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witchywithwhiskey · 2 days ago

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what good girls get after movie night

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

summary: movie night in avengers tower gets interesting when you and bucky barnes test the limits of your secret relationship.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), thunderbolts* spoilers, smut, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, vaginal fingering, edging/orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, come eating, semi-public fooling around (under a blanket during movie night), 'need to be quiet so we don't get caught' trope, sneaking around/secret relationship, dirty talk, light degradation, praise kink, teasing, biting, pet names (sweetheart, baby), established relationship, both bucky and reader are members of the new avengers—let me know if i missed something!

word count: 3.1k

a/n: here's my first ever entry for @buckybarnesevents's Hot Bucky Summer event!! idk yet how many weeks i'll be able to write for, but i'm gonna try to do a couple at least. and to start us off, we've got a very dirty Bucky Barnes and some New Avengers tower shenanigans 😅 hope y'all enjoy! ♡

prompt: “Mind your own damn business.�� | [Secret Sex/Relationship | Embarrassment | Denial]

It was movie night in Avengers Tower—or rather, New Avengers Tower—and you plopped down in one of the end seats of the overstuffed couches in the lounge.

You always made sure to show up early so you didn’t end up crammed between John Walker and Ava Starr. Their bickering could ruin any movie.

Sure enough, the pair entered the lounge not long after you, arguing about who won some sparring match during their training that day, and whether it was cheating for Ava to use her powers. She was threatening to phase into his room and stab him while he slept as they took their seats on another couch.

You breathed a sigh of relief that they weren’t sitting near you. The seat next to you was still open, and you had hopes for who would take it—though you tried not to look hopeful as the others filtered in.

Alexei Shostakov, Yelena Belova and Bob Reynolds entered the lounge a few minutes later. Yelena flopped down on the floor, while Bob sat on the couch closest to her, the two of them having a conversation that was much more civil than the continued bickering between John and Ava, which had devolved into threats of bodily harm.

Alexei went straight for the remote to the massive TV before settling into the lounge’s only recliner armchair. Everyone had long ago agreed that was always his spot because he fell asleep five minutes into the movie and snored like a fighter jet mid-battle.

Just before Alexei hit play on the movie, Bucky Barnes slipped into the lounge and took the empty seat next to you. Immediately, your heart began to beat a little faster, and you tried to hide your joy as you looked around at the others on the team.

You’d spent hours wondering whether everyone else knew you and Bucky were sneaking around together, trying to keep your relationship secret so it wouldn’t get back to Valentina Allegra de Fontaine. Neither you nor Bucky knew how Val would react, and you both figured it was easier not to find out.

That night, no one was paying you and Bucky any mind—Yelena was snapping at John to shut up while Alexei’s recliner creaked loudly as he settled into it. You figured they either hadn’t noticed how close Bucky was sitting to you, or they didn’t care.

Knowing The New Avengers as you did, you truly couldn’t determine which was more likely to be true.

Finally, the movie began. The sound was turned up to a nearly deafening level, and you let your worries about what the team did or didn’t know fall away.

A few minutes in, Bucky grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and he casually tossed it over the two of you. When you looked at him and caught his eye, the ghost of a smirk danced at the edge of his mouth, and you shot him the barest smile in return.

Glancing around the room, you made sure everyone was engrossed in the movie before curling into Bucky’s side. You threw your legs over his thigh while his metal arm wrapped around your shoulders, tucking you into his body.

Ducking your head, you hid a pleased smile as you got comfortable. Your body relaxed into Bucky, your fingers holding the blanket up to your chin so it covered as much of your entwined limbs as possible.

Snuggled up with your secret boyfriend, you settled in to watch the movie in peace. But Bucky had other ideas.

While everyone else was focused on the TV, Bucky shifted so he was curled more around you, his hand slipping onto your knee beneath the blanket.

Just that touch had tingles of warmth dancing up your thighs to settle heavily between your legs, your body already beginning to crave Bucky’s. But with the team littered throughout the room, you did your best to ignore your reaction to Bucky’s touch.

Then, oh so slowly, Bucky began to slide his hand up your thigh. His palm was blazingly hot through the thin cotton of your leggings, teasing you with his heat when you truly wanted him to be touching your bare skin.

The higher his hand got, the less you could ignore it. Especially when his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thigh, earning a choked whine from you.

“Bucky,” you gasped on the softest exhale you could manage, well aware that there were two other super-soldiers in the room. No matter how loud the TV was, there was always a chance someone would hear you, or—god forbid—sense you another way. “We can’t.”

Lifting your head, you looked around the lounge with quick, sharp eyes.

Thankfully, Alexei was already asleep, the loud rumbling of his snores drowning out the quieter moments of the movie. Bob looked totally engrossed in the TV and Yelena was playing with one of her knives while she kept an eye on Ava and John, who were bickering again, though about what you couldn’t tell.

“Shh, sweetheart, watch the movie,” Bucky murmured teasingly in your ear, clearly having done his own sweep of the room and noting that no one was paying any attention to the two of you.

Bucky took advantage of the team’s distraction to slide his hand even higher up your thigh, until his big palm was cupping your pussy through your leggings. It was all you could do to bite down on your plush lower lip and hold back the sharp gasp that wanted to escape. His hand was so big and it felt so good pressing between your thighs.

A smirk slashed across Bucky’s face, his hungry eyes watching your expression closely so he could devour each and every one of your reactions. He pressed his fingers into your throbbing slit, watching as your lips dropped open and your eyes went hazy from the pleasure pulsing in your pussy.

He kept rubbing your cunt, and you knew the moment he realized you weren’t wearing any panties under your leggings because a soft growl rumbled in his chest. You’d already soaked through your leggings, and you were certain his fingers were growing wetter and wetter with every swipe of your pussy.

“You’re such a little slut, baby,” Bucky purred, ducking his head so his mouth was right against your cheek. You could feel the rasp of his stubble against your skin, and you squirmed on his lap, trapping his hand between your thighs, which only made him chuckle. “You wanted this, didn’t you, sweetheart?”

His words were so condescending and filthy, they had your heart racing in your chest, battering against your ribs. Embarrassment heated your cheeks, but you didn’t protest Bucky’s accusation—because he was right. You had foregone wearing panties hoping it would give Bucky easier access to do exactly what he was doing.

“You wanted to fool around during movie night, didn’t you, baby?” Bucky murmured, his impish grin pressed into your cheek. “You wanted me to rub your bare pussy through your leggings while the rest of the team are right here.”

It was so dirty, what the two of you were doing, but you didn’t want to stop. So even though his last words weren’t a question, you nodded. You lifted your eyes and looked at Bucky from under your lashes, letting him see all the naked desire in your expression.

Bucky’s grin widened, turning wolfish and hungry as his eyes sparkled in the dim blue light of the TV. His hand rubbed your pussy harder, thumb pressing tight circles into your clit, dragging you tenaciously toward the edge of your release.

“They could catch us at any second,” he warned, his voice still low enough that only you could hear. “And then they’d know just what a filthy little slut you are for me, huh?”

“Bucky, please,” you rasped on a stifled sob, turning your head and burying your face in Bucky’s neck. Your shoulders trembled, fingers curling into fists as you clung to his t-shirt. The pleasure rolling through your body was made even more overwhelming by the need to keep quiet.

“Don’t worry, baby, I won’t let them catch us,” Bucky rumbled soothingly, his hand between your thighs slowing to draw out your pleasure. “You just be a good little slut—stay quiet and let me play with your sweet, greedy cunt during the movie.”

“Yes, sir,” you whispered into Bucky’s neck, pressing a kiss to his skin as you spread your legs wider for him beneath the blanket.

“Good girl,” he cooed against your temple, making you quiver from the pleasure.

For a long while, Bucky rubbed your dripping cunt through your leggings, getting the fabric soaking wet while stoking your pleasure to a constant, burning heat. He was merciless, playing with your clit and your puffy pussy lips as if trying to get you to slip up and make a sound.

For your part, all you could do was try to be good. You muffled your moans in the warmth of Bucky’s neck, huffing out soft mewls and breathless whimpers that were drowned out by the movie playing on the TV and Alexei’s snores.

When you thought Bucky was going to edge you like that for the entire movie, he pulled his hand from between your thighs. Without warning, everything sharpened around you, your mind surfacing from the haze of constant pleasure.

Despite the reprieve from his torture, you nearly whined at the sudden loss of Bucky’s touch. Your fingers curled tighter in the soft cotton of his t-shirt and you were about to say something—but then he hooked his fingers around the waistband of your leggings and slid his big hand inside.

Bucky’s warm, calloused fingers pushed between the messy, swollen lips of your pussy, and the feeling was so good—so filthy and exquisite—that you were nearly helpless to it. At the last second, you ducked your head and sank your teeth into the hard muscle of his pecs to stifle the moan that demanded to spill free.

A grunt came from Bucky when you bit him, and you lifted your head in time to catch him glancing furtively around the room. When it was clear that everyone else was distracted by the movie or each other, you both breathed a sigh of relief.

Bucky’s fingers, which had stilled against your pussy, slipped deeper between your thighs. Two pushed into your hole, spearing you open and sinking inside you to the knuckle. They stretched you deliciously, stroking against your sensitive inner walls, and for a moment, you forgot yourself.

“Oh god, Bucky,” you breathed on a sigh of delight, pushing your face into his neck in a belated attempt to muffle your sounds of pleasure. He smelled like salt and leather and you wanted to lick him and moan with abandon.

“Shh, ya gotta be quiet, sweetheart,” Bucky chided you, his tone warm with affectionate teasing. “You don’t want anyone catching us, do you?”

Pleasure was throbbing through your body, so sharp and insistent, you could hardly bring yourself to care about getting caught anymore. You just wanted some relief—you wanted to come.

“Need you,” you whined as quietly as you could manage. “Please,” you begged pitifully, tugging weakly on Bucky’s shirt, as if that would sway him toward giving you what you wanted.

A reprimanding growl rumbled in Bucky’s chest and when he spoke, his mouth brushed against your ear, his words filling your head.

“If you can be a good girl and be quiet for the rest of the movie, I’ll take you back to my room and show you what good girls get,” he said, and then, as if deciding to make his point even clearer, he went on. “Good girls get to come on my big, fat cock while I spill my seed in their greedy, hungry cunt.”

His words were a lightning bolt straight to your pussy, and you nearly moaned again. You had to bite down on the base of Bucky’s throat to stifle the sound, and as soon as it passed, you pulled your mouth away to respond.

“I can be good—I can be good, I swear,” you promised in a rushed babble, a whine in your tone as you nodded your head against Bucky’s shoulder.

“Good girl,” Bucky purred in your ear, his metal arm tightening around your shoulders and tucking you deeper into his chest. All the while, his fingers fucked your dripping hole slowly, torturously, ramping up your pleasure before easing you back down.

Bucky brought you to the edge three more times before the movie ended, rumbling in your ear to be a good girl and not come on his fingers so he could reward you later. It was a near thing each time, but you managed it, your body trembling more and more beneath the blanket concealing your bodies.

He’d let you wind down after each edge while he slipped his hand from your leggings and licked your desire from his fingers. His eyes would glimmer with barely leashed lust as he held your gaze, making you watch him taste you while you quivered in his arms. Then he’d start the process all over again.

By the time the movie was over, you were wound so tight, you knew you’d explode the second Bucky slid his cock into your aching, hungry cunt. And you couldn’t wait another minute for that release.

The second the credits began to roll, you yanked Bucky’s hand from your leggings, the super-soldier letting you free his fingers with a low chuckle. Then you tossed the blanket off your overheated bodies and hopped up, heading straight for the door with Bucky hot on your heels.

“Where are you two going?” John called as you tried to make a hasty escape, drawing all eyes to you and Bucky. “Don’t tell me you guys are tired already, we only watched one movie! Bucky might be ancient, but what’s your excuse, rookie?”

“Mind your own damn business, Walker,” you snarled, hurling the comment over your shoulder as you picked up your pace.

You didn’t care anymore if the team knew about you and Bucky and what you got up to when you were alone in the tower. All you could think about was the pounding pulse between your thighs and your need for release.

Looking over your shoulder, you caught Bucky’s eye, and he looked just as desperate and hungry as you felt. With a jolt of understanding, you realized he didn’t care if anyone else knew either, and the thought made you smile happily at him. His wolfish grin answered you and urged you on.

As the two of you retreated from the lounge, you heard John whining to the others, “What’d I say?” The last thing you heard was everyone else—save for Alexei, who was still asleep in his chair—laugh at him.

Once you were out of sight of the team, Bucky hauled you over his shoulder and took off. He jogged through the winding hallways of the tower until he got to his room. There, he pushed quickly through the door and locked it behind him, before tossing you down on the bed.

“Leggings off now, unless you want me to tear them off you,” Bucky growled, already yanking his clothes off.

You grinned at his impatience, as if he wasn’t the one who’d tortured you for the last two hours by edging you during movie night. But you decided to save your teasing for later, because you wanted him too badly to say anything. Instead, you just tore of your own clothes as quickly as you could.

Then Bucky was on you, his hips bullying between your legs, his cock smacking against your wet, needy pussy. Your thighs spread wide to welcome him into your body, your lips parting on an obscene moan when he crushed you into the bed with his heavy form.

In one thrust, he was inside you, and you let loose an uninhibited scream of pleasure that filled his room, bouncing off the walls and shattering the stillness of the night.

Just as you’d predicted, you came the moment Bucky slid home inside your pussy, your release helped along by the way he was grinding the base of his cock into your clit. He knew exactly what he was doing, pushing you over the edge with relentless efficiency.

And you were helpless to it. The pleasure coursing through you, crashing over you in blissful waves had you trembling and whimpering beneath him, riding out the overwhelming release with your thighs wrapped tight around his waist.

“That’s it, sweetheart, you’re coming like a perfect little slut on my cock,” Bucky praised you, brushing kisses to your cheeks before capturing your lips in a filthy kiss. “You were such a good girl, so quiet and perfect for me while I played with your pretty pussy.”

Bucky started rolling his hips, thrusting into you with deep strokes of his cock, filling you up over and over again. You could feel the twitching and throbbing of his hard length, but he didn’t let up, just set a brutal pace, pounding into your cunt. Before your release had even fully subsided, he was urging you toward another.

Gripping your jaw in one hand while he braced himself on his metal arm, Bucky held your face still, his eyes locked on yours. There was a promise of pleasure in his feral gaze, in the slash of a smirk on his face, and you couldn’t help the eager grin that pulled at your lips at his next words.

“Now it’s time for me to show you what good girls get after movie night.”

Bucky Barnes was a man of his word, and show you he did. He fucked you long and hard, making you come so many times you lost count, until the evidence of your pleasure was seen in the uncontrollable quivering of your exhausted thighs and the amount of come—both his and yours—making a mess as it spilled from your body.

Meanwhile, the rest of the New Avengers team gave Bucky’s room a wide berth for the night. They all had a good idea about what the two of you got up to when you slipped away from the others to be alone; they all knew about your “secret” relationship and your not-so-secret cuddling during movie night. (Thankfully, that was all they knew about.)

Well, everyone knew about you and Bucky Barnes except John Walker. But he was always the last to figure out anything.

All told, it was a pretty standard movie night in the New Avengers Tower.

thanks for reading!! comments and reblogs are always appreciated ♡

#hotbuckysummer2025 #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #witchywithwhiskeywork #established relationship #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan characters #sebastian stan #thunderbolts #the new avengers

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dcxdpdabbles · 2 days ago

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DCxDP Fanfic idea: The Fib

Danny Fenton has told many lies to conceal his secret. It was hard at first, considering Danny had never been good at lying, but over the years, he improved.

In fact, he got so good, he couldn't stop letting fibs fall from his mouth anymore. Sometimes he wasn't even sure why he lied, since it had nothing to do with Phantom.

It was almost a natural response whenever he felt nervous or stressed. Or whenever a stranger asked a question about himself, and suddenly, Danny was two minutes into a hilarious story that never happened. He heard himself, but he couldn't stop.

At one point, Danny found himself lying awake at night, mentally reviewing every conversation he had had, wondering why he had said what he had said. He started to worry when he couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't.

It seemed most days, when he spoke, it was about an entirely entertaining memory he wanted to retell, only for Tucker to cut in, confused. "That never happened."

Danny would grow quiet, generally confused, staring at his best friend with wide eyes. "Sure it did. Don't you remember?"

But Tucker didn't. Neither did Sam, and the phrase "That never happened" became a staple in their conversations. So did eye rolls, scoffs, mocking smiles, and short, tried frowns.

They didn't like that he lied so often, and soon they didn't believe him. No matter what Danny chatted about, he could tell that his best friends found fault in nearly all his conversations. Little by little, Danny's lies piled and piled until he forced himself to not speak.

If he didn't speak, then he couldn't lie. It seemed foolproof.

Until he found that he rarely spoke, and now his friends eyed him with worry instead of exasperation. The dread that grew in Danny's stomach was so overwhelming that more and more lies burst to life in his chest, smothered by his forced muteness.

Tucker and Sam were pulling away. Or it felt like it. Like a wall was being built between them, while a clock counted down to the little time he had left with them. The more he noticed the distance, the larger it seemed to grow, and soon he felt a twig of unease at the idea of Tucker or Sam asking to spend time with him outside of school.

He would find any excuse, any fib, about having to go straight home as soon as the dismissal bell rang. Danny would race home without letting them get a word in, desperate to escape everything and everyone.

Locked behind his bedroom door, Danny finally felt like he could breathe. He would often wander out of his room to deep clean the house, sometimes with music blaring from the speakers, and to grab meals, but most of his time was spent in his room.

His parents were happy he was taking his chores so seriously, to the point he would even do Jazz's until she moved away. Jazz felt pride when she caught him buried in textbooks, desperately trying to smother out the little voice whispering in his mind.

Liar. Liar. Liar, liar, liar.

It was easier to block out that voice while studying. His grades improved dramatically as a result, even when he had to rush to fight a ghost.

When he caught up with his studying, he stumbled across Jazz's fantasy books. Stories of faraway lands with heroes who never buckled under any daunting circumstances. He felt comforted by their stories, and the hours passed as he flipped page after page.

Soon, Danny followed Jazz to the local library, searching for more and more novels. There wasn't a second that Danny didn't wish he weren't reading something, even when he was with Sam and Tucker.

Then Jazz showed him a website where fans wrote stories of their favorite books, movies, or comics. All accessed from the library computers or from home computers.

She called it fanfiction. He couldn't get enough of it.

In those small moments, Danny wasn't lying. He wasn't panicked over something he couldn't pinpoint. He wasn't watching his every word, his every action, or the room. He wasn't cleaning or studying like he was being held at gunpoint.

He was happy. He was safe.

He was also sinking further and further into a shell. Now he searched for corners of the rooms, for places that provided internet access, and for bags that allowed him to carry books and journals.

Having the controllable urge to lie turned out to make one an excellent storyteller, and Danny was trying his hand at his own fan fiction from his favorite book series.

Danny's friends still tried to pull Danny away from the corner of the room, away from his phone screen, which was the only thing keeping him calm among the crowds. Crowds now scared Danny in a way he's never encountered before.

Not even when fighting ghosts. Those were easy fears. He just had to punch them hard enough. But the way his stomach dropped when he noticed how many people were in the room was much harder to deal with.

His bullies didn't seem to care that Danny was getting worse. In fact, ever since he got an award for being one of the top scorers in the overall grade, they doubled down. Danny had just been a dork before, but suddenly he became smart.

Brighter than any of them. That seemed to be a personal insult to the other students. How could they lose to a loser? Now, it wasn't just Dash hurling insults or stuffing him into a locker; instead, the entire school seemed to grow hostile.

Sam and Tucker snapped and sneered at anyone who insulted Danny, still supporting him in both his civilian life and his ghostly existence, even if it felt like they were closer to each other than he was, but it wasn't enough.

His parents were starting to worry, asking him day after day if anything was wrong, but Danny couldn't put into words where and how it all went wrong. So he started snapping. Growing defensive.

Practically hissing when his mother or father so much as made an inquiry about his day. Nevertheless, it ended in numerous screaming matches and multiple groundings.

Two years passed, and Danny wasn't showing any signs of approval. He didn't really talk to Tucker or Sam outside of school anymore. They were friendly, but only in class and during breaks, because Danny hadn't put in the necessary effort to keep their friendship as strong as it once was.

He had burned the bridge between them, and Danny wasn't sure how to begin rebuilding it. Life had become dull, with reading and writing being the only sources of joy.

Everything else felt like a chore. School. Friends. Parents. Ghost duties. Something he had to do but didn't really enjoy. It worried him, just as his lying did.

Why was he like this? Why couldn't he feel as happy as he was when he was a kid? He no longer wanted to work with NASA. Or anywhere. He didn't have dreams or hopes for the future like he had when he was fourteen. Where had all of that gone?

He approached Jazz about it when he turned sixteen. His sister was away at university, working on her degree in psychology, and figured she had a better chance of understanding what was wrong with him. She had gone away sooner than he had thought, as she passed the exam to skip a few grades and started college earlier.

Jazz had been one of the few awarded a full-ride scholarship to Gotham U, the best school in the country for Psychology. He'd been so proud of her.

His stories online had grown both in quality and following. It felt like it was the only level of validation and happiness in his bleak life.

"I think you're in a rut," Jazz had said. " A change of scenery would do you good. Have you thought about my offer?"

A couple of months ago, before Danny's junior year started, his sister had placed a folder on his desk. It contained bank statements for an account she started for him, titled "Danny's education," and information for the same scholarship she had gotten.

Wayne Scholars were for the university or for Gotham Academy (the high school for the rich and elite that would eventually become Gotham U). She wanted him to try for the scholarship and moved to Gotham with her.

Got out of Amity Park, away from the ghosts and the bullies, claiming now that their parents had taken down the Ghost Portal as ordered by the Justice League Dark, Danny didn't have a reason to stay.

Danny breathes deeply. "Okay. I'll go to Gotham."

He got the scholarship. Tucker and Sam had congratulated him with a cake in the school parking lot- it was the wrong flavor. Danny hadn't liked strawberry cake since he was fifteen. He preferred chantilly cakes now, and they seemed relieved when he declined going out to eat to celebrate.

There really wasn't anything left for him here.

It was easy enough to move into the dorms that Mr. Wayne had built for his scholarship awardees; Jazz lived in the neighboring building as a college student. The city was large, with a whole lot more to do than Amity Park ever did.

Jazz seemed to make it her goal to show him everything in the first month, and he found himself breathing more easily with each passing day. His sister, now more mature and confident in herself in a way she hadn't been back at home, became his rock.

She listened to him babble about his fanfictions for hours, came over to watch movies, and talk about cute boys or girls. Jazz had come out as bisexual, which surprised Danny, if only because it started making him think about how he tended to have similar thoughts to hers when it came to attractive girls and boys.

He became close to Jazz, just as he had been with Sam and Tucker, and it didn't take long for him to realize he had finally found a best friend again. He hadn't told a lie in a long time. His grades were still high even if he wasn't the top anymore; the material was much more complex than Amity's, so he wasn't number one, but he was up there, and he wasn't losing himself in fantasies as often anymore.

Kids at Gotham Academy seemed content to ignore him, so Danny had no bullies. His sister helped him get a makeover at her girlfriend's fashion boutique. Gone were the baggy clothes that he used to hide behind and find comfort in, and in which the trendy outfits were pieced together to make him stand out.

Sally, Jazz's girlfriend, knew how to make someone feel good in their own skin, having studied fashion and worked as a personal style assistant.

Life was starting to gain color again. He was feeling good.

Until he ran into his first ghost.

Thankfully, the ghost wasn't the violent sort, but she did seem excited to be seen. Danny had learned from Jazz that, outside of highly potent ectoplasm locations, such as Amity Park, most ghosts could not be seen, heard, or felt.

It's why his parents weren't able to find proof of ghosts despite moving to the most haunted city in the USA until the portal came into play. Gotham, with all its death and danger, surprisingly had very low levels of ectoplasm, but Jazz theorized it was due to another force smothering the natural ectoplasm.

She claimed Gotahm was cursed and that he was stealing natural resources like ectoplasm. Danny had yet to find proof of this curse, and he didn't exactly believe in it.

The only reason Danny or Jazz could see ghosts at all was due to the years of exposure from their parents' experiments, as well as the few years they spent bathing in the Ghost Portal's residue. It was easy to tell them apart from other people.

They had all the characteristics of the ghosts Danny was familiar with —oddly colored skin, a glow around them, and dressed in odd outfits —but the ghosts formed in low-level ectoplasm areas lacked powers beyond the top three.

Invisiblity, flight, and intangibility.

Jazz advises him to not react to them, otherwise people would think they were crazy, just like Amity Town once called his parents the town freaks. Neither of them wanted to relive that particular part of their childhood.

"I just want my son to know about the safe I hid in Old Gotham, inside the Seven Ring Hotel. It's in room 209, behind the wall in the bathroom. It's still there, I check on it every day, and he must get to it before they take down the building next month! Please, please pass on the message. " The ghost follows after Danny as he scrambles to get to class. He made the mistake of making eye contact with her, and now she wouldn't leave him alone. "Please, I swear I'll leave you be afterwards."

Danny struggles to keep his face even as she flouts near his locker, attempting to block his view of it. He grabs his books, stopping only to adjust his uniform blazer in the locker mirror, and catches sight of one of his classmates staring at him in the reflection.

Throughout his transfer, a solid five months in, with summer break fast approaching, he had noticed that the guy was always watching him. He isn't sure what he did to grab Jason Todd's attention, but the rumors flying around school didn't paint a good image of him.

He was the ward of the man paying for Danny's education, but there were rumors of him being involved with street gangs and other crimes while he was on the streets. Whispers of Bruce Wayne only taking him in on the suspicion that Todd was his bastard, after his mother had overdosed, only to find the boy stealing tires and running drugs.

Danny didn't mind the rumors too much, but Todd was a year younger than Danny and thus didn't share any classes together. They only passed by each other in the hallway.

He glances over his shoulder to give the kid a nod. Todd practically leaps out of his skin at the acknowledgment, throwing his locker door closed and racing away, flushed at being caught staring.

The ghost at his side, a beautiful blond woman, gasps. "That was him! My son! Oh, Jason looks so smart in his uniform. I wish I could tell him how proud I am. I never got an education, you know. I fell into drugs and ruined my chances, but my boy. He's got out of Crime Alley. I wish I could hug him. "

Danny pauses, closes his eyes in defeat, and turns to run after the fleeing kid. He doesn't quite think of what he was going to say once he caught up to him, but he couldn't just ignore Catherine anymore. Not when her voice wobbled like that.

"Hey! Wait up!" He calls, causing a few people to turn to him, but once they realize he's speaking to Todd, they look away. Though many are obviously eavesdropping, and that causes a familiar stone to drop in his stomach.

It's been five months. He hated how quickly it came back.

"Yes?" Todd says breathlessly as Danny just stares at him.

Suddenly, words vanish from his mind, and Danny feels old habits spring up before he can stop himself. Words burn on his tongue, and a fib flies off of it before he can figure out why. "Are you free this weekend? I heard the Seven Ring hotel was going to be torn down. Want to go on an exploring date?"

"What-um-yes hello." Todd gasps like he's choking on the words. "Wait, a date, like a romantic date?"

"Yeah. If you swing that way. I've been captivated by you for some time, ever since I saw you reading the Lock Down Series." Danny smiles, his face and body relaxing as if he hadn't been screeching on the inside.

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. What are you even saying?!

Catherine makes a noise of disapproval. "Now hang on a minute. Jason is too young to date."

At the same time, Todd lets out a nervous little laugh, "I do swing. That way, I mean. I swing many ways. I love going on dates. I'd be happy to go on a date with you. I'm Jason."

Danny's smile grows wider, a little amused that someone else is as adept at social interactions as he is. He glances at the clock, ignoring the fuming mother, to notice he's only got a minute before the next bell rings. "Great, I have class now, but I'll meet you on Saturday at five in front of the Gotham Horse statue? I'm Danny."

"Yes! I'll be there!" Todd calls towards his back, prompting Danny to raise a hand lazily over his shoulder. The second he sits at his desk, he has a panic attack.

"What have I done!?"

"That's what I want to know!" Catherine sneers, but Danny ignores her in favor of sending a panic text to Jazz.

Hopefully, his sister has advice on how to handle his latest fib.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #The Fib #Dead on Main #TW: pathological lying #tw: anxiety #TW: Escapism #Danny is going through some stuff #Baby Jason has a crush on the only openly bi boy in school #miscommunication #Catherine does not approve #tw: depression

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faestunna · 3 days ago

Note

Neeeed more of remmick calling reader pet names like sugar or darlin’

sweet as sugar

PAIRING: remmick x fem!reader

WC: 1.6k

WARNINGS: smut (18+), dom/sub, sir kink, thigh-riding, man-handling, dirty talk, slight humiliation, degradation, cum/spit play?, licking, oral/throat-fucking, crying, porn without plot

A/N: your wish is my command 😌 and i would like to thank luna for the wonderful and filthy discussion on this

masterlist

“Please,” you drag your voice out and pout your bottom lip, looking up at him through your lashes. Directly in between and underneath your legs is his thigh. You place nearly all of your weight on it.

It didn’t go by unnoticed. Remmick smirked down at you while his hand rested on your waist. “Please, what, darlin’?” You shivered at his touch. “Can’t treat you right if you don’t tell me what you want.”

You furrowed your brows; this was going to be harder than you thought. “You know what I want.” You squeezed your legs around his thigh, building the pressure on your core. The only barrier between you and him were his denim work pants and the cloth of your panties.

Remmick chuckles when he feels a warm wetness soak through his jeans and to his skin. He knows that feeling. “You’ll have to use your words, sweet girl.”

“Just wanna feel good.” Burying your face into his neck allows you to inhale the very scent of him. “You don’t even have to do anything,” you offer. The muscle of his thigh is as solid as stone. You shudder at the feeling against your clit. “I-I’ll do all the work.”

“That so, baby?” He smirks before leaning back in the seat. “Show me, then.”

And you do. You put on the entire show. You sit up and begin grinding your hips into his leg as hard as you possibly can. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought you were straddling the wood floors (again, because Remmick liked to see you beneath him).

His hand reaches under your slip and lifts it until he can see the soft curve of you tits before taking one into his palm. Your head tilts back, lips parting open in response. “How’s it feel, angel?”

“S-so good,” You quicken your speed, spreading your legs even wider to amplify the pressure on your clit. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, what?” He holds the slip up to your chest and watches the way your breasts move with the rest of you.

You gulp and knit your brows together as a burning sensation blossoms at your core. His jeans are even wetter somehow, only adding to how delicious it felt to ride his thigh.

“T-Thank you, sir.”

Remmick knows you too well. He knows that you speak a little higher and your legs tremble around him when you’re painfully close. “Anytime, sugar.”

As your impending orgasm nears, your body falls weak onto his chest, head resting on his shoulder. The only thing keeping you up are your hands gripping his arms, but they soon wrap around you. Remmick’s fingertips dig into your hips so hard that they’re surely a part of you now.

“I’m close,” you manage to say. “Wanna cum all over you.”

He starts to move your hips for you, grinding you against his thigh. Remmick glances down for just a moment to see the wet spot even bigger now. “Go ahead, darlin’. All over me like the little slut you are.”

Your breaths turn short and quick, and you swear your entire cunt just popped with pleasure. The burning in your veins turns into a sweet bliss as Remmick’s hands slow the movements, letting you ride it out. A euphoric grin falls over your face before he suddenly pulls you up and away from him. You pout.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, his hand firmly landing against the soft flesh over your ass. “You know what to do now. How’re you gonna thank me, pretty girl?”

He sets you down on the floor—beneath him again. Remmick’s trained you well enough that you begin to fumble with his belt before he tuts, “Now, wait. Ain’t you gonna clean your mess up?”

Hesitantly, you nod, and it’s clear you don’t know what he means. His hand finds its way to the back of your head, pushing your face down right to where you just straddled his thigh. You feel the wet spot on his jeans as he smears it against your cheek.

Then, it clicks. You flatten your tongue against the denim, ignoring how rough it feel against your taste buds. The flavor of your arousal floods your senses in a strange yet interesting way. “Told ya that you’re sweet. You taste it now, don’t you, baby?”

You nod, continuing to lick at your mess. No wonder Remmick would bury his face between your legs so often.

Sweet as sugar.

But before you can enjoy it anymore, his hand in your hair pulls your head up. His other hand is already undoing his belt, and he doesn’t have to tell you to pull his pants to his ankles. Remmick opens his legs a little, “Right here. There you go, honey.”

His cock twitches before you instinctively wrap your lips around it, only allowing yourself a small bit of him. You wanted to savor this. Your tongue swirls over his tip, feeling it pulse with a pressure you’d assume is painful. His hand pulls your hair and you look up at him.

He moans at the sight of it. There were times like this where Remmick let you have only the slightest bit of control, and you revelled in it.

But not for long. He’s much stronger than you, so you don’t stand a chance when his hand in your hair pushes your head down just like he did over his thigh, only this time, the impressive length of him took up nearly every space of your mouth. The corners of your lips slightly burned as you opened your jaw further to take him.

“Oh, darlin’,” his head tilts back once your nose touches his lower stomach. Tears pool at your eyes, a few even streaming down your cheek. Then, he pulls you back up again. “Fuck, that’s it, right there. My girl always makes me feel so good, don’t you?”

You try to nod, but fail as he pushes you down again. Then up, and then down. And it becomes a seemingly endless cycle. Not a single muscle in your body moves—Remmick does it all for you. Each time he presses you down on him, you sputter around his girth, strands of spit connecting you to the base when he pulls your head up.

He doesn’t let you take a single breath. You begin to squirm in between his legs, small, muffled moans falling from your lips and getting caught in the luscious connection.

Then, like a miracle, he pulls you away completely. Air rushes to your lungs, creating somewhat of a numb feeling over your face as your mind goes foggy. “Look at you,” Remmick cooes. His other hand begins stroking himself as he takes in the sight of you. “Little whore loves to have a cock in her mouth.”

You nod rapidly, tongue flat and mouth open, awaiting the sweet feeling of him painting your face. But after a few moments of nothing, you open your eyes, brows furrowed in confusion.

He chuckles before slamming your head back onto him, his full length completely blocking out anymore air from your lungs. The room is filled with the symphony of your small moans, sputters, and gags. “Music to my fucking ears.”

