the fullness in your lower belly intensifying.

Yuta sticks his tongue out, curling it to wet his lips. Catching you off guard, he grabs you by the neck and pushes you back on the bed. Keeping you pinned by your neck, his free hand tears your panties to the side. His mouth latches onto your clit, licking and sucking at the sensitive bundle of nerves. You’re completely at his mercy, only able to shake and moan as he devours you. His tongue runs between the petal soft lips of your pussy, your juices the best drink he’s had all night.

“Find someone else?” he scoffs, taking a handful of your belly, “Who else’s pussy tastes this good, hmm?” His tongue slams into you, the hand around your throat bringing you flush against his face.

“Yuta, oh god — fuck — you can’t say things like that” you whimper, clawing at the sheets.

“Or what?”

Yuta pulls back, his face soaked with your juices, “Is my baby gonna cum if I tell her how good she tastes?” Refusing to wait for your answer, his tongue dips back inside of you. The ridges of your walls glide across his tastebuds, pulsing each time he swirls around and around. He’s relentless, letting up only for quick breaths of air. “So wet and so — mmm — fucking good” he groans, kissing your inner thigh.

When his tongue meets your core again you feel tingling in the tips of your toes and fingers. The tension in your stomach rises, your breaths growing shallow. Yuta releases your neck, locking his arms around your thighs to keep them spread. “That’s it, baby. That’s my girl. Cum for me.”

Pulling his tongue out, he drags it across your clit and sends you crashing over the edge. You throw your hand over your mouth, suppressing the incoherent moans that spill from your lips. Yuta snatches your hand away, holding you by the wrist just in time to hear those last few moans escape. Not missing a beat, he hops up and brings your limp body with him.

Disoriented, the rubbing of your thighs against your core causing some aftershock, you struggle to gain your footing. “You’re trying to kill me” you pout, leaning on him for support. “Why would I do that?” he asks, putting on his best innocent face, “We still have 10 more stops on the tour. The label would kill me.”

“I can’t stand you!” you say, slapping him on the cheek as softly as you can. Yuta winks, pinching you on the ass, “You’ll live. Now about that shower—” Shaking off the post-orgasm brain fog, you manage to hold yourself up enough to lock lips with him. It’s the clumsiest thing. Kissing, caressing, peeling away your clothes. All while blindly making your way to the shower.

You step into the shower first, expecting Yuta to follow immediately after but he stops short just outside of it.

“Were you, like, serious about that shower phobia thing?”

“No,” he laughs, “I just want to look at you for a second if that’s okay.”

Standing alone in the shower, steamy droplets of water running down the curves of your body, you’re pure perfection. A vine of cherry blossoms travels across your left shoulder, riding your love handles, your hips, down your thigh. He knows how long it took to finish that tattoo. All of the tiny gorgeous details missed by the naked eye. It’s been a secret mission of his to explore every aspect of it. And of you.

The admiration radiates off of him and you find yourself overcome with shyness. “Dude, come on. You’re making me nervous!” you say, hiding behind the shower curtain. Yuta jumps into the shower, hugging you from the side, “Oh my bad, dude. I call you ‘baby’ and I get ‘dude’?” Paying him no mind, you grab the body wash and begin to cover him in rose-scented bubbles.

“Don’t be a brat. I call you other things too. I call you baby—” Your fingers trace his collarbone. “I call you honey—” They travel across his shoulder, drifting down his back. You pause halfway down, “I call you…daddy.” You don’t even try to hide your amusement when your nails press into his lower back and he whimpers. “You—why would you do that?” Yuta asks, knowing very well why.

It does something for him when you call him that. Something that makes him want to tear you apart in the best way. Leaning against the shower wall, you play with his belly button piercing. “Did I do something wrong, d—ah!” Yuta lifts you up, bringing your legs around his waist. Catching your breath, you hold on tight, terrified to fall.

“I didn’t know you could do that.” Yuta giddily shifts your weight like it’s nothing, thrusting into you, “I know.” Still dripping from your last orgasm, he slips in easily. Almost too easily. There’s no teasing, no taking it slow. Every inch of him is buried deep inside of you. You can’t cover your mouth and the shower does nothing to conceal your overstimulated moans.

Yuta bounces you up and down on his cock. The water raining down on you causes a sharp slapping noise when your bodies come together. “Fuck me harder” you beg, knowing it’ll only make the sound louder. Always here to give you what you want, he fucks into you harder and harder. With every thrust you seem to get tighter, your body so needy for him that it can’t let go.

They say there’s nothing like it. The rush that you get from a concert. Your heart syncing with the violent bashing of the drums. Well, whoever said that, has no fucking idea what they’re talking about.

Yuta presses your legs back, the head of his cock thick and throbbing as he stimulates your sweet spot. “Baby, it feels too good” he pants, knowing he’s on the brink of coming undone. Purposely clenching as tight as you can, you rock your hips down onto him and he can’t hold out any longer. Now this rush? There’s nothing like this.

The fullness as he cums inside of you makes your second orgasm all the more intense when it consumes you. The two of you float in a state of euphoria somewhere between being out of your body and being hyper-aware of it all at once. Kissing you on the neck, Yuta carefully sets you down on your feet. Unable to hold himself up, he sits down in the bathtub. He holds his arms out to you and you make your way down, cuddling up to him.

“I love you, dude” he mocks, tracing the petals on your tattoo. You groan, rolling your eyes, “Yeah, yeah. I love you too.” You share a laugh at your mutual silliness and then…nothing. Only silence. Your breathing. The running of the water. Your heart and his. You may be in the business of noise but together you’ve found meaning in just being.

“Our band doesn’t really have a concept, you know? We kinda just do what we want. It’s a vibe” Mark explains to the journalist holding a mic way too close to his face.

When your label booked you for a weekend at one of the biggest festivals in the country they failed to tell you that you had interviews lined up. Let alone ones this painfully boring. So here you are, half dressed outside of your tour bus baking in the summer sun with a camera pointed at your faces.

“And vibes are important!” Johnny throws in, “People…they need vibes because without vibes, who are we? Am I right?” Mark stares into the camera, his mind truly blown, “Bro, that’s…deep.” The interviewer nods, pretending that he understood any of that, “Vibes. Right. So you guys are on another level and—”

Just that moment a group of girls pass by behind the camera. Dressed in their skimpiest festival gear, it takes zero effort on their part to reel Mark and Johnny in. “We are so sorry” Mark apologizes, quietly flirting with the girls, “We gotta go get ready for soundcheck.” “Soundcheck, yes! Gotta keep that sound checked” Johnny says, throwing up a peace sign.

