#you know it’s always got to end with hope

[marvelstoriesepic]

Like he means it

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader

Summary: You can’t take another night of hearing Bucky fuck a girl who isn’t you.

Word Count: 13.6k

Warnings: Bucky is a fuckboy (but he’s still a sweetheart); lots of talk about unrequited love (but is it?); mentions of sex; crying; lots of desperation; longing; heavy confessions; feels; happy ending

Author’s Note: This is written for the lovely cinema themed writing challenge of @elixirfromthestars ♡ I had this kind of idea for a while but when I read those lyrics it somehow immediately came back to my mind and I needed to make something out of it. This is kind of inspired by your Boulevard Confessions because I loved it so much! And damn, I've already written so much about roommate!Bucky but I can’t help myself lol, I love him. Also, this got a little long, I'm sorry. Still, I hope you enjoy! ♡

Hold My Hand "Pull me close, wrap me in your aching arms. I see that you're hurtin', why'd you take so long to tell me you need me? I see that you're bleeding, you don't need to show me again. But if you decide to, I'll ride in this life with you. I won't let go 'til the end." — Lady Gaga

Masterlist

You hear the giggling before anything else.

It’s always the giggling.

And, as always, it grates on your nerves.

It carves through the air, seeps into the walls, into the floorboards, into you. It tears its way inside and scrapes its manicured nails along the rawest and most sensitive parts of you, only to bury itself deep, where you can’t simply dig it out.

Then comes the keys.

The light, metallic jingle, so careless in its melody, but so troubling in its meaning.

Then the lock turning, the click soft and yet so irrefutable.

Then the door opening.

More giggles.

His breathy chuckles.

Then the door closing.

Shoes being kicked off, one hitting the wall.

You press the pillow harder against your ears, as if you could suffocate the sound before it reaches you, as if you could bury yourself deep enough under the covers to escape what you already know is coming. But you can’t. You never can.

Your brain usually does you the favors of drowning out the parts in the hallway, knowing it will probably make your heart stop in an instant. Today, it doesn’t do you any favors and you close your eyes, accepting the sting behind them.

And then, his bedroom door.

And if all that wasn’t torture enough, it was only the easy part.

Because now is when it really starts. It’s when your throat closes up, the breath in your lungs turns heavy, thick, impossible. Because no matter how many times this has happened, no matter how many times you laid here in your bed, still, so still, waiting for the agony to stop, pretending it doesn’t happen - it never stops hurting. It never stops breaking your heart - or whatever’s left of it.

At first, there is silence. The small period where you almost dare to believe, to hope.

But then comes the moaning.

High-pitched and breathy, hinting at a pleasure that strikes you with a hammer.

Someone else. Always someone else. Someone who is not you, someone who never had to try, someone who will never know what it means to ache for him like you do.

Then, quieter, but just as devastating, Bucky’s voice. The low sound of him unraveling. The sound of something slipping from him that you will never be able to take.

And that’s what breaks you most. That’s what turns the ache into utter misery. Madness even. It’s the inescapable proof that he has something to give - something deep, something intimate - and he is giving it away. Over and over again, but never to you.

You close your eyes, as always. It doesn’t help, as always. The sounds don’t stop anyway. The images come anyway - the touches you have imagined, the way his hands would feel against your skin, the way his mouth would shape your name if you were the one beneath him. The way he might look at you, if only he could see.

But right now, you are just the ghost in the next room, curled in on yourself, ears filled with the sound of someone else living the life you always wanted.

And in the morning, or right after, when the door will open again, when the giggling will turn to goodbyes, you will still be here, where you always are. Where you always will be. Waiting. Wanting. Breaking. Wishing you could turn it off, this feeling. This unendurable and never-ending heartbreak.

And that finally makes the tears flow.

They well up before they spill over, down the slope of your cheek, gathering in the hollow beneath your nose before falling onto the pillow and wetting it like a pool.

You squeeze your eyes shut, so tightly it should hurt, so tightly it should make them stop. But they come anyway. They come despite the barricade of your willpower, despite the way your body coils tighter in on itself. They come despite the desperate war you wage against them.

They come because you have lost. Because it’s too much.