If you were able to, you’d curse him out. He holds your head down pressed against him, trapping between his arms and his abdomen. There’s no escape. Your eyes flutter shut when his hips begin to move themselves, somehow forcing himself even deeper in your throat.

“Nuh uh, baby,” he ruts into your mouth. “Keep em open. Want you to see how good you make me feel.”

Even with your eyes open, you struggle to see him through your tears. “Atta girl,” Remmick says, leaning over you and planting a firm slap to your ass again. His hips don’t stop, blocking any air for you. “Gonna fill you up like this, then I’ll fuck your little cunt and fill her up too.”

Something warm and wet drips down your leg. You mentally thank God Remmick couldn’t see it or else you wouldn’t hear the end of it.

His hips stutter for a few moments before completing stopping. He holds your head down with just his forearm, but it’s too much for you to fight. You didn’t even try to—you wanted as much of him as you could get. And, as a man of his word, Remmick fulfills his promise.

His release slides down your throat with ease, hot spurts hitting your insides and leaving you a slobbering mess. Your name falls from his lips like a prayer—a sinful one, at that—as the taste of him takes up every last space in your mouth and throat.

When he releases his grip, allowing you to pull away from him. His cock still glistens with a residual shine.

Remmick’s hand gently caresses your cheek, chest rising with heavy breaths before he wipes the drool from your chin with his thumb. He lowers it to his own lips and moans at the taste of it. A small bit leaks from the corner of his mouth.

“Now, who’s the one droolin’?” You lightheartedly snicker, somewhat hoping he wouldn’t enjoy a tease.

His eyes, playful and dark, turn into a deep shade of red as he grabs your face with his hand, forcing your puffy lips to pucker. “Well, if you wanna be like that, darlin’…”

With one hand, he lifts you from your knees, curling his arm around you and folding you over his lap. He lifts the fabric of your slip and gently rubs the curve of your ass with his palm. He lands another firm slap, enjoying how you yelp from the stinging in your skin.

“I’m sure I can snap you back into place.”

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luvergirl-535 · 1 day ago

Text

say when

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 5.0k

c/w - light smut, they get a little emo lol sorry

a/n - hi! as always, pls lmk what yall think, i love to hear from you guys <33 hope u enjoy babies. also, based off this prompt

paige bueckers is amazing at basically everything she’s ever done.

singing? they don’t call her p-yoncé for nothing. sports? she’s got trophies from every single one. basketball? her nil money speaks for itself. ipad? oh, she is so good at ipad. don’t even get her started about ipad.

she takes a lot of pride in her many, many talents. and her biggest one? the one she spends every day of her entire life living up to?

being azzi fudd’s dutiful, loyal, obsessed girlfriend.

so, one summer, when paige was in high school, her little sister got sick and their mom made paige stay home to babysit. which paige wouldn’t have minded, except it meant she had to sit on the couch and watch a full day’s worth of barbie life in the dreamhouse episodes. which is about five seasons too many, if you were to ask teenage paige.

but there was this sub-plot of the show (not that the show had a plot to begin with) in which barbie’s (boyfriend? side piece? fwb? paige has never been too sure), ken, is like, obsessed with her. his world revolves around her. so much so that he has this thing called ‘barbie senses’, and he literally senses when she needs help.

later that night, as paige complained to azzi over facetime about the stupid show and how she’d watched enough in one day to last her a lifetime, azzi had told paige that she’s like ken. when cool, nonchalant, totally-not-crushing-on-her-best-friend paige had replied incredulously, azzi’d just laughed and said, “you are. like with me. you have…azzi senses.” when she’d followed up with, “you just always know when i need you,” paige had internally declared that maybe the stupid show wasn’t so stupid after all.

even now, all these many years later, the sentiment sticks with paige. she’d never tell azzi, as she knows her girlfriend would tease her to an early grave about it, but she keeps it tucked away as one of her (again, many) talents.

and, well, paige’s azzi senses have been tingling for awhile now.

the tension started this morning, when paige had missed her alarm and woken up to a missed call. she’d texted her girlfriend good morning, letting her know she had to rush to class and that she’d call her later, which led azzi to believe she was purposely ignoring her, which got paige a little defensive, which ended in a baby argument. they said their i love you’s before hanging up but they haven’t really texted all day and paige doesn’t feel good about it.

maybe the tension actually started last night, when paige accidentally woke azzi up while she was sneaking out of her bed. she’d tried to be quiet, but her girlfriend ran a tight ship and woke up as soon as she realized paige was gone.

“what’re you doing?” she’d grumbled, and paige winced at how she already sounded cranky, likely due to the long day they’d had and the fact her knee was bothering her.

“uh,” paige said, and considered just crawling back into bed, but she really needed to be in her own room tonight, “i got classes early as hell, mama. i gotta sleep in my own bed.”

all of a sudden, azzi seemed much more awake than she did thirty seconds before. which scared paige, just a little. “what, you don’t sleep well with me or something?”

which in turn annoyed paige a little. “nah, baby, you know it’s not like that.”

to which azzi had sighed and turned over, her back facing paige as she huffed about something or other. paige didn’t let herself take it too serious, sure her girlfriend was just tired, and had given her a few kisses and an apology before leaving.

if she’s being honest with herself (which is not one of paige’s many talents, if you were wondering), the tension started a week ago, when azzi landed on her knee wrong in practice and got so scared that when they took her back to examine her, she ended up clawing at her own chest, unable to breathe, telling paige that she ‘can’t do this again, oh my god, i can’t fucking do this again, please.’

it was nothing, a minor sprain that happened to hurt a lot, and everybody was incredibly fucking relieved. but azzi was still benched for the week as a precaution, and her already fucked-up knee was bothering her more than a healthy knee would, and whenever paige tried to bring it up she’d say something along the lines of, “it’s fine, paige, just scared me a little.”

so, yeah. paige’s azzi senses are tingling bad. it’s almost painful. she’s decided, now that it’s friday, to have a date night. when she calls, she’s a little afraid azzi won’t even pick up, all things considered, but she does on the first ring.

“hey,” azzi says, voice a little unreadable.

“hey, baby,” paige replies, checking her mirrors before turning into the parking lot. “i, uh, was thinkin’ we could do something tonight. we haven’t had a date night in awhile.”

“a date night?” there’s silence, and then a sigh crackling through the speakers of paige’s car. “i don’t know if i’m up to go out, p.”

“no, no, i know,” paige rushes to say, steering into a parking spot and switching her audio to her phone before turning the car off. “sorry, can you hear me?”

“uh-huh.”

“well, i was jus’ thinking a movie night. i’m out right now, i’ma get some snacks, and you could pick a movie. i just…” trying to tread carefully here, she sighs, glancing out the window before back at her phone, “i know it’s been a rough week, and i miss you.”

another moment of silence, enough to make paige worry that azzi is more upset than she originally thought, but then, “i miss you too.” azzi sounds almost sheepish when she says, “i’m sorry—about this morning, and last night. i feel bad.”

“you know it’s all good, mama,” paige replies. “we can talk about it when i get there, m’kay? but we’re good.”

“yeah?”

“always.”

✮✮✮

paige stands in the chip aisle, sends her seventh text of the evening, and thinks they will definitely not be okay if azzi keeps leaving her on delivered.

barbecue? sour cream & onion? salt & vinegar?

…jalapeño?

no response.

baby please i can’t decide

help. me.

still nothing.

she considers just grabbing all of them, but then she’ll look unhinged at checkout, and she’s already made intense eye contact with an old woman who saw her talking to herself by the kettle chips. she has to leave, like, an hour ago.

“aight,” she mutters aloud, trying her hardest to decide which chips are the sexiest. “barbecue is classic but is it like, hot? sour cream & onion? shit, bad breath. uh…salt & vinegar? ew, never mind.” she presses her lips together, hands on her hips as she surveys the options. “you know what? azzi’s yummy. azzi’s kettle-cooked jalapeño.”

(back in her dorm, azzi pauses her book mid-sentence and wonders briefly if paige will bring kettle-cooked jalapeño chips. she really hopes paige will bring kettle-cooked jalapeño chips).

✮✮✮

paige lets herself in quietly, careful not to drop any of the grocery bags she’s juggling. the last thing she needs is for azzi to catch her slipping with a plastic tub of movie theater popcorn and calling her ‘uncoordinated’ again. which was extremely offensive the first time it happened and paige’s ego just can’t take another hit like that.

the dorm is dim, warm. cozy in that particular way azzi always manages to make it—unicorn plushies left out, pink throw pillows just slightly askew, vanilla candles melted down to the wick. paige sets the bags down and gets to work in the kitchen, pulling out bowls and cups and wondering briefly whether coach would cry if he saw the pure amount of salt and sugar laid before her.

“hey,” ice says, walking into the kitchen wrapped in a fuzzy blanket. “watchu being loud for?”

“it’s eight o’clock on a friday,” paige replies, pulling out the flowers and plushie she got for azzi. “can you help me carry some of this?”

ice’s gaze wanders over the gifts. “did y’all fight?”

“no. seriously, help me out.”

“really?” ice takes the cups in one hand and a bowl in the other. “because she was acting like a bitch this morning and we couldn’t figure out why.”

“yo,” paige says, raising an eyebrow.

ice rolls her eyes. “sorry, she was acting like a butthead this morning.”

“still offensive,” paige replies, pressing her lips together as she focuses on simultaneously holding two bowls, a teddy bear, and the bouquet. “and still no. we just had a little argument, but we’re cool.”

they begin walking down the hallway, and ice takes a sip from what’s supposed to be azzi’s cup. “so the gifts are for…?”

“she’s had a hard week,” paige says, lowering her voice as they get closer to azzi’s room.

“with her knee?” ice asks.

“i think so, yeah. that’s kinda what i’m tryna figure out.” they come to a stop in front of azzi’s door, and paige hovers for a moment, hands-less, until ice realizes and reaches out to help her.

inside, the room smells like body spray and azzi’s hair products. her led lights are on, set to the soft pink she likes to sleep with, and azzi’s an adorable-looking lump under the covers. paige has to physically refrain herself from squealing.

ice sets the snacks on azzi’s bedside, mutters a sarcastic, “don’t have too much fun,” and exits, leaving the two of them alone.

paige sets her things down, too, and carefully arranges them before sitting on the bed, gently jostling azzi’s shoulder. “az, hey,” she whispers, trying not to startle her and feeling a little bad for waking her at all. “lemme see you, baby.”

azzi grumbles a little, and paige may or may not get war flashbacks from last night, but then azzi is turning onto her back and smiling sleepily up at her even as her eyes stay closed.

“goofy,” paige says, brushing her fingers tenderly over azzi’s cheek. “why you tryna fall asleep on our date night?”

azzi’s smile turns a little guilty as she says, “i needed a power nap,” but then she’s wrapping her arms around paige’s neck and pulling her down for a kiss and she’s never been anything but perfect.

“fair,” paige mutters against her lips. “i hope it was powerful, because i come bearing gifts.”

finally, azzi opens her eyes. “oh?”

paige laughs, reaching for the stuffy and flowers and holding them on her lap. she watches as her girlfriend shifts until she’s sitting against the headboard, unable to keep herself from smiling softly at the rumpled, sleepy image of her before clearing her throat and nodding down at her lap. “know the flowers from last time were wilting, and you mentioned how you needed another baby…”

paige isn’t sure why she still feels like this around azzi, her long-term girlfriend of three years—why she still gets all nervous and blushy with her, when paige isn’t one to get nervous and blushy at all. but who can blame her, when azzi is beautiful and perfect and looking at her like that.

several beats pass before azzi gently pushes the flowers and plushie aside and wraps her arms around paige’s neck, tugging until paige hugs her back.

“thank you,” she says into paige’s neck. “i don’t…i just…”

“you don’t gotta say anything.” paige presses a kiss to her shoulder. “i know.”

azzi shakes her head. “no, but—i do.” she looks paige in the eye, keeping them closely connected even as she pulls away from her skin. “it’s just. i feel like i’ve been kinda shitty lately.”

“you haven’t,” paige says immediately, brushing her thumb over azzi’s arm. “you’re having a hard week, baby. doesn’t make you shitty. just human.”

azzi hums, unconvinced. “i’ve been short with you.”

“okay, a little snappy,” paige teases, and azzi groans, hiding her face in paige’s neck. “but it’s okay. i know you’re not mad at me. i’m just tryna understand what you need, so i can show up for you better.”

azzi exhales against her skin. “you already do.”

“good,” paige says, kissing the top of her head. “then stop stressin’ about it and come eat chips with me.”

azzi perks up. “chips?”

“i was stressed over which ones to buy, actually.” paige pulls back and grabs the bowl from the bedside table, holding it up like a trophy. “kettle-cooked jalapeño.“

azzi gasps. “no way.” she presses another kiss to paige’s lips. “how’d you know?”

azzi senses. “oh, y’know, just a good guess.”

azzi looks over the other snacks on the nightstand before saying, “you didn’t get sour cream and onion?”

“bad breath chips? absolutely not.”

“smart move.”

“yep. i also got movie theater popcorn, peanut m&ms, sour patch kids, and—brace yourself—a slurpee.”

azzi gasps. “from the gas station?”

“yes, and i made eye contact with a man who was, like, mid-psychotic break. that’s how much i love you.”

azzi leans over and kisses her again, gentle and grateful, and murmurs, “thank you,” into her lips.

“don’t mention it,” paige says, already sidling up beside azzi and tucking herself under the covers. “now pick a movie before i force us to rewatch high school musical 2.”

“we’re already halfway through it on my disney plus,” azzi confesses.

“this is why we’re dating.”

✮✮✮

they don’t end up watching high school musical 2, because azzi insists it’ll make her week worse. and they don’t watch frozen, either, because paige just can’t. so, they compromise, and an hour later the room is cast in blue from the tv, love & basketball playing on low volume. azzi has what appears to be approximately 1,000 stuffed animals surrounding her, claiming they ‘missed her’. (“they miss you, too, paige,” she says when paige looks at her judgmentally. “you’re like an absent father.”) paige decides to ignore that and, though she pouts about not being able to cuddle, she gets comfortable in azzi’s bed like she’s apart of it, sprawled out with a hand in the chip bowl.

they’ve been trading lazy commentary, chatting about silly things throughout the movie, considering it’s one they’ve both seen a million times. after a particular comment about how brutal practice was this week, paige shifts, leaning up on one elbow so she can glance down at azzi’s leg. “how’s the knee?” she asks quietly.

azzi hums noncommittally. “fine,” she says, but there’s a little wince as she stretches. “sore.”

“lemme see,” paige says, already sliding a hand under the blanket. she finds azzi’s leg by feel, curling her palm around her calf before slowly moving up, thumb brushing over the joint with practiced care.

“you don’t have to—”

“shh,” paige says, grinning. “don’t tell me what to do, mama. i wanna help.”

azzi snorts, but the sound melts into something softer when paige starts to knead around the edge of her kneecap, working slow, rhythmic circles into the muscle. she exhales, long and low, eyes fluttering shut as her body relaxes more fully into the pillows.

“good?” paige murmurs, shifting closer. she moves the stuffies out of the way in order to ghost her lips along azzi’s shoulder.

“mm-hmm,” azzi replies, voice suddenly a little breathier. “really good.”

paige’s hand keeps moving, a little more deliberate now, trailing higher up her thigh beneath the covers. her fingertips drag slow lines against azzi’s skin, almost absentminded, but there’s nothing absent about the way azzi shifts her hips, just barely, or the way her breath catches when paige presses a kiss to her jaw.

“you always do this,” azzi whispers, head tilting toward her. “start all innocent.”

paige lets out a little laugh, brushing her nose against azzi’s cheek. “i literally asked about your injury.”

“yeah, and now you’re halfway up my thigh.”

“can’t help it if you keep makin’ those noises,” paige says, voice going low and playful as her hand slows to a stop, palm resting heavy against azzi’s skin. “not my fault you sound so good, baby.”

azzi turns her head then, mouth catching paige’s in a kiss that’s slow and familiar, but it heats up faster than most their kisses do. it might have something to do with all the tension from the week, or the argument this morning, or the make-up—maybe a mix of everything—but it’s open-mouthed and messy within minutes. azzi’s hand slides into paige’s hair as she shifts to pull her closer, deepening the kiss just enough to make paige exhale hard through her nose.

she pulls away, smiling when azzi chases after her but keeping her face just out of reach. “hold on,” she breathes, resting her forehead against azzi’s.

“you good?” azzi asks, nudging their noses together.

“uh-huh. just…gotta stop before i can’t.”

“who said anything about stopping?” azzi asks, low and teasing.

paige pulls back to look at her. “i didn’t think you’d want it.”

azzi looks at her like she’s crazy. “‘course i do. why wouldn’t i?”

“with everything going on,” paige explains, soothing her hand up and down azzi’s thigh. “didn’t think you were in a good headspace right now.”

“i’m good, paige,” azzi assures, sounding just a little exasperated at how often she’s had to tell paige that, but she only keeps asking because she never quite believes her when she sees it.

“okay,” paige says, “you gotta promise me, though, aight? if you’re not into it, tell me that.”

“paige,” azzi sighs, and then she’s cupping her face in her hands and pulling her in and kissing her again, kissing her in a way that makes her feel raw. when she pulls back, they’re both breathing heavy. “please, baby,” she whispers. “want you.”

that’s all it takes to crumble whatever was left of paige’s self-control. she shifts until azzi’s flat on her back and pushes the rest of the damn stuffies away in a rush before leaning down to kiss her again. azzi sighs this soft little moan into her mouth and paige is already dripping into her boxers.

paige’s lips trail down azzi’s jawline, kissing a slow path until she reaches the hollow at the base of her neck. her fingers twitch with a quiet urgency, slipping beneath the waistband of azzi’s boxers, fingertips grazing the warm, sensitive skin of her mound. azzi’s breath hitches—a soft, unguarded sound that makes paige’s heart hammer a little faster.

the room feels smaller, warmer, wrapped in the quiet hum of the movie and their mingled breaths. paige’s fingers explore, gentle but insistent, sliding into azzi’s cunt just enough to gather the juices there before bringing them up to her clit and circling softly.

azzi’s eyes flutter shut, lashes resting against flushed cheeks as she exhales slowly. her fingers curl into paige’s t-shirt, gripping lightly, as paige continues to work her over. she uses her free hand to ruck azzi’s sweater up, just enough to expose the soft skin of her belly, and she pulls back to look, exhaling at the sight: azzi’s piercing glinting, paige’s hand moving beneath her boxers. she moves away from her clit to dip inside again, not far, just enough to coat a finger in azzi’s slick before she carefully extracts her hand.

azzi whimpers at the loss of contact, but paige just shakes her head, bringing her hand up to her lips and sucking the arousal off her finger. she’s missed how azzi tastes, and she moans at it before ducking down to press a kiss to azzi’s stomach with a new purpose in mind.

“paige,” azzi whines as paige lays herself out between her thighs.

“i wanna eat you, mami,” paige replies, sucking a small mark into brown skin. “that okay?”

when she looks back up, azzi’s staring at her, and there’s something there that paige can’t quite read, which is—well, it’s alarming, considering she can always read her girlfriend, especially when it comes to this. but then azzi’s nodding, desperation washing over her features, and paige can still taste the remnants of her, and she needs more.

“please, paige,” azzi sighs, pressing against her shoulders to urge her down. “need you.”

“tell me if it’s too much, baby,” paige murmurs, shifting lower to press a kiss to the delicate skin of azzi’s thigh. “i want to make you feel good.”

azzi’s response is a shaky breath and a whispered, “please.”

paige nods, kissing her thighs gently as she removes her boxers, allowing azzi to kick them the rest of the way off as she turns back to her center. paige spreads her open, blowing a little onto her clit until it twitches, and when azzi whines she leans forward to suck it into her mouth.

paige groans low at the taste, sharp and metallic from the earlier teasing, before flicking her tongue over it. azzi’s hips buck up just a little, and she slings an arm across her abdomen to keep her from moving. her tongue moves lower, dipping into her cunt where the taste is the strongest. she honest-to-god salivates a little, and she moans again, using her free hand to loop around azzi’s thigh and pull her closer.

azzi’s breath catches, soft little moans spilling out between quiet pants, and paige will never love anything more than her sounds, the way her hips struggle to move against paige’s grip, the way her hands tighten in paige’s hair.

she takes her arm off azzi’s stomach, lifting her head enough to look at her. “stay still f’me, okay?”

azzi nods frantically against the pillow. paige presses a smile into her thigh before easing two fingers inside of her slowly. azzi gasps, surprised, and then hides a moan in her palm—though azzi’s roommates have definitely heard them by now.

paige moves steady and patient, like always. her fingers move slow and sure, not rushing to build her up, while her mouth presses lazy kisses against her cunt. every now and then, she glances up, and her whole face softens at the sight of azzi laid out for her, chest rising and falling a little faster now, lips parted in that way that always makes paige want to come back up and kiss her.

she lets her teeth graze her clit, just to hear the sharp inhale it pulls, then goes right back to her work—her fingers curling just right, wrist flexing in little deliberate strokes like she’s trying to memorize her.

“you’re doing so good,” paige murmurs, voice a little syrupy, chin tucked against azzi’s thigh. her free hand strokes gently up azzi’s stomach, and she frowns slightly at the tension she finds there. “you gotta relax for me, sweetheart.”

azzi moans softly, but her muscles still feel tightly clenched and it has paige moving up, fingers working steadily inside her as she shifts so she can press gentle kisses to her mouth. “i got you, az,” she whispers, kissing her cheek tenderly. “you can relax, baby girl. it’s okay.”

azzi nods. moans as paige’s fingers hit that spongy spot inside her, but then sound turns into something different, something frustrated, and then it’s almost like a sob. and it’s enough for paige to pause.

“hey,” she says softly, slowing her hand but not pulling away. “are you okay, baby?”

azzi doesn’t answer right away. her eyes are open, unfocused, lips parted like she’s trying to figure out how to explain something she doesn’t really understand herself.

“i…” her voice breaks. “i’m sorry. i’m trying, i just—i can’t.”

paige freezes, her hand still warm between azzi’s thighs. her stomach drops.

“what? hey, no, no, don’t be sorry,” she says quickly, pulling her fingers out carefully and wincing when azzi does. “talk to me, mama—what’s wrong? did i hurt you?”

azzi shakes her head, blinking fast. “no, it’s not you. i just—i don’t know. it’s like i’m too in my head or something. i want to, it feels good, but i can’t focus.”

“you should’ve told me,” paige says, quieter now. she wonders how long azzi let her go for after she realized she wasn’t into it, and it kind of makes her stomach drop. “i told you to say something if you weren’t into it. would you have even—would you have even said anything if i hadn’t asked if you were okay?”

“i don’t know,” azzi says, and now her voice does wobble. she wipes at her cheeks with the backs of her hands like that’ll stop the tears from coming, but they keep slipping anyway. “i don’t know, paige. i just…i didn’t wanna, like, ruin it.”

paige’s heart clenches hard at that. “ruin it?” she echoes, a little incredulous. “az, it’s not supposed to feel like pressure. this isn’t—you know that’s not what this is about.”

“i know,” azzi says again, and now she’s fully crying, eyes scrunching up as she tries to breathe through it. “i’m just—i’ve had such a shitty week and you were being so sweet, and i wanted to, i swear, i thought maybe it would help, but—” she chokes on the end of it, voice cracking. “i don’t know. i’m sorry.”

the guilt hits her all at once, because here she is lecturing her girlfriend while said girlfriend is having an emotional crisis and being probably the saddest crier paige has ever seen. she leans back down, hands gentle on azzi’s stomach as she presses a soft kiss to her trembling lips. “hey,” she whispers. “i don’t want you to say sorry, baby. it’s nothin’ you gotta apologize for.”

“but it’s never happened before,” azzi says, sounding like that alone is breaking her a little. “‘nd i dunno what’s going on with me for it to happen this time.”

paige swallows thickly, chest aching. she gathers azzi into her arms, moving them until azzi’s on her chest, cradling her head close.

“you shouldn’t be mad at yourself,” she murmurs after a moment. “it’s okay to be overwhelmed. especially when you’re, like, the busiest person on the planet and trying to be everything to everyone.”

azzi sniffles, curling tighter into her. her fingers twitch against paige’s ribs like she wants to hold her closer.

“i just didn’t wanna let you down,” she whispers.

“you didn’t let me down,” paige says immediately. she tilts her head enough to press a kiss to azzi’s temple, then another to her hairline. “you didn’t. i’m just—i’m upset because i didn’t know. because you waited until you were crying to let me know something was off.”

azzi doesn’t say anything. her breath hitches like she might cry again.

paige closes her eyes and leans her head back. “i need to ask you something, ‘kay?”

“okay,” azzi breathes.

“next time,” paige says softly, “if something feels off—even a little bit—you tell me. you don’t wait for me to ask. you tell me. i don’t care if we’re two seconds in or right at the edge or whatever. i need to know, baby. i can’t read your mind.”

“okay,” azzi says again, quieter, and then after a second, “i promise.”

paige nods, still holding her. “good. thank you.”

they stay like that for a moment. paige’s chest rises and falls slowly beneath azzi’s cheek. love & basketball plays softly, and they have had an impossible amount of moments just like this one while this very movie was playing on tv, and paige sort of wants to cry a little herself.

instead she brushes a knuckle under azzi’s chin and tips her head up just enough to look at her. “you didn’t ruin anything. you know that, right?”

“kinda feels like i did.”

“you didn’t,” paige says again. “we’re allowed to have bad nights. or hard nights. or nights where we start something and realize we need to stop. that’s actually, like, really fucking normal and i think you and i are just different from most people.”

azzi lets out a shaky laugh through her tears. “i hate that you’re right.”

“i know,” paige says with a little smile, tucking azzi’s hair behind her ear. “as usual.”

azzi groans softly and hides her face in paige’s neck again, still a little tear-sticky and snuffly, but the muscles in her shoulders finally relax as she lets paige hold her.

paige wraps both arms around her, settling them chest to chest, and lets her thumb rub slow circles over azzi’s back. “you wanna stay like this for a while?” she asks, voice low and close.

azzi nods into her neck. “don’t wanna move.”

“okay, mama,” paige whispers. “we’ll stay right here.”

for a few minutes, that’s exactly what they do—paige stroking her back, azzi breathing uneven against her throat, both of them held together in that soft, heavy quiet that only comes after a cry. and when azzi’s breathing finally starts to even out, when the tension starts to ease from her shoulders, she lifts her head.

“i hope you know i’m seriously considering offing myself,” she says, which startles a laugh out of paige.

“why?” she asks, pushing a curl from azzi’s tear-stained cheek.

“because we were having sex and then i cried.”

“you cried the first time we had sex.”

“that was an emotional moment.”

“you cried last month after that party.”

“i was shwasted.”

paige smiles, then kisses azzi’s pout. and usually paige hates it when people cry, because she feels awkward and unsure of what to do, but she is azzi fudd’s dutiful, loyal, obsessed girlfriend. “i think we can both agree that i’m good with you crying. please don’t kill yourself.”

“yeah, okay.” azzi sniffles, eyes red-rimmed but full of something warm now. “i love you,” she says, voice hoarse.

paige smiles, thumb brushing her cheek. “i love you more.”

and azzi just sighs, deep and tired and safe, before tucking herself right back into paige’s arms like she belongs there.

#pazzi #azzi fudd #paige bueckers #pazzi fics #uconn wbb #wcbb #dallas wings #lilah’s works

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ariestrxsh · 2 days ago

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gf!reader asks bf!chris for money to go to victoria secret

bf!chris x brattygf!reader

₊˚⊹♡ content warning: dirty talk, teasing, financial domination(?), handjob, oral (f!receiving), daddy kink (sorry)

₊˚⊹♡ summary: all you want is a little fun money to treat yourself to a fresh manicure and a new matching bra and panty set. usually, all you had to do was bat your lashes and pout your lips, and your boyfriend would give you whatever you wanted. however, this time, he wants a little more from you in exchange.

i liked this request so much that i turned it into a whole fic. sorry it took me so long to get to.

dividers by @/uzmacchiato

Whatever She Wants

"So, let me get this straight," Chris started off, "you misbehaved all day, having a bad attitude and acting like a little brat, and now you expect me to give you money?"

You batted your lashes at him and flashed him a sweet smile. "Yeah," you innocently said, hoping either your blind confidence or your cuteness would convince him.

He scoffed, shooing you away as he went back to scrolling on his phone next to you on the couch, but he still asked, "For what, baby? How much do you want?"

"I don't know... a couple hundred, maybe?" You shrugged, shooting him a smile as you played with your hair.

"A couple hundred?" He chuckled, glancing up at you from his phone screen. "What do you need that much for, hmm? I know getting your nails done usually doesn't cost more than $120." He gave you a suspicious look.

"Well, I wanted to get my nails done, and I was maybe thinking about buying a new panty and bra set," you replied with a glint in your eyes, smiling at your boyfriend. You definitely had his attention now.

"New panties, hmm?" He wondered aloud, looking you up and down as he bit down on his lip, his mind swirling with the dirtiest of thoughts. This meant he was getting laid tonight.

He loved it whenever you bought new underwear or lingerie, especially because any time you did, you'd give him a little runway show. You'd dress yourself in it and strut down the hallway in fabric that barely covered your body, showing yourself off to him. Then, he'd get to unwrap you like a present.

"Mhm. New panties," you whispered, leaning in closer and gently kissing the side of his neck. He let out a soft sigh, his eyes fluttering closed as you gently worked your mouth on his sensitive flesh. "Please, daddy," you moaned against the crook of his neck.

His jaw tightened, and his hard cock twitched at your words, but he maintained his composure. "You're gonna have to try harder than that..." He said, his voice trailing off as you gently bit down on his sensitive flesh.

"But daddy," you pouted, pulling away and looking at him with your big doe eyes. He looked back at you with a glazed over expression.

"But what? You had an attitude all day with me, and now that you want something, you're acting all sweet?" He smirked at you. "I just need a little convincing on why the fuck I should give you what you want, huh?"

You shifted around on the couch, climbing onto Chris' lap and straddling him. "You know why you should give me what I want?" You softly cooed into his ear as you started to grind on him.

"Why's that?" He replied, his hands wandering to your waist and guiding the movement of your hips as he grew even harder beneath you.

"Because you like it when I spend your money," you whispered, "and I know how much you like the way my pretty nails look while my fingers are wrapped around your cock." You reached down the front of his sweatpants and gripped his length.

His breath caught in his throat, and he let out a strangled moan as you started pumping your hand back and forth. You could already feel him throbbing. You ran your thumb over his tip, causing him to shudder as you leaned in and latched onto his neck once more.

"Fuck. That feels so good," Chris whispered, his breath becoming more ragged and shallow. His hands travelled to your ass and he cupped each cheek, squeezing your flesh hard before delivering a harsh slap to the right one. You whimpered at his touch, pulling back and smiling at him.

"You convinced yet? You gonna let me spend your money?" You asked, stroking his cock and batting your eyelashes again. "It's not just fun for me. It's fun for you, too. Think of it like an investment."

He chuckled, rolling his blue eyes at you. "I'm getting there," he teased you, his hands gripping your thighs. "I just need a little more convincing, baby."

"Yeah?" You seductively inquired, biting down on your lip and searching his face for answers as your thumb swiped over his swollen, pink tip again. "What's gonna convince you, daddy?" Your voice was soft and smooth like honey. Chris couldn't resist the way the word daddy sounded rolling off your tongue.

"First, tell me you're sorry for being a little brat," Chris purred, trying to maintain a serious look as you gave his cock a squeeze.

"Mhm. I'm sorry, daddy. I'm sorry for being a little brat." You stuck your bottom lip out at him again. "I'll do anything to make it up to you."

"Okay, I'll give you some money under one more condition," Chris whispered, biting down on his lip to suppress a moan while you pleasured him.

"I'm listening, daddy," you softly replied, pumping your hand faster and faster.

"After you go buy yourself some new panties, you're gonna let me move them to the side while I taste your pretty pussy, okay?" He cooed, losing his controlled facade.

"Yes, daddy," you whispered into his ear, feeling his cock pulse in your hold. A few guttural moans passed through his lips, and you felt his grip on your hips tighten.

He busted all over the inside of his sweatpants. He laughed, leaning back onto the throw pillow behind him and throwing his hand behind his head. He panted, trying to catch his breath, a smile curling on his perfect, plump lips.

"Why don't you get your toes done, too, babe?" He chuckled, picking up his wallet and pulling out a small stack of hundreds.

You flashed him a charming smile, snatching the cash from his hand. That's what I thought, you silently said in your head. "Thank you, daddy. I'll only be gone a few hours," you replied in a sweet voice, fluttering your eyelashes at him one last time.

Later that evening, you returned with a few Victoria Secret bags in hand and a fresh set on your long, dainty fingers. Chris greeted you with a kiss. He held the door open for you as you walked in through the entrance of your shared apartment, your heels clicking against the tile.

"Alright, baby, let's see them," Chris purred, reaching for your hand and gazing down at your nails. "Wow, they're so pretty." He tilted your wrist, the silver glitter coating on them catching the light and glimmering.

Before you knew it, you were in nothing but your white lace lingerie you'd purchased earlier, laying on your back on your bed with Chris between your legs, eyes devouring you whole as he took in the sight.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful," Chris whispered, pulling the fabric that covered your cunt tight so that it was bunched up between your labia. "You have such good taste in panties," he softly praised you, teasing you with the friction of your bunched up underwear rubbing against your clit.

You let out a soft moan, letting your head fall back against the headboard with a soft thud. Chris hooked his finger into the lacey fabric again and pulled them to the side. "Wow. So wet already, hmm?" He cooed, gazing up at you before he leaned in and softly placed a kiss on your pussy.

His tongue slowly traced your folds, starting from your hole and licking long, slow stripes to your sensitive bundle of nerves. "Chris," you lustfully moaned, your hand flying to his hair. You ran your freshly manicured nails through his messy, brown locks, gently tugging as he flicked his tongue faster over your cunt.

He wrapped his lips around your clit, quietly humming against it as you trembled beneath him. He kept up the perfect pace, pressure, and technique, working his mouth on your favorite nerve endings.

His eating grew messier, giving you sloppy kisses and drooling all over your pussy as you gripped his hair tightly. Your whole body started to shake and contract, and Chris continued working his tongue rapidly.