As Mark and Johnny ditch the interview to recruit groupies, the interviewer turns to you and Yuta who’ve been praying that he’d forgotten you were there. “Well, uh, I guess it’s just me and the happy couple, huh?” the man asks, plastering on a smile. The two of you are collectively unmoved, though you’re a bit nicer about it than Yuta.

Like a shark, the interviewer smells blood in the water and the mic is in your face next. “Some would say you’re pretty brave dating a rock star. Aren’t you worried someone might try to steal him away?” You and Yuta share a knowing glance before you snatch the mic from the interviewer.

“No. I mean, have you seen me?” you ask, almost glowing as Yuta showers you with kisses, “Next question.” But there is no next question. You hand the mic to Yuta and walk off to avoid saying something you’ll regret.

“And then there was one. So I’m here with lead singer—”

“Yikes, sorry. I have…interview phobia? Yeah” Yuta lies, beginning to back out of frame before you get too far away. Nearly defeated and totally at a loss, the interviewer tries one more time to bait Yuta back in. “I was hoping we could finish this. Maybe I could ask a few more questions.” Yuta pretends to consider it for dramatic effect. “Better idea, you should pull out your phone and stream our new single ‘Don't Ask My Girlfriend Stupid Shit’.”

Noticing that Yuta’s still holding onto the microphone, you run back to steal it. “Parenthesis, thanks for the brand new mic, asshole!” you cackle, holding the metallic purple equipment up like a Grammy. You disappear again, this time with some new equipment. Yuta just shrugs, waving goodbye to the camera, “Love of my life.”

#nct 127 x reader #nct 127 x you #nct x reader #nct x you #yuta x reader #yuta x you #nct angst #nct smut #nct au #chubby reader #plus size reader

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 4 months ago

Text

Mystery of love

Previously / Next chapter

a/n: couldn’t stay away from these two…

warning: anxiety attacks, smoking, toxic exs.

summary: when two lost souls meet at their mutual friend’s party sparks fly, the question is if whatever they feel can actually bloom into something more? But that’s the mystery of love.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It had gotten better. It was better for a while before it all tumbled down. Noah didn’t know what exactly started it. And even more so his sleepless nights made him feel stupid. He had gotten the hang of controlling his thoughts and now it seemed that everything was for nothing. He woke with a flinch ready to face the odd hours of night only to be met with the rays of sunshine peeping through the blinds. Noah’s heart was hammering, cutting off any other sound. One thing he was sure of, though. He wasn’t in his room. And it wasn’t his drenched sheets that he gripped as he woke. No, it was you. His hands had gripped onto your body.

And now your worried sleepy eyes were looking at him. Noah quickly pushed back. Pulling his body from beneath you. Mind going two hundred miles per hour. “Noah”, your voice pierced the static but he simply shook his head moving to stand up. You watched him moving towards the bathroom ,the doors clicking shut. The bigger part of you, the one that always fixed things, screamed for you to go after him. Make sure he is okay, and do something to help. But you knew how vulnerable breaking down was. How getting smothered only made it worse. So you let him do his thing, trusting him to pull himself out. Even if no one deserved to hurt alone.

When Noah finally slipped out of the bathroom face still damp from the cold water he had drowsed himself in. He was ready to be met with questions but instead, he found you humming as you waited for the water to boil, two cups waiting to be filled in front of you. It made him feel this weird sense of domestic security. It was easy and calm and when you turned to him, a slight smile on your face he felt strangely seen but for the first time not made a spectacle of.

“Camomile and mint”, you mussed, “And waffles are warming up”, “I’ll be in a huge depth to you if you keep this up”, Noah muttered, voice horse from sleep still. His mind pulled him back to the fact that he had slept through the whole night, only in the morning did his brain catch up with him. “Don’t mention it”, you waved it off, “I’m off work today, you got any plans?”, you looked over your shoulder as you buttered the waffles. “Should go to the studio but I don’t know if I can”, the words slipped out of Noah’s mouth before he could even register them.

“Do you want to come?”, he quickly added, “I know you don’t like…”,’ “If I can read while you do your thing, I’m in”, you cut his rant off, trying to defuse the rising tension in his body. “You would come?”, he asked slightly surprised. “There are too many comes in your sentences for eight am, I will join you if you want the company”, you shrugged, Noah snickered slightly, “I’m trying to manifest future events”, he smirked making you glare at him, “Every time I begin to think you can make it without… eh doesn’t matter”, you shake your head. Security feeling a sense of ease that he had jumped back into a somewhat his usual self.

But that shattered the moment you two sat in the car, you could tell from the way his jaw was set that his mind was already in his studio. And whatever that was waiting for him there was eating at him. “Who does the food shop in the house?”, you pulled the question right out of your ass, needing about anything to distract him. “Ah, well we just do it at random”, Noah shrugged. “And when was the last time?”, you glanced at him, watching him concentrate as he reversed out of his parking spot. “Why don’t we stop by”, you suggested, “We can grab little things, I think Emmy is coming over tonight so you all might want some nibble bits”, it felt slightly too pushy in a way. It was their routine you were messing with it, but for some reason, you were sure that looking at cheese was better than going to the demon that seemed to be Noah’s studio. “Sure, you can lead the way, 'cause I never know what to buy for shit like that”, Noah grunted, making you smile.

He was mindlessly walking next to you, carrying the bag, after you two bickered about that for ten minutes. And while you had called him sexist he simply said that it doesn’t mean that you have to do everything yourself. Now you were happily looking through different crackers. Ones that looked the same to Noah but apparently were extremely different and didn’t go well with everything. And while Noah hated food shopping, it was nice watching you find joy in such a simple task.

That was until you had halted mid-reach, before turning to face him. Your face had gone pale and Noah couldn’t help but frown slightly but before he could ask you what was going on your hands had reached out to him, pushing him backward, “Fuck, fuck, shit”, you muttered beneath your breath.

“Y/n?”, Noah watched as your whole face scrunched up almost in pain at your name being called from behind you. Noah’s eyes darted past your shoulder, at the guy standing there. He was close to both of your age at least that’s how it looked. He was the definition of office plankton. So put together with his white pressed shirt that Noah had to make an effort to not roll his eyes.

“Dan”, you turned to face him, a smile so fake it had to hurt your cheeks. “Grocery store out of all the places, and in a shit cracker section”, Dan mussed stepping closer and making you step back ever so slightly, causing you to press against Noah’s chest. A surge of protectiveness flooded him. It was the way the guy looked at you as if you were nothing but dirty beneath his shoes that made Noah press his palm against your back.