The moaning doesn’t stop, and it’s too much. It’s the middle of the night, and it’s too much. It’s the third night in a row, and it’s too much.

Bucky’s hushed voice shatters something inside of you, you didn’t know was left intact a few seconds ago.

Your breath turns sticky, only half of it making its way up your throat. The other half stays attached to the walls of your throat like honey gone rancid. It refuses to leave completely, snagging and trapping you in the awful space between breathing and choking.

Maybe if it stopped altogether, it would be easier. Maybe suffocating would be gentler than this slow and unsparing death of heartbreak.

Your hands are shaking. You bury your face into the pillow, willing it to just take you as a whole and never let you leave again. The fabric muffles the shuddering sobs, but it cannot do anything for the way your body trembles. But you know that the sounds of pleasure in the other room will tune out the sounds of your cries. The pillow is being clutched so tightly, you might tear the fabric. But it’s your heart that’s being torn into so many pieces. So what is a pillow compared to the ruin of your heart? It’s nothing.

You are alone in your grief.

The moans stop for a second - abrupt, cut off mid-breath.

Bucky’s voice comes. He says something but you don’t catch his words.

However, you do catch the displeased groan of his girl for the night. Drawn-out and petulant. Annoyed.

Bucky speaks again. Firmer, this time. Again, it’s too quiet to catch it.

And then you hear your name. It’s muffled still, but you would hear your name coming from his lips always and forever. You know the exact cadence of it shaping his mouth.

Everything in you halts. Your breaths are suspended somewhere in your throat, caught between shock and devastation.

The girl scoffs. It’s a snappy sound. Almost whiny. You would have rolled your eyes if you weren’t so troubled.

The moaning resumes. But it is quieter this time. Controlled almost. A courtesy. A mercy. But not for you. Not in the way you wish.

And it makes you know.

He asked her to keep it down. For you. He must have told her he has a roommate - you - and that they need to be mindful, that you might be trying to sleep.

Somehow, in all the infinite ways he could have cared for you, this is the one he chose. Not to love you, not to want you, but to make sure his flings don’t disrupt your sleep. As if that’s the worst of it. As if the noise is what truly keeps you up at night, and not the agonizing truth of it all.

Harshly, your teeth sink into your lip, fighting to stifle the sob that trembles on the edge of you. But again, you are losing.

Because hearing your name in the middle of something so intimate, spoken in the same breath of his pleasure, is pure anguish.

Because your name should not exist there. Not like this. Not casually sneaking into a mind occupied with pleasuring someone else.

If he were to say your name in a moment like this, it should be a soft whisper against your skin, entangled in sheets, buried in kisses that steal the air from your lungs. It should be something private, something sacred.

Not an idle afterthought. A consideration. A passing thought before he loses himself in someone else’s body. You have never heard him say any girl’s name before when sleeping with them, but hell you also don’t try to listen too closely.

You won’t talk about this. You never talk about this. When the morning comes and you meet Bucky in the kitchen for breakfast, you will not mention it. Just like you never mention the other nights. Just like you never dwell on the soft apologies he offers when they got too loud. And just like always, you will brush it off, force a brittle smile, and tell him that it’s fine.

It’s not. It never has been. And you don’t think you ever manage to make it sound like you mean it. But you are gone before Bucky can push or apologize again. Or see how deep the knife has gone.

Because he might be careful to be quiet. But he will never be careful enough to stop breaking your heart.

So what is the point?

You don’t want to do another morning like this.

You can’t do another morning like this.

Not three times in a row.

Not when the night has already taken your soul and what was precious of it, barely sewn together by the time the sun fights its way through the window.

Not when you know how it will play out. Like it has the day before. And the day before that.

The door to his room will creak open, the girl already gone. You will hear the shuffle of his bare feet against the floor, the sigh as he stretches, and the yawn that usually makes it past his lips. He never tries to stifle it.

And then, him standing there and watching you.

Disheveled. Bed hair sticking up in a mess. You never let your mind wander to how her fingers might have something to do with that. His shirt would loosely hang over his frame, probably thrown on in a hurry, collar askew, revealing a sliver of skin you shouldn’t be looking at.