"C'mon, baby. Cum all over daddy's tongue," Chris quietly encouraged you between licks, his warm breath hitting your heat. He latched onto your clit again, sucking and humming until you were a complete mess, coming undone at the seams.

The knot in your stomach snapped, and your climax unraveled, Chris' name and profanities unfurling from your lips and spilling into the air. The pleasure was overwhelming. You clamped your thighs down around his head and lightly dug your nails into his back as you finished on his face.

After your climax hit you hard and then slowly dwindled away, your body started to relax. Chris pulled away, giggling and wiping his chin, the lower half of his face glistening in your juices.

"Wow," you whispered, tossing your head back and letting your eyes fall closed as you started to recover. Your chest rose and fell with your steadying breath, post-orgasmic bliss coursing through you. "So, you like my new panties, then?" You joked.

He stared down at you, completely struck by your beauty and the angelic quality of the white lace against your perfect skin. "Worth every penny," Chris chuckled under his breath.

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x you #christopher owen sturniolo #ᴀʀɪᴇꜱ' ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ .ᐟ ✮⋆˙#ᴄʜʀɪꜱ ᴏɴᴇ ꜱʜᴏᴛ .ᐟ ✮⋆˙

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cherrymakun · 3 days ago

Text

OP boys when you steal their things

Today my coworker told me she likes Zoro. She was the first girl who was nice to me in her department, so my darling, this is for you

OP boys when you steal their things

☆ Characters: Zoro & Sanji

☆GN!Reader

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°��₊₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊₊‧

Zoro

It takes an eternity for him to notice that something is missing. He is not a very conscious boy, you know. Actually, it is more probable that you have to give him a signal that he is not with all his belongings, and that’s exactly what you’ve decided to try today.

“Don’t you like my new earrings, dear?” You asked him unpretentiously in the afternoon while he’s training.

“Hm” is all his reply. He continued the training, giving no mind to you.

“So I can keep them?” You come closer, but this time showing him your ears. While he still doesn't give you attention, you proceed “I think they look better on me anyway, don’t you think?”

When he finally raised his head to look at you he got surprised, and then confused. One of his earrings was on your ear, not his. Zoro touched his own head looking for his favorite accessory, but one of them is missing. Not knowing how it happened, he asked confuse:

“How did you do that?”

You giggle a little, giving the earrings back to his owner. “Well, if you start paying more attention to me, maybe I tell you my little secret”

You stand up and start walking to the door behind you with a funny smile on your face. You’re ready to go, when you hear Zoro say

“Hey.” you stopped and turned back to him, but he's not looking at you anymore “If you like them so much maybe I'll buy you a pair” He then proceeded training, acting like nothing happened. You, otherside, suddenly feel your cheeks get hotter. You turn back again, leaving the room faster than before, looking clearly embarrassed.

Noting what happened, Zoro lets a little smile decorate his face. He now has to remember to borrow some bellys from Nami.

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊₊‧

Sanji

Sanji is getting frustrated. He passed the last 15 minutes looking for his favorite apron, but couldn't find it anywhere. At this point he’s one step away from yelling at that stupid Marimo for stealing it from him, when he heard a familiar voice coming from the other side of the kitchen.

“Hello, beautiful boy” You say with a mischievous smile on your face “Are you looking for something?"

The poor man almost fainted when he saw you. You’re in your everyday clothes, but above them his favorite apron is shaping your body. His eyes lay upon your waist, seeing how the apron was so tight that leaves little to imagination. The sight brought him closer to death.

“Mon amour” He comes closer to you as a thirsty man “I think I'm dazzling a piece of heaven on earth. My eyes have never been blessed with such a delightful sight”

You laugh at his reaction, but can help but find it cute. It is just a prank with an apron, after all. That aside, you want to take some advantage of the situation.

“Oh, dear. If it is your reaction seeing me with the apron, imagine how would it be without.” Imagination, in this case, was not necessary. As soon as the words came out of your lips, Sanji was already petrified, lost in his own mind full of images and scenarios of you without the apron. You start to wonder if this is how Boa uses her powers.

Besides Sanji can’t think straight, his mouth makes some effort to express a wish from the depths of his heart. With a weak breath, almost whispering, he said:

“I would kill a man to see that." Said he, with a voice that only a falling man could do.

Such worship started to embarrass you. You mean only to play a prank with your crewmate, but now you think he is talking seriously. Actually, you really believe that he was, somehow, hypnotized by you. You take the apron off, and pull it on him. When your hand touch his neck, you can almost feel the spell you cast on him coming back to you. You take a little distance, and with a shy smile you let the surrendered man do his job.

“I hope you make that dessert you make on sunday again”

When you leave, Sanji comes back to himself. Shit, the sight of heaven that he just witnessed messed with his head. He went to the fridge, searching for strawberries for the dessert you asked for.

He had to tell the crew that lunch would be late today.

Part II with Ace and Law coming soon! Do I include another character? ♡♡♡

#sanji x reader #one piece #zoro x reader #one piece x reader #one piece x you #vinsmoke sanji #vinsmoke sanji x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro roronoa x reader #op x you #op x reader #one piece x y/n #op x y/n #sanji vinsmoke #zoro roronoa

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filthyjoelslvr · 3 days ago

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Window Seat (2)

Part 1

Content: Dbf!Joel x reader

Synop: Joel's been distant ever since the night he snuck into your house, into your room, to touch you in places you needed. His need for you overpowers him, making all his regret dissolve.

Warnings: age gap (not specified), pet names (praising, says slut once), use of daddy (once), no outbreak, unprotected PiV, oral (f receiving), praising, (might be forgetting some)

Word Count: 9k

(dividers by: @strangergraphics @cafekitsune)

It starts with the blinds.

At first, it’s subtle, almost invisible — something that could easily be brushed off. But when you’re sitting at your window, staring across the street like you have so many times before, it becomes impossible to ignore.

Joel’s blinds are completely shut.

For weeks, they’ve always been open — just a little. Enough that you could see the outline of his figure moving in and out of the living room, the occasional flash of him leaning over to grab a shirt from his dresser, or the silhouette of him sitting on his bed, watching TV after a long day. Those moments, however brief, had become your silent routine. His window was a steady, reassuring presence, something that felt like a connection, even when you weren’t close.

But tonight, the window is dark. Nothing. Not a hint of movement. Not a flicker of light.

You shift uncomfortably, leaning forward, your face pressed against the cool glass. Your heart beats a little faster, a strange fluttering in your chest that makes you pause. You try to tell yourself it’s nothing — that maybe he just wanted some privacy tonight, or maybe he’s been busy. But deep down, you know it’s more than that. You’ve been doing this long enough to notice the changes, even the smallest ones.

You glance at your phone, checking the time — it’s past 10 p.m. Now would be the time Joel would normally swing by after his long day. He always has some excuse, a reason to come over, to have a beer with your dad or to just hang out. But tonight, there’s nothing. No knock at the door. No text. No call.

Not a word.

You run your fingers over the glass, your thoughts growing heavier. He hasn’t been by in days. Not since that night — that night you can’t stop replaying in your head, a night that felt like everything had shifted. It was supposed to be a one-time thing, wasn’t it? A secret between the two of you. But then the silence settled in, stretching between you like a rift, filling the spaces with confusion and doubt.

You’ve tried to convince yourself that maybe he just needs space, that maybe he’s processing what happened. But the doubt lingers in your chest, tightening with each passing hour. You can’t help but feel like he’s avoiding you. It’s not just the blinds. It’s the lack of contact — no text, no call, no word of any kind. Joel, who used to be here, is now a ghost.

You force yourself to look away from his window, but your eyes keep wandering back. It’s like you can’t stop searching for him, even though you already know the answer. The emptiness in his house, the absence of him behind the blinds, is enough to settle the growing pit in your stomach.

You glance across the street again, wondering if maybe you’ve missed something. But his house looks different now — darker. Quieter. His truck, which is usually parked out front, isn’t there, and the street feels colder without it. When he’s here, even just parked in his driveway, it feels like the neighborhood is alive. But now, with his absence, everything seems still.

You glance down at your phone again. You’ve sent him a few texts in the past few days. Short ones, nothing too needy. Just simple things like, "Hey, you coming by tonight?" or "Haven’t seen you in a while, everything okay?" But no responses. No pings, no notifications, nothing. Just that unsettling silence.

Joel has always been the type to show up unannounced, the kind of guy who’d knock on the door without a second thought, asking for a drink or a place to sit after a long day. He didn’t need a reason to show up, not really. He was just always there, like a fixture in the background of your life. Even if he wasn’t there physically, you knew he’d be back soon.

But now? There’s an eerie stillness in the space he’s left behind. You don’t even remember when the last time was that he came by. Was it five days ago? Six? You can’t remember the last time you heard his gravelly voice, the last time you felt his presence in the house.

You try to call him, finally. Your fingers hover over the screen, but when you press his name, your stomach churns with unease. The dial tone rings longer than usual, echoing in your ear. He’s not picking up. No voicemail. Just the sound of the phone ringing and ringing until it goes quiet.

You try again, this time sending a quick text.

“Joel, hey. Everything okay? Haven’t seen you in a bit.”

Still no response. You feel the familiar, bitter sting of disappointment in your chest, but you push it down. You can’t let it get to you. It’s just… it’s just Joel, right? He’s probably just busy. He probably has a lot on his plate. The rational part of your brain tries to talk you down, but there’s a gnawing feeling at the back of your mind that tells you something’s wrong. Something is different.

You turn away from the window, pacing across the room. Your dad is downstairs, watching TV, blissfully unaware of the growing knot in your stomach. He hasn’t mentioned Joel’s absence yet, but you can see the change in him too. He’s been glancing at his phone more than usual, checking the time whenever he hears a car drive by. He’s used to Joel stopping by at least once a day, even if it’s just for a quick chat. But it’s been days now. Days without a word.

And your dad is starting to notice. Starting to worry.

“Hey, where’s Joel been?” he asked you earlier, in that nonchalant tone he uses when he doesn’t want to seem concerned. “Haven’t seen him around.”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s busy.”

But your dad’s frown deepened. “Hm. Yeah. I guess so.”

There was an odd weight to his words, a note of suspicion that lingered in the air long after he’d moved on to something else. But you could feel it — he’s starting to wonder if something’s wrong.

You make your way to the kitchen, distractedly grabbing a glass of water, but your eyes keep flicking toward the window again, toward the empty, dark space where Joel’s presence used to be. The silence in his house feels like a physical thing, pressing down on your chest.

You haven’t seen him in days. You haven’t heard from him in days. And now his blinds are shut.

And for the first time, you realize with a sickening lurch in your stomach: Joel is avoiding you.

The morning light filters through the kitchen window, casting a soft, golden glow over the room. You can hear the steady hum of the coffee maker, the clink of ceramic mugs being set down on the table. Your dad sits across from you, his usual worn flannel shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his face drawn with the lines of someone who’s been up for a while. The smell of fresh coffee lingers in the air, but it does little to mask the subtle tension hanging between you.

You glance at your phone absentmindedly, scrolling through a few messages that are all empty — nothing from Joel, nothing from anyone really. Just the dull buzz of notifications that don’t mean anything.

It’s quiet, the kind of quiet where your dad’s thoughts are running a mile a minute, and you can feel the unease in the air before he speaks.

“Y’know, it’s really weird about Joel,” your dad says, breaking the silence, his voice low but firm.

You look up, pretending like you didn’t notice it yourself. “What do you mean?”

He sets his mug down with a heavy sigh, fingers tapping absently on the ceramic. “I’ve been tryin' to get ahold of him for a few days now. He usually stops by, or at least sends me a text, even if it’s just to say he’s busy. But I haven’t heard a word from him. Not even a damn call.”

You try to hide your reaction, even though your heart skips a beat. Joel’s been avoiding you, and it’s clear he’s been avoiding your dad, too. You keep your voice casual, like it’s nothing out of the ordinary. “Maybe he’s just caught up with work. You know how he is, always busy with something.”

Your dad shakes his head, not convinced. “He’s been way too quiet. The thing is, when Joel’s tied up with something, he lets me know. He’ll text, or give me a call, something. Hell, sometimes he’ll even show up just to tell me he’s got a late one. But this… this feels different.”

You can hear the frustration in his voice now, the worry that’s been slowly creeping in. He’s always been laid-back, never the type to get too worked up over anything, but Joel’s absence has clearly unsettled him.

“He didn’t even send me a text to say he’d be gone for a while or that he was swamped. Just… nothing.” Your dad looks out the window, his mind clearly racing. “I’ve heard his truck leave in the mornings, and I’ve seen it come back in the afternoons. So, I know he’s around. But he won’t even pick up my calls. What the hell’s going on with him?”

You take a slow sip of your coffee, trying to maintain your cool. You already know what’s going on. The night still lingers in your mind, the way Joel left so suddenly, his words heavy with regret, his eyes full of something you couldn’t quite read. But you can’t tell your dad that.

You set your cup down gently, trying to keep your voice neutral. “Don’t worry so much, Dad. I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe he’s just going through something. He’s not exactly great at reaching out when he’s in his head, you know that.”

Your dad looks at you, raising an eyebrow as if trying to gauge if you're telling the truth or just brushing it off. "Yeah, I know. But it’s just… not like him. Not this bad. Hell, he’s been over here almost every damn day since he moved into that house.”

He runs a hand through his graying hair, eyes narrowing in concern. "You sure you haven’t heard from him? Or seen him around?"

You shake your head a little too quickly, your voice a little too steady. “Nope. Haven’t seen him. But I’ll stop by after work and see if he’s okay. You know, just check in on him. I’m sure everything’s fine. Maybe he just needs a break from… well, everything.”

Your dad nods slowly, his lips pulling into a thin line. You can tell he’s not convinced, but he doesn’t press the issue.

“Alright,” he mutters, reaching for his mug again. "I guess you’re right. But I don’t know, something about this just doesn’t sit right with me. It’s not like him to disappear like this, not without any kind of word." He pauses, staring down into his coffee. "I’m just… I don’t know. I’ve been worrying more than I should."

You smile weakly, trying to ease his mind, though your own thoughts are racing. “You know how men are. They don’t talk about their feelings. You’d get more out of a statue.” You chuckle softly, hoping to break the tension, though it falls flat.

Your dad smiles back at you, but it’s tired, a little sad. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I just hate not knowing what's going on. But… I guess if you’re heading over there, it’ll give me some peace of mind."

"Don’t worry so much, okay? I’ll check in with him and let you know what’s up. Maybe he just needs some time to himself, and we’re all overthinking it." You give him a reassuring nod, even though a part of you knows it’s not that simple.

"Alright," he says, sighing heavily, his shoulders slumping as he leans back in his chair. "Guess I’ll just focus on work today, and you let me know how it goes. Appreciate it, kid."

You nod again, feeling a tightness in your chest. It’s all you can do to act like everything’s fine, even though the sinking feeling in your gut tells you that something is seriously wrong.

You finish your coffee in silence, both of you lost in your own thoughts. The weight of your dad’s worry is heavy in the air, and you know it’s not just about Joel anymore — it’s about your dad too. But you can’t bring yourself to tell him what you already know. Joel has pulled away, not just from you, but from everything.

An anger settles deep in your stomach. Joel can ignore you all he wants, leave you be, but bringing your dad into this crosses the line.

The sun’s just beginning to dip below the rooftops when you hear it — the low, familiar rumble of Joel’s truck pulling into the driveway across the street.

It’s later than usual. Much later. Most nights, Joel’s already home and settled by now, beer in hand, maybe a light on in the living room, TV murmuring softly through the window. But this time, the engine grumbles into your awareness like a ghost finally deciding to come home.

You freeze in place, caught mid-motion in your room, a book forgotten in your lap, your phone screen dimming beside you. Slowly, quietly, you rise and walk to your window, careful not to make any noise — like he might hear you from all the way across the street.

You pull the blinds apart, just a sliver, and there he is.

Joel Miller, climbing out of his truck with one hand gripping the top of the door and the other slinging his worn flannel jacket over his shoulder. The soft orange of the setting sun hits him just right — that low, amber light brushing his skin, catching the gray in his hair, outlining the curve of his shoulders, the sharp lines of his profile. He looks tired. Worn. Still so painfully good-looking it makes something twist in your chest.

He pauses at his front steps for a moment, glancing out toward the quiet street — not at your window, not at you — just a passing glance before he rubs the back of his neck and disappears through his front door.

No light flicks on in the window. The blinds stay closed.

You stand there for a moment longer, fingertips resting on the windowsill, your throat tight with something you can’t quite swallow. You should be angry. Maybe you are. But mostly, you feel… disappointed. Not because Joel pulled away. But because he didn’t even try to say goodbye.

You think about all the nights you’ve watched him from this same spot — the warmth you used to feel when you’d catch a glimpse of him moving around his house, the stolen glances, the tension that built in the space between your windows like static. And then, that night. The way he looked at you. The way he touched you. The way he whispered your name like it was something he didn’t want to give up.

You feel the weight of it settling on your shoulders like dusk. And you’re so damn tired of it.

With a shaky breath, you step back from the window. You tell yourself you’re just going over there to check in. That it’s what any good neighbor would do. That this has nothing to do with the ache in your chest or the unanswered texts or the way your heart clenched the second you saw him walk inside like you never happened at all.

You grab a hoodie from the back of your chair, pull it over your head, and slide on your shoes. You don’t give yourself time to second-guess it.

As you cross the street, the sun sinks lower, throwing long shadows across the pavement. Joel’s truck is still warm, the engine ticking softly in the cooling air. His porch light is off, the blinds unmoving — like the house is holding its breath, waiting for something to break.

You climb the steps and hesitate at the door.

Your knuckles hover over the wood, your pulse pounding in your ears. For a second, you consider turning back. Going home. Pretending none of this ever happened. But the thought of another night of silence — another night of pretending Joel hasn’t become this unreachable part of you — is worse.

So, you knock.

Soft. Hesitant. But loud enough.

And then you wait.

The knock still hangs in the air when the door swings open — not fast, not welcoming — just enough to say what do you want?

Joel stands in the doorway, his shoulders square, one hand still gripping the edge of the doorframe like he hadn’t decided if he was going to open it all the way. His eyes land on you, and for a split second, something like relief flashes across his face.

Then it’s gone.

Replaced by something colder. Guarded. Almost annoyed.

“…What are you doin’ here?” he asks, his voice rough, like he hasn’t spoken to anyone all day. Or maybe like he didn’t want to speak to you.

You blink, caught off guard by how distant he sounds. You expected guilt maybe, or discomfort, but not this sharpness. Still, you hold your ground.

“I just…” You clear your throat, looking up at him. “I wanted to check on you. You’ve been quiet lately.”

Joel exhales through his nose, leans against the frame. “I’ve been busy.”

“That’s not like you,” you say gently. “You usually at least text my dad. He’s starting to get worried.”

Joel’s jaw tightens, his gaze dropping for a moment before flicking back up to yours. “I’m fine.”

You study him, your eyes narrowing slightly. “You sure?”

“I said I’m fine,” he snaps, a little too quickly.

You don’t flinch. “Okay. So you’re fine. Everything’s okay. Then why have you been avoiding me?”

Joel goes still.

He opens the door a little more, like he’s considering asking you in, but doesn’t. The hallway behind him is dimly lit. The smell of wood and leather and old whiskey drifts out, familiar and grounding, but right now it only makes your chest ache.

“I’m not avoidin’ you,” he mutters, clearly lying.

You cross your arms. “Joel.”

He lets out a tired sigh and runs a hand down his face. “Jesus. Look, it’s just… what we did…” he starts, his voice dropping low, like even saying it out loud might make it worse. “It was dangerous.”

You stare at him, pulse pounding. “Dangerous how?”

“You know how,” he snaps, then softens almost immediately. “It was wrong.”

“Then do you regret it?” you ask, voice quiet now. Not angry. Just… broken.

Joel looks at you — really looks at you — like the weight of that question has knocked the wind out of him. He opens his mouth. Closes it again. Shakes his head slowly.

“No,” he says finally. “Of course I don’t. But that doesn’t make it right.”

You take a step closer. “You not talking to me? That doesn’t make it right either. It’s not just hurting me, Joel. My dad is confused. Worried. He thinks you’re mad at him or that something happened. And you know how he is — he doesn’t talk about his feelings, but I can see it. Every day. He misses you.”

Joel’s eyes close briefly like the words hit too close.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” he says quietly.

“I know you didn’t,” you say, voice softening too. “But you are. By shutting down. By disappearing. And if this… whatever this thing was between us — if it’s the reason you’ve pulled away, then fine.”

You swallow hard.

“I’ll let it go. I’ll forget it happened. Just… don’t disappear on him. He needs you. We need you.”

There’s a long silence between you. Joel doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. His jaw clenches like he’s trying to hold something back — guilt or longing or both.

Then, finally, he speaks.

“I care about your dad,” he says, his voice low and thick. “More than I’ve ever cared about another person in my life. He’s… family.”

“I know,” you whisper. “That’s why I’m asking you to stop doing this. Just come back to us. To him. We don’t have to talk about what happened. We don’t have to do anything else. Just… be normal again.”

Joel looks at you like the words are both a lifeline and a punishment.

And for a second, you think maybe — just maybe — he’s going to reach for you. But he doesn’t. He just nods once. Slow. Reluctant.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

You exhale, even though it doesn’t feel like relief. “Thank you.”

Joel’s hand tightens on the doorknob. His voice comes out quieter this time. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know,” you say, even if it doesn’t feel true.

You turn to go. He doesn’t stop you.

And as the door closes gently behind you, the space between you settles into the silence again.

Weeks pass. And life, somehow, starts to feel normal again.

Not all at once — not with some big moment or apology — but gradually. Like the way winter fades into spring: slow, cautious, not entirely sure it’s safe to bloom again.

At first, you and Joel barely look at each other.

When he comes over, you find an excuse to leave. You suddenly remember errands, drive aimlessly for hours just to avoid the creak of floorboards in your room while his voice fills the house downstairs. You wait until he’s left before returning home, stepping into the quiet space he’s left behind, air still faintly warm from where he’d stood.

You wonder if he notices you slipping around him like a ghost. You wonder if it hurts him the way it hurts you.

But he never says anything.

Your dad, though — he lights back up like someone flipped a switch. Joel’s presence returns like it never left: sitting at the kitchen table again, beer in hand, teasing your dad about the burnt edges of his barbecue. Watching sports, fixing things that don’t really need fixing. He starts calling again, sending texts, stopping by after work with that slow, tired smile that used to feel like home.

And you watch from the background. At first.

Little by little, you let yourself drift back in.

Dinner at the table again. Quiet small talk. A movie night where you don’t fake a headache and hide in your room. A joke shared on the porch that makes your dad laugh, Joel’s eyes flicking toward you for half a second — just long enough for your breath to hitch. You sip your drink and look away before it can become anything more.

Everything is back to normal.

At least on the surface.

But beneath it, under the calm rhythms of domestic life, something pulses.

You miss him.

You miss the way he used to say your name with that quiet warmth. The way he’d smile when you walked into the room, like you were the one he’d been waiting for. You miss catching his eye from across the table, the subtle flicker of amusement or softness that only you could read. The knowing glances shared across the porch, the late-night glimpses through open windows.

You keep your blinds closed now. So does he.

It’s better this way, you tell yourself.

Safer.

You promised to forget. To move on. To let it go for your dad’s sake.

And you meant it. You still do.

But some nights, when the house is quiet and you’re lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, you remember the way his voice sounded in the dark. The way his hands moved like he already knew every part of you. You remember the heat, the whisper of sweet names, the way he tucked you into bed like he didn’t want to leave but knew he had to.

You don’t cry.

But you feel the ache of missing him like something that was half-healed and pulled open again. Not bleeding — just sore. Tender. Like a bruise only you can feel.

And so you smile at him over dinner. You laugh when he teases your dad. You hand him a beer from the fridge like nothing ever happened. You nod when your dad talks about how good it is to have Joel around again.

And you pretend.

Because that’s what you promised. And because pretending is the only way you get to keep him in your life at all.

The house is quiet. Your dad's gone to bed hours ago, his snoring echoing faintly down the hall. A half-watched movie flickers across the dark living room, its sound low and distant like the buzz of a dream. You’re still on the couch, knees pulled up beneath you, a throw blanket wrapped around your shoulders like armor. Rain tapping the window with a calm stream.

You’re not expecting anyone when the knock comes.

It’s late — not so late that it’s strange, but late enough that your heart jumps at the sound. The kind of late that makes everything in the house feel more vulnerable. Darker. Softer.

You pause the movie that’s been playing to an empty room, remote still in your hand, and glance toward the front door. No text. No warning.

But you already know it’s him.

You cross the living room slowly, wiping your palms down the sides of your thighs as you go. You don't check through the peephole. You just open the door.

And there he is.

Joel.

He stands beneath the low porch light, one hand braced on the doorframe, the other clutching something — your dad’s wallet. His jacket is open, shirt rumpled like he’s been wearing it too long. His hair is still damp from the shower or maybe the rain — you can’t tell — and his face is unreadable. Guarded. Tired. A little like he didn’t want to be here, but couldn’t stop himself anyway.

“Hey,” he says, voice low.

Your stomach flips. “Hey.”

He lifts the wallet slightly. “Your dad left this in my truck earlier.”

You glance at it, then back at him. “You didn’t have to bring it by tonight.”

Joel shrugs, like it’s nothing, but his jaw’s tight. “Figured he might need it tomorrow.”

“He’s already asleep.”

“I figured that, too.”

Silence settles between you. The kind that used to feel easy — familiar. But now it’s wrapped in something heavier. Sharper. The kind of silence that has to be handled carefully or it might shatter.

You step back without thinking. “You can come in, if you want.”

He hesitates for a beat.

Then he steps inside.

He walks with slow, deliberate steps — like the floor might crack beneath him — and sets the wallet down on the kitchen counter with a muted thud. You shut the door, but don’t move to join him just yet. You watch him from the hallway instead, arms crossed, your body buzzing with nerves.

Joel turns toward you, hands in his pockets, eyes unreadable.

You clear your throat. “You’re quiet.”

He exhales, looks away for a second. “Yeah.”

“You okay?”

He nods once. Too quickly. “Fine.”

“You sure?”

His shoulders tense. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

You study him. The slope of his brow. The way he’s not looking at you. And it stings — that careful distance he keeps between you. Like you’re something he can’t be trusted to stand too close to.

“You don’t have to do this,” you say softly. “Pretend we’re strangers.”

Joel’s gaze snaps to you — quick, sharp, pained.

“I’m not pretending that,” he says, voice low.

“Then what are you pretending?”

He doesn’t answer. He just watches you like he's trying to hold something in — something he doesn’t trust himself to say.

You take a step forward. Just one. Your voice stays quiet. Careful.

“I thought we were okay. After that night on the porch. I told you I’d drop it. I meant it.”

“I know you did.”

“Then why does it still feel like you’re avoiding me?”

Joel’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t try to lie.

You step closer again, your chest tightening. “I’m not trying to pull you back into anything. I just… I miss you. I miss when we could be in the same room and not feel like we were walking on glass.”

Joel swallows hard, his throat working around the weight of your words. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and hoarse.

“I don’t know how to look at you and not want to touch you.”

The words sink into your skin, low and heated and aching. You go still.

Joel shakes his head. “You think this is easy for me? Bein’ around your dad. Coming in this house. Trying to be normal when all I can think about is how you looked that night — standing at my door, askin’ me if I regret it.”

You blink, throat tight. “Do you?”

His eyes meet yours. Unflinching. “No. But I think about it every goddamn day. What we risked. What it could’ve cost.”

You step closer — close enough now to feel the warmth of his body.

“But it didn’t,” you whisper. “And we said we’d move on.”

“I know.”

“Then why are we still hurting?”

Joel looks at you like he’s trying not to drown in it. Like he wants to say no, wants to say nothing, but his body betrays him first.

His hand lifts.

It hesitates halfway — a breath, a pause — and then he’s touching you. Calloused fingers brush gently along your jaw, so soft it nearly breaks you. His thumb trails just beneath your cheekbone, and your eyes flutter shut instinctively, overwhelmed by the way it feels. Like a confession.

He’s so close now. You can smell cedar and smoke. Feel the warmth of his breath as it fans across your lips. Your heart is in your throat, thudding loud enough to drown out every thought except him.

“I shouldn’t,” he whispers, but he’s already leaning in.

And then he kisses you.

Slow. Desperate. Tender.

His lips press into yours like a secret he’s too tired to keep. There’s no rush, no hunger — just aching restraint, the kind of kiss that says I’ve missed you every second I’ve been away. His hand cradles your jaw while the other curls gently around your waist, not pulling, just holding. Like he needs to remember what it feels like before he lets go again.

His lips taste like regret and rain. His touch is careful, worshipful — like you’re something holy.

Your fingers find the front of his shirt, clinging to it as your body leans into him, heart pounding so hard you’re sure he can feel it. The kiss deepens — slowly, carefully — his mouth parting against yours with quiet submission. Like he's afraid if he gives in too much, he'll ruin you both.

And maybe he will.

When he finally pulls away, it’s with a soft, trembling breath. His forehead rests against yours, his eyes still closed.

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

Then, in a voice so broken it almost undoes you: “I’m sorry.”

He brushes his thumb once more across your cheek — almost like goodbye — and steps back.

And before you can ask him to stay, before you can say please, he opens the door and slips out into the night.

You don’t follow. You don’t cry. You just stand there in the dark, feeling the echo of his mouth on yours like an imprint you’ll never get rid of.

Gone again.

Leaving you standing there in the dark — lips tingling, heart hollow — with the weight of his kiss still clinging to your skin like a bruise that hasn’t formed yet.

And for the first time in weeks, you’re not just missing him. You’re mourning him.

It starts with the quiet.

The kind of quiet that hums. That settles into the walls of the house like dust and lingers under your skin, too thick to ignore but not loud enough to drown out. You’ve been trying to keep busy — folding laundry that doesn’t need folding, pacing around the kitchen without purpose, starting a movie you didn’t even want to watch.

You left it playing in the background anyway. Something old. Familiar. A film you’ve seen a dozen times but couldn’t name a single plot point if someone asked. The dialogue blends into the silence like white noise. You're not really listening.

Not when your mind keeps wandering.

Back to him.

Back to that night.

That kiss.

You haven’t been able to stop thinking about it — the way his mouth felt on yours, soft and certain and so careful, like he was afraid of breaking something even as he gave in to the very thing he’d been trying so hard to avoid. It plays on a loop in your mind. The heat of his hand on your jaw. The tremble in his voice when he said, “I’m sorry.”

You haven’t been the same since.

Not because of the kiss — but because of what came after. The way he left. The way he hasn’t reached out since.

Like he’s trying to pretend it didn’t happen.

Like you’re something he regrets.

You pull your knees up to your chest on the bed, resting your chin there as the light from the TV flickers across the room. You’ve been holding your breath every night since. Waiting for him to text. To call. To do something.

But he hasn’t.

And the silence is starting to feel like punishment.

The house is still. Your dad went to bed hours ago — you heard the creak of his door, the distant shuffle of him brushing his teeth, the usual end-of-day routine.

You wonder if he regrets it.

The thought sits heavy in your chest, pressing down with every heartbeat. You’ve tried to be okay with the distance — you promised you’d let it go — but there’s a hollowness in your ribs that won’t fill. Not when he feels so close and so far all at once.

You sigh, reach for your phone, and check it for the hundredth time.

Still nothing.

You set it down with a quiet thud on the nightstand, then push yourself up, restless. You pace once to the window before you catch yourself.

And then you see it. Just a sliver at first.

Barely there — the way moonlight breaks across his blinds when they’re tilted too wide, or how the glow of his lamp leaks between the cracks. You almost don’t notice it. You’re not looking for it, not really. But your eyes find his window anyway, like they always do. Like they haven’t stopped.

You freeze.

Because they’re open.

For weeks, they’ve been closed. Tight. Like he couldn’t risk letting you see even a shadow of him. Like he was trying to cut the tether between your houses with nothing but slats of plastic.

But now?

Now the blinds are drawn just enough to see in.

And he’s there.

Joel.

He’s standing by the window, backlit by warm lamplight, his head bent low like he’s reading something. You can’t see much — the outline of his shoulders, the slope of his spine — but it’s enough. Your chest pulls tight.

You don’t move. Don’t blink.

You just watch.

At first, it feels innocent again. Like it used to — like the old evenings, when you’d glance across the street and see him moving through his house in a way that felt... comforting. Familiar. A ritual neither of you ever spoke about but always seemed to fall into.

But this time it feels different.

Because now he’s looking up.

Right at you.

Your breath stutters in your throat. You think about ducking, turning away, pretending you weren’t staring — but something about the look in his eyes stops you.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t hide. He just watches you.

Slowly, you step closer to your own window. Close enough that he can see your face. Not just your shape. Not just your shadow.

His expression doesn’t change. Not at first. But there’s something in the way his gaze softens, something that makes your stomach twist and heat crawl up your neck.

His hand moves — slow, deliberate — reaching for the chain of his blinds. You tense, thinking he’s going to close them again, disappear from view like he has so many nights before.

But he doesn’t.

He pulls them wider.

Your breath catches. Because now you see all of him.

He’s wearing a soft, worn t-shirt, clinging to the shape of his chest. His hair’s damp, like he’s just come out of the shower. There’s a crease between his brows, something tired and tense, but his body is relaxed — like he’s standing there waiting for you. Like he knew you’d be looking.

Like maybe… he was waiting too.

You don’t know who moves first.

Maybe it’s you — maybe it’s the way your hand lifts, pressing against the glass as if that’ll make the space between you smaller. Or maybe it’s him — the way he shifts his stance, closer to the window now, one hand braced on the frame, the other resting low on his hip.

He’s not smiling.

But he’s not hiding either.

And God, that does something to you.

The silence of the night is louder now. You can hear the soft whir of your fan, the hum of distant traffic, the thump of your own pulse in your ears. You can feel everything — the weight of his eyes, the heat blooming beneath your skin, the ache that never really left.

Joel tilts his head. Just slightly. Like he’s asking you a question without speaking.

You don’t answer. You can’t. You just keep watching.

And then — slowly — he brings a hand to the hem of his shirt.

He doesn’t take it off. He doesn’t do anything obvious or lewd.

He just lifts it enough to scratch at his side. A lazy, thoughtless gesture. But your eyes follow the motion like you’re starved for it. The way his stomach flexes, the glimpse of skin. Your thighs press together, instinctively, and you hate the way it feels like he knows that. Like he’s watching your reaction just as closely.