“What a funny coincidence, still doing your morning juice runs I see”, you muttered, trying to keep your head up. Dan chuckled, “Still so hung up on us that you remember my routine, I’m flattered”. On us, all sorts of alarm bells ran out and Noah instantly reached out, putting his arm over your shoulder, pulling you closer to his side. That was enough to make the asshole pull his gaze from you to Noah instead.

“I don’t give a fuck about what you do”, you mussed, making Noah smirk ever so slightly. Dan hummed bitterly eyes still on Noah, “Enjoying my leftovers, man?” Noah’s fingers tightened around the handle of the bag in his hand, “What the fuck did you just say?”, as he grunted through gritted teeth. Your palm instantly pushed against his chest, “Don’t, it’s not worth it”. But it’s as if you weren’t there cause he still stepped forward. “Warm her up from me before I come for a round two”, Dan chuckled, Noah’s hands shot out before his last breath was even taken but you clasped your wrist around them, stepping between them.

“Fuck you”, you spat at Dan as he walked backward laughing, eyes stinging with the promise of tears and an insane amount of embarrassment. “You never step in front of me like that, do you hear me”, Noah grunted, turning you around by your upper arm, “I could have fucking hit you”. “Well, I’m not letting you get on tomorrow’s headlines because of me”, you hissed, turned away from him once more as the first tear slipped down your cheek, but you wiped it off as fast as you could.

You heard him sigh before his fingers reached out for you once more, “Come here”, Noah muttered. “Don’t touch me”, you bit back, pulling his hand away but he didn’t let go, “I wasn’t asking”, and within a heartbeat his hand was cupping your cheek as he pulled you closer to his chest. Only then did you realize that you were trembling. Only when you gripped his hoodie did you realize that his heart was beating way slower than yours.

“I’m sorry”, you muttered shaking your head. “The only one who should be sorry is that piece of shit” Noah grunted, his fingers running up and down the back of your neck. “Can we not talk about him or this or… Can we just pretend this didn’t happen?”, as much as Noah wanted to argue about it he owned you one for this morning. You had let him do his thing without prodding and pushing. He should let you do the same but his gut was telling him there was so much more here. So many things that might even put you in danger. The thought alone of you running into that dick alone left a sour taste in his mouth. “Let’s pay up and go”, he muttered, eyes still fixed in front of you as if magically Dan would appear and Noah would have a chance to land that right hook right at his perfect nose.

You were thankful for the silence as you drove to his house. Thankful that he lit your cigarette at the red light because your hands were trembling too much. All you had told him in that 25-minute drive was “I don’t smoke, I just need this now, okay?” He didn’t say anything. His eyes were on the road. He didn’t say anything s he opened your side of the door, motioning for you to go ahead. He didn’t even try to match your fake smile as you greeted the two guys, Jolly and Nicholas, who kindly reintroduced themselves to you. You could see them watching Noah though and they could read his mood. Making the whole small talk ten times more awkward.

You felt concrete heavy as you two finally went down to the basement where the at-home studio was located. Noah pulled his hoodie off with one hand so effortlessly that if you weren’t so deep in your head you were convinced you would have crumpled. “And who’s worried about how much you will wound me”, he threw your own words at you, “It’s because of him isn’t it?”. You knew the questions would come. You were just naive enough to believe that he had forgotten it all. “Don’t dissect, Noah, I don’t need you rummaging through my life”, you grunted, throwing your hands up.

“I’m not asking you for details, it’s a yes or no question, love”, he said clearly still annoyed. You watched him. The guy who just randomly fell into your life. One that made you wish for a different life. “Yeah, mostly”, you admitted with a shrug, “Does this change anything?”. He simply nods, “Does Emmy know how he treats you?”, his words made a shiver run down your back as the very last months of your relationship with Dan play out in your mind.

“Shit, I shouldn’t have pushed”, Noah runs a hand through his hair, “I’m sorry”. You just shake your head, “I would have the same question if I was in your position so… I get it”, you run your fingers over the leather sofa absentmindedly. “I slept through the night for the first time last night”, Noah muttered, making you snap your head back at him. “I was gonna say that for someone who claims he struggles with sleep, you slept like a baby”, you point out, “What keeps you up most nights?” You know that he threw this out as a lifeline. An equalizer. He got a glimpse of your ugly past now he was handing an ugly piece of his own to you.

“Music is fragile”, he plops onto the sofa, “What if one morning I wake up and everyone has moved on from our music?” You step closer, sitting down next to him, “See, I should tell you that that’s a pretty irrational fear but I understand”, you watch him shrug before he turns to face you, “That’s why I can’t seem to make that call about canceling the tour”. You frown slightly, “People won’t forget you just because you’re taking a break for your health”. He lets out a deep sigh, “Tell that to my brain”, he taps a finger against his temple. “Brain, fans won’t forget about Noah”, you say firmly. For a moment he just watches you before letting out a slight chuckle, “I don’t think my brain heard you”. You raise an eyebrow at him, “Well then”, you muse, cupping his face and leaning closer to him, “No one could forget about you”, you whisper against his air. Noah’s hands instantly reach out, wrapping around your waist as he brings you closer to him. And when you pull back both of your faces are inches apart. You can feel his breath on your face, and can still smell the hints of his cologne. “Noah…”, his name is barely whispered on your lips but it seems to snap him out of his daze, his lips press against your forehead instead, and then he pulls you into his embrace and you find yourself ever so slightly disappointed and wondering how his lips would feel against yours.

••••••••••

@broken0mens

#noah bad omens fanfiction #noah bad omens imagine #noah bad omens x reader #noah sebastian x you #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian imagine #bad omens x you #bad omens x reader #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens imagine

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thedensworld · 11 months ago

Text

Everything | C.Sc

Pairing: Mafia!Seungcheol x reader

Genre: Angst, Thrill, One-sided love

Summary: You come to him in the middle of the night, plan to end him immediately. However everything change.

Seungcheol entered his dark penthouse after three days of neglect, a testament to the demanding nature of his busy life. The weight of his responsibilities prevented him from finding solace in sleep, as thoughts of safeguarding his business from government scrutiny plagued his restless nights. The events of the week had left him drained and fatigued.

If Seungcheol allowed himself to be honest, he grappled with the stark reality of having to navigate this tumultuous journey alone. The absence of his right-hand man, Kim Mingyu, brutally murdered three years ago, lingered as a painful reminder. Deep down, he yearned for a partner to share the burden of running his empire. Mingyu had been more than an assistant; he was a trusted ally, quick-witted, intelligent, and always ready to respond—a perfect companion to nurture the business that had its humble beginnings in a studio apartment.