Because this isn’t innocent anymore.

This is intentional.

This is him saying: Remember.

And you’re too scared to look away. Too sad. Too hungry.

Because you want him — so much it hurts. Even after all the distance. Even after all the silence. You want him in a way that feels like surrender.

He shifts again.

Turns just slightly so you see more of his profile, his broad chest, the curve of his jaw. And when he leans forward — arms braced on the windowsill, head tilted low — it feels like gravity itself is shifting. Like the space between your houses isn’t enough to stop what’s starting.

You move without thinking.

Your fingers trail down the front of your sleep shirt. Thin cotton. Nothing underneath. And when you see his jaw clench at the sight, your breath catches.

You should stop.

You should close your blinds, turn away, pretend you don’t feel the heat blooming low in your stomach like a secret — but you don’t.

Because he’s still watching.

And he looks like he’s in pain. Like watching you is unraveling him.

His hand lifts again — slow, cautious — like he’s asking permission.

You nod. Just once.

And he unbuckles his belt.

The leather comes undone, slow and deliberate –– like he’s trying to torture you in ways you couldn’t possibly understand. He finally removes his belt, it’s like you can hear the metal clinking even through your window, feet away –– but he doesn’t undress.

His jeans now hang low on his waist, revealing deep hipbones just under his white t-shirt. His shirt rides up just enough, exposing the hair that travels, disappearing in the waistband. He sends a knowing look your way, eyebrow slightly raised, head tilted low. He’s teasing you.

A shiver escapes your lips, but it has nothing to do with the night air. What is he doing to you?

Not long ago — weeks — he told you to stay away. Made you promise. Said it was better this way, that you both needed to forget. And yet, just weeks after those words, he came to you in the dark. No warning, no reason. Just a kiss that lit a fire in your chest and then vanished with him into the shadows, leaving you gasping and hollow.

You know better than to let this go on. You’ve tried to pull away, to make the distance real. But Joel — Joel is like some toxic flower. Beautiful, intoxicating. The kind you want to keep touching even when the thorns are already cutting in.

You should shut the window. You should walk away. But instead, you vanish from the glass, knowing damn well what you're doing — leaving him aching.

Moments later, your phone buzzes.

Joel come back please

You stare at the screen. Your thumb hovers.

You No.

A pause. Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.

Joel you can’t just disappear like that i need to see you

You you saw me. that was the problem, remember? you’re the one who said this couldn’t happen.

A longer pause now. Maybe he’s pacing. You imagine him raking a hand through his hair, frustration carved into every line of his face.

Joel i didn’t mean it. not like that. i just... it’s complicated

You No. It’s simple. You told me to forget. I tried. You kissed me. I didn’t ask for that.

Joel but you kissed me back.

You swallow hard, your breath catching in your throat. You type. Erase. Then type again.

You doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

Another pause.

Joel then come over. just for a minute. i’ll explain. no pressure. i just need to see you. please

Your fingers twitch. Everything in you says no. But the thing is, that ache he left in you — it never really went away. You press your lips together, jaw tight.

You if i come, you don’t get to disappear again.

Joel deal… wear something pretty.

You know exactly what he means by those last words, know what you’re getting yourself into. You stare at your reflection in the dark window. You already know you’re going. Just needed to hear him say it.

You slip your phone into your pocket before he can say anything else. The decision has already sunk into your bones like warm rain — inevitable.

The house is silent. You move like a ghost through the halls, toes brushing cold wood floors, heart pounding in your throat. Every creak feels like a confession. Every breath, too loud. You hesitate at the back door, one hand resting on the knob, the other curled around the edge of your jacket.

Just for a minute. That’s what he said.

But you already know a minute won’t be enough.

The night greets you with a hush, the kind of quiet that makes you feel like something big is about to happen. Joel’s house is just a few feet away. Close enough that you've memorized the way his porch light flickers.

By the time you reach his porch, your pulse is a steady drumbeat in your ears. His truck’s out front, same as always. The house is dark except for the light in the front room.

You round the corner of the porch. And there he is.

Joel’s leaning against the doorway like he’s been standing there for hours. His arms are crossed, his jaw set, but his eyes — his eyes are soft in the worst way. Like regret and want are sitting side by side behind them.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he says, voice low, rough from too many things unsaid.

You shrug, pretending like your heart isn’t breaking just looking at him. “You said please.”

He lets out a breath, half a laugh, like he can’t believe you’re real. Then he steps back and opens the door wider.

“Come inside.”

You hesitate for only a second. Then you cross the threshold.

The door shuts behind you with a soft click that sounds a lot like surrender.

Inside, the air feels different. Warmer. Tighter. Joel stands close, but not too close. Not yet. You can see the way his hands twitch, like he’s holding himself back.

“I wasn’t lying,” he says quietly. “When I told you it was complicated.”

You look at him. “Then explain it.”

He nods, eyes dropping to the floor for a second before they meet yours again. “I wanted to protect you from... from this. From me. I thought if I stayed away, you’d move on. That I’d stop wanting you.”

“And did you?” Your voice is steadier than you feel.

He swallows hard. “Not for a damn second.”

The space between you hums like a live wire. One wrong move, and you'll both fall into it.

You take a step forward. Just one. “Then what do we do, Joel?”

He exhales, slow and ragged, and lifts a hand like he’s going to touch you — then stops himself again.

“We stop pretending it doesn’t matter,” he murmurs. “And we stop lying about how we feel.”

This time, it’s you who reaches for him.

The moment your fingers curl into his shirt and you whisper, “Then stop pretending,” Joel loses it.

His mouth crashes into yours with a groan that sounds like it’s been clawing its way out of him for weeks. There’s no patience, no hesitation — just heat, teeth, tongue, and years of tension finally catching fire.

He’s already walking you backward, lips never leaving yours, hands gripping your waist like he can’t decide whether to pull you closer or push you straight through the wall.

You gasp against his mouth as your back hits it with a thud. “Joel—”

He shakes his head, breathing hard. “No. Don’t talk. Just—come here.”

He grabs your hand and pulls you toward the stairs, but neither of you make it gracefully. You’re tripping over each other, stumbling, laughing breathlessly between kisses. He lifts you halfway up the stairs like he can’t stand the space between your bodies, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist, arms thrown around his shoulders.

He pins you to the wall midway up, grinding into you hard enough to draw a gasp from your throat.

“You gonna keep teasin’ me?” he mutters against your neck, biting gently.

“You gonna keep talking?” you shoot back, yanking at his jeans.

That does it. He lets out a guttural, broken sound and practically hauls you the rest of the way, mouths still crashing, hands roaming fast and rough. The stairs become a blur of groans and tangled limbs, your bodies fumbling, too impatient to care.

By the time you burst through his bedroom door, you’re both wild.

He slams the door shut behind you, doesn’t even wait to reach the bed — just presses you up against it, shoves his hands under your shirt and yanks it off like it’s offending him by existing. You tear at his in return, dragging it over his head as he kisses down your chest, your stomach.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re killing me.”

You pull him back up, crash your mouth to his again. “Then don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. He lifts you, drops you onto the bed, crawling over you with that same unstoppable force. His hands are everywhere — your hips, your thighs, your jaw. He kisses you like he’s drowning in you, like if he stops, he’ll lose his mind.

“I’ve wanted you,” he groans, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “For so fucking long.”

“Show me,” you whisper, nails raking down his back.

He groans into your skin, grinding against you. “You think I haven’t imagined this? Thought about how you’d sound—how you’d feel?”

“Joel—” you gasp, hips meeting his in desperate rhythm.

He’s losing it. You both are.

You roll, straddle him, kiss him hard. He grabs your hips, guiding you as you move, both of you chasing something that’s been just out of reach for far too long.

“Look at me,” he demands, voice ragged.

You do — and that look in his eyes, that wild, almost worshipful hunger, nearly knocks the air out of your lungs.

“You’re mine,” he says, like a vow. “Tonight, you’re fucking mine.”

Joel dips his head to your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin just below your ear –– creating possessive marks that you know shouldn’t be there but can’t bring yourself to stop him. You roll your hips into his crotch, needing his attention in the filthiest of ways. A small grunt slips from his lips at the friction.

“Fuck, baby girl, want me that bad?” He teases, a sly smirk displaying for you to see.

“Joel I— please.” You beg, tired of the games, tired of the complication, tired of the mess. You just want to pretend you really are his, even if it’s just for the night.

Joel doesn’t fight, doesn’t continue with the teasing –– he needs you just as bad. Flips you back over so he’s on top. One hand cups your breast, kneading the hard nub –– twisting it harshly between his fingers, sending electric shivers up your spine. His mouth catches the other, his tongue swirling in sinful ways, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin.

Your fingers curl into the back of his head, tugging slightly at the stray hairs. His eyes meet yours –– nipple still between his teeth. The site alone makes you moan his name in ways you never thought you could.

His hand trails down your stomach and pushes down your pretty, baby pink sleep shorts. Of course you weren’t wearing underwear.

“Such a slut.” Joel murmurs, shaking his head slightly. “Walkin’ to my house with no panties on. Tryin’ to tell me you didn’t come over for me to fuck you?”

Whines escape your lips as his fingers reach down, rubbing you’re already soaked cunt –– spreading your slick up to your clit.

“So wet for me. Can see you glistening. Needed me this bad, baby?”

“Joel—" You whine, body withering underneath his gaze.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Daddy’s here now.” He assures, dipping his head between your thighs, lightly flicking his tongue at your ever swollen clit.

The noises leaving your mouth are sinful, filling the dimly lit room, feeling the empty house. He sucks slightly, thumb trailing rubbing between your wet folds. Your hands grab at his hair, tugging for some release. Knees now bent with your feet hanging ever so slightly in the air.

You feel your body start to shake as he easily enters his middle and ring finger inside of you –– curling once he knows he’s deep enough to have you begging.

His free palm presses slightly on the lower part of your stomach, keeping you still while his movements begin a harsh pace. Wet, disgusting noises feel the air, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to care, chasing his mouth with your trusts.

“Need my tongue?” He asks, making eye contact with you for the first time since he buried his face between your legs.

You nod your head fiercely, whining when you lose contact as he removes his fingers. The loss isn’t long missed when he quickly replaces his tongue, digging himself inside you. His thumb trails slowly up your thighs, meeting at your clit and rubbing deep circles causing you to arch into his touch.

“Joel, gonna— god I’m gonna come.” You whimper, movements now faulty, legs shaking around him and toes curling slightly.

“Wanna taste you. You can do it, babygirl, come on.”

The want you hear in his low, hoarse, voice drives you over the edge. Never hearing anyone want you that bad. Never having anyone begging for your taste. The heat coiled in your lower stomach now released –– mouth agape and eyes rolled. You can hear the lewd sounds of Joel taking you all in, not allowing any escape.

You lay there, catching your breath and admiring the site one last time of Joel between your legs. You thought this would be it, never have gone so far with him, never have even seen him naked. Sure, you’ve seen him shirtless in his dimly lit bedroom from hundreds of feet away. And when you were finally falling apart in his arms, he was clothed the whole time, never touched.

So, it came as a shock to you when Joel desperately pulls his jeans down his thighs, past his calves, and throws them on the ground –– uncared for. His boxers chase quickly after and you’re met with the sight of Joels hard, dripping, length. He’s just as big as you imagined.

He crouches over you, hand placed on the side of your head as he adjusts himself between your legs. His gaze lands on yours –– full of hunger, like you’re the last meal he’d ever have.

“You want this?” He asks. Genuinely asks –– no teasing.

“Yes.” You answer quietly, slowly wrapping your legs around his waist. “Fuck me hard.”

He smirks at the request. You have no idea what you’ve just asked for kind of look displayed on his face. You’re nervous. You’re excited. You’re ready to take him –– all of him.

He lines himself up with your entrance, giving you one last assuring look, and once he sees that you’re serious, he slams into you. No edging, no warning, no prep. A scream leaves your lips, and you quickly cover your mouth with you own hands.

“No, let me hear you.” He demands, removing your hands. “Wanna hear my pretty girl’s cry.”

You move your hands to his biceps, digging your nails deep into him –– defiantly leaving marks. He gives you exactly what you asked for as your screams fill the dim room. Joels movements so harsh, so steady, the sound of skin hitting against skin drowning itself into your ear.

His gaze lingers at the sight of you taking him in, all of him. He watches the filthy sight, groaning every time he sees himself disappear between your thighs. Watching how his shaft is glistening with your juices when he pulls out again.

“Look at you. Handlin’ this like such a good girl.” He grunts, facing you. “My girl takin’ all of me.”

You grab each side of his cheeks, stray tears leaving your eyes at the firey contact between your legs. He’s being so harsh with you, so mean. But his words suggest otherwise. You want to be so good for him, you want him to have his way.

“You okay, baby girl?” As he bends down, kissing each tear. His concern couldn’t be more comforting. You nod your head. I want this.

He offers you a mischievous smile at the answer, arms now wrapping around your knees, pushing your legs to your chest to get himself in the deepest position. A deep moan escapes his lips at the feeling.

He starts slow, pacing to get you prepared and ready, but seeing you’re already scratching his back at the contact, his pace quickens –– the sound of loud smacks and the headboard banging against the wall over power your moans.

You feel his movements become unsteady as he pushes your legs as far as he can, almost folding you in half as if he could place you in his pocket — and then he thrusts deeper, harder, as if trying to crawl inside you, to stay there.

His grip tightens, his pace turns frantic, and when he finally loses control, it’s with your name ripped from his throat and his body trembling above yours, like you’ve shattered something vital in him.

And when he finally flips, pulls you down onto him, the world splits open. You’re now in his lap, but you’re not in control. His thrusts still deep inside you as his hands grip at you hips –– holding you there as if you were to escape.

It’s not gentle. It’s not slow.

It’s pure, feral need. A collision of bodies, of emotion, of everything you’ve both denied.

You’re kissing between moans, holding on for dear life, moving like the world might end tomorrow — and maybe it already has, because nothing else exists except this. Joel, beneath you, inside you, gripping you like you’re the only thing that’s ever felt real.

And you — burning alive in his hands, coming apart under every word he groans into your skin, every thrust, every whispered “God, I missed you.”

The bed rocks. The headboard slams. Your name breaks off his lips like a prayer.

And you feel him twitch deep inside of you, head thrown back, breath hitched. He’s warm inside of you, dripping out slowly down your thighs and around his shaft where he still sits inside.

You collapse onto his chest, your limbs weak, lungs pulling in ragged breaths that still can’t quite catch up to your racing heart. Joel’s arm is already around you, holding you there like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

His skin is warm, damp with sweat, his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek. You listen to the thrum of his heartbeat — it’s fast, chaotic, like yours — and somehow, that grounds you more than anything else.

Neither of you speak for a moment. There’s no need.

His hand finds your hair, fingers slowly combing through it in lazy, distracted strokes. You melt into him, eyes fluttering shut, lulled by the rhythmic movement and the soft sound of his breathing.

“You okay?” he asks eventually, his voice low and rough, still wrecked from what just passed between you.

You nod against his chest. “Yeah.”

He tilts his head, kisses the top of yours — slow, gentle, lingering. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “You were perfect.”

You feel the breath leave his lungs at that, like your words hit something deep inside him.

For a moment, he just keeps playing with your hair, grounding himself in the softness of you. Then you feel him shift beneath you, moving with quiet purpose. Finally pulling himself out.

“Stay right there,” he murmurs.

You groan softly in protest, but he presses another kiss to your forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

He disappears into the bathroom, and you hear the sound of water running, a drawer opening, something rustling. When he returns, he’s holding a warm, damp towel and one of his shirts.

Joel sits at the edge of the bed and gently parts your legs, eyes scanning your face for any hesitation. “Just let me take care of you,” he says quietly.

You nod, throat tight.

His touch is tender, soft, as he cleans you up — his fingers slow, like this is his way of saying all the things he doesn’t quite know how to say aloud. When he finishes, he slips the oversized shirt over your head, pulling it gently down your arms.

You catch him staring at you in it — his shirt, your skin — and there’s something in his eyes that isn’t just lust. It’s something quieter. Something closer to wonder.

Joel climbs into bed beside you, pulls the blanket up over both of you, and gathers you into his arms like he’s done it a hundred times before.

Like you belong there.

His fingers find your hair again, idly twirling strands between them.

You press your face into his neck, breathing him in.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

His hand stills in your hair. “I never stopped missing you.”

And in the quiet that follows, everything feels still. Safe. Real.

For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re running.

You just feel at home.

a/n: I am so sorry this took forever for me to post!!

@locaparapedrito @vickie5446 @thewritergx

163 notes · View notes

munchhmm · 1 day ago

Note

hey pookiee, was wondering if you could do a headcanon with a reader that fights with a super big sword expect the reader is a bit on the shorter side? Its okay if you don’t want to, I luveee your work :33

Blade and Banter

This is adorable and I had so much fun writing it! Thank you for being so kind!

The boys reacting to reader being a lil small with a big sword ✧

Pairings: Zoro, Ace, Law, Smoker, and Shanks x F!reader

Warnings: Mentions of weight/height in Laws for doctor stuffs ♡

Credit to @cafekitsune for dividers! first pic is mine

Word count: About 3.3k vv ace heavy hehe

Zoro ૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა

Genuinely doesn’t believe you can even hold the thing at first.

Teaches you how to clean and store it properly.

When he trains with you he’s really impressed but just shows it with a smirk.

Pats you on the head like a child and makes comments about your short frame.

“Thought I’d have to protect you more than this, seems I was wrong.”

Cool night air brushes through the open door of the training room, smelling of salt and slightly damp wood. You and Zoro have been practicing for three hours now, but you don’t want to let him know how tired you are.

Sweat coats both of your bodies, dripping to the floor with little sound. Zoro goes to wipe his face with a towel when he notices you’re breathing a bit more than normal. “Tsk, you can admit you need a break, ya know?” he says as he offers you another towel and takes your sword from you.

A slight blush comes to your cheeks, but you hide it with the towel easily. He was so sweet. Suddenly you feel a soft but firm pressure on the top of your head. When you look away from the cloth covering your face, Zoro stands in front of you with his hand resting naturally over your hair, petting it slightly.

“Good job tonight, pipsqueak,” he says with a teasing tone. You instinctively roll your eyes. “I’m really not that short.” “Your sword is literally taller than you are.” “At least I can hold it!”

This playful banter continues for a few more minutes until Nami stomps in with an annoyed expression. “Can you just tell her you like her already and stop yelling like this every night?! Making these maps for us isn’t easy, you know!”

The green-haired man froze for a second at Nami’s comment before turning to face her. “Would you butt out? We weren’t even being loud,” he says gruffly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Whatever, just be quiet!” the redhead says angrily as she walks out of the room.

Zoro doesn’t turn to face you for a few seconds, but when he does, his ears are a little red. You thought it was adorable, though.

With a smile, you quickly change the subject, knowing Zoro wasn’t going to be able to handle this awkward situation well. “Wanna go grab something to eat?” you say while already gathering your things to leave the training room. “Yeah, food sounds good,” he says flatly and starts to follow behind you without another word.

Comfortable silence was common between you two; neither of you minded, though. Zoro thought about how he was stupid to not realize others could pick up on the way you guys talked—but it wasn’t flirting, right? The idea of finally one day not being teased anymore by Zoro was on your mind. But of course that would never happen. What if he really did like you? please he’s so flustered.

⋆˚࿔𝄢ৎ୭

Ace (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

Think’s you’re the most adorbs thing in the world.

Picks you up (If you let him) like he’s lifting weights.

Almost drops your sword when he first holds it because he didn’t expect you to be able to carry that.

Constantly asks jokingly how old you are and when your bedtime is.

Loves comparing his and yours height and brags about how he’s a lot taller than you. mamamoo reference hehe

While docked on a large, isolated island, you’d think the crew would’ve been a bit more cautious, but Whitebeard's people didn’t like to roll that way, though.

The brush was thick, and the vines stretched so far they seemed to never end. Best description would be a rainforest with abnormally large plants.

Ace liked to stick with you, to your annoyance at times. The teasing and comments never bothered you, but the way it makes your heart skip a beat does. Falling in love with a crewmate was inappropriate and you knew that, but you couldn’t help the feeling that spreads through you when he smiles your way.

After tripping over a root while Ace catches you, and screaming from the sudden appearance of a large beetle, you both finally make it to a large opening in the trees.

Hoping to find some way of getting a better view of the island, this was probably the best option. While you were bent down examining a strange plant, there was a sudden frenzied tap on your shoulder. “Woah, hey, Y/N? Do you see that thing too or is it just me?” Ace asks with a slightly startled tone.

You quickly look to where his gaze is, seeing a huge tricolored snake making its way toward both of you—and fast.

Without a second thought, and your sword in hand, you rush the slithering monster to attack it, defeating the beast with ease.

A chuckle can be heard from behind you as you stand for a moment to try and catch your breath. “Wow, look at the little mouse fighting back!” There it goes again. Why did you have to get flustered over something like this?

“It’s no big deal. It would’ve eaten us otherwise. You were no help, though.” A playful grin covering your face as you walk back over to the black-haired boy. “Nah, I knew you had it. But now you get to rest on me. I bet you used up all your tiny energy.” Ace quickly picks you up and throws you over his shoulder before you can protest.

Not that you actually minded, though. At least this way he can’t see how red your face is right now. “Ace! We still gotta look around to see if there are any other people here! We don’t have time for this!” you say with a slightly squeaky voice.

Words fell on deaf ears. Without even responding to your comment, Ace continues to search like nothing happened. When he turned to look down a hill, you could see from the other direction what looked to be a small man-made shack. “Ace, look—there’s a building over there. Let’s check that out.”

As soon as he turned to look where you were, he smiled, picking you up from his shoulder and holding you under your arms in front of him. “The baby is strong AND smart! Awesome, let’s go!” Ace again gently places you back onto his shoulder and quickly makes it to the shack.

At this point, your heart is doing backflips, but you don’t say anything other than a small grunt as he moves you.

The building was in ruins—small and clearly lived in. Whoever was here had been away for quite a while, though, as dust covered every surface inside. You sigh and sit on a chair that had the least amount of dirt on it. “This is where we’re gonna stay, I guess, until we can catch up with the others. It’s too dangerous outside and probably worse at night,” you say while grabbing things out of your bag to set up a makeshift sleeping spot.

“Yeah, it’s getting dark quick. There’s no point in risking going all the way back to the boat,” Ace adds, standing above you and watching with his arms folded. Always with that signature smile.

Wood flooring wasn’t the ideal choice to lay on, but you definitely weren’t risking getting on the old bed. You and Ace have an arm’s length distance between each other as you try and get some rest. He suddenly turns to face you, looking a little too long at your features. “What is it…?” you ask quietly, as if you were trying not to wake an imaginary person in the room. “You’re cute. I’ve never seen you sleeping,” he says softly, still watching closely.

A smile spreads across your face just as quickly as the blush. You laugh slightly and scoot a bit closer to him. “You’re cute when you tease me, and every other time.” The words slipped from your mouth without realizing it.

Ace just chuckles and wraps an arm around you lazily. “I’ll just have to do it more often, then,” he says with a smirk. You can feel his chest vibrate when he talks. “Is that even possible?”

⋆˚࿔𝄢ৎ୭

Law >⸝⸝⸝<

Doesn’t say anything about it till someone else points it out in front of him.

Thinks having such a big weapon is just inconvenient until he sees you fight.

Shocked at the way you can handle the sword with such ease.

Smirks when he looks at your height during checkups.

Secretly finds it cute when he has to glance down so far just to see you.

Echoes of footsteps and stainless steel tools clanking against metal trays were the only sounds that could be heard inside the exam room. Every few months, the whole crew has to get a health exam to make sure you’re all doing good. You loathed these days. The lights were too bright, the air was always cold, and worst of all, you knew everyone was going to ask if you had grown any since your last visit. Law always hides the actual numbers from you, knowing it makes you flustered. But that doesn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun with it, right? “Have you had any issues carrying your weapon recently? Any shoulder or forearm pain?” he asks flatly, looking down at his clipboard with pen in hand. You shake your head. Your sword has never been a true burden to carry, even if it was awkward to hold sometimes. After a few scribbles on the paper, Law motions for you to get on the weight and height scale. With a sigh, you make your way to the machine and stand on it, waiting for Law to write down the information. “Huh, you actually grew an inch.” His smirk could be heard through his words. “You’re messing with me. I’m an adult—I shouldn’t be getting any taller now,” you say with a slightly annoyed expression. A hand comes around to turn the small screen of the scale to where you can see it, showing that Law wasn’t lying. You really did gain an inch since the last visit. “Now you’re almost as tall as your sword. It’s progress,” he says while jotting down random notes. A small smile grows on your face. Even though this would probably just cause more teasing, it still gives you a bit of an ego boost. Once the exam is over, Law allows you to leave, but not before giving you a small piece of candy. “For being a good patient today,” he says while standing in front of the door. You pout playfully and look up at the tall doctor. “I’m not a kid. I don’t need a treat for doing well…” The sentence came out more like a murmur, causing Law to chuckle and press the candy into your hand. “No, but it does mean you didn’t complain about your height this time, which is a good improvement.”

Later that night, the captain finds you practicing quietly, keeping so much focus you don’t even notice him walking up to the doorframe. He watches your form, calculating how much pressure and stress your muscles are going through under the weight of the sword. Suddenly, his presence can be felt, causing you to turn quickly in the direction of the door with your sword pointed forward. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know it was you.” Words almost so quiet they couldn’t be heard—you were flustered from being caught off guard. “And what if it were one of the other crew members? I guess they’d be in trouble,” he says with a small chuckle, pushing off the doorframe to walk closer. “You really should rest more often. I know you can handle it, but anyone can push themselves too far without realizing it until it’s too late.” The distance between you two is close. You can feel the heat radiating off of his body, and you’re melting under it. Standing with your sword, using it to steady yourself from the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. “I… I will. I won’t overdo it. Swear.” The blush that slowly makes its way to your cheeks makes you want to disappear into the floor. He smirks and gently puts a hand on your shoulder. “Good, because I don’t wanna see our smallest being harmed in any way.” God, how was he so smooth yet so annoying?

⋆˚࿔𝄢ৎ୭

Smoker (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑)

Silently worries about you constantly.

Attempts to get you to use any other weapon and offers to train you.

Feels like he’s gonna accidentally kill you by sitting on you one day or something.

Wonders if you’re lying about your age so you could join the marines sooner.

When you insist you’re fine with your sword he sees you with a newfound respect.

There’s never a dull day on the Navy ship. Today was no different. Two groups of pirates decided they would have a better chance if they worked together, so here you were, fighting two enemies at once, coming from different sides. The sound of angry screams and blades colliding filled the deck — it was chaos everywhere.

When the attack had first started, you were asleep, being brought out of your dreams by the Vice-Admiral. His voice was stern but calm. “Y/N, get up and make yourself decent quickly. We have a problem on our hands.” You sit up fast and try to pull your thoughts together. Without much effort, you throw on some clothes and grab your sword.

Now that you fully understood the situation, it was go-time. Bodies flew off the ship as you made your way through the crowd, swiping anyone who wasn’t a part of your team like it was nothing.

It wasn’t too long before the scene had settled — crew members cleaning the mess while others went to the med bay to get checked out for small wounds. With a sigh, you look at the surrounding area. This wasn’t how you wanted to spend your morning.

Smoker comes up to you while you’re cleaning your sword, putting a hand on your shoulder. “You did good, kid. You always do,” he said with his usual gruff voice. A small smirk graced your face. “Thought you liked me better when I used those daggers you gave me?” you ask playfully.

He chuckles while looking down at you. “I just thought you’d be quicker with them. I was wrong. This is the right weapon for you.” Turning to face him while tilting your head slightly, Smoker takes a puff from his cigar. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” he questions with an eyebrow raised.

“Why’d you think I’d be quicker with daggers?” Almost immediately, the Vice-Admiral lets out a loud and deep chuckle. “Because they aren’t half a head taller than you like that sword is. Hell, I’m surprised the thing isn't bigger than me.”

A slight blush comes to your face — never expecting someone like Smoker to pay that much attention to anyone, let alone you. With an awkward attempt at playing it cool, you roll your eyes and set your sword next to yourself as you stand. “You’re funny, but this thing isn’t even half my hei—”

The overwhelmingly tall man in front of you just smirks and crosses his arms. He knew the sentence you were about to finish was a lie. Even with the sword leaning against a nearby wall, it towered over you the same way Smoker did.

“Love the confidence though — you need it in a world like this,” he says teasingly while putting out his cigar. Another huff leaves your mouth as you cross your arms playfully. “Why do you always have something to say? I’ll just report you for bullying if you keep it up.”

All the Vice-Admiral did was slowly light another cigar, puffing smoke while making sure none of it reached your face. After a few seconds, he steps closer to you, practically breaking his neck just to meet your eyes. “Now why would you get someone like me in trouble? Thought you liked me.”

There were no words to describe how hard your heart was beating — it felt like at any moment it could burst. The smell of cologne and smoke clouded your brain to the point you couldn’t think of a response. Instead, you just stood looking up at him with a crimson face.

A smirk spreads across Smoker’s face as he backs up a bit to turn to the door, turning his head back before walking out. “I’m not worried, but don’t expect me to change.” Then silence.

You went to lay back down for a few more hours till your shift started, thinking about ways you could get him back for this.

⋆˚࿔𝄢ৎ୭

Shanks (˵ ��̀ ᴗ - ˵ )

Intrigued and makes it well known.

Shameless flirting constantly.

Makes a drinking game out of how many fights you win.

Drapes his clothes over your shoulders just to see how you get swallowed by them.

Holds the sword above your head so you can’t reach it, all while grinning.

Ting-Clash!! Clang! Clang! Sounds of metal, iron, and other various metals can be heard reverberating off of the cave walls. Simple dodges made by the enemy cause the rock around them to crumble as you crash your sword into it. This fight was getting annoying. Usually, you’re in a field, or at most surrounded by trees you could easily chop down. In a small space like this, it was a real challenge. Your captain stayed at the entrance, leaning against a huge boulder that indicated the opening of this stupid tunnel system. He knew you could handle it. He also knew it wouldn’t hurt to go and help you. But where was the fun in that? After about half an hour, you finally manage to make it through the last batch of people, taking a moment to breathe in the cold and damp air, listening to the water slowly dripping down onto the stone beneath your feet. Suddenly, you hear footsteps. In this current narrow section, it wasn’t a good idea to immediately turn around, sword drawn. So you wait a few moments while continuing to walk into a more spacious area before turning to fight. The water falling started to sound like it was matching your heartbeat. Although nothing had changed, your mind was still attempting to play games with you. When you make it to the wider area, the footsteps behind you stop.

ThumpThumpThump ThumpThumpThump

With shaky hands, you carefully turn around, sword pointed in front of you with a slight rattle. “Woah, easy there sweetheart. Am I really that scary?” It was Shanks?! Of course he would pull something like this. A large, relieved sigh leaves your mouth as you walk up to the tall red-haired man and punch his arm playfully. “Yeah, you are! I almost had a heart attack, you jerk!” The sounds of your scared yet annoyed voice echo through the entire system of tunnels. “Aw, I’m sorry. How can I make it up to you then?” he says while taking his hand to brush a strand of hair out of your face. “Hmm, let’s see… you could stop calling me a baby, stop scaring me, and stop taking my sword,” you say with a finger to your lips like you’re actually thinking deeply about his question. Shanks just chuckles and quickly swipes your sword from your hand, holding it above your head and shaking it lightly. Another sigh can be heard from you, this time frustrated. “What, you mean this? Is it because you can’t catch it?~” The smooth words roll off his tongue like it’s nothing, causing you to become even more flustered. “Ugh, you know I can’t reach it! You just do it to make me upset.” A fake pout plastering your face as you cross your arms. Shanks leans down, still keeping the sword out of reach, and gets close enough to your face that you can feel his breath on your lips. “I do it to see you like this, because it’s adorable. Not because I want a beautiful girl like you upset. I never would.” Your jaw drops slightly at the closeness and his words. He thought you were adorable? No words come out of your mouth for a moment. He takes this opportunity to lightly brush his lips against yours before standing back upright and handing you the sword with his signature smirk. “Look at that, I made the baby speechless. That’s even more precious,” he says while turning to walk back toward the entrance of the cave. You follow him, trying to think of something—anything—to say. Once outside, you finally blurt out, “Do you think I'm strong too?” Your own words immediately make you blush. “Of course I do. It’s not just your looks that made me fall for you, doll.” The walk back to the ship was quiet but comfortable, the usual flirting and games you were used to. But today, your captain changed the energy altogether. Secretly, though, you’re here for it.

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sexcnanami · 2 days ago

Text

minors dni, 18+ content

imagine after getting into arguments recently, you tell choso that it might be time for a break in the relationship, thinking that with the time apart it would help. in reality, it did not, a full 48 hours haven’t even passed before you both had started missing each other. that was when you decided to show up to his apartment to call off the break but when you arrived, he was nowhere to be found. just as you were about to leave, you could’ve sworn you heard quiet cries followed by the sound of your name. you turn on your heel, making your way to his room before cracking open the door to reveal his glistened frame humping a pillow as he deeply inhales one of your shirts. the sight may have been the prettiest you’ve ever seen, making you almost speechless before he opened his teary-eyes and met your gaze. his cheeks immediately flush in embarrassment, his leaking bulge seeping through his boxers as he’s just as speechless as you were. but when your gaze fully takes in the scene, you notice one of your favorite bras right by where he laid and it’s almost as if he could see the gears turning in your head.

“having some fun?” you ask, breaking the thick silence.

“n-no!” he immediately says. “I just missed you, alot.”

“so you steal one of my bras like a little pervert?” you almost want to laugh. his dick twitches at your accusation, his caught expression very much reading that it both was and wasn’t what it looked like – you were right but for the wrong reasons.

he really did miss you and since you weren’t physically there, he needed at least something with the scent of you to keep him calm. that’s when he fished through the hamper and found his favorite bra of yours: a dark red bra with black lace and the tiniest matching bow that rested right between the valley of where your tits would prettily sit. he remembered the matching panties you would normally wear with it but, of course, to him this wasn’t meant to be perverted yet it changed the moment his nostrils filled with the sweet scent of your expensive perfume mixed with your own personal smell, his dick beginning to grow painfully hard. he was immediately ashamed, surely he shouldn’t be this turned on from just missing you but as more thoughts of you flooded his mind, his body mimics them – gently humping against the pillow you used. he genuinely thought you were officially done with him, his thrusts desperate at just the idea of never getting to see you, let alone feel you, again. that was until you showed up, something that shouldn’t surprised him considering he was whimpering your name like a prayer – and you being the goddess you were to him, you answered.

you can’t help the pitiful smile that forms on your lips after he explains himself, you almost want to hold and assure him, promising that you’d never leave again but a larger part of you wondered just how much he yearns for you.