As Seungcheol entered his dressing room, seeking respite in a change of clothes for sleep, a sudden chill gripped the air. The routine act of shedding his formal suit was disrupted when he felt the unsettling touch of cold metal against his back. A smaller figure swiftly pushed him against the wall, pressing the presumed gun more firmly against his spine.

"You killed him, didn't you?" The voice, a near whisper, pierced the silence, and Seungcheol's breath hitched as he recognized the owner. The weight of accusation hung in the air.

"Answer me!" the demand echoed, leaving Seungcheol grappling with the intensity of the inquiry and the realization of whose voice had just accused him.

Seungcheol shifted his head, disbelief clouding his features as he faced the unexpected presence of the woman behind him. It was far from an ideal moment for a heartwarming reunion. The pressing threat of a gun against his back indicated a situation demanding his immediate attention.

"Y/n..." Seungcheol breathed out your name, a name he hadn't uttered in years, a name that had lingered in his thoughts from the past.

"You're the one who killed my child, right?" Your accusation cut through the air, and Seungcheol was left grappling with the weight of the accusation and the painful memories that surged forth.

Shivers coursed down Seungcheol's spine, not solely due to the gun pressed against his back but also the devastating news he had just heard about Kim Ian, your three-year-old son. A profound sense of bewilderment gripped him.

"What do you mean, Y/n? What happened to Ian?" Seungcheol seized the gun from your hand, swiftly reversing your positions against the wall. Now facing you, he locked eyes, discarded the gun, and tenderly held both of your hands. "What do you mean I killed Ian? He—"

"If it's not you, then who else has a reason to kill Mingyu's child?" your voice echoed, cutting through his attempts to understand.

Seungcheol strained to hear your words, his focus drawn to the tears streaming down your face. The sight of your anguish pained him deeply, a feeling exacerbated by the hatred emanating from your eyes. Was this how you had perceived him all along? He swore he never harbored animosity towards Mingyu, let alone Ian. The emotional turmoil mirrored in your eyes left him grappling with a reality he never anticipated.

"Tell me, Y/n!" Seungcheol pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. "What happened to Ian?" The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on him as he sought answers from you.

Your body crumpled to the floor, your cries intensifying. Seungcheol, moved by the depth of your grief, immediately caught you, aligning his height with yours in a display of empathy.

"He was murdered, Seungcheol... He was murdered tragically," you confessed amidst sobs, and the revelation hung in the air, casting a dark shadow over the room. The pain in your words echoed through Seungcheol, leaving him grappling with the harsh reality of the tragedy that had befallen Kim Ian.

Seungcheol took a deep breath, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry," he uttered, the weight of those words laden with sincerity. "I'm so sorry to hear that," he expressed, his arms enveloping your grieving figure in a tender embrace. In that shared moment of sorrow, a connection forged by tragedy, Seungcheol sought solace for both himself and you in the silent comfort of his embrace.

Ten years ago, in Seungcheol's office, Mingyu ushered you in as Seungcheol's new assistant. Your hair was neatly tied in a ponytail, and you exuded professionalism in your office attire, complemented by glasses that accentuated your serious demeanor. Seungcheol, who had experienced a revolving door of assistants, looked at you skeptically.

As you entered, a hush fell over the room, and Seungcheol couldn't help but feel a mix of curiosity and skepticism. The previous year had seen almost four different assistants, each departing as quickly as they arrived. Mingyu's introduction held a hopeful tone, but Seungcheol couldn't shake the lingering doubt.

Your appearance, with the pulled-back ponytail and glasses, presented an air of competence. Seungcheol couldn't deny the initial appeal of your professional demeanor, but the past turnover in assistants had left him cautious. The atmosphere in the room held a subtle tension as Mingyu's introduction hung in the air.

Seungcheol's memory etched the moment when he first laid eyes on you, a newcomer to his office dynamic. The passage of a decade hadn't erased the vivid recollection of that day – a day that marked the beginning of a journey with an assistant who, against the odds, would prove to be a lasting fixture in his professional life.

"Are you sure?" Seungcheol raised his brow at Mingyu, skepticism etched across his face as he questioned your appearance—too upright, it seemed, to fit the mold of his usual assistant. As a mafia figure dealing in drugs and firearms, Seungcheol needed someone not only adept at scheduling but also capable of providing protection.

Mingyu, undeterred, handed Seungcheol your profile. His eyes scanned the document, revealing that you had graduated from the police academy. Intrigued, Seungcheol stole glances at you while absorbing the details. A subtle challenge lingered in his words as he remarked, "Let's see how long you're gonna survive here." The air in the room thickened with an unspoken expectation, as you stepped into a role that demanded more than just administrative skills.

As days seamlessly transitioned into weeks and weeks into months, your performance as Seungcheol's assistant garnered not a hint of disappointment from him. On the contrary, satisfaction emanated from Seungcheol, impressed by how adeptly you managed the intricacies of your role in his unconventional world of dealings in drugs and firearms. A year into your tenure, Seungcheol, prompted by Kim Mingyu, deviated from his usual routine and organized a celebration to mark your first anniversary as his assistant.

The atmosphere during the celebration held an air of unexpected camaraderie, a stark contrast to the usual tense environment. Mingyu, the orchestrator of this event, made sure the agenda was subtly pushed. For the first time, Seungcheol found himself acknowledging the significance of your presence in his professional life.

Amidst the festivities, a moment unfolded that broke the routine. Seungcheol, witnessing you succumb to the effects of alcohol, observed a side of you he hadn't encountered before. The veil of professionalism lifted as the alcohol took its toll, revealing a vulnerability that surprised Seungcheol. It marked a departure from the composed and controlled demeanor you consistently maintained in the chaotic world you both navigated. As the celebration unfolded, the unanticipated sight of you in this new light left an indelible impression on Seungcheol, adding a layer of complexity to your dynamic.

"To be honest, boss is such an annoying person!" you blurted out, your words escaping your lips in a moment of sobriety, catching Mingyu off guard. Seungcheol, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation, played along, "Really?"

You nodded, the alcohol-induced honesty flowing, "But..." you paused, "boss is an amazing person as well, and I really admire how into he is to his work. He's cool."

Seungcheol's lips curled into a satisfied smile. "You know how to play your words, Y/n."

Unaware of the person you were referring to being right in front of you, you leaned in closer to Seungcheol and whispered, "Just don't tell him, okay? I'm shy to say that to him." The irony of your words hung in the air, a drunken confession meant to be hidden, but fate had other plans as Seungcheol stood there, amused by the revelation.