“is it that you only appreciate and miss me when i’m away?” you ask, folding your arms.

“no!” panic settles on his face. “i promise that’s not the case, please – let me show you.” your eyebrow raises at the suggestion.

“and how are you going to do that?” you curiously wonder. without a second wasted, he gets up from his position on the bed, his eyes remaining on yours as he goes to stand in front of you. you can hear your own heartbeat in your ears as he descends to his knees, his slightly-teary eyes looking up at your expectantly before his hand reach to the hem of your pants.

“may i?” he politely asked, to which you nod. after he shrugs down your pants, he neatly discards them to the side before leaning in, placing gently and patient kisses on your knee. you can’t ignore the goosebumps that grow on your skin from his soft lips, his kisses beginning to trail up towards your thighs. as you run a hand through his hair, you can almost feel his kisses growing slightly hungrier. you feel his hands run up the sides of your legs, his lips pressing against the thin, soft fabric of your panties as his fingers toy with the waistband, looking up at you like a silent request.

“aww, want something?” you teasingly ask, making a rosy tint appear on his cheeks. he looks up at you with a darkened look, his voice coming out much more deprived as he spoke.

“let me taste you,” he pleads, sending a pleasant chill down your spine. “please.” the moment you nod, he doesn’t waste a second in pulling your panties down, a small whine leaving him as he watches the strings of your arousal still connected to your panties. as he sets your thigh on his shoulder, he immediately drowns himself in your soaked heat, lapping up your juices with the same amount of vigor as a thirsty dog on a hot day. his hands gripped your ass, brining you impossibly closer and holding you as you began to squirm from the pleasure. you grab onto his hair, attempting to keep yourself more grounded but the tugs on his long black strands makes him groan, the vibration sent directly to your clit as his plump li[ps closed around the sensitive bud. the sight of his red, tear-stained eyes peering from beneath you was enough to inch you closer to your orgasm, but based on how sensual his tongue was moving, it seemed as if he was never going to stop. and he certainly wasn’t, especially from the way he held you against his face tighter when he felt you trying to create space as your orgasm approached. it isn’t long before you sweet juice spill against his mouth, the excess arousal trailing lazily down his chin before he finally parts from your swollen pussy, greedily cleaning off his face. he still holds onto you, careful of the idea that your legs may be weak yet he takes the opportunity to lift and carry you over to the edge of the bed. as you sit and recover, he seats himself to his knees in front of you, his head resting in your lap while he looks up at you almost innocently.

“you’re not expecting a reward, are you?” you teasingly ask, leading him to shake his head.

“only if you want to give me one.” he says, pressing delicate kisses on your thigh. but little to your knowledge, he knew exactly what he was doing, playing the innocent, obedient pup who only does what is told and allowed. even though this was a normal occurrence, you could tell he was being extra patient in hopes of a bigger reward. with a teasingly gentle caress of your soft foot against his clothed dick, it seemed he’s lost the majority of his composure as a sharp gasp leaves him from the contact. he shivers the moment the ball of your foot slowly rubs up against his length that strains against the fabric of his boxers.

“this should be just enough to get you off, right?” you grin as you ask, knowing the question’s obvious answer. you watch the tint of his cheeks go darker, a small pant leaving his mouth at each caress to his cock, yet you pause your movements from the lack of response.

“i asked a question.” you say, grabbing a gentle hold of his chin.

“yes–please, it’s enough.” he nods, embraced in the warmth of your hold all while his hips kept lifting to create friction against his leaking cock and your foot. you can’t help the small smile that reaches your lips at his desperation, almost curious of the idea of giving him more. there wasn’t any way that he was going to be greedy…was he?

“such a good boy,” you say, sincerely. “is there something you’d like as your reward for being good and following directions?” he immediately looks up at you with a dark look in his eyes, his dick jumping against your foot at the question.

“can i fuck you, please?” he almost whined. the second you decide to give in, he immediately takes the opportunity to push you to lay on your back, his hands grabbing at your hips to pull you closer to the edge of the bed before sliding down his boxers and sliding his reddened cock right between your folds. it took you a short moment to even process just how starved he seemed and just as you grab the words to speak, he’s filling you up to the brim with his cock and it feels as though your brain fogs from the feeling. even he’s aware of the fact that he was being entirely greedy, pounding into you relentlessly despite the possibility of being too rough with you but in reality you were reeling from it.

“i’m-nghh, sorry…just too��good.” he manages to huff out between moans. your eyes were rolling to the back of your head, your mouth hanging open as both of your moans filled the space, his hands holding onto your hips bruisingly tight as if you’ll disappear the moment he stops touching you. you were just feeling that good to him, and he wanted to show you in every possible way how much you meant to him, which definitely included fucking you dumb – not that he was aware of it because, in his eyes, you looked absolutely divine like this. at this point, he was almost crying, small whispers of requests for you to never leave again, not mattering to him at all that it had only been short of two whole days for him to be this insatiable. it was clear as day that he needed you, his lips sloppily meeting yours as his forehead is pressed against yours, his hips beginning to falter the moment your walls squeeze around him, signalling that you both were on the verge of your orgasms.

“f-fuck, please…so close~.” you feel your body writhe in pleasure and your words made his soul immediately leave his body, completely filling you to the brim with all of him as thick ropes of cum paint your plush walls. after a moment, he slowly slides outside of you and leans down towards your pussy, peppering gentle kisses to your sensitive clit as his thumb presses delicately against your entrance, hoping to keep his cum from spilling out of you. he almost wants to chuckle at the shiver of your legs, a reminder that he needed to be exceptionally gentle with you as he lifts you up and carries your exhausted frame into the bathroom to draw you a bath and take care of you. from that point on, he does absolutely everything to ensure you never want to leave him again.

especially letting you know he’s the only one who can ever make you feel that way.

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x you #smut #choso kamo #choso x reader #jjk choso #choso smut #choso x you #choso kamo smut #kamo choso #choso jujutsu kaisen #choso jjk

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kayshiftsrealities · 1 day ago

Text

Things that happen in the night

Remmick x afab reader smut

Summary: An attractive unknown man shows up on your doorstep every night. Beggin to be let in. You deny him each time until tonight. {inspired by a conversation with a c.ai bot}

Content: 18+ nsfw, AFAB reader, human reader, smut, lots of it

Word count: 7,183

It was a hot summer night. Your ma and pa fast asleep in their room at the back of the house. The sound of crickets chirping in the distance. You stood inside at the front door, a familiar sound of the porch creaking. Your eyes lighting up with fear and excitement, knowing just who was approaching your door.

You waited on him every night. You couldn’t help but admit your attraction for the man that showed on your porch every night like clockwork. But you were cautious to not let him in. Having heard word of strange men from far away lands, needing let in to come into your home. Ma said they was the devil but this man didn’t seem like no devil to you. Just mysterious and alluring.

But you knew better than to invite him in, so each night you spoke between the screen door. The man always beggin to be let in, but after your denials he would stop and just started speakin in riddles.. And you couldn’t wait to find out what he would say tonight.

As you opened the door you were greeted by that familiar face, covered in the pale moonlight. Your heart beating faster as he spoke up. “Well now, ain’t you a sight…” his voice deep and ragged. Standing there in his button up, caked in sweat, the top few buttons being undone so you could see his chest.

Your breath hitched but you held back as much as you could. Standing tall and crossing your arms against your chest to cover yourself, as you were only wearing your thin nightgown. “You know you ain’t supposed to be here…” you said softly, looking back into the darkness of your home. Acting as if your pa would be walking out with his gun any minute now but you knew damn well that wasn’t the case.

While you usually broke this tough act fairly quick each night, you still stood your ground at first anyways.

Looking back as the man began to speak, “You say that darlin’, yet you here every night waiting on me like clockwork.” He said with a smirk on his lips. “You know what I want… just invite me in…” He said as his hand pressed against the screen door.

“You know I ain’t about to do that, sir.” You hummed, softly tightening your arms around your chest as you could see him eyeing your figure.

His voice went from demanding to begging as he spoke up again. “Darlin’, you really gon make a man beg? Cuz you know I will. Get down on my knees right here on this porch and beg for ya.”

You lifted your chin holding a stern glance, a spark of interest in your eyes wondering if he would actually do what he said.

“You question my words? I’ll say please real nice, so long as you show me what that voice of yours sounds like beggin back.” He said grinning wide as he watched your body shiver at his words.

Your legs tightened at his speak and you knew he noticed, but damn you couldn’t help but get riled up. He did this to you almost every night and yet it was like you was hearing it for the first time.

“Now darlin’ you keep playing at purity but we both know damn well that ain’t the truth, huh? I hear how you breathe when I’m ‘round…” he said as he dragged his nails down the screen door as he stepped closer. “It don’t take much to get you riled up now does it?” Biting his lip after he spoke.

You were close enough to feel the hotness of his breath against your face as he spoke to you. “Frankly, you don’t know me one bit, boy…” you said sternly as you tightened your body.

He huffed, amused. “You never even tell me your name, and we sure know each other plenty ways..” His eyes looked at you unhurriedly, slow and sinful. ”Don’t have to know a woman’s name to know she’s sweet.” He said as he clawed at the screen door separating you. “Don’t have to know a woman to know just how fast to make her tremble…”

You shivered as he spoke. His words melting in your ears like milk chocolate on a warm day.

Crossing your legs tightly, feeling… things for this man that comes to your door each night. Asking for permission to be let in and yet each night you deny him. You wonder the things the two of you could get into if you were to do so but you knew better.

“I… that’s no way to talk to a lady, sir.” You said clenching your legs at his words.

He laughed under his breath, rough and dark. “You really think I need to worry about manners when it comes to you, girl?” His thumb rubbing soft circles on the screen. Your skin was too warm. His eyes caught you clenching your legs tight.. he could see clear as day how the action made your nightgown ride up the bare length of your thighs.

His gaze burned lower, before it flicked up to meet yours. He knew exactly what you were thinking, what you were wanting.

You shiver as you watched his gaze. “Now what you gonna do to me if I let you in, hmm.” You ask with a forwardness, wanting to hear his words.

His eyes flickered, darkened just a bit at the confidence in your tone. He liked that, this wasn’t the normal back and forth that he was used to with you. He leaned forward, lips curling in a grin. When he pressed against the screen door, you swore you could feel the heat of him. “Darlin’,” he said slowly. “If you were to open that door.. I’m not sure I’d give you a chance to change your mind. I’d have you under me in seconds.”

You gasped at his words. “My ma and pa are home.. I couldn’t… I can’t.” You whisper softly, shocked at how forward he was being tonight but you couldn’t deny that you liked it and wanted to find out more.

He chuckled, all lazy smirk and hooded eyes. “They’re sleeping, aren’t they? Sound fast asleep, darlin’.” His hand moving to touch the wooden door frame. “You’re too sweet for me not to get a taste.”

You weren’t a stupid gal. “I ain’t gonna let you in… but maybe we could go somewhere more private…” you let your words linger. Wondering what this man would reply with. Something probably witty as usual.

He looked at you, surprised as you’d never made that offer before. Hell, this was the closest he’d ever gotten to getting you alone. “Go somewhere more private?” He asked, voice low and curious. “Why’s that, darlin'? Don’t want your mama hearing how high that voice of yours gets when I’m touching you just right?”

You swallowed your gasp at his words. Shifting your weight. Deciding to match his forwardness, you spoke up. “If I’m gonna be with you I wanna be able to make as much noise as I want, sir.”

Your words sent a jolt through him, straight to his core. He was surprised, to say the least but he recovered quickly, a slow smile spreading across his face. He leaned back against the wood frame, his shirt straining at the shoulders as he crossed his arms. “Is that right?” He drawled, dark eyes looming over you. “So you ain’t gonna let me in, but you’ll let me have my filthy way with you in the dark?"

He had a point. Maybe it was better to find out in the safety of your own home. Where your ma and pa were. In case the man tried to pull anything dangerous. At least you’d have them right there to run in with they guns. Chase him off. Out in the wilderness, no one would be there to save you from this mysterious man with dirty promises.

This night there was something different in the air and you actually thought about letting him in. God knows you needed some sweet release and this man was out here promising you sinful things. Taking a deep breath you raised your hand to turn the door handle. Really contemplating lettin’ him in.

His eyes widened as he watched you turn the door handle. His expression shifted to disbelief, you were actually about to let him in.

“Come on in… but bet I won’t waste no time shootin if you pull something stupid now, ya here?” You said as you began to crack the door open.

His gaze darkened with hunger, excitement, and perhaps a hint of victory. He wasted no time, slipping through the door as soon as the crack was wide enough. “Hell,” he chuckled, closing the door behind him. “Look at you, little miss. You’re full of surprises tonight.”

You immediately regretted allowing the man into your home but now it was just too fuckin late to take it back. Seeing how excited he was to be in, no barrier of the screen door protectin’ you now. You were extra curious to see what he had in store for you. Being forward you took his hand and spoke softly, “Come, my room right across the house. Far from my ma and pa’s room.”

He followed you, quiet footsteps padding across the wooden floor. His hand was warm, and it consumed your entire smaller one as you lead him. Your heart pounded in your ears, a mixture of excitement and guilt at what you were doing. The house was dark, only a sliver of moonlight streaming through the window as you made your way to your room, across the house, far from the risk of being heard.

As soon as you got into your room you turned and closed the door between the both of you. “You pull anything, and I’ll have you out of here faster than you can say a word.” You said as you glanced back at the gun propped up on the wall.

He chuckled, leaning against the wall with a casual ease. His eyes darkened as they flicked over the gun. “Darlin’,” he drawled, his tone still playful. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” His gaze returned to you, tracing over the curve of your figure beneath the thin fabric of your nightgown. It was sinful, you almost looked like an angel. “So,” he said softly, a hint of wickedness in his smile, “Where shall I start first?”

You tilted your head with a grin and stepped closer to him. “Mister, you seemed so sure of what you’d do to me. I’d be assuming that you would’ve gotten started already.” You said as you toyed with his sweat stained shirt.

He chuckled, enjoying your playful tone but also the feeling of your fingers working his shirt. “You’ve finally decided to be sweet with me, after how many nights of denying me?” He teased, raising an eyebrow as his own hands came to rest on your hips. He pulled you towards him until the two of you were pressed right up against each other, barely any space between. He tilted your chin up, his expression growing more serious as he spoke, “You’re trouble, little miss.”

You gasped as he pulled you close. You could feel his heat through his clothes and his muscles against the fabric. “And what do you do to gals like me? Troublesome gals… hmm?” You said in a sultry tone, your eyes so close to his you could see them glimmering in the moonlight.

“Troublesome gals need a firm hand.” He murmured, his head dipping down to brush his lips against the shell of your ear. His hand coming off your hip and making contact with your bottom, gripping it tightly as if he never wanted to let go of it.

You gasped into his ear, sending waves of pleasure through his body just at the sound of ya. “Reckless gals like you get taught a lesson.” He said as his lips curled into a smile. His hand squeezing your behind while the other gripped your hip.

“Then teach me then won’t ya..” you murmured through soft moans at his touch. Your bodies pressed against each other so that you could feel his excitement growing against your waist. Your hands coming up to rub his muscular arms.

He shuddered at your words, and the feeling of your hands on him. You could feel the muscles in his arms tense beneath your touch as he slowly moved you towards the bed. “Oh, little miss,” he drawled, his voice gravelly and full of warning. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.” He pushed you gently back onto the mattress, following you down until he was hovering above you, both of you bathed only in the soft glow of the moonlight.

You let out a quiet yelp as you were pressed down onto the mattress. “I know exactly what I’m asking for, sir. So do it.” You said before leaning your head up so that your mouth was close to his. Biting his bottom lip and tugging it with your teeth.

He inhaled in surprise, his breath catching in his chest as your teeth bit into his lip. His gaze darkened, pupils blown out as he loomed over you, the expression on his face a mixture of warning and desire. “You’re a tease.” He said lowly, voice rough with barely restrained need. “You think I’m gonna let that slide, darlin’?” He moved his weight forward, pressing more of himself against you, his body hot and solid as he pinned you to the bed.

You gasped as he pressed himself against your body, your thighs pressing together tightly. That familiar sensation between your legs. “No sir..” you smirked as your hands explored his muscular back.

He chuckled lowly, the sound almost a growl as he felt your legs press together beneath him. His own body reacted, his jeans suddenly far too tight as he pushed his hips into the apex of your thighs. His head dropped, his mouth finding the sensitive flesh of your neck and shoulders. You could feel his breath against your skin, heavy and hot, as he left behind a trail of kisses. "Naughty girl," he murmured, his breath catching as he felt the soft press of your body against his. "You're gonna be the death of me, darlin'."

Your body shuddered feeling how hard he was against you and god it felt good to have a man’s lips on your sensitive skin. Not havin felt the touch of another man in longer than you could remember. You moaned out feeling his teeth graze your neck in between his kisses, “Oh god mister…”

He groaned at the sound of your moan, his lips trailing over your neck, moving up to your jawline and grazing your earlobe. His hand came to cup your chin, tilting your face upwards to meet his gaze. His eyes were all dark desire, his expression nearly feral. "Say it again," he demanded softly. "I want you to say my name when you moan like that, little miss."

“Mister..” you moaned into his ear. “I don’t even know your name..” you said as your loosen your legs from one another and wrapped a leg around his waist, pulling his excitement closer to your core.

He inhaled sharply, a rough sound of surprise and desire as you pulled him in tight with your leg. He chuckled, the sound low and rough. "You want my name, little miss?" He asked, his fingers tracing over your jaw. "You want to know what name you'll be moaning in the dark?"

“Yessir…” your voice hummed in his ear as your chest heaved, nipples hard and poking through your thin nightgown. Feeling him so close, was a long time coming. All those nights of talk through the screen door.

He inhaled again, a sharp intake of air, his body shuddering against you. He was so close to losing control, to taking what he'd been craving for so many nights. Your voice in his ear and the feeling of your body, pressed so tightly against his. "It's Remmick." he growled, his voice rough and full of need. "That's the name you're gonna be moanin', darlin'. Remember it."

“Remmick…” you repeated his name back to him. A name you could never forget. “Oh I’ll remember.” You said as you shifted your body, using your leg for leverage and turned till you flipped him over. Remmick now on his back and you on top of him. Pressing him down onto the mattress.

He let out a surprised huff as you flipped around, finding himself laying flat on his back and you straddling his waist. His hands instinctively came up to your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as he stared up at you. "You're full of surprises," he chuckled, the sound low and ragged. His dark eyes looked over your face, taking in the sight of you poised above him. He was more than willing to let you stay in control, for now at least.

“Oh yes I am, sir. You’re gonna find out a lot about me tonight…” you said before you pressed your lips against his, hard and lustful, straddling his hardness.

He groaned into the kiss, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he eagerly returned your passion. Remmick couldn't get enough of the taste of you. It was everything he'd fantasized about, and more. His body pressed against yours, his erection pulsing against your core. His hands moved up under your nightgown, palming the bare flesh of your thighs. He pulled away from your lips, breath ragged. "You gonna drive me crazy, little miss."

You pressed your core hard against him, shifting your hips ever so slightly. Driving him wild. “Don’t ya want to know my name?” You question with your head tilted. Your hands placed on either side of his head, thumb coming up to stroke his hair.

He grunted, the sound rough and needy, his head tilting back as he felt you press against him, the friction driving him wild. "Oh darlin'," he panted, his body tense and hot beneath you. "You know I do. I want to know every damn thing about you. But you're making it damn hard to focus. You're a wicked little thing, aren't you?"

You smirked at how flustered you got this man. Leaning down to softly kiss his neck, then coming back up to straddle him. “The name’s y/n..” You said as your hands came back to grip the bottom of your nightgown and began to lift it up so that you were straddling Remmick as bare as the day you were born.

His eyes widened as you straddled him without a stitch of clothing. His mouth ran dry as he took in the sight of you, bare and beautiful in the soft moonlight. "Y/n…” he repeated, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Goddamn, you're perfect. I could look at you all night." His hands moved to your thighs, his touch reverent as they traced and explored your skin. "I don't know how I got this lucky, darlin'. You're a vision."

“Good thing we’ve got all night then huh?” You whispered as your hands traced the buttons of his shirt. “Seems unfair I am the only one without clothes now, doesn’t it?”

He chuckled, his hands still roaming over the bare skin of your thighs, fingers tracing idle patterns over the softness of your flesh. "Can't argue with that logic, sweetheart," he murmured. His shirt, wrinkled and damp from the summer heat, suddenly felt too tight. His body was on fire for you, every nerve burning with need. He wanted to feel your skin against his. "You gotta get that damn thing off of me then."

You wasted no time unbuttoning his shirt and ripping it off him. A wetness growing between your legs as you took in the sight of his bare chest beneath you. Tossing his shirt somewhere in the room, without care for where it landed as long as it was off his body. You then went to work unbuckling his belt and slipping it from the loops of his pants. Quickly and hastily unbuttoning his pants. Lifting yourself up off him so he could slide them down and kick them off his feet.

He gasped at your quickness and looked up at you with needy beggin eyes. Wanting you to take the last of his clothing off, his boxers tight against his hardness and you smirked as you did just as he wanted.

His body was all hard planes and muscles, defined and built from manual labor. The sight of him naked and lying on your bed, was a vision you didn't ever want to forget. He watched you, his eyes roaming over your body with a predatory intensity that made your breath catch in your chest. He could see the way you grew slick and needy with each passing moment, and it drove him wild with desire.

Before you could hold back your words you spoke out to him, “I want you. I need you inside me, Remmick. So goddamn bad.” Your wet core rubbing itself against the length of him.

His breath hitched in his chest at the sound of your words. He could feel your body trembling above him, your need clear and undeniable. "Jesus... You gonna kill me," he muttered, his hands roaming over your thighs, moving higher, closer to that place that ached and pulsed with need. "Are you sure, darlin'?" He asked, his voice rough and ragged. "Once I have you, I won't be letting you go. You'll be mine, completely."

“I’m quite sure… sir.” You said aching with desire. Waiting for his next move as your slick wet his hardness. He grunted, the sound somewhere between desire and surrender. Those words, your desire, it was too much. He couldn't resist anymore. His eyes locked with yours, dark with lust. "You're gonna be the death of me." He said again. "But oh god, what a way to go."

You chuckled at his words as your hand came down to guide him into you, lowering yourself every so slowly onto him. The feeling of him stretching you out made you moan out. The tightness of him inside you burned but it was one of pleasure.

He bit back a curse, his head falling back against the sheets as he felt you around him. Your wetness enveloping him, it was overwhelming. He held on to your hips tightly, his body trembling at the pleasure of your touch. He lifted his head, his eyes locked on your face, taking in the sight of you. He'd never seen something more perfect, more beautiful than you in that moment. "Jesus..." He panted.

You began to slowly rock your hips, adjusting to his size. Hot breaths exchanged between the both of you. He watched you, his gaze full of both adoration and desire as you slowly rocked against him, his body tensing at the delicious friction. He was so hard it nearly hurt, but your heat was just what he needed.

He reached up with one hand, gripping the back of your neck and pulling you down to him, pressing his chest flush against you. He kissed you, deep and hard, desperate for more of you. Only breaking the kiss to speak up, "Baby, you feel so good." He murmured against your lips.

You kissed him back with a passion that you had not ever felt before. Your kisses sloppy and wet. Tongue running against his teeth. Wanting more of him. Your hips rocking to the perfect pace as you rode him. “Remmick.. god you’re perfect inside me.”

His breath hitched in his chest, his body burning with need at your words. The way you moved against him, slow and easy, it was like nothing else in the world mattered but the two of you, in this moment. He ran his hands over your body, desperate to touch every inch of you as he kissed you back, "Oh honey," he murmured, his voice a ragged husk. "You're the one who's perfect. I could stay like this forever."

Not having had a moment like this is forever you began to run out of stamina, your body twitching against his but you tried your best to keep up the pace. Wanting to please this man in all the ways possible.

He could tell you were struggling to keep up, your body trembling and tensed against him. He could see the exhaustion in your eyes, but also the determination to please him. He smiled softly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, gently stroking your skin. "Baby, let me take over." He said softly. "Let me do the work for now."

Pressing your face into his palm, you pleaded with him. “Please. Do whatever you want to me Remmick.”

His eyes darkened at your words, a low growl rising from his throat. He lifted you up, carefully rolling you onto your back and pinning you to the mattress. He loomed over you now, his expression feral and possessive. "Whatever I want, huh?" He asked, his voice a deep rumble. "Oh darlin' you have no idea what kind of trouble you're getting yourself into."

“I want you so bad. Please.” You cried with excitement and neediness as you now looked up at him. Pressing your waist up against him and your hands came up to grip his muscular back.

He growled, the sound deep and feral, his body responding to your every move. He could hardly take it anymore, needing you so desperately that it hurt. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a hot, possessive kiss. "You're mine," he growled. "You hear me? You're all mine." He rolled his hips hard against you, his hardness pressed against your core. "Say it, darlin'. I want to hear you say it."

“Yes I’m all yours Remmick..” you moaned, as he slid right into you as if you were meant to be one, one flesh. He grunted, his body tensing at the feeling of you around him once more. It was heaven, and he never wanted to leave it.

He pulled you tight against him, his hands roaming over your curves, mapping every inch of your body with his touch. "That's right, baby," he murmured, his voice rough and ragged. "You're mine. All mine. And I'm gonna make sure you never forget it." He began to move inside of you, slow and deep, taking his time to savour each second of it. Feeling your tight walls around him.

“Oh baby. You feel so good inside me.” You moaned into his ear. Your nails digging into his back so hard they drew blood as he quickened his pace to the point he was now pounding into you. And god it felt so good. Being used and abused by him.

His breath caught in his chest at your words, your touch lighting his body ablaze. He was on edge, his control slipping away with every dig of your fingers, every soft moan from your lips. "You drive me crazy, you know that?" He panted, his mouth roaming over your neck and shoulders, leaving behind a trail of hot, wet kisses. "I've been wanting you for so damn long."

You could feel his movements becoming staggered and knew he was close to his release. You bucked your hips up to help his thrusts as you gasped and moaned into his ear. “I’ve wanted you since the first day you showed up on my porch, Remmick…”

His body shuddered at your words, the sound of your soft whispers sending him careening towards the edge. He groaned, his arms tightening around you, holding you close and tight as he thrust deep into you. "Oh god, darlin'," he panted, "You don't know what you do to me." He buried his face into your neck, breathing ragged, desperate breaths as he teetered on the brink. "I can't hold on much longer," he warned you, his voice rough and ragged.

“It’s ok baby. Release. Let it all go inside me.” You encouraged him, wanting to be filled with his release. This causing him to groan out, his body trembling as he finally let go, his climax washing over him in a wave of hot, shuddering bliss.

"Oh god, darlin'," he panted, his body shaking as he held you tightly. "You're so damn perfect." You smiled at him as you brought your wrist up to your forehead to wipe the sweat from your brow. “Now be a gentleman and clean a girl up…” you said as you looked down between your legs.

He sat up, moving down to your legs, his fingers tracing the lines of your thighs. "I guess I do owe you, huh?" He drawled, his voice low and rough.

You watched his every move, his body covered in sweat and his muscles shining in the moonlight. You couldn’t get over how attractive this man was and you wanted more and more of him. “Mhm… I’d say so..” you said with a smirk as you watched him move between your legs.

He stayed there for a moment, his thumbs rubbing eerily close to your core but not touching it just yet, his face lowering closer and closer between your legs but not giving you what you so desperately wanted.

Your hands reached down to rub his shoulders and you tilted your head back and closed your eyes. “Please. Remmick.” You pleaded as your hips came up trying to make contact with his face but he held you down so you couldn’t get what you wanted just yet.

He chuckled, his hands holding your thighs down, keeping you in place. "Look how eager you are for it. Begging me for it. It's hard to resist you, darlin'.. but I wanna see you squirm a little longer.." He leaned in, his lips brushing against your thigh, his breath hot on your skin. "You're gonna have to wait, baby. I'm not gonna give you what you want just yet.."

You groaned out “Fuck Remmick! Enough teasing! I need you so badly baby.” Your body squirming with each touch of the man. “I want to feel that filthy mouth of yours on me.

He grinned, his lips moving even closer to your core. "What was that, baby?" He asked, his voice low and rough. "You wanna feel my mouth on you?" His mouth ghosted over your core, his breath hot against your skin. "You gonna beg for me to give it to you?"

“Yes oh yes please Remmick…I want that mouth all over me. I want you to taste my sweetness. I’m so wet for you, can’t you see. Please give a poor girl like me some lovin..”

He groaned at your words, his resolve quickly disappearing. "Goddamn, darlin', you're driving me crazy." He muttered, his lips so close to where you wanted him. He lowered his head, his hot breath on your flesh. "I need to taste you, baby. I need to have you on my tongue. Are you ready for me?"

“Yes. God yes I’m so ready.” You panted at his touch and he could hear the desperation in your voice, the need and desire obvious to him. He knew he couldn't tease you any longer. He needed to give you what you wanted. He pressed his lips against your core, his tongue slipping out to taste you. You were so sweet and so wet, he couldn't get enough of you. He began to work his tongue inside you.

“Fuck…” you moaned out feeling his tongue in you. Your legs instinctually wrapping around his head to pull him even closer into your core and he groaned as you did so. He was lost in you, consumed by the taste of you. He felt as if he could do this forever, never getting tired of the way you responded to him.

He ran his tongue over you, his motions slow and deliberate, wanting to draw out every last bit of pleasure he could give you. He could tell how badly you needed this, by the way your body trembled under his touch.

“Goddamn, Remmick. You sure know what you’re doing.” You moaned and groaned as he worked his tongue on you. Your body wriggling at his touches.

He groaned into you, the sound muffled against your flesh. He couldn't get enough of the way you tasted, the way you moved against him. He wanted to bring you to the edge and then keep you there as long as he could. His hands dug into your thighs, keeping you right where he wanted you. This was all he ever wanted, you, right here, in his hands. He worked his tongue against your core, his pace quickening.

You could feel yourself getting close already. Your desire and need for this handsome stranger was so strong. Something about him. Just was so alluring to you and the way he worked his mouth on your core was enough to drive you crazy.

He could sense how close you were, how your body trembled and tensed as he worked his mouth against you. He wanted to drive you over the edge, feel you come apart at the touch of his tongue. He was addicted to the taste of you, addicted to the sound of your moans, the way you gasped and writhed at the sensations he was creating.

You moaned loudly but his hand came up quickly to cover your mouth as to keep you from waking your folks. You couldn’t help but suck on the skin of his calloused hand that was covering your mouth. Driving him wild. Your release inching closer and closer by each second.

He groaned loudly at the feeling of your mouth on his hand, your tongue against his skin. He could feel the way your body tensed beneath him, he was so close to bringing you over the edge. He increased his pace, his mouth working tirelessly against your core.

The way he worked his mouth on you had you right on the edge of your release. Every time you felt as if you were going to come for him, he did something different with his mouth yet still so pleasurable. It halted your release and you begged him, “Please Remmick…”

He chuckled, the sound low and rough before speaking against you. "I'm gonna make you feel so damn good, baby. I'm gonna make you remember this night for the rest of your life." He looked up at you, his eyes dark and filled with desire. "You're gonna come for me, aren't you baby?" He pulled his hand back from your mouth to let you speak. “Mhm. I’m so close baby.”

He could see the need in your eyes, the way you trembled and squirmed beneath him. He was driving you crazy, and he knew it. He loved having this power over you, the power to bring you to the edge and keep you there as long as he wanted. "I want to hear you say it, baby." He murmured, his mouth close to your core. "Say it."

“God yes. I’m gonna come for you, sir. So goddamn hard. I feel it. Just keep going on like that on my puss.” You begged.

He groaned at your begging, the sound low and animalistic. He knew he had you just where he wanted you, desperate and needy. He loved seeing you like this, his control over you complete. "That's it, baby. Moan for me. I want to hear you when you come." He said before he put his mouth on you again, his tongue licking and teasing you, his hands grasping your hips tightly to keep you right where he wanted you.

You felt yourself growing close to your release as he picked back up licking your core. “Fuck Remmick. I’m gonna come.” You pleaded for him to keep up his pace. And soon enough you felt yourself climaxing and releasing all over his dirty mouth.

He felt your climax, felt your body tense and shiver as it crashed through you. He kept his mouth on you, prolonging your pleasure as long as he could. He wanted to make it last forever, to draw out every last moment of ecstasy from you. Finally, he pulled away, lifting his head from your thighs as he looked up at you. He was watching your face, watching how your expression shifted as you came down from your climax. "You taste so good, baby."

Panting from your release you looked down at him, your chest heaving, legs shaking around him. Your hands cupping his cheeks and pulling his face up so that he crawled up your body and was face to face with you. “Let me have a taste…” you said as your eyes trailed down to his lips.

He obeyed you, crawling up your body so he was face to face with you, his body pinning you to the bed. He smiled down at you, a wicked gleam in his eyes. When you told him to let you have a taste, he knew exactly what you wanted. He leaned down, his lips just barely touching yours. "You wanna taste yourself on my mouth, baby?"

“Mhm… real bad.” You said as you pressed your lips against his, tongue running along his lips, getting a taste of your juices and his release mixed together. He groaned into your mouth, the taste of you on his tongue driving him mad. He deepened the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours, his body pressed flush against yours. He shifted his weight on top of you, his legs entwined with yours as he pulled away from the kiss.

"Goddamn, you're something else, you know that?" He purred, his hands roaming over your body. “Oh I know baby. There ain’t no one else out there like me.” You said with utter confidence. Hands exploring his bare back, feeling his raised skinned from where you scratched him with your nails.

He chuckled, the sound rough and raw. "Don't I know it, darlin.'" He said, his eyes looming over your body, taking in every inch of you. He could feel your fingers tracing over his blood stained back. "You're gonna drive me wild." He said with a chuckle.

“Oh that’s what I plan on doing, baby…” you said with a smirk before you turned your head to look out the window. “Sun’s coming up soon… you gotta leave don’t ya…?” You pouted. Knowing every time the sun rose Remmick was quick to disappear.

He sighed, his smile fading as he too looked out the window, noticing the first hues of light beginning to touch the horizon. He didn't want to leave, he really didn't, but he knew he had to. "Yeah... I do." He said, his expression turning sad as he looked back at you. "I'll be back tonight though. I promise. I hate leaving you... you know that.."

“Long as I get to see you at nightfall… I’ll be ok. Wish I could keep you here in this bed all day though…” You said sadly, seeing the genuine sadness on Remmick face made you even sadder.

He chuckled softly, his expression softening as he reached up to tuck a lock of your hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your face. "Yeah... I know. Trust me, sweetheart. I'd love nothing more than to just lie here all day…” His thumb traced the curve of your jaw, his touch warm and tender. "And at night, I'll come to you. Every single night."

“And I’ll be waiting on you each night.. now that you’ve been invited in maybe I’ll wait naked in my bed. Have you come surprise me…” you smirked as you looked at him, pressing your head into his touch.

A low growl rumbled in his chest, your words making his body react in an instant. He pressed himself closer to you, his body hot and needy, your scent surrounding him. "You trying to drive me crazy, darlin'? Cuz it's working." He muttered, his eyes darkening with lust. His fingers gripping your chin tightly between his thumb and forefinger.

You could see him getting worked up again and as much as you wanted to go for another round, you knew how important it was that he was gone by sunrise so you looked down. “Go on and get before we start something we can’t finish..”

He let out a low grumble of disappointment, but he knew you were right. He had to go, as much as he hated to leave your side. He took one last long look at you, your body laid out underneath him, a look of desire on your face, and he knew he had to leave before he got too distracted. He leaned down and pressed his lips to yours in a quick, chaste kiss, his hands reluctant to let you go. "I gotta go, baby. See you tonight."

“See you tonight Remmick.” You said with sadness yet excitement for what was to come at sunset.

He lingered for just a moment, his eyes drinking in your face, committing it to memory. And then he finally stood up from the bed, the loss of his body heat making you shiver. "I'll be counting the minutes," he said as he began to dress, his eyes still on you, your naked body laying on the bed.

You nodded and frowned at the loss of his body heat. The coldness of being the only one in the bed made you grab the bed sheets and wrap them around your body as you sat up to watch him dress.

He dressed quickly, his hands moving fast as he tossed his shirt over his head and buttoned up his pants. He couldn’t look away from you, the sight of you wrapped in nothing but those sheets making his body ache with need. He had to have you again, but he knew he couldn’t. With a low groan, he forced himself to turn away, taking a deep breath to try and get his bearings. And with that he was off to god knows where…

#remmick x you #remmick x reader #remmick smut #remmick sinners #remmick #remmick x fem!reader

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iamgonnagetyouback · 1 day ago

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꒰ sirius who's in love with shy!reader from the start ꒱

sirius black who saw you for the first time in the diagon alley hiding behind your mother's robes, slightly pulling at them to get her attention away from the his mother who she was conversing with and back to your small, fluffy cat

sirius black who's eyes glinted with mischief when you gave him a small wave and then with curious eyes showed your kitten to him. he knew the cat was evil when it scratched at his arm but he also knew that you were pretty when you chuckled at his annoyed face

sirius black who insisted to his mother to let him do the rest of the shopping with you but held himself back when she gave him a silent glare as if to tell him to stop being a whiny child and behave

sirius black who looked for you through the bustling crowd after his shopping to give you the chocolate frog he stole from his mother's bag

sirius black who then saw (looked for you) again at hogwarts and was overjoyed to see you in the same house as him. he wondered why suddenly his family's disappointment and curses seemed worth it

sirius black who in his initial years thought his heartbeat speeding up when he saw you was just a 'friendship' thing but wondered why it never happened when any of the marauders or the other girls were with him

sirius black who thought the best idea to distract himself from those strange feelings was to shag the entirety of the hogwarts population but it didn't seem that amusing when he saw your eyes fall from disappointment, losing their spark when you accidently walked in on him snogging violet flemming

sirius black who wondered why you were suddenly more quiet and distant than before and went for advice to the only person he knew was emotionally mature enough to help him out

remus lupin who immediately gave sirius the 'are you serious?' look when he explained the strange feelings he was having

remus lupin who knocks some sense into his best friend and makes him realize that he loves you but sirius black who wonders that of course he loves you. you were his best friend?

you who came to the world-shaking realization that you were in love with your best friend in your third year

you who wondered how he could ever like someone who's the complete opposite of him. he's so outspoken, you're just a bunch of nervous jitters. he's cocky, you're shy. he's pretty, you're..not

you who thinks that he has so many better options so why would he choose you? he has girls throwing themselves at him all the time, while you couldn't even make a proper conversation with someone without second guessing your every word

sirius black who points out your insecurity not to pick on it but to compliment it. he's not aware of how much you hated that part of yourself, he just knew that it was the most beautiful part about you

sirius black who finally decides to confess his feelings to you but you who's in denial about it because love, when you don't think you deserve it always feels like a trick

you who questions if his feelings are true because he was never supposed to see you

sirius black who tells you that you that he did. he sees how you smile when someone tries to make conversation with you, even though you're half zoned out because of the nerves. he sees how you try to make yourself invisible when more people are around, picking on your nails. but he also sees how you love and care for the people who you want to around of as if you're scared to hand it out. how you don't really say it with words but you do love with your whole heart and maybe he just wants to show you that he does too

requested by ! @angestrawberries

©iamgonnagetyouback౨ৎ please refrain from copying, translating, or reposting any of my work

#ivywrites!#sirius black #sirius black headcanon #sirius black fluff #sirius black angst #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x shy!reader #sirius black hcs #sirius black hc #sirius black headcannons #sirius black hurt/comfort

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himasgod · 2 days ago

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HIII I SAW YOU HAVE REQUESTS OPEN AND I WANTED TO REQUEST :>>

idon't know if your comfortable with this but can i request twst 2nd years (replace kalim with leona) and what they do if their s/o is gone?

their s/o is dead so i wonder how they would mourn, how they take care of their s/o's grave, and how they cope without them?

i don't know if you accept requests like these but if you do then THANK YOU SO SO SOOO MUCH IN ADVANCE 🙏💕

SECOND YEARS + LEONA X READER

Where you died

How the boys would live the mourning process, how they take care of your grave, and how they cope without your death, with a live without you

Warning: This is hard angst. If you're a very perceptive person who visualizes a lot or empathizes with what you read, be prepared for a bit of a tear.

Leona acts like he doesn’t care. At first. But deep down, he’s unraveled. He doesn’t cry in front of anyone. He shuts down. He sleeps even more, not out of laziness— because he can only see you in dreams now. There’s a rawness behind his eyes when your name is mentioned, but he covers it with silence. He avoids people because he hates how they look at him—with pity, like they expect him to break. He already did. Just not where anyone could see it.

Leona visits your grave late at night, always when no one's around. He doesn’t bring flowers. Instead, he sits in silence, talking to you about the mundane. “Ruggie got on my case again. Jack pissed me off.” Things like that. Sometimes, he brings pebbles from Savannaclaw and stacks them on your grave. Small tokens that only he would understand. He leaves when the sun starts to rise. Always before anyone can catch him there.

Leona tells himself it’s better this way—that he was only going to ruin you in the end. That you were too good for him. But that doesn’t stop the grief from choking him. He keeps something small of yours—a ring, a scarf, maybe a notebook with your handwriting. On bad days, he holds it so tightly his knuckles turn white. He doesn’t move on. He just becomes colder, harsher. Your loss is the scar he never lets heal.

Riddle shuts down entirely. He doesn't cry—not at first. He goes numb. Rules become his lifeline. Structure. Order. Anything but feeling. But when he finds the last gift you gave him, tucked in a drawer, unopened—he collapses. He screams into his pillow. Breaks a teacup in his hands. Grief terrifies him because it's messy—and Riddle was taught to fear mess.

Riddle brings roses. Red, white, and blue—each carefully arranged. He memorizes the upkeep schedule of your grave, ensuring it’s spotless at all times. He even files complaints if the groundskeepers neglect it. When he visits, he reads aloud to you—poetry, or books you once loved. His voice is quiet. On your birthday, he always brings your favorite tea and pours a cup beside your grave. He doesn’t drink. Just… waits, in case you’re still listening.

Riddle reverts into old habits—strict routines, harsh punishments, stricter rules. But Trey knows. He sees the way Riddle’s hands shake. Eventually, Riddle softens—just a little. He keeps your photo on his desk, and he sometimes writes letters addressed to you, even though he never sends them. He studies healing magic obsessively. Not because he wants to bring you back—he knows he can’t. But because he never wants to lose someone like that again. You were his exception. His rebellion. His first real love. And he never quite recovers.

Floyd doesn’t react the way people expect. He laughs when he hears the news—but it’s not happy. It’s empty. Then he gets violent. He wrecks an entire hallway, shattering windows and breaking anything that reminds him of you. Then… he’s just gone. He withdraws so deeply into himself that not even Jade or Azul can reach him. He stops showing up to class. Stops smiling. The spark in his eyes is just gone. He mutters your name to himself like a lullaby.

Floyd doesn’t go often. When he does, it’s erratic. One day he’s calm, sitting by your grave with seashells and pearls he found. The next, he’s yelling at the sky, sobbing, asking why you left him alone. He presses his forehead to your headstone sometimes and just stays there for hours. Then he leaves, mood unreadable, but always more exhausted than before.

Floyd changes. He becomes moodier, but not in his usual way. He loses interest in his usual chaos. You were the one who made the world interesting, after all. He keeps something of yours in his jacket—maybe your old hairpin or bracelet—and clutches it when he’s angry or lost. When people ask about you, he snaps: “Don’t talk about them. Ever.” Sometimes, though, he swears he hears your laughter. And for a fleeting second, he smiles like he used to.

Silver is devastated, and it shows. He’s always been calm and emotionally steady, but your death shakes him to his core. He loses his rhythm—his duty falters, his naps grow deeper and longer. He wakes up crying from dreams where you’re still alive, only to remember you’re gone. His voice is softer now, as if anything louder might shatter him. He carries guilt. “Why couldn’t I protect you?” is a question that haunts him endlessly.

Silver visits your grave with quiet reverence. He brushes fallen leaves off the headstone with his hands, tends to the flowers, and replaces them often with lilies or whatever blooms you once loved. He kneels when he speaks to you, as if he still guards you even in death. He reads aloud fairytales you liked, letting the wind carry his words to wherever you might be. Silver doesn't rush. He stays until the stars come out. And sometimes he sleeps there. It's the closest he'll ever get to falling asleep cuddled up with you again.

Silver keeps a locket with your photo, tucked inside his shirt near his heart. He often touches it absentmindedly when lost in thought. Lilia, Sebek and Malleus worry about him, and while he remains gentle with them, there’s a sadness behind his smile. Silver believes you’re watching over him—so he tries to live a life you’d be proud of. It hurts. But that belief keeps him moving, one step at a time.

Ruggie pretends he’s okay. He makes jokes, forces a grin, but those who know him well notice the cracks—he laughs less, steals less, works more. He throws himself into being useful cause if he stops moving, the grief catches up. The first time he’s alone after your funeral, he breaks down hard. Punches a wall. Screams into his jacket. It’s the only time he lets himself fall apart.

Ruggie doesn’t visit often at first—not because he doesn’t care, but because it hurts too much. When he does, he always brings something: your favorite snack, some charm from the Sunset Savanna, a scrap of cloth from a hoodie you loved. He never stays long. Just stands there, hands in his pockets, voice low: “Hey… bet you’re still yelling at me from wherever you are. I can hear it.… I miss it.”

Ruggie becomes fiercely protective of the few people he has left. He values life more now, but laughs a little less. He keeps your last voice message in Magicam saved and listens to it sometimes under the covers at night. When he sees something you would’ve loved at the market, he stops and stares for a moment—then keeps walking. The pain never really fades. But he carries it like everything else: close to his chest, never letting it show unless he’s completely alone.

Azul is shattered, but he tries to intellectualize it. He tries to convince himself that grief can be processed in logical steps, denial, anger, bargaining. But that doesn’t stop him from breaking down in private, clutching the edge of his desk until his knuckles turn blue, trying to breathe through the panic of a world without you. He continues running the Mostro Lounge like nothing’s wrong. His smile is still polished. But behind the scenes? Azul can’t look at your favorite seat in the lounge without feeling like he’s drowning.

Azul dresses impeccably every time he visits your grave. It becomes a ritual He brings white roses, and small trinkets he made with his own hands. He kneels, brushing dust from your name. Sometimes his voice breaks. Sometimes he just sits in silence and lets the tears fall.

Azul spirals into overwork. He tries to fill the void you left with achievements, contracts—anything. But nothing is enough. He keeps your photo in the drawer of his desk, opens it during long nights, and murmurs to it like you’re still there. Jade and Floyd know. They say nothing, but keep a close eye on him. Azul never quite recovers. He simply learns how to live with a heart that echoes where your voice used to be.

Jamil becomes frighteningly quiet. His grief is organized, sharp, disciplined—he doesn’t lash out, but everything about him becomes colder. Internally, he’s drowning in guilt. He feels responsible somehow. He replays everything over and over, looking for what he missed. He doesn’t cry in front of others. But late at night, he folds your old letters and clothes, tears soaking into his palms.

Jamil treats your grave like a shrine. Every week, he brings fresh desert roses, cleans the stone, and places small food offerings from his own cooking—your favorites, made exactly the way you liked them. He never talks to you there. Instead, he meditates in silence beside the grave. Maybe he believes the words are already in his heart, or maybe it just hurts too much to speak them aloud.

Jamil becomes obsessed with control—over his routine, his environment, his emotions. He starts studying harder, sleeping less, doing more. But it’s all a way to avoid facing the pain. He wears a bracelet you once gave him and never takes it off. On the anniversary of your death, he disappears from everyone for a full day. Only Kalim knows where he goes—and he never asks questions. Jamil's grief is silent, disciplined, and buried deep. But it never leaves him.

Kalim doesn't understand it at first. He smiles, thinking you'll come through the door like always, calling his name. The reality doesn't hit until days later—when your laugh no longer echoes, when your perfume fades from his robes. Then he breaks. Not in fury, in grief so raw it silences even him. He curls up in bed, weeping into your favorite pillow, begging for it to be a dream

Kalim visits every week, rain or shine. He brings lavish flower arrangements, little handmade crafts, and occasionally food—things he learned to cook because you liked them. He talks a lot while sitting by your grave. Sometimes he cries. Other times, he smiles while telling stories, like he’s making sure your spirit is still included in his life.

Kalim throws himself into making others smile. If he can’t be happy, at least someone else can be. But deep down, there’s a hollowness. He wears a ring you once gave him—tells people it’s “for luck,” but it’s really a promise he’s trying to keep: To never forget you. Jamil ends up watching over him more carefully than ever. Kalim still laughs, still shines, but there’s a sadness behind it that never quite goes away

Jade’s grief is clinical, almost surgical in how neatly he tucks it away from others. No one sees him cry. No one sees him falter. He mourns in silence, in isolation. He’ll continue his duties, serve in the Lounge, smile with those sharp teeth—but inside, he’s completely quietly broken. His calm becomes eerie because there’s no balance anymore. Not without you.

Jade visits your grave with ritualistic precision. Once a month, on the same day, at the same time. He brings rare mushrooms, a flower you loved... He speaks rarely, if at all. He stays until nightfall, then vanishes like he was never there.

Jade becomes more elusive. Even Floyd can’t always read him. Jade starts going into deeper and more dangerous places, almost like he’s looking for something he lost. He keeps your memory alive through action—keeping what you loved alive in the world. But he never talks about you unless someone dares to ask… and if they do, he just smiles. A sad, secret smile. “You wouldn’t understand.”

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that-smallinjured-bowylamb · 2 days ago

Text

MY NAME IS. BRUTUS.

Damn fourth fic of the day, yeah? Why am I listening to these music while writing? Idk. But let me do my thing ‼️‼️ P.S. All this while it was 5pm in the evening too🙏

Gender Neutral reader

Genre: as you can tell with many others in the singer!reader au posts, Romantic.

Involvement: Main cast

Warnings?: cussy [yk what time it is ‼️‼️], comedy cus I can't live without it, if you see mistakes I'm probably half brain-dead for not noticing it, OOC[just in case], and uhmmm other things idk help me I'm multi-tasking through apps [texting my friends in whatsapp, TikTok, going back to Tumblr, and random ass research that has nothing to do with any of my works 🙏‼️], idk what else to add.

Ayeee shoutout to @sparklybasementcherryblossom

Thank you for reminding me I had this in my playlist!!!

So you see, you've been getting popular recently... but who cares? You're actually getting paid for it so, Letts cook up another one ‼️‼️‼️

And you thought of one thing.

Brutus...

Oh, that name. With so much envy driven into madness. Yes. That one.

You are going to have so much fun with this.

For the next performance.

They have no idea what's coming for them.

You've already set up the stage, and set in the camera for streaming. You've already had a few people in your otherworldly band, so you were happy to do more.

☆~~———~~☆

You've set up the play, it was like everything before, everyone had sat down to see the play, you had new additions for this music, though.

Because it's gonna get loud.

Riddle, Ace, Deuce, and Trey all sat in front since yk, they're your first friends in a dorm?? And so on with Leona, Ruggie, Jack, Azul, Jade, Floyd, Jamil, Vil, Rook, Epel, Idia[tablet], Ortho, Malleus, Silver, Sebek, and who else could be companions of yours.

You've started it.

Now they'll hear it.

The music begins...

It went silent before it got louder and louder.

You hear the chorus of women, humming, singing random incoherent words.

And no one fucking understands.

The beats sounds heavy, like any other songs you've recently played, but this one has something, unspoken, heavy, feeling.

I've been watching him for my entire life,

I hate the air he breathes,

his foolish decrees,

His words so contrived

And I hate the way the townspeople gather outside,

They hang on every breath,

Cling to his chest,

Home to his heart full of pride.

Whoa, now that was a surprising start, your voice seemed exhausted, angry in a way. It's like speaking through your teeth with unbridled rage.

The oracle told him to beware of the Ides,

And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't wishing,

For an untimely death or demise.

You've spat out those words like venom.

DAMN. Right off the bat?? Chill [Name]! Ruggie would've been scared if it weren't it being a music play.

Or am I just wishing just wishing I could be like you?

That the people would see me too as a poet,

And not just the muse.

The envy in your voice pours out for everyone to see.

Rook was wondering if it was pointing to him...

Vil felt a strange feeling of Deja vú.

Oh, it's not true,

I don't wish harm upon you,

You reassured in a mocking way.

Riddle was thinking on what the implications might be... Trey was attentively listening, could you be envious as well? Cater stresmed again, in a more hushed tone.

From birth,

We've been like brothers of different mothers,

within the spirit of the same womb,

May the Gods strike me down if I forsake you,

You sounded desperate, in what way, though?

Frater Meus, you're beautifully made,

And to you,

I'm forever grateful.

I'll never forget that you showed me to make art,

And I know the love you showed me came,

From a pure and noble heart.

Okay... weird thing to say when you literally wished for someone's death...

Idia seemed interested, Ortho likes the emotions put into this, Malleus is wondering why your singing all the time, Vil explained its a form of expression.

I love you,

And if you want, I'll call you king.

You said in a hushed tone.

All are listening closely like a secret being told

But why do I lie awake each night thinking,

"Instead of you, it should be me"?

Jamil looks at you like you've hit amnesia, no shit???

Something wicked this way comes,

And as I set to face it,

I'm unsure.

Should I embrace it, should I run?

The words weigh heavy, lingering in the air, crashing down in suffocation.

What motivates me?

Hatred? Is it love?

What's more wrong:

That I too wish to be great

Or,

My mother wished she'd had a son?

Your voice grows frantic, in a desperate dance.

Everyone is worried on the implications of what it could've meant, jealousy.

You gasp.

And even if I can't be the one,

Maybe I could at least help

Make way for him,

Until the day that he comes?

In a crazed manner, your expression was manic.

Maybe my name could also be known,

That I helped return good to the people,

And restored greatness to Rome?!

You raised your voice slightly.

Making some flinch in surprise.

A chant of 'Brutus' in the background.

A scene of Brutus killing the man she envied.

MY NAME IS BRUTUS,

AND MY NAME MEANS HEAVY,

SO WITH A HEAVY HEART,

I'LL GUIDE THIS DAGGER INTO THE HEART OF MY ENEMY.

Oh! Uhm...

MY WHOLE LIFE,

YOU WERE A TEACHER AND A FRIEND TO ME,

PLEASE KNOW THAT MY ACTIONS ARE NOT ONLY MOTIVATED ONLY BY,

ENVY.

I, TOO, HAVE A DESTINY, THIS DEATH WILL BE ART!

Your voice grew louder and louder, enough to awake the sleeping students.

THE PEOPLE WILL SPEAK OF THIS DAY,

FROM NEAR TO AFAR!

THIS EVENT WILL BE HISTORY,

AND I'LL BE GREAT TOO,

I DON'T WANT WHAT YOU HAVE,

I WANT TO BE YOU...!

The intensity of your voice increases, never ceases. The envy boiling in your tone like a forbidden spell not to be chanted.

The audience is left hypnotized with its intense tones and harsh words, it's like sharpening knives grazed on their ears.

I always knew I could be the one,

Though, I feel the endless pain of being,

And I am scorched by the sun.

What.

-Malleus, probably.

Of humble origins,

And born of the cursed sex,

My name is Brutus,

But the people will call me Rex.

Hushed out a voice from the last verse, a rasp sound in the throat.

The women hum and chant in incoherent voices.

The music ends.

Well done.

The audience was quiet, then finally.

"Wooo! That was amazing!!" Epel yelled.

Everyone erupted into an applause.

You're talented, [Name]. No matter what it is your good at, whether your confident or not.

You'll be recognized by the others.

The End.

OOUUFF DONEEE!!!

Enjoy !!! :>

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slimepuparibaba · 2 days ago

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love and deepspace: idol AU

TAGS: reader/you x LADS LI (seperate), idol!au, angst, entertainment industry can be hard guys, short scenarios

TW: mentions of suicide (xavier route) and death (zayne route)

idol!aus are super fun but i decided angst is even more fun.

i don't know if i should make these into full fics. this was originally for chaos in linkon (where each guy has a named MC) but figured the premise itself is broad enough to share with everyone.

xavier:

xavier was in the industry for a while because of his family and lost all interest in entertainment. his father and mother were notable only for his mother to then commit suicide due to the pressure. ever since, xavier felt extremely broken when it came to entertainment.

but then he met you while on a shoot one day and felt reinvigorated. you always tried your best, always gave it your all, and he adored it. you explained how you never made it far in auditions but always wanted to keep trying, and that determination? that drive? he was enamored with.

so you both tried to become idols together, showing each other auditions and companies and trying to apply...

he made it. you didn't.

and it was fine at first, you both kept in contact, xavier cheered you on as you kept trying. you both agreed to work hard once again and for a while, that was the routine, sending each other good luck wishes.

but at some point, the gap between you two grew too wide. he became a well-known idol and you were always stuck at square one. surely, he must have pitied you, right? that was the only reason he kept you around?

...you don't want to hold him back.

the last message you left him was "good luck".

he wanted to become an idol with you, but now you're nowhere to be seen.

suddenly, he too is back to square one.

you gave him drive and the wishes to do your best were now gone. a partner in crime that he used to have messages from disappeared. you had disappeared from the entertainment world entirely, and he knew instantly that you gave up. a small sliver of hope inside him begged that you didn't, but he knew better.

he made it. you didn't.

and now he felt trapped once again like he did when he was a kid by overbearing expectations.

he keeps performing though, hoping someday, you'll appear in front of his eyes again at some show.

zayne:

zayne was your best friend when you were younger. you two were extremely close and you pestered him a lot but he didn't mind. he found your presence comforting.

you liked idols and music and would point it out to him and despite being initially averse to it, he started liking it too. he'd look through the things you listened to and would learn more about the groups or solo artists you liked and become immersed.

one day he asked you to go to the aquarium with him. you agreed. he was waiting with his parents at the aquarium.

that day was the worst.

you and your parents got into a car accident. you survived, your parents didn't. zayne started blaming himself, saying if he didn't ask you to meet him at the aquarium, you would still be okay, you would still have your parents...

you moved away to live with your uncle and aunt after recovering in the hospital. zayne considers himself bad luck, thought you hated him for essentially killing your parents.

he always blamed himself. even when his parents told him that wasn't the case, he blamed himself over and over again, and that guilt never faded.

then he remembered you liked idols. and suddenly he wanted to become one.

because maybe if he became an idol, he would be forgiven for his crime. maybe if he became an idol, you would smile somewhere else and forgive him.

so he did. made it far, became a well-known idol. never forgot you. as an idol he started advocating for health as well, remembering your time in the hospital and you losing your parents.

he would sometimes visit children in the hospital who wished to meet him, donate to charities, do as much as he could. he wanted to do good, he really wanted to.

he's wondering if you're out there watching him.

he's always wondering.

and wondering if you've ever forgiven him.

rafayel:

you met a strange boy by the beach as a kid. he was there every sunset and you decided to become friends with him. you didn't know rafayel's name, maybe you forgot, but you liked his singing. he sang very beautifully and it soothed your heart.

you became fast friends and, before you knew it, you made a promise to visit him every day for the next few summers and be the best of friends. you told him about your love for idols and he huffed saying he would be a better idol than anyone you liked and you encouraged him, saying he would definitely be a great idol.

but eventually you stopped coming. and rafayel didn't know why.

rafayel held out hope you would come but you didn't. his life wasn't the best, he sought you out because you felt warm, you were a light he sort of needed, made him feel like there was a safe place.

he remembered you said you liked idols and you wanted him to be one.

so rafayel became an idol. hoping that if he garnered the reputation he could find you again, that you would recognize his voice and one day, you would meet him at a fanmeet, a concert, something.

every song he sings is a secret wish to see you again.

sylus:

you and sylus grew up in the same foster home. neither of you had parents and you tended to cause trouble. partners in crime.

you both broke out one day and changed to living on the streets. you would steal things from stores, sleep in alleys, eat whatever food seemed edible... it wasn't the best, but you had each other.

you liked watching idol shows through the TVs in the windows of stores and danced to the songs. you said that someday you wanted to be like that—sing songs to give hope to kids like you that the world wasn't such a terrible place.

sylus started finding abandoned theaters for you to dance on stage and stealing books on music theory to help you. he wanted to help you reach your dream.

but that journey was too short. you were found, and you couldn't escape, dragged back to some foster home.

sylus was on his own.

he never did give up on your dream though. he made connections fast through whatever means necessary and shot up into the entertainment world, becoming an idol himself. but an idol is a means to an end. he's always searching for you so that he can find you, bring you up to where he is, so that you two can make that dream you had as a child come true.

he has connections in the industry, he can help you, he could start up his own company just to support you, anything you asked for he would give to you. as an idol he has influence and he knows how to use it; none of this is for him, it's all for you.

he has a spot saved right next to him. always has, always will.

caleb:

caleb became an idol solely because he wants to be the only shining star in your eyes, he wants to be the idol you love, wants to become your northern star. you loved idols as a kid and he decided he would do his best to make sure that he could make you smile each and everyday like the idols on TV do.

you watched him practice, saw him grow and enter in auditions and even cheered him on. he'd practice day after day and you'd laugh at him, but enjoy the personal show he always gave you. he promised you that you would always be there for concerts when he made it, teased you with special VIP privileges.

and suddenly, he made it. and you were so proud of him.

you bragged about how he was the best idol, how he was so handsome and everyone loved him but you knew him best to all your friends, and for a while that was your reality.

he worked really hard to make it, and he did, but at what cost?

because he was getting busier now. he visited less, contacted less. suddenly he was too busy, he couldn't spare time anymore, sneaking out with you was now too dangerous in case of scandals. things like VIP tickets were suddenly risks, you began wondering if being seen near him would cause a scandal, would create his downfall, and suddenly you began to realize that caleb was no longer yours anymore.

the moment he became an idol, he belonged to everyone.

and he realized it too.

he wanted to be your shining star but now he's too far from your reach.

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #l&ds #xavier #zayne #rafayel #sylus #caleb #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader #sylus x reader #caleb x reader #xavier x you #zayne x you #rafayel x you #sylus x you #caleb x you

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amiableness · 9 hours ago

Text

Peonies ; part one [REWRITE]

Pairing: Theo Nott x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 15.8k

Warnings: Unrequited love, jealousy from many ends, the reader is shorter than Theo, and wears a bikini. Theo calls reader fiore. Discomfort/sadness. Reader doesn’t really know how to swim. Brief mentions of blood. There’s for sure more but I’m gonna have to go back and add them!

A/N: Omg hi! This has been a long time coming, and not much has been added, just a couple new scenes and some more details added. Most of the rewrite will be in the second part, but it feels too much to have a 30k+ fic posted in one go. So I’m dividing it up! Since it’s been so long I figured I’d post this to hold you guys over, thank you for being so patient! It’s much appreciated! <3

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

Against your better judgment, you’d fallen hard for Mattheo Riddle. And yet, you were fully aware that nothing would ever come of it.

You’d grown up in the same circles, your families often crossing paths at dinners and parties, but you were never particularly close, barely acknowledging each other in those polished, formal settings. It wasn’t until you both started at Hogwarts that any real friendship formed. Being eleven and navigating the overwhelming experience of a new school was daunting for anyone. When you were both sorted into Slytherin, you naturally gravitated toward each other, being the most familiar thing the other could find.

Over time, you’d been there for him more times than you could count. You were the one cleaning his cuts after a fight, always telling him it was the last time because you couldn’t bear to see him get hurt. Yet, each time he showed up, you let him in with an exasperated huff, carefully tending to his wounds. When he’d appear at your door late at night, eyes dark with whatever was haunting him, you’d silently walk with him, sitting together in the quiet of the common room until the tension in his shoulders finally eased. You’d pretend to be annoyed when he asked to copy your coursework, but in truth, you savored every moment he sat close to you—the way his arm would brush against yours as he scribbled down your notes, the warmth of him, the scent of his cologne lingering in the air. It left you longing for him to stay close just a little longer, even though you knew he never would.

He moved from one fling to the next, a string of one-night stands that never seemed to reach his heart. While you’d never been one of them, you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if you were. A stubborn, hopeless part of you clung to the fantasy that maybe, just maybe, he’d one day let you be the one he trusted with more than just a night tangled in the sheets.

Your friends always joked that if Mattheo ever got serious about a girl, it would be you—but you knew the chances of that were painfully slim.

So you were caught off guard when you walked into the common room and saw a girl you barely recognized sitting with your friends. Cozied up in the same armchair as Mattheo. Your steps faltered as you approached, trying to piece together who she was and why she was sitting with your friends and more specifically, Mattheo. It wasn’t that you were opposed to meeting new people, but your group had never once welcomed anyone new. You’d tried, it didn’t go as well as you’d hoped.

“Hey, love.” Enzo murmurs, patting the cushion beside him on the couch. He’s the only one who’s noticed you so far; the rest are absorbed in their heated discussion about the latest Quidditch match. You were never particularly interested in discussing Quidditch—what interested you was watching Mattheo talk about it. There was just something undeniably attractive about listening to his voice when he talked about something that interested him.

You slide onto the couch next to Enzo, your gaze briefly flicking to the girl sitting directly across from you, trying to place her without being too obvious about your stare.

“Hey, Enz.” You say with a soft smile, setting your bag down as you settle onto the couch.

“What’s going on?” You tilt your head toward the girl, and Enzo glances in her direction. She’s not paying attention, her gaze fixed on Mattheo with a lovesick expression, hanging onto his every word.

“I’m not sure,” Enzo replies quietly, ensuring his voice doesn’t carry. “Mattheo just introduced us, and we’re all a bit confused about it, too I think.”

“Oh.” You murmur, and Enzo watches you carefully. He knows about your feelings for Mattheo; he’d have to be blind not to notice.

Enzo leans in closer, and you shift your gaze to him. “Listen, love—”

Enzo doesn’t get to finish before a soft gasp of your name catches your attention. You look over, surprised to see the girl leaning forward with her hand extended. You briefly wonder how she knows your name and if you should know hers too.

You notice that her other hand still has a tight grip on Mattheo.

“I’m Veronica,” she says warmly, her smile never wavering. “Mattheo’s girlfriend.” The way she emphasizes the word girlfriend startles you—it takes a second to register, and then it hits you like a punch to the gut.

Girlfriend. When did Mattheo Riddle start dating?

And why wasn’t he introducing her himself?

You’re at a loss for words, a nauseous feeling curling around you, tightening its grip until you’re not sure you could speak even if you tried. You know you should smile, should tell her how happy you are to meet her. But you can’t find it in you to do so, not when you’d rather be anywhere but here.

You swallow the urge to ask if she’s joking, if she’s hit her head, because Mattheo Riddle isn’t a relationship guy. No one knows that better than you.

Yet, you’re rooted to the spot in stunned silence, your gaze flitting between her hand, now entwined with Mattheo’s, and the soft, content smile playing on her lips.

Your mind races, struggling to process the situation that’s just blindsided you. You always knew he’d never be yours—not in the way you wanted—but hearing it, seeing it laid out so plainly before you, feels like your heart has been ripped from your chest.

You force a smile, so strained it makes your head spin, and you finally take her hand, the gesture automatic and devoid of real warmth. “Nice to meet you.” You manage to say, though the words feel foreign on your tongue.

Her smile widens, and she shifts closer to Mattheo as if silently asserting her place by his side. Your eyes flicker to Mattheo, whose attention is pulled to Veronica as she presses closer into him. You’re not surprised he’s been oblivious to the conversation, or lack thereof, happening next to him. Talk of Quidditch had a tendency to do that to him.

You study his face intently, searching for any hint of his feelings toward her, hoping to find anything that might betray his feelings.

But when you see the way he looks at her—eyes soft, filled with a tenderness you’ve never seen from him before—your stomach churns with a sickening mix of jealousy and heartache.

His eyes meet yours, and he smiles, pressing a kiss to her hair. “I didn’t even see you come in. Glad you’ve met my girl,”he says, the warmth in his voice making your chest tighten.