What began as a professional connection evolved into a genuine friendship between you and Seungcheol. Unbeknownst to him, this companionship carried an undercurrent of deepening feelings and affection. Seungcheol found himself smiling at your every expression, sharing laughter in sync with yours, and experiencing a flutter inside whenever your eyes met during conversations.

As these emotions intensified, Seungcheol grappled with the realization that he was falling for you, deeply and unexpectedly. The transformation from colleagues to friends had quietly paved the way for something more profound.

However, amidst the emotional revelation, Seungcheol faced a stark and unwelcome reality. His trusted subordinate, Mingyu, approached him with unsettling news. Refusing to accept the possibility of betrayal, Seungcheol dismissed the reports of a coalition forming against him. Almost a decade of running their business together had seen its fair share of disagreements, but the recent tensions with Mingyu had taken an alarming turn. The situation escalated when Mingyu sought authority to lead their operations in the South, a request that deepened the fractures in their partnership.

Seungcheol, burdened by the initial assumption of betrayal, sought solace in you one night, drowning his sorrows in alcohol. However, the emotional turmoil within him led to an unexpected confession of his one-sided love for you over the past seven years. In his drunken vulnerability, Seungcheol bared his feelings, fully aware that his sober self would have been too shy to reveal this side.

"I—" you began to respond, but Seungcheol gently raised a finger to your lips, silencing you. "You don't have to answer. I'll wait for you, Y/n," he declared with a mix of determination and vulnerability.

As you gasped for air, attempting to convey a different message, Seungcheol chuckled, lowering his head. "If you're going to say it's because I'm your boss and we can't be together, I'm firing you," he declared, his gaze fixed on your eyes, awaiting your response.

Your pupils shook, and your breath hitched as you struggled to find the right words. "Seungcheol, I'm sorry," you finally uttered, causing his heart to quicken. "But Mingyu and I..." The mention of Mingyu's name heightened the tension in the room. "We've been together for a year," you continued, delivering the unexpected blow. "And we're expecting." Seungcheol's world seemed to momentarily freeze as the weight of the revelation settled in, leaving him to grapple with the complexities of his emotions and the shattered assumptions about the people closest to him.

Two months after Mingyu's murder, Seungcheol found himself navigating the aftermath of a relationship that transcended the boundaries of business. The trust he had once placed in his closest ally lay shattered, creating a complex web of unresolved conflicts and unanswered questions. Amidst the chaos, Seungcheol carried the weight of emotions, including the buried love he held for you. This affection, deeply concealed within a guarded corner of his heart, remained untouched until this very day, a silent testament to the complexities of his journey through betrayal and loss.

As you stumbled, Seungcheol's touch revealed an unexpected warmth in your arms, a feverish heat that made him worry. Reacting swiftly, he caught you from falling, a palpable concern etched on his face as he sensed your fading consciousness.

Realizing the gravity of the situation, Seungcheol urgently dialed his doctor. The diagnosis confirmed stress and exhaustion as the culprits behind your weakened state. Anxiety gripped Seungcheol as he absorbed the news, his thoughts racing with concern for your well-being.

In an attempt to unravel the tangled threads of your life post-Mingyu's departure, Seungcheol enlisted Myungho, his steadfast assistant. Myungho embarked on a mission to investigate the intricacies surrounding Ian's case, delving into the shadows of your experiences with a determination mirrored in Seungcheol's furrowed brow.

Silence gripped Seungcheol as he discovered the chilling truth: the toddler brutally murdered last week, as reported on the news, was none other than Ian. The rage simmered within him as he recalled reading the article – a 3-year-old boy slain tragically in front of his mother. The weight of the tragedy pressed heavily on his chest, and he couldn't fathom the depth of your anguish.

In that moment, Seungcheol's anger burned, directed not just at the perpetrator but also at the implication that someone within their own circle could commit such a heinous act. His commitment to principles stood firm – a line drawn at harming children and women, particularly you and your child.

The phoenix tattoo, a symbol you saw on their arms, a symbol tightly woven into their group's identity, became a haunting revelation. Seungcheol, Mingyu, and every member bore this mark. The connection was undeniable, casting a shadow of suspicion over their camaraderie.

Haunted by the possibility that you, in your grief, had mistaken him for Ian's assailant, Seungcheol grappled with a tangled mix of emotions. The weight of the truth hung heavy in the air, weaving a complex web of sorrow, anger, and an unwavering commitment to unravel the mystery that now intertwined with his own life.

"Myungho, find our men who were there or around there that night. Someone might pretending to be one of us."

Seungcheol found himself abandoned in his office, the emptiness echoing the void within. In the adjacent room, you lay weak and fragile, the love of his life slipping away. With a heavy sigh, he reached for the solace of cigarettes, the bitter-sweet smoke momentarily distracting him from the turmoil.

Leaning back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, the past three years unfolded like a melancholic film. Your life without Mingyu and him, a narrative of pain and solitude, played vividly before him. It was a movie he never wished to watch, a bitter reminder of his least favorite reality.

As the smoke curled around him, Seungcheol questioned his actions. Was he too childish, neglecting your presence even after Mingyu's departure? No, he reasoned, he was merely guarding his heart, wounded by past betrayals. The scars ran deep, a testament to the pain inflicted by a partner's betrayal and the heartbreak of seeing you stand with a betrayer.

The narrative of his selfishness unfolded, a defensive stance born out of justified hurt. In his eyes, he deserved the right to be selfish during these three years. The emotional battlefield within him justified his actions, or so he believed.

In the silence that followed, Seungcheol grappled with the conflicting emotions, a complex dance of regret, defiance, and the haunting specter of vulnerability.

"Fuck!" Cursing under his breath, Seungcheol inhaled deeply from his cigarette, the smoke swirling around him like a veil of frustration. The creak of the opening door drew his attention, and he watched as you, still pallid, entered and closed it behind you.

Seungcheol, propelled by urgency, abandoned his stool, closing the distance between you. Desperation etched on his face, he began explaining, eager to convey that he and his associates weren't the ones targeting you and Ian that fateful night. Yet, as he spoke, your eyes, once vibrant with passion during the old times, now bore a lifelessness that sent shivers down his spine. The absence of emotion in your gaze struck him, leaving Seungcheol haunted by the stark contrast from the fervor that once ignited those eyes.

"Ian... was the only reason I survived after everything happened three years ago," you confessed in a hushed tone, the weight of your words hanging in the air.