I didn’t see you. Your stomach lurches at his words.

Clearly not—if you had, you wouldn’t be flaunting another girl right in front of me, you think bitterly.

You glance at Veronica as she nods enthusiastically. “Me too, Matty,” she says, her voice dripping with sweetness. “I’m already so excited for the girls’ nights we’re going to have.”

You can’t tell if she’s genuinely that nice or just putting on a show for Mattheo. “Oh yeah. That would be fun,” you say, forcing a smile that feels more like a grimace. Neither of them notices the unease behind it—they’re too wrapped up in each other, their attention locked in a gaze that makes you feel invisible.

The last thing you want is a girls’ night. Pass the popcorn—oh, and by the way? I want your boyfriend.

No. Absolutely not.

You tear your gaze away, the sight of them together too painful to endure, and instead turn to Enzo. “What the hell?” You mutter, barely managing to keep your voice steady.

“I’m sorry, love, I wanted to tell you before they did.” Enzo whispers, wincing as he gives your hand a quick squeeze. You murmur a soft “It’s okay,” but inside, you’re far from feeling that way.

Desperately, you try to compose yourself, but the effort feels pointless. As your eyes wander, they lock with Theo’s. He’s watching you, his expression unreadable. You muster a soft smile, hoping to mask the heartbreak inside, but he doesn’t return it; he just keeps watching, his gaze heavy with something you can’t quite place.

You manage to stay for half an hour, offering the occasional nod and murmured agreement to feign interest in the conversation. But your mind is elsewhere, detached from the words being exchanged. No one seems to notice your distraction; they’re all too absorbed in their own conversations to catch the distant look in your eyes.

Without realizing it, your gaze keeps drifting back to the couple. Veronica rests her head on Mattheo’s shoulder, and his hand is gently resting on her knee, his thumb brushing softly against her skin. You can’t help but notice how at ease he seems with this physical intimacy—something you’re surprised he’d be so comfortable with.

It took Mattheo ages to grow comfortable with your touch. The first time he came over after a particularly brutal nightmare about his father, he sat hunched over on your bed, eyes hollow as he confessed he kept reliving Christmas break—how his dad had slapped him for something he couldn’t even remember. Something so insignificant. When your hand barely grazed his back, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

It was months before your touch started to soothe him instead of making him flinch.

When Pansy casually asked how Mattheo and Veronica had met, you felt a surge of restless energy. You couldn’t bear to hear that they’d been together for months, falling in love while you remained oblivious, never realizing you never stood a chance. Without thinking, you abruptly stood up, the couch creaking loudly at the force. The sudden noise drew theattention of everyone in the room. All eyes shifted to you, their expressions a mix of surprise and curiosity as they awaited your next move.

“Um,” you winced as the room’s gaze fixed on you, feeling the heat of their attention. “I’m coming down with a migraine. I’m going to bed early tonight.”

Your friends’ voices fade into the background as they shout their goodnights, the words scarcely reaching your ears. You speed through the common room and down the cold, empty hallway, desperate for the seclusion of your dorm. Just as you’ve made it halfway to your room, a firm grip catches your hand. Startled, you spin around to find Theo standing there, his eyes searching yours with a mix of concern and hesitation.

“Fiore,” he says softly, his voice a gentle caress in the quiet hallway. His eyes follow the tears streaming down your cheeks, and you watch through blurry vision as he takes a tentative step closer. “What’s going on?”

You open your mouth to respond but find yourself unable to form the words. The lump in your throat feels insurmountable. Instead, you just shake your head slightly, your tears continuing to fall one after another.

He releases a quiet sigh and says, “Come here.” Without a second thought, you step closer, encircling his waist with your arms while resting your head against his chest. His arms come up to settle around your shoulders, and he gently rests his head against yours. As you press your face into his chest, sniffling softly, he whispers soothing words in Italian, his voice a comforting murmur.

You must have been standing in the cold corridor for fifteen minutes before the distant murmur of approaching students prompts Theo to gently pull himself from you. He takes your hand, his touch warm against the chill, guiding you away from the freezing corridor.

“It’s just you and Pansy, right?” He asks, using his hand to guide you in front of him to let you go ahead and enter your room first.

“Yeah, but she’ll probably stay with Blaise.” You say softly, the strain in your voice revealing that you’ve been crying. Theo doesn’t say anything; he’s long since lost count of the times he’s told them off for leaving the curtains open or forgetting to cast a silencing spell. Instead, he follows you into your dorm, the door clicking softly behind him.

The walls are lined with polaroids of the group, and Theo’s gaze lingers on the numerous pictures of you and Mattheo. Your dark wood desk is topped with a silver lamp and a few textbooks, its surface cluttered with quills and scattered notes. Mattheo’s jersey is draped over the back of your chair, and Theo recalls all the times seeing you wear it at each game. Your teddy, a well-worn bear that Theo recognizes as the same one you bring every year, sits at the top of your desk.

The room feels markedly warmer than the corridor outside, though it might just be because it’s your room.

“You can sit.” You offer. Theo’s eyes move to where you’re perched on the edge of your bed watching him.

You’ve kicked off your shoes and tossed your robes over your trunk. He swallows, his gaze lingering on you. Despite the tear stains on your cheeks, he finds it hard to look away—you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. He’s always thought so.

It’s rare for him to spend time with you alone. Usually, when you’re together, it’s with the rest of your friends. Over the years, you’ve been paired up in classes a few times, but neither of you has ever gone out of your way to be alone together.

He sits down next to you on the bed, deliberately leaving some space between you. For a while, neither of you speaks. When Theo finally glances at you out of the corner of his eye, he notices you staring at a polaroid of you and Mattheo. It was taken at a party celebrating Slytherin’s win. In the photo, you’re perched on his lap, one arm casually draped around his shoulder, the other holding up a cup of whatever you were drinking. Your smile is bright, full of life, while Mattheo’s is more subdued, but there’s no mistaking the way he’s looking at you—content, almost in awe, as you laugh above him.

He was sure you two were going to get together that night—and he nearly drank himself blackout drunk at the thought.

“Hey,” He murmurs. You hum to show you’re listening, but don’t look away from the picture. “You know I’m here for you. In any way you need me.”

You can’t tear your eyes away from the picture at first, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you stare at it. Finally, you let out a sigh and turn to him, “I appreciate that. But how fair would it be for me to vent about your best friend to you?”

It’s the first time he’s ever heard you say anything that hints at your feelings for Mattheo.

“I don’t care about him right now. I care about you.” He says, and you look a tad surprised at his words.

There’s a moment of quiet as you process Theo’s words. He’s always been Mattheo’s best friend, so hearing him dismiss Mattheo like that catches you off guard. You hesitate, not wanting to unload all your feelings onto him, especially since the mere thought of talking about Mattheo and Veronica makes your stomach turn.

“Theo,” you sigh, your voice tinged with vulnerability, on the verge of breaking. He can hear how close you are to tears. “Will you lie with me? If that’s weird, I understand—”

But before you can finish, Theo gently takes your hand, his grip warm and reassuring, leaving no room for doubt. He gives a small nod, silently gesturing for you to lie down, and you follow his lead.

“Where do you want me, fiore?” He asks, his voice soft. You feel a momentary hesitation, your heart stuttering at the tenderness in his tone.

“Um,” you murmur, turning onto your side, feeling the unease settling in your stomach. Not because you feel uncomfortable around Theo, but because this is wildly different for the both of you. “Will you face me?”

Theo doesn’t hesitate. He moves effortlessly, sliding into place beside you. You watch as he slips off his shoes and sets them aside, then settles himself on the bed, positioning his body so he’s facing you. You find yourself holding your breath, acutely aware of how close he is—how you’re sharing the same pillow and could study every detail of his face if you wanted to.

“Why did you follow me?” You ask, and his eyes flicker up to meet yours.

“I got the impression you needed someone.” You don’t say anything to that, just take in his words. It startles you that Theo—someone you’re hardly close with—noticed, instead of Mattheo, who’s seen you at your worst more times than you can count.

“Thank you.” You say, and you cringe inwardly at the way your voice wavers. There’s nothing hiding the sadness in your voice, it’s impossible to mask.

His eyes gently trace your features, a soft concern evident in his expression as he takes in the sight of you, “For?”

“Laying with me. Coming to check on me,” Your voice drops to a whisper and your eyes well up in tears when you think about why you were upset in the first place. “It means a lot.”

Theo lets out a soft hum, his gaze soft as he lifts his hand to gently brush away a tear that slips from your eye. The gentleness of his fingers against your face feels soothing; you’ve never had anyone touch you like this before.

You shift closer to Theo, and for a moment, he tenses, as if unsure of your proximity. The hesitation makes you wonder if this closeness is too much, but then he wraps his arm around you and draws you in, holding you firmly against him. You wonder if it should feel awkward, letting Theo hold you this close when the two of you have never been this close before, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You let your eyes flutter shut, inhaling his cologne—surprisingly more comforting to you than Mattheo’s—and feeling the warmth of his body through his shirt.

As his fingers move gently over your hair, a calming touch, you rest your head against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat becomes a soothing reminder that you aren’t alone, and soon you find yourself drifting off, wrapped in the quiet of your dorm.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

When you wake up, Theo is gone, and you’re not sure if you’re more disappointed or relieved. Given how you feel, you’re leaning toward the latter. Your head throbs with a sharp, relentless ache, and your puffy eyes serve as a reminder of the tears you shed last night.

You’re nearly done getting ready when Pansy slips into the dorm, her brows knitting in surprise as she takes in the sight of you.

Her gaze lingers on the dark circles under your eyes and the slight tremor in your hands as you fix your tie, “I didn’t think you’d be leaving the dorm today.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” You snap, and Pansy raises an amused brow at the agitation in your voice.

“I didn’t think you’d be in the mood to see them.” She heads to her trunk, her current clothes rumpled and clearly in need of a fresh uniform. You don’t need her to spell it out—you know exactly who she’s talking about.

“I left because I had a migraine.” You grit out and she glances over her shoulder, obviously amused and doubtful at your answer.

“Really? A migraine after seeing those two?” Pansy hums, rummaging through her trunk with deliberate slowness, her eyes flicking to you as if gauging your reaction. “They were all over each other last night. Who’s to say they won’t be again today?”

You stiffen at the mention of Mattheo and his girlfriend, your fingers pausing on your tie. The events of last night rushback—Veronica’s hand on Mattheo, the way he looked at her. You feel a fresh wave of nausea but push it down, not wanting to give Pansy the satisfaction of knowing she was right.

“It doesn’t bother me.” You mutter, trying to sound indifferent, though your voice wavers slightly. You force your hands to finish with your tie, pulling it tighter than necessary.

Pansy glances over at you, a flicker of something like sympathy in her eyes, as she drops the amused smirk, “You know you can tell me, right? About how you feel about him.”

You study Pansy, debating whether to finally say what you’ve kept to yourself for so long. It’s only been hours since you basically admitted it to Theo, and now telling Pansy feels like too much—though you’re sure they’d suspected for a while. But voicing it out loud feels like stepping into territory you’re not ready to face.

“What difference does it make, Pans? He’s got a girlfriend now.” You sigh, the sadness from last night seeping into your words. She abandons her trunk, standing up to fully face you, her expression unreadable.

“If it helps, we were all surprised.” She says, her voice unexpectedly gentle. That’s not normally a word you’d use in the same sentence as her name. “None of us had a clue he was sleeping with anyone more than once.”

Your stomach churns further, “I don’t think that really helps, Pans.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” she says, her eyes scanning your face for any sign of comfort. “I could make her life a nightmare if you want. Maybe then she’d decide it’s not worth it.”

“No,” you say, wincing as you stare at the wall, feeling the heaviness of the room. “I want him to be happy, and if shemakes him happy, then I need to accept it. Even if it hurts.”

Pansy narrows her eyes, disbelief crossing her face. “Are you joking? You’d make him happy—”

“Pansy,” you cut her off, frustration making your voice sharper. “I don’t need you to fix this. I just need to figure out how to deal with it myself.”

Pansy falls silent, her gaze shifting as she takes in the raw pain on your face, a flicker of guilt passing over her expression. She heads off to change, leaving you on your bed, the weight of her offer hanging in the air. You sit there, lost in thought, waiting for her to finish getting ready. Despite her nights spent with Blaise, you both always made a point to walk to breakfast together.

When Pansy finally emerges, you both make your way to the Great Hall in quiet unison. The hum of conversation and the steady flow of students around you create a backdrop of normalcy.

“What did you do after you left last night?” Pansy asks, her gaze shifting from the bustling corridor to you.

“Had a good cry.” You reply, trying to keep your tone light despite the heaviness you feel.

Pansy’s brow furrows. “Babes, you shouldn’t have been alone.”

“I wasn’t.” You say, almost reluctantly.

“What do you mean?”

“Theo came back to the dorm with me,” you explain, your voice softer now. “He stayed with me, just… holding me, until I fell asleep.”

Pansy’s eyes widen slightly, and she falls quiet for a moment, “He did?”

You let out a soft hum, and Pansy grips at your hand, her touch both firm and reassuring. Her eyes reflect a mix of concern and guilt as she looks at you.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice softening with sincerity. “I should’ve come to check on you instead of leaving it to Theo. I didn’t realize your feelings for Mattheo were this strong. I thought it was a harmless crush, I really didn’t know.”

You shake your head slightly, your gaze dropping to where her fingers clasp yours. “It’s okay,” you murmur, trying to steady your voice. “Theo being there helped more than I thought it would. I’m glad I wasn’t alone.”

Pansy nods, her expression softening. “I wish I’d known,” she says quietly. “I would’ve gone with you immediately. I just thought you needed some space.”

You offer a small, appreciative smile, grateful for her concern. “Thanks, Pansy. It means a lot.”

Pansy pulls you into a warm hug, and despite the heaviness in your chest, you can’t help but chuckle at the unexpected show of affection. When she finally lets go, she takes your hand and leads you toward the Great Hall.

As you make your way to the Slytherin table, your spirits, momentarily lifted by Pansy’s support, are quickly deflated when you see who’s occupying your usual spot.

A heavy weight settles in your stomach as you spot Veronica nestled against Mattheo’s side, her head tilted as she whispers something into his ear. His laughter, genuine and warm, makes your appetite vanish. You decide that you’re not very hungry anymore.

You swallow hard, struggling to keep your emotions in check. Pansy gives your hand a comforting squeeze and tilts her head toward an empty seat beside Theo. Usually, Theo would be next to his best friend with you on the other side sandwiching Mattheo, but today he’s positioned next to Draco across from where he normally would be. You hesitate, not wanting to assume he saved the spot for you, but then Theo turns and offers you a gentle smile—a smile you’ve never seen him give anyone else. As you stand there, he reaches out with that soft smile, his hand extended to gently guide you into the seat beside him.

You settle into the seat beside Theo, and with a resigned sigh, you reach for some food to add to your plate. Even though your appetite is all but gone, you know it’s important to eat. That and you know Pansy would shove it down your throat if you didn’t.

Theo leans in slightly, his voice a low murmur as he meets your gaze. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up,” he says quietly. “I had something I needed to take care of.”

“That’s alright,” You murmur, sending him a quick, soft smile. “Were you able to get any sleep last night?”

Theo hesitates, unsure whether to tell you that it was the best sleep he’s had in a while or simply agree. He settles for a nod, “Uh yeah. I slept pretty well. Did you?”

“As well as I could,” You shrug, “But it was nice having you there.” You send him a shy smile, your gaze dipping back down to the tea you’re stirring, and he struggles to resist the urge to offer to stay the night with you again.

“I meant what I said. I’m here for you in any way that you need me.” You turn towards him, your expression softening as you take in the genuine look on his face. Your lips part, but you can’t manage to get anything past them. The way he’s looking at you makes you nervous.

“Oi! What are you two whispering about?” Theo’s head snaps toward Draco, who is watching you both with a look of clear distaste at the way you were leaning into each other, gazing at one another so intently.

“Nothing.” Theo snaps out, and Draco raises an eyebrow at the sharpness in his tone. A sly grin begins to form on Draco’s face as he opens his mouth to speak, but Theo interrupts with a low murmur that you can’t quite make out. Draco doesn’t say anything, but faces his breakfast with a disgruntled look on his face.

Theo engages in a lively conversation with Enzo and Draco, leaving you content to eat in quiet. However, it’s not long before Veronica’s giggles start to cut through the silence, growing louder with each passing moment. When you finally look up, your heart sinks. Mattheo’s arm is wrapped around her waist, pulling her close as he murmurs something into her ear. She glances up at him, still laughing, and Mattheo leans in, pressing a kiss to her lips.

Overwhelmed, you instinctively reach for Theo’s thigh, your hand gripping it tightly as you try to steady yourself. Theo looks at you, startled by your sudden reaction, but you’re not meeting his gaze. Instead, he follows your line of sight to where Mattheo and Veronica are entwined, lost in their own world.

He drops his fork with a sigh, his hand immediately reaching out to grasp yours with a firm, reassuring grip. His touch is warm as he gently pulls your focus from the scene before you. Theo’s gaze lingers on the tear-brimmed edges of your eyes, his expression concerned. He glances at your friends, still lost in their animated conversation, and feels a pang of relief that they’re oblivious to the devastation written across your face.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, rising from his seat while maintaining a firm hold on your hand. With a quick, reassuring glance, he leans down to grab your bag. “I’ll walk you to class a bit early.”

Without a word, you follow him, casting a glance back at Pansy. You silently mouth ‘class’ to her as she watches you with curiosity from over your shoulder. If your friends notice the way Theo’s hand is intertwined with yours, they make no mention of it.

The moment you’re out in the hall, it feels like you can finally breathe again. A few tears slip down your cheeks, and you cling tightly to Theo’s hand as you walk, finding some comfort in the feel of him. You appreciate how he doesn’t push you to talk or ask any questions, just quietly staying by your side. There’s a relief in knowing he’s there if you need him, without the pressure to say anything.

After a couple of minutes of walking, you squeeze his hand and Theo glances over at you, “I’m not sure how I’m going to do this.”

He squeezes your hand back, “What do you mean?”

“Seeing them together,” You mumble. “It fucking sucks.”

“I’m sorry, fiore.” He speaks softly, wishing he had the right words to offer, some way to tell you how to get over someone. But the truth is, he’s still trying to figure it out himself.

“Will you help me get over him?” Theo’s steps falter slightly at your question, his heart aching at the helplessness in your voice. He swallows, the meaning of your words sinking in. You don’t seem to realize what it sounds like you’re asking him for.

He glances at you, unease settling in his stomach, “How exactly?” He briefly considers the fact that whatever you ask of him could make him fall for you more. But as long as it meant you were happy.

You hesitate, your gaze dropping to the floor as you search for the right words. “I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just… be there, I guess. Help me forget about him. Distract me.”

Theo nods slowly, his mind racing. He wants to say something, to offer more than just his presence, but he knows that pushing too hard might make things worse. Instead, he gently squeezes your hand again, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a comforting rhythm.

“I can do that,” he murmurs, his voice steady despite the nerves inside him. “I’m here for whatever you need.”

You offer him a small, grateful smile, and he can see the hint of sadness still lingering in your eyes. It breaks his heart, but he pushes those feelings aside. Right now, what matters is helping you heal, even if it means hiding his own growing feelings for you.

As you continue walking, Theo keeps you close, his hand never leaving yours. And though he doesn’t say it out loud, he silently vows to do whatever it takes to make you smile again, even if it means keeping his own heartache hidden in the process.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

By the time you reach your dorm, exhaustion weighs heavily on you. You’ve spent the entire day with your head down, avoiding any sight of Mattheo and Veronica. The silence between you and Mattheo feels foreign; it’s the first time you’ve gone a whole day without speaking to him, and you’re unsure if he even noticed your absence.

Unfortunately, you share several classes with both Mattheo and, evidently, Veronica. The sound of her laugh has become something you never want to hear again.

You kick off your shoes, fatigue weighing heavily on your limbs as you move towards your bed. As you pass your desk, something catches your eye—a bundle of red flowers sitting on top of your books. You pause, your curiosity piqued, and approach the desk. With a gentle touch, you lift the bundle, revealing vibrant red peonies. Their rich color stands out against the soft light filtering through the window, and their subtle, sweet fragrance fills the air.

Your eyes catch a note nestled among the flowers. You bite your lip to hide a smile as you read his messy handwriting: your name followed by a simple heart.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

Last night had been brutal. Sleep barely touched you; your mind was flooded with images of Mattheo and Veronica, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. The thought of them together was unbearable—it made your head throb and your stomach churn. You hated it. Hated how it made you feel. But no matter how tightly you shut your eyes, your thoughts wouldn’t quiet. So you gave up on rest entirely, dragging yourself out of bed before the sun had even risen, hoping that a book might be enough to distract you from the images popping up in your head.

It was quiet in the common room—so quiet, you weren’t sure it would be enough to drown out the rancid thoughts circling your head. But you sat down anyway, curled up beside the fire with a blanket draped around your shoulders.

Reading ended up helping, so much so that you didn’t even hear anyone come in. You nearly jumped out of your skin when, out of the corner of your eye, you caught someone sitting in the chair beside you.

“You scared me.” You mutter, shooting him a look as he keeps his eyes fixed on the fire in front of him.

“Didn’t mean to,” Mattheo mumbles, finally glancing over at you. “What are you doing up?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” you say with a shrug, praying he won’t ask why. “I’m guessing it’s the same for you?”

He sighs, and you know the answer right away, “The usual.”

The words rise in your throat, begging to ask why he didn’t come to you—but you swallow them down, because deep down, you already know the answer. That was someone else’s job now.

So instead, you stay quiet—he’s never been one to talk after a nightmare. He prefers silence, sitting with it, letting it settle while he works through whatever’s clawing at him.

“I haven’t seen much of you.” You murmur after a good ten minutes of silence. It’s not easy to focus on reading when the person you’ve missed so achingly is sitting right in front of you. It was hard not to say anything—you’d barely made it through a page of your book, too distracted by stealing glances at him. You always thought he looked his most beautiful like this—hair tousled, eyes heavy with sleep. It was a kind of vulnerability only you were ever allowed to see.

He sighs, leaning back in the chair as his hand threads through his hair. “Been busy. You know how it is.” The smirk that tugs at his lips makes your stomach twist. You don’t know how it is—not really. You’ve been too busy waiting around for him to find out.

“Oh,” you choke out. “Well, maybe this weekend we could do something? It feels like it’s been ages since we’ve done anything.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, and your spirits lift for a second. “I’ll have to check in with Veronica first, though.”

“Check in?” You repeat, a frown tugging at your brow.

“I don’t want her thinking I’m neglecting our relationship, you know?” He explains, and you swallow down the scoff that threatens to leave your lips. Like you’re doing with ours?

“Sure, I understand.” You say, but you really don’t. But you have no right to voice that. He’s in a relationship now, and you have to learn to respect that.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

It’s well past midnight when a knock echoes at your door. You sigh, adjusting your shorts as you reluctantly crawl off your bed, leaving your notes sprawled across the covers. As you swing the door open, you find Theo standing there, his gaze lifting from the floor to meet yours. A hesitant smile plays on his lips, as if he’s unsure whether he’s welcome at this late hour.

“Hi.” You greet him with a mix of confusion and warmth, offering a sweet smile. You pull the door open wider, and Theo’s gaze briefly flickers over your tiny sleep shorts and oversized shirt before he meets your eyes again.

“Pansy’s at our dorm.” He says, his voice soft.

You let out a quiet laugh, “I know that.”

He hesitates, searching for the right words. “I just thought... maybe you wouldn’t want to be alone tonight.”

“Oh,” you say, surprised, your lips parting as you glance over your shoulder into your room. Theo’s heart races, a wave of panic surging through him as he mentally scolds himself for not holding back. Offering to stay the night with you felt impulsive, but the moment he saw Pansy enter his dorm, his thoughts had gone straight to you.

“Shit,” Theo shifts uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, the words tumbling out before he can stop them. “I just—when I saw Pansy, I couldn’t help but think you might need someone tonight. But if you’d rather be alone, I can go.”

After you asked Theo to help you get over Mattheo, you wondered if it had been too much to ask of him. But to your surprise, you’ve spent nearly every day of the past three weeks with Theo. You knew he had his own worries—between school, Quidditch, and the pressure from his father. But the morning after you asked for his help, he was there.

You never expected him to put so much effort into helping you move on from Mattheo, but you couldn’t be more grateful.

You hadn’t seen much of Mattheo since that early morning you’d run into him in the common room a couple of weeks ago. He’d been wrapped up with Veronica—you’d really only caught glimpses of them around the castle now and then, and the boys hadn’t stopped grumbling about their mate being stolen. It bothered you more than you cared to admit. You missed your best friend, even when you were agitated with him. Still, you were doing your best to respect his relationship, which meant spending more time with the group—minus the new couple. As it turned out, the distraction was a welcome one.

“No,” you quickly respond, a smile spreading across your face as you reach out and grasp his hand, gently tugging him inside. “I’m glad you came.”

Theo visibly relaxes at your touch, allowing you to gently pull him into the room. As the door clicks shut behind him, sealing out the quiet corridor, his initial hesitation melts away. He takes in the familiar surroundings of your room, which, despite being a bit messier than usual, feels even more comforting in the warm, dim light with you.

He swallows his disappointment as you release his hand to clear your bed of scattered notes. Standing there awkwardly, he tries to keep his gaze focused, making an effort not to let his eyes drift down your legs as you lean over to pick up the last piece of parchment.

After you place everything neatly on your desk, you turn to face him, leaning casually against the edge with a soft smile. “Are you okay with sharing my bed again?” you ask, your voice light but sincere. “Or if you’d prefer, I can sleep in Pansy’s bed so you’ll have more room.”

Theo bites his tongue, fighting to keep his voice steady and avoid sounding overeager. He doesn’t want more room; what he wants is to wake up with you pressed close against him, just as he did weeks ago. This time, though, he’s determined to stay and enjoy the feeling of you in his arms.

He clears his throat, “Your bed is fine.”

“I was actually about to head to bed before you knocked, but I can stay up if you wanted to do something.” You offer, your voice gentle and inviting.

Theo shakes his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips, “Thanks, but I’m pretty wiped out from practice today.” He admits, and you can hear the exhaustion seeping through his words.

“You should’ve gone to bed at your dorm, you would’ve been asleep sooner.” You say with a slight frown as you notice just how tired he looks from the day.

“No,” He shrugs. “I wouldn’t have been able to sleep knowing you were here alone.”

If your heart could have melted, it would have done so right then.

Theo’s eyes hold yours for a moment longer before he glances away, almost as if he’s embarrassed by his own admission. You press your lips together, trying to hide the giddy smile threatening to break through. The idea that he cared that much for you made your insides flutter, warmth spreading through your chest.

Pushing away from the desk, you walk over to your bed and pull back the covers. Theo watches as you crawl in, adjusting the pillows before looking back at him. The unspoken question hangs in the air—are you going to join me?

He hesitates, slowly dropping his bag at the foot of your bed before moving closer to the edge. He’s slept in a bed with a girl before, but this feels wildly different. You make him nervous, and he has no idea how to hide it when he’s this close to you.

You settle into the covers, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight as you shift, and watch as Theo does the same, kicking off his shoes and slipping under the covers beside you.

Once the lights are off, silence settles between you, not at all uncomfortable. The only sound in the room is the soft rustling of sheets as Theo shifts beside you. You lie on your side, trying to make out his form in the darkness as your eyes slowly adjust. You can tell he’s lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, lost in his own thoughts.

“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me over the past couple of weeks.” You say softly, and Theo turns his head to look at you.

“Yeah?”

You hum, reaching out your fingers to brush against his hand, and he takes it without hesitation, his grip warm and reassuring, “Yeah.”

It’s become a habit in the last couple of weeks—intertwining his fingers with yours. He would grab your hand every time he noticed your discomfort around Mattheo and Veronica. And at some point, you just started reaching for his hand yourself. You liked the warmth of his palm against yours and the way he’d brush his thumb over the back of your hand.

“You know I don’t mind, right? Spending all this time with you has been nice. We never really hung out much, just us two.” He says softly.

You nod, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at his words. “Yeah, I know. It’s been nice for me too,” you admit, your eyes meeting his in the dark. You both fall into silence, and it doesn’t take long before you drift off to sleep, your hand still clasped in his.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

Panic hits as you suddenly realize the time—you’re running late. By now, you should already be at breakfast.

“Theo,” you whisper urgently, trying to shift out of his hold. The sheets are tangled around your legs, your back pressed firmly against his chest. His arms are locked around your waist, holding you close, and he’s not loosening his grip. His body is warm against yours, and even as you try to move, his grip tightens slightly, like he’s not ready to let go just yet. “Theo.”

“Fiore,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep, and you freeze at the sound of that deeper, morning rasp. “Quit moving.”His grip tightens just enough to keep you still, his breath warm against the back of your neck.

“We have to get up,” you huff, trying to slip out of his arms, but Theo just pulls you back against him, his hold firm. “We’re late.”

“We’ll just skip.” He mutters, his voice still low and groggy. The idea is tempting—staying wrapped in his warmth instead of braving the cold corridors—but you sigh inwardly, knowing better.

You’d grown used to Theo’s small gestures of affection over the past few weeks, and you’d been just as affectionate in return. But waking up tangled in his arms like this felt different, more intimate. You were certain that once Theo fully woke up, he’d be a little sheepish about how closely he was holding you now.

“We really can’t,” you sigh, trying once more. “We need to get going—” Theo grumbles in response, finally loosening his grip and releasing you. A triumphant smile tugs at your lips as you slip out of bed, quickly heading to get ready. You racethrough brushing your teeth and pull on your uniform, skipping any attempt at fixing your hair in the rush. By the time you step out of the bathroom, Theo is standing by the bed, just finishing the last button on his shirt, looking just as disheveled as you feel.

You hurry Theo out of your room as he finishes brushing his teeth, and he complies, adjusting his tie as you both sprint toward the Great Hall. Just before joining the bustling breakfast crowd, you grab Theo by the arm, pausing to smooth down his disheveled hair.

“Is it a mess?” He asks, watching you closely as you stand on your toes to thread your fingers through his hair in an attempt to fix it.

“Just a bit,” you smile, stepping back on your heels and giving his hair a final nod of approval. “How’s mine?”

“Pretty,” Theo responds immediately, his gaze lingering. “I’ve never seen your hair like this before.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to stifle your smile at his compliment. You had let your hair fall naturally, and his reaction makes you feel unexpectedly warm.

You mumble a shy “thank you” before leading the way into the Great Hall, Theo trailing close behind. His cheeks are still tinged pink from the way your fingers had grazed through his hair, and he’s quietly grateful you haven’t seemed to notice. However, his relief is short-lived when he catches Draco’s eye, who immediately notices the pink tint and raises an eyebrow in amused surprise.

As you make your way to the table, Draco leans back in his seat with a smirk, raising an eyebrow. “Well, well, if it isn’t the lovebirds gracing us with their presence.”

“Fuck off.” Theo grumbles under his breath as he lets you slide into your new seat before settling in beside you. Ever since your usual spot had been taken, you’d claimed the one next to Theo, and not just in the Great Hall. You found yourself gravitating toward him in class, the common room—anywhere you could. It had become a newly formed habit, one that neither of you seemed keen on breaking.

“I should’ve figured that’s where you disappeared to last night,” Enzo says with a knowing smirk. “You two have been spending an awful lot of time together lately, haven’t you?”

You really had. Theo had taken to meeting you outside your last class of the day, content to walk around the castle or by the lake, just so you could avoid witnessing Mattheo and Veronica together. You had learned he was the perfect study partner—far more patient than Mattheo, who would get restless after twenty minutes and start pleading for a break. He seemed to remember every little detail you shared, from how you took your tea to the smallest quirks about yourself.

He’d been so attentive to you that you overheard some girls in the year below talking about how Theo Nott was no longer single.

Theo gives him a flat, unimpressed glare, clearly not in the mood for Enzo’s comments, “Yet again, fuck off.”

“Well, have you two got anything to tell us?” Blaise prodded, a smug grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was teasing, sure—but there was a hint of hope beneath it, a quiet wish that the two of you would finally admit to being together. Theo was the happiest Blaise had ever seen him, and he knew it had everything to do with you. It always did.

Theo looks up from serving himself breakfast, shooting Blaise a sharp, warning glance. He could handle the teasing from the boys himself, but he didn’t want you to be caught in the crossfire, especially if it made you uncomfortable.

“No.” Theo replies flatly, his gaze flicking to you. You return it with an amused, yet sympathetic smile. Unconsciously, a soft, faint smile tugs at his lips, a detail the boys are quick to notice.

“Are you sure? Because—” Blaise starts but is quickly interrupted.

“I think you two would be perfect together,” Veronica cuts in, her voice dripping with an overly sweet tone as she flashes a saccharine smile. “Don’t you think so, Matty?” she adds, glancing over at Mattheo with a raised eyebrow.

Your eyes meet Mattheo’s for a fleeting moment, and he holds your gaze. You barely registered them, so absorbed in the boys’ teasing of you and Theo. And honestly, you’re still unsettled by what he said the other day—his comment about not wanting to neglect his relationship with Veronica. What about your friendship? Was that something that was okay to neglect?

Clearly, as much as you tried to shake it, there was still some bitterness there.

For just a moment, there’s something unreadable in his gaze—something that makes your heart falter—but it vanishes as quickly as it appeared.

“Yeah,” he agrees, his gaze shifting between you and Theo while Veronica cozies up to him, resting her head on his shoulder. “You two would be.”

A knot tightens in your stomach, and your appetite evaporates. The lightness you’d felt just moments before vanishes, replaced by a heavy weight. Even though you knew Mattheo didn’t have feelings for you, hearing him so openly agree with the idea of you with Theo stings more than you expected.

As long as you’d known him, Mattheo had never been in a serious relationship, let alone had a girlfriend. Now that he was with Veronica, it was painfully clear that you were never truly an option for him. If you had been, he would have made a move. You had dropped hints for years, and his playful flirting had always kept your hopes alive.

But maybe that’s all your relationship was ever meant to be—a friendship with a hint of flirtation. If that’s the case, you needed to move on. Fixating on a guy who now had a girlfriend was a losing battle. If you weren’t careful, you might risk losing the friendship you valued so much.

You’re so caught up in your thoughts, pushing the food around on your plate, that you don’t even hear the chatter of your friends going on around you. It isn’t until Enzo tosses a grape at you that you glance up, “Are you coming tomorrow?”