"I lost Mingyu, I lost my job, I lost..." Pausing, you glanced down at your toes, and then, with a heavy sigh, you continued, "you."

Seungcheol's brows furrowed, his anticipation mixed with a hint of confusion as he absorbed your revelations. He watched you take a deep breath, the tension in the room palpable.

"Mingyu would never betray you, Seungcheol," you started to explain, your words carrying a sincerity that echoed through the solemn atmosphere.

"Mingyu was trying to protect you," your gaze locked onto Seungcheol's, tears welling up, clinging to your lashes that he had always admired.

"He was trying to protect you because..." Your words faltered as a sob escaped your trembling lips. Swiftly, you covered your mouth, head shaking, fighting the overwhelming urge to unleash the torrent of tears and reveal the truth that Seungcheol had never heard.

Seungcheol, his breath caught in a silent gasp, stared at you with a mixture of confusion and growing realization. The weight of your earlier words echoed in his mind, leaving him bewildered. "What do you mean? What do you mean Mingyu was protecting me?" he questioned, desperate for the elusive truth that lingered in the unsaid.

Between your sobs, Seungcheol caught fragments of your words, the shocking revelation unfolding before him. "South Operation was a trap. Mingyu found that Jeonghan was part of the NIS. He was trying to trap you and catch you on the south operation."

Seungcheol froze, his breath held captive by the gravity of the revelation. A missing puzzle piece fell into place; the failed South Operation, Mingyu's capture by the NIS, and his subsequent murder. A shiver ran down his spine as the harsh reality sank in. He grabbed your arms, shaking you in disbelief.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded, desperation lacing his words.

You looked up at him, eyes filled with sorrow, and countered, "Did you ever listen to me?" The silence that followed spoke volumes, a painful acknowledgment of the communication breakdown that had led to this heart-wrenching revelation.

You exhaled a long breath, the weight of your revelation lingering in the air, "He was trying to stop you from getting killed in the South operation. Because... He knew you were going to protect me."

"I liked you, Seungcheol. A lot..." The vulnerability in your voice echoed through the confession, laying bare emotions that had long been concealed.

"But you never saw me. You always set strict boundaries," you continued, your words carrying the pain of unrequited feelings. "Mingyu was always there to comfort me. And he even sacrificed himself for someone who didn't love him."

Seungcheol stood there, frozen, grappling with the weight of your words. The reality of Mingyu's sacrifice and your unspoken feelings pierced through the defenses he had built. The room seemed to close in as he struggled to comprehend the depth of the situation.

He couldn't believe what he had just heard from you. Mingyu, a friend he had misunderstood, had laid down his life for the very love Seungcheol had been blind to. The revelation shook the foundation of his convictions, leaving him questioning the choices he had made and the feelings he had overlooked.

Seungcheol's eyes widened in disbelief, torn between the knife in his hand and the gravity of your accusations. The room pulsated with tension as he struggled to comprehend the tangled emotions that surged within him.

As the truth settled in, Seungcheol found himself caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—regret, guilt, and a burgeoning realization of the love that had remained unseen. The room echoed with the weight of unspoken words, the air heavy with the consequences of choices made and paths untaken.

"You hate me, right, Seungcheol? You hate me because Mingyu and I were together, right?" With a heavy heart, you revealed a concealed knife from your pocket and handed it to him.

"You told me to leave everything so I could be with Mingyu. And yes, I left because I realized Mingyu cared so much about me than you, who was too blinded by this business" The bitterness in your words painted a picture of unspoken resentment and hurt.

Seungcheol attempted to pull his hand away, but you gripped harder, forcefully making him hold the knife. The air in the room thickened with tension as your emotions spilled over.

"You killed Ian because you hate me, right? Then kill me too, Seungcheol! Kill me too!" The desperation in your plea cut through the air, leaving a haunting silence in its wake. The room seemed to shrink, suffocating under the weight of unresolved pain and the specter of consequences.

"I don't hate you," he whispered, the words escaping with a heaviness that mirrored the burden on his shoulders. "I never wanted things to end up like this."

Your grip on his hand remained firm, the blade a chilling reminder of the entangled web of pain and miscommunication. Seungcheol's mind raced, wrestling with the conflicting currents of guilt, regret, and a flicker of realization.

"I didn't kill Ian and I don't hate you," he finally confessed, his voice carrying a raw vulnerability. "I never meant for any of this to happen. I just..." His words trailed off, a tortured expression etched across his face as he grappled with the complexity of his emotions.

In that charged moment, the room held its breath, entangled in a web of unspoken truths and the weight of decisions that had irrevocably altered the course of all involved.

"Why? You couldn't reach him?" Mingyu inquired, the clink of glasses resonating as you both shared a drink on your birthday.

"He promised he will come!" you scoffed, frustration evident as you expressed your discontent with Seungcheol's habitual disappearances, leaving both you and Mingyu in the dark.

"I warned you," Mingyu casually remarked, but his eyes underwent a subtle transformation, shifting from casual to pity. In an instant, he enveloped you in a comforting embrace. "I know it's upsetting! He's a jerk, right?" Mingyu's attempt to console you carried a mix of camaraderie and understanding, a bond formed in the face of shared disappointment and frustration with Seungcheol's elusive behavior.

As Mingyu held you in that comforting embrace, a knowing smile played on his lips. "You know, Y/N, you've been crushing on Seungcheol for a while now," he teased gently, his tone laced with camaraderie.

Your eyes widened in surprise, a blush creeping up on your cheeks. Mingyu's perceptive gaze locked with yours, and he continued, "It's not that hard to see. The way you light up when he's around, even if he drives you crazy with his disappearing acts."

You tried to shrug off Mingyu's observation, but the playful glint in his eyes exposed your unspoken feelings. "I've known for a while, you know. You're not as subtle as you think," he added, a reassuring smile breaking through.

As the evening unfolded, Mingyu became both a confidant and a source of comfort, navigating the intricacies of your unrequited feelings for Seungcheol. The shared laughter and empathy formed a unique bond, one that extended beyond the complexities of workplace dynamics.As the night wore on and the glasses emptied, a warmth spread between you and Mingyu. The alcohol served as a liberator, unlocking the gates to unspoken confessions. Amidst the laughter and shared stories, you found yourself pouring out your heart to Mingyu.

"I really love Seungcheol," you confessed, the words slipping out like a secret you had kept hidden for too long. "But he's such a jerk for not noticing, for making me feel like this."

Mingyu listened attentively, his gaze understanding as you bared the depths of your emotions. The camaraderie forged through shared frustrations with Seungcheol became a bridge for vulnerability.

"He's clueless sometimes, Y/N," Mingyu replied, his own words tinged with a mix of sympathy and amusement. "Maybe he just needs a push in the right direction."

The alcohol-fueled honesty brought forth a unique connection between you and Mingyu, a shared understanding of the complexities of love and the challenges that came with navigating feelings within the confines of the workplace.As the night progressed, the alcohol-induced haze blurred the lines of awareness. Laughter echoed, and the atmosphere became charged with an unexpected tension, a subtle shift that neither you nor Mingyu fully grasped.

In the midst of shared confessions and the warmth of inebriation, glances lingered a fraction longer, touches became lingering, and the air pulsated with an unspoken energy. The boundaries between camaraderie and something more became elusive, lost in the intoxication of the moment.

As the night reached its peak, a table-turning moment occurred. The laughter turned into a shared gaze, and before you both realized, the subtle tension erupted into a one-night stand – an unplanned collision of emotions and desires that blurred the lines between friendship and something deeper.

The morning after brought with it a mixture of realization and confusion, as you and Mingyu woke up to a reality that had shifted overnight. The unspoken had been spoken, and the dynamics between you two had forever changed, leaving you to navigate the aftermath of a night fueled by both alcohol and an undeniable undercurrent of attraction.

Months later, you came to Mingyu and said, "fuck, Mingyu! I'm pregnant!"

"What?!"

End.

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writing-for-marvel · 2 years ago

Text

Everyone’s Watching Him (But He’s Looking At Her) (2)

Actor!Bucky Barnes x Assistant!Fem!Reader

< < PART 1 | Series Masterlist | PART 3 > >

Summary: It’s Bucky’s big late night interview promoting his new movie, but when the interviewer asks a question which causes Bucky to storm off the set, you’re there to comfort him.

Warnings: idiots in love, hurt comfort, interviewer brings up questions which crosses Bucky’s boundaries, shy/insecure reader, soft fluff

Word count: 2.4k

A/N: this is dedicated to the beautiful and kind @blackwidownat2814 because I love you so much and I know you wanted more of these two! You said you haven’t been feeling the best lately so I hope this cheers you up, even just a little 💜 photo credit @deardjo, banners by @vase-of-lilies

Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

“You’re on in five, Mr Barnes!” A voice calls to Bucky who’s getting ready in his dressing room.

Tonight’s a big night for him, appearing on Late Tonight with Alexander Pierce, his first late night talk show interview to promote his newest movie, and though the occasion is a significant one, Bucky looks as laid back as if it's just another day.

Bucky’s manager, Maria, is on what Bucky calls one of her rampages, listing off a million and one last minute reminders about what to endorse in the interview and the specific phrasing the producer wants him to use when introducing the movie.

You know it by heart as you were the one practising with him in the car on the way to the studio. You knew Bucky was better at memorising lines than he had let on, he is a professional actor after all, but it made your stomach tingle with butterflies to think he was purposely messing up the lines to get you to laugh and playfully reprimand him.

As Maria continues her one sided conversation, Bucky looks over her shoulder at you and makes a silly face, poking out his tongue, making you chuckle. He’s such an idiot sometimes, but he never fails to make you smile, even during a time where he should arguably be tense and not paying any mind to relaxing your nerves.

“As always I’ve given them a list of topics which are off limits but if he asks you anything you don’t want to answer...” Maria continues, you’re unsure if she’s immune to Bucky’s goofiness and is ignoring him, or if she’s too preoccupied to even notice.

“I know the drill Maria. Don’t you trust me?”

Maria gives Bucky a look, and even though she has her back to you, you know her well enough to sense the stern glare she’s throwing at him. Though, she’s never been intimidating enough to scare Bucky who’s still cheekily grinning like a ten year old thinking they’ve gotten away with a prank.

“You’re a mischief maker, so no I don't, not when it comes to live interviews.” Her phone starts ringing, saving Bucky from the rest of her spiel. “And fix your goddamn tie before you go on, you look like a troublesome schoolboy!” She calls back into the dressing room as she excuses herself to take the call.

“C’mere.” You step closer to Bucky and pull him the rest of the way towards you by tugging on the end of his tie. When he’s this close the scent of his deep, smokey cologne seems to overpower all your other senses and makes it hard to focus. “I swear I’ve shown you how to do this a thousand times.”

“Maybe I just like when you pull me close and do it for me.” Your cheeks heat like the sun and you shyly break eye contact to look at the floor, a feeling that’s all too familiar when you’re around Bucky, but is still a reaction you haven’t mastered in concealing from him. You suspect he does it on purpose.

You’re saved from having to form a sentence in your flustered state by someone shouting “Barnes, two minutes!” from the hall.

“That’s my cue. See you in a bit.” You can sense the smile in his voice, even when you’re bashfully staring at the ground.

You turn and watch him stride out of the room, your arms finding their way around your middle, hugging yourself as if Bucky’s departure results in you losing a part of yourself you’re desperately trying to hold onto.

Before he can disappear into the corridor, Bucky looks back at you, an instinctive smile tugging at the corners of his mouth when he finds you already looking at him. He shoots you a wink before making his way towards the stage.

You turn the television in the dressing room on to watch the interview, but you can hear the clapping and cheering of the audience resounding through the entire studio as Bucky’s introduced.

He aces the first part of the interview, introducing the film word for word from the script provided by the movie producers, and describing the action packed teaser scene shown for the first time on the show. You breathe a sigh of relief as they cut to the advertisements, knowing everything so far has gone to plan and Bucky only has to get through a couple more minutes before he’ll rejoin you in his dressing room.

When the show comes back from the ad break, Bucky and Alex are laughing about something he must have said before the cameras were rolling. He looks happy, relaxed, that infectious smile of his plastered from ear to ear.

“So, we all want to know, have you got anyone special in your life? Is the devilishly handsome, notorious ladies man Bucky Barnes single?” Alexander asks eagerly and the crowd buzzes in anticipation waiting for his response.

Your stomach churns with a new wave of nerves - you know for a fact that this is on the list of no go topics, yet the host has no qualms in asking it.

Bucky doesn’t let the concern for the hosts' blatant disregard of his boundaries translate to his features, but you know him well enough to tell that the forced smile, small chuckle he lets slip out and slight change in his posture means he’s extremely uncomfortable with the probing question.

“I like to keep my personal life private. I already share so much of my life with my fans, but there are certain things I want to keep just for myself.” Bucky answers firmly, maintaining the strict boundary whilst also remaining polite.