You immediately know he’s referring to the Quidditch match. You’d missed the last game, which had surprised everyone, but you weren’t in the right head space to watch Veronica cheer for Mattheo.

You nod. “I planned on it.”

“Good,” Pansy interjects matter-of-factly. “I missed having you there.” You offer her a smile, but it falters when you see Veronica nudge Mattheo. He clears his throat and turns to you, his expression unreadable.

“Speaking of the game,” Mattheo starts, his voice slicing through the breakfast chatter. “I need my jersey back.”

Your brows knit together in confusion, and it takes you a moment to find your voice, “I don’t understand—”

“My jersey,” Mattheo repeats, his gaze steady as he watches you. “I need it for tomorrow.”

“Did something happen to yours?” You ask, caught off guard. You’d always kept one of his jerseys while he kept the other. It had become a sort of tradition between you.

Mattheo hesitates momentarily, a flicker of something like regret crossing his features. “No, it’s just... I need it back now.”

“Oh.” You say softly, your voice barely more than a whisper. Veronica’s eyes dart between the two of you, her brow knitting in irritation as she takes in the way Mattheo’s gaze lingers on you.

Theo’s eyes watch you with careful intensity. And when he catches the flash of hurt in your expression, he reaches out and intertwines his fingers with yours beneath the table, his touch reminding you that he’s there if you need him. You squeeze his hand back immediately.

“I’m wearing it,” Veronica interjects, her tone bordering on something nasty. “I’m his girlfriend. It would be a bit strange if you kept wearing it.”

Your gaze flickers to hers, and a familiar twist of dislike coils in your stomach. You hadn’t been her biggest fan when you first met, but you’d tried to make an effort. That morning, after seeing Mattheo in the common room, you’d even asked Veronica if she wanted to hang out. You told yourself it was a healthy step—getting to know her might help you understand what Mattheo saw in her. Maybe if you saw why he’d fallen for her, it would be easier to let go. The feelings you had for Mattheo? Those were going to be long gone soon.

But she’d barely spared you a glance, tossing a dismissive look over her shoulder before slamming her book shut and rising to face you, “When I said we’d have a girls’ night, I didn’t actually mean it.”

Your lips parted, confusion knitting your brows. “It doesn’t have to be a girls’ night,” you offered, trying to keep your tone light. “I just thought maybe we could grab lunch—just the two of us, or even with Mattheo, if that’s more comfort—”

“I don’t have time,” she cut in sharply, lifting her books in emphasis. “Besides, tonight’s date night for Matty and me. It’d be weird if you tagged along.”

You bit back the retort—“I didn’t say tonight”—deciding her tone said enough. You’d tried, but her attitude had made things crystal clear. You didn’t like her—and nothing was changing that.

Your friends exchange glances, their confusion palpable as they watch Mattheo allow Veronica to speak to you with such disdain. They’ve seen him start fights over someone supposedly speaking badly of you, so this new passivity is surprising. Enzo’s eyes widen in disbelief, and he mouths a quick ‘what the hell’ to Draco, whose puzzled expression mirrors his own.

Everyone, except Mattheo it seems, has noticed that Veronica has gone from bright and friendly to curt and possessive over the past few weeks. At first, everyone agreed she seemed sweet—confused about how she ended up with Mattheo, but sweet nonetheless. But the longer the relationship went on, the more Veronica’s personality seemed to shift. It became clear she wasn’t a fan of them, especially not you.

When you remain silent, Veronica sighs impatiently, “Did you hear me—”

“Yeah, I get it,” you snap, your frustration evident. You turn your gaze back to Mattheo. “I’ll give it to you later.”

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

You spent all your classes obsessing over returning Mattheo’s jersey, and no matter how hard you tried, it was getting under your skin. It wasn’t just any jersey—it was the one Mattheo had given you, the one you’d worn countless times. His new relationship with Veronica had stung, but this felt even worse. Maybe it was because taking back the jersey felt like a tangible sign that Mattheo was serious about Veronica, and it drove home the reality of how much things had changed.

Logically, you understood why it was reasonable. Having another girl wear your boyfriend’s jersey would be uncomfortable, and if the roles were reversed, you’d feel the same way. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier. You found Veronica irritating, and the thought of giving up something that meant so much to you—both the jersey and Mattheo—was unbearable.

By the time you made it to your dorm, you were in a foul mood. The plan had been simple: stay holed up all day and hope that, by tomorrow, you’d be completely over Mattheo Riddle.

You’d barely been lounging on your bed for ten minutes when the door burst open. “Get ready, we’re heading down to the Black Lake,” Pansy announced the moment she stepped inside. You glanced up to see her toss her bag onto the bed before rifling through her clothes like she hadn’t just disrupted your entire plan for the day.

“Sorry, this is what I’m doing for the rest of the day.” Pansy looks up and quirks an eyebrow at you—an unmistakable This? Really? written all over her face

“It’s not. I told the boys you were coming.��

“Why?” You ask, annoyance flickering through your veins.

“Because you’ve been in a mood since breakfast and you need a distraction,” she says, tossing a black bikini onto her bed before heading over to your side of the room to dig through your wardrobe. “Besides, it’s nice out, and I need a tan.”

“A mood? Did you not hear him? He wants his jersey back!” You snap, sitting up in bed and flinging your arm toward the garment draped over the back of your chair.

“I know, babe,” Pansy says with a sigh. “But what’s the point in arguing? It’s not going to change anything. His girlfriend already doesn’t like you, and if you push it, you’ll end up seeing him even less.”

She barely spares you a glance as she goes through your clothes, and your stomach sinks. You’ve hardly seen Mattheo as it is—but the thought of not speaking him at all? That’s the last thing you want.

It’s not long before you’re spreading out your towel and sinking down beside Pansy. She’s already reclined, sunglasses balanced on the bridge of her nose, a satisfied sigh slipping past her lips as the sun warms her skin.

“I needed this.” Pansy hums, and you glance over at her.

“I think it’d be a lot more relaxing if they weren’t here.” You mutter, your gaze flicking to where Mattheo sits behind Veronica, obediently rubbing sunscreen on her back as she directs him like a puppet.

Pansy cracks one eye open, follows your line of sight, and groans. “They weren’t supposed to be. Mattheo must’ve overheard the guys talking about it.”

Your jaw tightens as you watch him finish with her shoulders, leaning forward to press a kiss to her neck. She lets out a high-pitched squeal of his name, and suddenly, you regret not fighting harder to stay curled up in your dorm.

“Would you just relax?” Pansy murmurs, sliding her sunglasses down to eye you properly. She gives your t-shirt a light tug, then pinches at the hem of your shorts. “Take these off—you look like you’re melting.”

Something sharp about how it must be your anger, is on the tip of your tongue. But Pansy adjusts her sunglasses and rolls onto her stomach, clearly signaling the conversation is over.

You sigh, glancing over at the boys seated a little ways from Mattheo and Veronica. It’s obvious from their expressions that they’re talking about them. A part of you bristles instinctively, ready to defend Mattheo—but you shove it down before it can surface.

Theo’s eyes are locked on Mattheo, anger simmering just beneath the surface as he watches him drape himself over Veronica—right in front of you. It’s all Theo’s been able to think about these past few weeks: keeping you distracted, keeping your eyes on him. Because if you’re looking at him, maybe you won’t notice just how completely enamored Mattheo is with a girl that isn’t you.

He doesn’t get it—how Mattheo could have you as an option and yet choose someone else. It drives him mad, keeps him up at night. Because if he were in Mattheo’s position, there wouldn’t be a choice to make. It would be you. Always.

He’s so focused on his thoughts that he barely registers Enzo nudging him.

“Huh?” He mutters, distracted, but his words catch in his throat the moment he follows Enzo’s subtle nod toward you. Wrapped in a cherry-red bikini, shoving your denim shorts down your thighs, completely unaware of the way the sight knocks the breath out of him.

His irritation simmers into something else entirely—something heavier, something that sparks low in his stomach.

A low whistle sounds beside him, and Theo’s head snaps toward Draco, who’s shamelessly smirking in your direction. “Salazar, I love the view on days like this,” he drawls.

Irritation flares hot in his chest, and without thinking, Theo snaps, “Shut the fuck up,” before pushing to his feet and heading straight for you.

He doesn’t have much of a plan when he gets to you—just knows he’d rather not sit there while the guys keep eyeing you like that.

“Fiore.” He greets, and you blink up at him through your sunglasses, taking a second to admire him. Exposed skin and defined biceps completely short-circuit your brain, and it takes a moment to catch up. Pansy shoots you a look at how long it takes you to answer him.

“Theo,” you hum, and his lips twitch into a smile. Pansy’s eyes flick between the two of you before she pushes herself up, calling over her shoulder that she’s going to say hi to Blaise. You watch as she saunters over, drops to her knees beside him, and leans down to press a kiss to his lips. Blaise, lying back without a care in the world, welcomes it, while Draco and Enzo groan dramatically, muttering that the two of them need a room.

You giggle quietly to yourself, amused by your friends, as Theo settles onto the towel Pansy abandoned. For a moment, the two of you sit in silence, gazes cast toward the Black Lake, letting the sun warm your skin while birdsong fills the space between you. With Theo beside you, the tension in your chest begins to ease. You’re just about to sink back into the towel when another one of Veronica’s shrill calls of Mattheo’s name cuts through the peace, grating in your ears.

You let out a soft sigh, drawing Theo’s attention. He glances over at you, then follows your gaze to where Mattheo sits behind Veronica, still murmuring something in her ear as she leans back against him.

“Do you want to swim?” Theo asks, then immediately winces at how blunt it sounds. He wishes his brain didn’t short-circuit every time you were near—that he could string together a sentence without sounding like he’s forgotten how to speak. Around you, he feels like a third year all over again. There’s a flash of relief when your eyes finally shift to him.

You glance toward the lake, hesitation written all over your face. “It looks freezing,” you say, trying to keep your tone casual. You’re not about to admit you suck at swimming—it’s easier to pretend that it’s just too cold.

He huffs a quiet laugh. “It won’t be that bad.”

Still unsure, you give him a shrug, and Theo pushes himself up, holding out a hand for you to take.

“That water’s gonna be freezing!” Blaise calls after you, and you shoot Theo a look that clearly says told you so.

Threading your fingers through Theo’s feels almost jarring—jolting in a way that catches you off guard. It’s a little unnerving, knowing all your friends are watching as you walk hand in hand, though it’s not like they haven’t already noticed how inseparable you and Theo have become. Still, there’s a flicker of satisfaction when, out of the corner of your eye, you catch Mattheo turning to watch the two of you walk toward the water. For once, his eyes aren’t on Veronica—they’re on you.

You stop a few feet from the edge, eyeing the water warily before taking a slow step back, a sweet smile tugging at your lips as you glance up at him.

“You know what, I’ll gladly watch you swim by yourself.”

Theo casts a look of disbelief your way, “You walked all the way down here with me just to turn me down?”

You shrug, an amused smile tugging at your lips. “I think you’ll survive on your own.”

“No, I really don’t think I will.” His voice is playful, but there’s a glint in his eye as he steps into the water, holding out a hand to you.

You wrinkle your nose and shake your head. “Get Enzo to come out there with you.” You turn, ready to call for Enzo, but you don’t get the chance.

Theo wraps an arm around your waist, the other slipping behind your knees as he effortlessly lifts you off the ground.

You let out a startled shriek, arms instinctively flying around his shoulders. “Theo!” you gasp, breathless with surprise and laughter.

If your friends hadn’t been paying attention before, they definitely were now. A few whistles and teasing cheers ring out from the group, but you can’t tell who they’re from. You’re too focused on Theo, clinging to him with a mix of panic and laughter.

“If you drop me…” You warn, tightening your grip around his shoulders as he wades deeper into the water.

“I’m not going to drop you.” He says with a low chuckle—and just as the words leave his mouth, the cool water brushes your back, pulling a startled squeak from your lips.

“I’m serious! I barely know how to swim. No one ever taught me, and I cried so much every time my parents dropped me off at swim lessons that they just gave up.” You confess quietly, eyes flicking nervously to the water lapping around Theo’s knees before finally meeting his gaze.

To your surprise, he doesn’t tease. Instead, he chuckles softly, shaking his head as he adjusts his grip, gently shifting you until you can wrap your legs around his waist. Your arms loop securely around his neck, and he gives you that soft, familiar smile. The one he saves only for you. It was quickly becoming one of your favorite things.

“I’ll just keep holding you then. How’s that sound?” You nod, eyes drifting over his sun-kissed skin and tousled waves. He looked beautiful like this, devastatingly so.

“As long as you don’t drop me, I’m okay with that.” You murmur softly, and Theo’s smile shifts—gentler now, quieter. His eyes flick down to your lips, so quickly you almost convince yourself you imagined it.

Because there’s no way Theo Nott would be thinking about kissing you.

That just wasn’t possible.

You watch him closely, heart ticking faster as his eyes slowly trace your face. Goosebumps rise along your skin when his hand glides down your side, over your hip, then settles firmly on your thigh.

“Theo.”

“Hm?”

“What are you doing?”

He glances at you, eyes glinting with something unreadable.

“Adjusting my grip,” he says casually. “Wouldn’t want to drop you.”

It’s a bullshit excuse. He didn’t need to adjust his grip—he was holding you just fine. And maybe it was wrong, but he wanted a reason to let his hand skim over your skin, to feel what it would be like to touch you the way he would if you were his.

You don’t seem to care though.

You hum in understanding, and without thinking, your fingers drift up to toy with the soft strands of hair at the nape of his neck. Theo watches you closely, eyes tracing every detail of your face—committing it to memory, unsure when he’ll get to have you this close again.

“I was wondering—”

“Mattheo!” The shout cuts through the air, and Theo flinches at the sound of Veronica’s voice, wincing as a splash of cold water hits his back. Instinctively, he pulls you closer, turning his body to shield you from the spray.

“Fuck, Mattheo,” you grumble, shooting an irritated look his way. “That’s freezing.” It’s not that cold, but you’re annoyed. He’s your best friend, he knows all about your failed attempts at learning to swim and how much you really, really hate having water splashed on you.

“Sorry,” he says with a shrug, though he doesn’t look the least bit apologetic. His eyes flick briefly to Theo, then drop, as if he can see right through the murky water to where Theo’s hand is gripping your thigh.

“You’ve got Theo to keep you warm,” he says, nodding toward him. But his eyes stay locked on yours. There’s a sharp edge to his voice, one Theo doesn’t miss. It’s subtle, but it’s there, like the sight of you in Theo’s arms is bothering him more than he wants to admit.

Theo feels the subtle shift in your body—the way you tense slightly in his arms.

Veronica calls his name, and after a brief hesitation, Mattheo finally tears his gaze away from you and swims toward her. But your mood has already soured, and all you want now is to retreat to your towel and dry off.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

You barely slept, spending most of the night replaying every possible scenario of how returning Mattheo’s jersey might go. Your mind wouldn’t settle, not after watching him and Veronica at the lake, circling each other in the water, sharing quiet conversations. Every so often, if you were lucky, you caught a glimpse of Mattheo pressing his lips to hers.

You were grateful for your sunglasses, hiding the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. You weren’t sure if it was jealousy or frustration—or a painful mix of both.

Whatever it was, it sucked.

By the time you got back to your dorm after a day full of classes, you were wound so tight you feared you might snap.

You dreaded going to the game. The thought of returning the jersey was uncomfortable, and the idea of seeing Mattheo with Veronica made it even harder to face.

What you hoped for most was a moment alone with him, to talk without Veronica hovering nearby. But after yesterday, you knew the odds of that were slim. Watching her draped all over Mattheo at the lake had been enough proof. If today was anything like that, you wouldn’t get a second alone with him.

You considered skipping the match entirely. However, you and Pansy had made plans to sit together, and you’d also promised Mattheo you’d return his jersey. As much as you wanted to avoid the situation, you knew you had to go.

You were so irritated as you snatched Mattheo’s jersey off the back of your chair that you hadn’t even noticed the red peonies and green jersey sitting on your bed at first. It wasn’t until you tossed your bag aside and went to fix your hair that the unexpected sight caught your eye.

Your eyes landed on the familiar green jersey, the back facing up so you could clearly see ‘Nott’ stitched in bold, unmistakable letters. A smile tugged at your lips, your earlier frustration fading as you reached for the flowers, their soft petals brushing against your fingers. Carefully, you lifted them, already picturing them in a vase on your desk.

There’s a card tucked between the blooms, and you smile at Theo’s handwriting: Fiore—wear this for me tonight?

Suddenly, the idea of going to the match didn’t seem so miserable anymore.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

“Finally!” Veronica calls out the moment she spots you, her voice laced with impatience. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to show up in time.” She stands outside the boys’ locker room, arms crossed like she’s been waiting for ages.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, “I told Mattheo I would be here.”

“I know,” She says, her tone short, before sticking out her hand expectantly. “I can take that.”

You hesitate, wanting to wait and give it to Mattheo yourself, but you know she’ll be the one wearing the jersey tonight. It feels pointless to hold onto it any longer. With a reluctant sigh, you hand it over, and Veronica’s lips curl into a triumphant smile as she takes it from you.

“Thanks.” She chirps, instantly brighter now that she’s got what she wanted. You watch as she slips the jersey on, and a slight bitterness creeps into your chest at the sight of it on her. She finishes adjusting the jersey and looks up, sending you a smug smirk that makes your stomach twist.

It’s incredibly frustrating to watch her once-sweet attitude crack and crumble right in front of you—while Mattheo remains completely oblivious. You don’t understand it. Besides being his friend, which lately hasn’t meant much, there’s no reason for her to dislike you. Yet she does, and you can’t figure out why.

Sure, you were close with Mattheo, but if the jersey was any indication, she had no real reason to worry.

You were nothing but a friend to Mattheo, even though you desperately wished that wasn’t the case.

She eyes the jersey you’re wearing, quirking an eyebrow as if she’s about to say something snide. You brace yourself, waiting for the comment, but then her face lights up as her attention shifts to something—or someone—behind you.

You turn just as she brushes past you, wrapping her arms around Mattheo’s neck and pulling him down for a kiss. The sight makes your stomach roll, and you quickly avert your gaze, unable to bear watching them. Her giggles fill the air, loud and lovesick, a blatant declaration that he’s hers now.

“Whose jersey are you wearing?” Your eyes snap over to Mattheo, who has one arm around Veronica’s waist as he looks at you curiously. Her arms are tightly wrapped around his neck, and she looks frustrated that his attention is on you.

“Mine.” You glance over and see Theo approaching, a flicker of relief washing over you. A genuine smile spreads across your face, and before you think it through, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. He looks momentarily surprised but quickly gathers himself, encircling your waist and holding you firmly.

You lean back slightly to meet his gaze, your voice softening. “Thank you for the flowers. Again.”

A warm, gentle smile blooms on his lips, the kind he reserves just for you. “Anytime, fiore.”

A moment lingers between you, where your eyes lock and soft smiles play on your lips. But the spell shatters at Veronica’s excited squeal of Mattheo’s name. You clear your throat, gently pulling away and offering Theo a fleeting smile, even though you sense his disappointment at the loss of your warmth.

Your gaze drifts toward Mattheo, who leans in to press a kiss against Veronica’s lips, a pang of longing twisting in your chest. You exhale slowly, then look back at Theo. “Are you nervous?”

“Not really,” he replies with a casual shrug, though you catch a flicker of something beneath his calm exterior. “But if I do get nervous, I’ll just search for the pretty girl wearing my name.”

Your lips part in surprise at Theo’s bold flirting, a playful spark igniting in your chest. You try to mask your smile, but it’s no use—Theo sees right through you, a knowing grin spreading across his face as he revels in your reaction.

“Good luck. I’ll wait for you after.” You lean in, nearly whispering as you press a kiss against Theo’s cheek, but in your nervousness, your lips brush against the corner of his mouth instead. The contact sends a spark of warmth through you, but before he can react, you pull away, leaving him to watch you walk off, the letters of his last name boldly displayed on your back.

He stands there for a second, staring after you, but as he turns to leave, he catches sight of Mattheo, who is watching you with an intensity that makes his heart sink.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

You’re exhausted. Keeping track of both Mattheo and Theo is proving to be more tiring than you anticipated. You’re used to focusing solely on Mattheo during the game, but tonight, your attention keeps shifting to Theo.

“Are you even listening to her?” Pansy scoffs, jabbing you in the ribs.

The unexpected nudge jolts you from your thoughts, and you turn to her, puzzled. “What?”

“Veronica. Are you paying attention?” Pansy glances over, raising an eyebrow.

You shake your head, “No. I didn’t even realize she was sitting nearby.”

“Listen to her. She’s been bragging about Mattheo.” That catches your attention. You follow Pansy’s finger as she points, and your gaze lands on Veronica a few rows ahead. As you focus, her voice cuts through the noise of the crowd, loud and unmistakable, carrying clearly despite the distance.

“Do you even know how long I waited to get him?” Veronica’s voice rises above the noise, smug and self-satisfied. You glance over just in time to see her gather her hair into a high ponytail, making sure the name on her back is fully visible. “Honestly, the effort was exhausting,” she adds with a dramatic sigh, as if she’s endured a great hardship.

The girls around her practically explode with excitement, bombarding her with questions—how did she do it? How long did it take? What’s he like? Their voices blend into a high-pitched buzz, and you roll your eyes, feeling the irritation build as you turn your attention back to the match, hoping to tune them out.

Pansy nudges you again, her voice low and insistent. “Keep listening.”

“No.” You grit out.

Pansy sighs, “Why not?”

You exhale sharply. “Because I really don’t want to hear her go on and on about him anymore.” The bitterness in your voice is hard to hide, but you don’t care. You’re too tired of hearing his name on her lips.

“You’ve barely listened!”

“It was enough for me.”

“There’s something off about the way she talks about him,” Pansy pushes, leaning in to try and catch your eye, but you continue looking forward and watching Theo. “I don’t like it.”

“I mean, I don’t either. But I’m not going to keep listening in.”

“Why?” Pansy cries out incredulously, gaining the attention of some people around you.

“Because I’m supposed to be getting over him, and I don’t think listening in as his girlfriend talks about him will do that.”

“But what if something’s off? What if she’s blackmailing him or something?” Pansy asks, before she gasps and turns to face you fully. “What if he’s dating her to make you jealous?”

“Do you really think Mattheo Riddle would allow someone to blackmail him? And secondly, I don’t think that’s the case.”

“You never know. I always thought he had feelings for you.”

“Pansy. This is what I’m talking about,” You snap, sending a warning look to your best friend. “Mattheo can take care of himself, you and I both know that. There’s no way I’ll ever get over him if I start making up theories about why he’s with his girlfriend. Veronica’s…. something else, we know that, but that doesn’t mean she’s not with him for a genuine reason.”

Pansy exhales in frustration, adjusting in her seat as she finally turns her attention to the match. “Alright, I get it. I’ll just share my theories with Blaise from now on.”

A smirk tugs at your lips as you imagine Blaise enduring the same conversation, likely rolling his eyes in exasperation, “Fine by me.”

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

Thanks to Theo’s swift catch of the Snitch, Slytherin secured the win, and the stands erupted in cheers. You’d screamed so loudly in celebration that you’re certain he heard you, even from across the pitch. The thrill of the moment filled you with energy, and you felt a surge of pride as he glanced your way after the catch.

You were eager to congratulate him, but held back, letting the others swarm him first. Instead, you were leaned against the wall outside the locker room, waiting for a moment alone with him. As you stood there, it wasn’t long before your mind wandered. You found yourself watching him from afar—his chest still heaving from the intensity of the match, hair tousled and damp with sweat. There was something about the way he looked after a game that had your thoughts trailing off in a completely different direction.

It brought you back to yesterday—the way he looked, water glistening on his skin, fingers running through his damp waves, and eyes crinkling as he smiled at you. The memory sent a rush of heat straight through you.

Had Theo Nott always been this gorgeous?

When he turns and catches your eye, you fully expect him to give the usual ‘wait a minute’ gesture, like Mattheo always does. But instead, to your surprise, Theo pushes straight through the crowd. In an instant, he’s in front of you, pulling you up into his arms. You let out a shriek of his name through laughter, completely caught off guard by the sudden hug, his embrace warm and tight as if he’d been waiting for this moment all along.

“You did so good!” You cry out as he sets you down. When he grins at you, it’s almost enough to make you swoon; the sight of post-match Theo is something you hadn’t realized you’d been missing. The blend of adrenaline and joy radiating from him leaves you momentarily breathless.

“It’s because you wore my jersey,” he shrugs, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I didn’t get to say it earlier, but you look really good in it.”

You nearly melt, “Does that mean I get to wear it at the next game?”

“Please do, love,” he says, his tone suddenly softer, the endearment dripping with warmth like honey. There’s a sincerity in his gaze that sends a flutter through your chest. “You make it look far better than I ever could.”

You don’t get the chance to respond as Enzo suddenly appears by his side, rambling on about something animatedly. With a quick tug, Enzo pulls Theo away, but not before he glances back, shouting over his shoulder about how he’ll see you later.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

“Y’good?” Theo looks up from the fire, his gaze shifting to Blaise, who’s now standing beside the couch. The flames had been the only company he’d had for hours. It was late—he couldn’t say exactly how late—just that the common room had emptied long ago, and he’d been sitting there long after everyone else had gone to bed after celebrating their win.

“Yeah,” Theo sighs, his eyes drifting back to the flickering flames. “I’m good.” His words are hollow, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself. Blaise watches him for a moment, studying the tension in his posture, before quietly sitting down in the empty space beside him. Neither of them speaks, both of them watching as the flames dance.

Blaise leans back, glancing at Theo before breaking the silence. “You don’t look it,” he says, his voice calm but direct.

“Just thinking.” Theo just shrugs, his shoulders barely lifting, the gesture heavy with indifference. Blaise watches him for a moment, waiting, giving him the space to say something more—but the silence stretches.

“About her?”

Theo’s reaction is answer enough. He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair with a tired frustration. For a brief moment, he pauses, elbows resting on his knees, his head cradled in his hands.

He drops his hands slowly, lifting his head to glance over at Blaise, his eyes tired, “When am I not?”

Blaise smiles slightly at his words. He’s known for years that Theo liked you—it was impossible to miss. From the moment Mattheo introduced you, Blaise vividly remembers the way Theo looked at you, as if his breath had been knocked from his lungs.

He was completely undone by one glimpse of you.

And if that hadn’t been enough of a giveaway, the little things Theo did for you over the years certainly were—grabbing your favorite sweets from Hogsmeade when you couldn’t make the trip, offering help before you even had to ask, his gaze always seeking you out no matter how crowded the room. It was undeniable, even if Theo never spoke it aloud.

“Listen, mate,” Blaise begins, casting a quick glance at Theo, gauging his expression before continuing. “Do you think this is a good idea?”

“What?”

“Helping her get over Mattheo while you’re in love with her yourself.” Blaise’s words hang in the air, and Theo’s jaw tightens instinctively, a storm of emotions flickering across his face.

He wants to deny that he’s in love with you, but deep down, he knows it’s pointless. The truth is unquestionable; he’s been drawn to you for years, but these last few months have sent him falling even deeper.

How was he ever supposed to get over you when every moment only pulled him deeper? The way your fingers slipped so easily into his, like they belonged there, the soft curve of your lips as his thumb traced gentle circles over your skin. How sleeping over in your dorm had somehow become routine—he was sure Pansy was staying with Blaise on purpose to give him space with you.

It’s why he hasn’t left this couch in hours, struggling with the weight of his feelings. The realization hits him hard: he’s completely fallen for you, and he’s trapped. Because in your eyes, he’s just a friend, and that thought feels like a punch to the gut.

“She asked me to, and I can’t say no to her,” Theo replies, his voice laced with a mix of frustration and resignation. “I’ve never been able to.”

“You’re going to get yourself hurt if you’re not careful.” Blaise warns, his tone serious.

“We’ve long passed that point.” Theo sighs.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

The knock at your door isn’t much of a surprise—you figured that as soon as Pansy left to meet Blaise, Theo would come knocking. It had become part of your routine over the past month. In fact, he had become the person you saw the most.

Walk to the Great Hall? Sit by Theo. Evenings in the common room? Always with your friends, sat beside Theo. As soon as Pansy disappeared to the boys’ dorm, that was Theo’s cue to show up at your door.

He was so deeply ingrained into your life that it was almost hard to remember what things were like before him.

“I think this is a record—” You begin with a grin, flinging open the door—only for your smile to falter.

It’s not Theo.

Mattheo stands there instead, a split lip and a bruise blooming across his cheekbone in deep shades of purple and red. It looks painful, and you wince at the sight of him.

A disbelieving scoff escapes him. “You were waiting for him?”

One hand braces against the doorframe as he glances over his shoulder, like he’s expecting Theo to come around the corner. “Can you two do nothing without each other?”

“Do you need something, Mattheo?”

He turns back to you, the bitterness in his expression fading as he lifts his fingers to wipe at the blood on his lip. It smears more than it cleans, and you scrunch your nose slightly in distaste. A month ago, you would’ve pulled him into your dorm without hesitation—but now, you’re angry with him.

It’s on the tip of your tongue to tell him to fuck off, that it’s no longer his business who you’re waiting for. Not when you’ve barely seen him, and every attempt to talk has been ignored. Ever since that day at the lake, he’s been even more distant than before. And if he so much as looks like he might breathe in your direction, Veronica is there, tugging him away. It’s mind-boggling. Up until now, you hadn’t let yourself believe it, but maybe this really is how your school year ends—with you and Mattheo no longer friends.

“I got into a fight—” You cross your arms over your chest, giving him a deadpan look.

“—and I just couldn’t bring myself to go to the infirmary. Not when this has always been your job.”

There’s a part of you that bristles at him calling it your job to take care of him, but you know he’s right. After every fight, he’d show up at your door, and you’d patch him up as best you could. But things are different now, and it doesn’t feel right to take care of him when he’s all but disappeared from your life.

“It’s not my job anymore. Not when you have a girlfriend.” You move to shut the door, but Mattheo shoots his hand out, stopping it before it can close.

“Love, please.” Your stomach lurches at the way the nickname rolls off his tongue—directed at you this time. “I need your help.”

You hesitate, staring at him for a long moment, weighing just how stupid of an idea this might be. But Mattheo’s pull on you—his presence, his voice, the familiarity—is still too strong. With a sigh, you step aside and swing the door open before gesturing to your bed.

There’s not a whole lot you can do besides blot his lip with a clean cloth and apply some cream to the bruise on his cheek, but it’s always seemed to work for him. By the time you’ve dampened the cloth with warm water and gathered what you need, Mattheo is already settled on your bed, staring at the wall of polaroids.

It’s different now. And something bitter churns in Mattheo’s stomach as he takes in the changes to your photo wall. Some of the pictures of the two of you have been replaced, now filled with snapshots of you and Theo. One shows you curled into Theo’s side, grinning widely at the camera as you squish his cheeks together with your hand. Another captures you sandwiched between Theo and Enzo, all three of you wearing sunglasses and flipping off the camera.

But it’s the photo of you and Theo at the lake that makes his chest tighten. Your legs are wrapped around Theo as he holds you up in the water, he’s smiling at the camera, and you’re pressing a kiss against his cheek. You’re wearing that red bikini—the one that had knocked the air from his lungs the moment he saw you in it. He remembers how stunned he was, how he’d nearly forgotten Veronica was beside him until she slapped his arm and muttered something sharp.

“She needs a bigger size,” she’d said. “It’s too tight on her hips. I should give her one of my old ones.”

He hadn’t said a word, but the way his eyes stayed locked on you had said enough. He didn’t agree—he thought you were perfect.

“What’d you get in a fight over?” Mattheo’s eye shift over to you, settling down onto the bed next to him and showing him the cloth, a warning you were going to touch him before bringing the damp, white cotton to his lip. Mattheo sucks in a breath and watches as you focus on cleaning the cut.

“Nothing important.” He mumbles, careful not to move too much for you.

“Clearly, it felt important to you.” You hold up the blotchy, red-stained cloth as proof.

He sighs, “It wasn’t.”

You glance up at him, but he’s staring off to the side, jaw tight, and you decide to let it go. You know him—if he got worked up enough to start a fight, then it meant something to him.

The room falls quiet as you work, the silence stretching between you. Still, your mind spins, trying to piece together what could’ve pushed Mattheo far enough to throw punches.

“Why didn’t you go to her?” You ask softly.

Mattheo’s face stays blank, and for a moment, you wonder if he even heard you.

“It’s just—” he starts, then pauses. His gaze finally lifts to meet yours, and something shifts in the air. The way he’s looking at you now—it’s different. Intense. It sends your pulse into a quiet frenzy. “It wouldn’t be the same.”

“It shouldn’t be the same,” You murmur, correcting him. “We’re just friends, but it’s different with you and her.”

“I know, I know.” He mumbles, drawing in a deep breath.

You set the cloth aside, watching him carefully as you reach for the cream. It’ll only take a couple dabs on his cheek andhe’ll be good to go—but still, you move slowly. Selfishly, you want to stretch the moment. He hasn’t been this close in weeks. You haven’t really heard his voice in what feels like forever.

Not when he’s talking to the boys. Not in passing in the corridors. That doesn’t count. Not like this.

“Do you like her for me?” He asks, and you inwardly sigh.

“I haven’t given it much thought.” You reply, dabbing the cream gently onto the bruise as he watches you.

You keep your focus fixed on the task—too careful, too precise—because meeting his eyes feels too intimate. Too dangerous.

“The boys always said it would be you.” He says quietly.

Your hand stills for a moment, eyes flicking up to meet his, uncertain.

“About what?” You’re stalling, hoping to have more time to process.

“Who I’d end up with.”

“Oh,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

How are you supposed to respond to that? Tell him you’d hoped for the same? That you’d heard the boys say it, more times than you could count—and every time, you let yourself believe it a little more.

Hoped that maybe, if they said it enough, he’d start to believe it too.

“Did they ever tell you that? That they thought you’d end up with me?”

Your voice falters, your hand falling to your lap as you stare at him. You’re too close—far too close. You need him out. Away from you. He has a girlfriend.

But then he says your name, soft and low, and you freeze.

Your mind is screaming at you to move, to stand up, to tell him it’s time to go.

But you don’t get the chance—because there’s a knock at your door and just like that, the moment is gone.

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