There’s a moment of respite from your nerves, believing Bucky’s answer to be sufficient to shut down whatever Pierce is attempting to gain from the unsolicited question, but his next words bring the anxiety back with full vigour.

“I think that’s code for: yes, he’s in a relationship.” Pierce addresses the crowd, who starts ‘awwing’ in response. “Want to let us know who the lucky lady is?”

“No, that’s not what I-” Bucky tries to insist, but Pierce rudely interrupts to ask the next question. You can see Bucky’s jaw clench, even through the small screen you're currently watching from. Though he’s simply a room away, it feels like an entire galaxy in distance when he’s in front of cameras and you’re unable to do anything to subside his annoyance which is quickly turning into rage.

“The other burning question our fans had for you was the origin of your prosthetic arm - you’ve never explained how you lost your limb and of course we’re all intrigued by the mystery. I think now is the perfect opportunity to set the record straight.” Pierce looks at Bucky expectantly as if he had simply asked what day of the week it was.

If there is one hard no Bucky would never answer publically it was the story surrounding how he lost his arm.

You can see the anger bubbling in his chest, but most of all the pain, the grievous misery he’s trying so hard to disguise in his eyes. He desperately doesn’t want to break down in front of the entire world.

“That’s not a question I’m willing to answer.” Bucky replies in a faint, cracking voice. Standing up, to the gasps and murmurs of the audience, Bucky takes off his microphone pack, leaving it on the host's desk, and walks off the stage without another word.

You hear Pierce claim “I guess that’s just Bucky Barnes living up to his roguish ways” with a laugh before shutting off the tv, scrambling to gather your things and go find where Bucky headed off to when the door swings open.

Bucky stands tall and broad in the doorway, but you’ve never seen him look so small.

As he closes the door behind him you hear a sniffle and your instincts immediately kick in - he’s barely turned around to face you again before you’ve pulled him into a bone crunching hug. Your heart breaks sharply in your chest as you hear the wrenching sob he finally lets out.

Tears sting behind your eyes as you feel Bucky’s chest heave with his weeping, but you do your best to pull yourself together. You have to be the strong one here, Bucky’s the one in unimaginable pain.

The door bursts open but Bucky doesn’t let go of you to look at who it is. Maria stands there with a combination of fury and concern mixed in her eyes, as well as sympathy as she observes Bucky’s large frame crying into your shoulder. She silently raises her eyebrows as if to ask if you think he’ll be okay.

“I’ll take care of him, you go berate them for what they did.” You suggest, and even though it’s unlike Maria to do anything without disagreeing and recommending her own approach first, she nods and backs out of the dressing room.

You stand there, softly rubbing Bucky’s back and whispering sweet nothings into his ear, as he cries into your shoulder. Your heart, which Bucky already owns completely, shatters alongside his.

“How could he?” Bucky asks with an invigorated sob. You wish you could alleviate all his pain, even by taking it on yourself, just so he wouldn’t have to bear the burden. You squeeze him tighter in attempts to convey the sentiment.

However, you’re unsure how to answer his question because you yourself don’t understand how someone could be so cold-hearted to shamelessly mortify Bucky with the most traumatic event of his life in front of the entire world, especially after specifically prohibiting the topic.

“I dunno Buck, but he’ll never get the opportunity again, you hear me? You’ll never have to be in the same room as that shithead ever again.” You hope your words bring Bucky some comfort, but as this wound is so raw, the ache so fresh, you’re not sure there are any combination of words that can stop his pain.

You stay with him as long as he needs you to, slowly rubbing circles over his back, until eventually his sobs subside and his breathing slows to normal.

“C’mon, let me drive you home.”

“Home sounds good.” Bucky comments, but by the way he’s nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck and how he’s holding you tight against him, it doesn’t seem like he’s in a rush to get there.

After a few extra moments where you cherish simply holding each other without Bucky’s movements as he wept, you pull back, taking an additional second to admire just how blue his eyes are, even if they are tinted slightly red from crying, and how they look at you with a fondness that makes your knees weak, you whisper “let’s get outta here”.

The drive to Bucky’s house isn’t too long, especially this late at night. You attempt to prevent Bucky from reading any headlines about the situation, but with the exception of tossing his phone out the window of the moving car, there’s not much you can do.

“I swear it’s all everyone sees, what Maria loves to push for publicity - the supposed playboy with a mysterious past because he won’t talk about how he lost his fucking arm, I hate it.” His voice is full of exasperation and it makes you want to pull him back into another hug.

“It’s not what everyone sees, Buck.”

“Really, who doesn’t?” Me, you want to declare, but you question the implications of saying it aloud and the word dies in the back of your throat. You’re his assistant, just his assistant, and it’s inappropriate and unprofessional for you to infer otherwise.

“The people who genuinely care about you and know the real you - your Ma, Becks.” Is what you say instead. Your eyes are focussed on the dimly lit road ahead of you so you miss the downcast look Bucky throws your way, as if he was hoping you’d have answered his question differently.

“Yeah, I guess.” Is all he mumbles before sitting in quiet contemplation for the rest of the short drive to his house.

The silence gives your mind time to regret what you didn’t say, and wish for that time back again. Will there ever be a perfect time to tell him how you feel? How he makes your cheeks ache with how much he gets you to smile in his presence; how your eyes are always searching for him in a crowded room, and that your stomach somersaults when out of everyone, you’re the person he makes eye contact with before smiling; how no matter what time, day or night, you’d drop everything and anything if he needed you.

As if sensing your mental suffering, Bucky places his hand atop yours on the gear stick, still not saying a word, but the action itself calms the storm of anxiety building in your chest.

You pull up in his driveway and turn off the car, unsure if you should get out and help him inside, or if he just wants his space. You give him time to make up his mind, but your doubt is answered almost as soon as the rumbling of the engine ceases.

“Can you stay with me tonight? I don’t wanna be alone right now.” You’re sure you’ll never be able to say no to Bucky Barnes, but when his eyes look as fragile as a bubble floating in the wind, ready to pop at any given second, all you want is to pull him close and keep him safe forever.

Behind that fragility is uncertainty, unsure if you’ll agree to stay or not, and even though you weren’t sure it was possible, your heart cracks a little more after the events of the night knowing that he doubts whether you’d do absolutely anything for him.

“Whatever you need, Buck.”

“I just want you.”

“You have me. You’ll always have me.” And you mean that, with your entire being.

You get out of the car and snake your arm around his back, he does the same to you. You walk arm in arm through his front door, treasuring the warmth of his closeness and forcing the romantic implications to the back of your mind.

Those can be discussed tomorrow. Right now, he just needs you.

Part 3 > >

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