That lazy and slightly flustered smile. Sleep still in the corners of his eyes, his lips, his voice, when he greets you with a scratchy morning.

Like nothing happened. Like he didn’t shatter you into a thousand unfixable pieces last night. And the night before that. And now this night.

You will do your best to greet him back without sounding pained. Focusing on making coffee. The way the steam normally curls into the air, the warmth of the mug in your hands. You will have to focus on it as if it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

And despite knowing you shouldn’t - despite hating yourself for it - you will slide a cup toward him. As you always do.

His smile would shift. Settling into something fond, something warm, something that digs its claws into your ribs and refuses to let go.

Because that’s usually the worst part. He’s always so sweet with you. Thoughtful, affectionate in ways that don’t count. In the ways that make you feel like maybe if you just hold on a little longer, if you wait just a little more, he might start feeling what you do.

But you are certain, he won’t.

Because for him, everything seems fine. For him, this will be just another morning. Another easy, comfortable start to the day. With his eyes on you and sipping his coffee, exhaling like he is finally at peace, and leaning against the counter with a lightness that always has your stomach all up in shambles.

He always makes it seem so normal. Starting conversation with you, talking to you as if nothing has changed. Like you didn’t spend the night curled in on yourself, swallowing down sobs so thick they feel like razor blades. Like you didn’t spend the night choking on the sound of him with her.

He never mentions them. Never says any of the girl’s names, not that you even know what they are. He never makes plans to see them again. Just another faceless but very loud girl. One to be forgotten.

But tomorrow night, there will be another.

Tomorrow night will be the same.

And in the morning nothing will have happened.

Only him standing there with his sleep-mussed hair and that sweet, easy smile, drinking the coffee you should have stopped making for him a long, long time ago.

You rise out of bed, not even aware of it. The cold air nips at your tear-streaked cheeks, your sheets thrown back in a mass of tangled fabric still warm from the ball your body was curled in, breaking in silence. The pillow is still wet.

Your hands move on their own, tugging on slacks, yanking a hoodie over your head as though the fabric could hide you, save you from the devastation caving a hole into your chest.

You fumble for your phone before throwing open your bedroom door.

The moans are louder again. Yanking at your resolve and laughing at the way your tears keep coming.

Your feet move faster. You don’t actually run, but it feels like running. Like fleeing. Escaping a burning building before it collapses. The living room comes into view and it’s like a cruel trick, like the universe is taunting you, because all you see are phantoms.

The coffee machine on the counter. How many times have you two stood there, still tousled with sleep, you making coffee for the both of you because Bucky burns everything. How many times did he lean on the counter, watching you with that stupid little half-smirk, pretending to judge your process but always humming in satisfaction when he took the first sip.

The bookshelf in the corner - the one you swore you could build on your own. And you tried, you really did, but the second the screwdriver slipped and you gasped out loud, Bucky was there immediately. Hands on yours, worry furrowing his brows, grumbling about your stubbornness and continuing to grumble when he passive-aggressively built it himself.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, watching him, pretending to be annoyed but secretly savoring the way he kept glancing at you, again and again, to make sure you were okay and giving you instructions as to how it’s done but throwing you a glare when you insisted on trying again.

The carpet. The same one you both collapsed onto after a night out with your friends, too tipsy to move, giggling like teenagers as you pointed at the ceiling, pretending to find constellations in the uneven paint. He named one after you. You named one after him. You fell asleep there, side by side, and when you woke up he was so close. So close.

The couch. The one he practically melted into last week when he had a fever, whining dramatically until you caved and brought him soup. He kept pulling you back when you tried to leave, pouting like a child, demanding your attention because I’m sick, doll. Can’t ignore me when I’m sick. Until you sighed and sat down, letting his head rest in your lap. He fell asleep like that. Snoring. And you didn’t have the heart to move.

And now he is in his room, tangled in her, moaning into her skin, kissing her - like it doesn’t mean anything. Like none of it ever meant anything.

Your breath is uneven, your hands shaking as you grab your shoes. The laces blur, your vision fogs, but you can’t stop.

You throw open the door to your shared apartment, barely thinking, barely breathing, only moving. It swings back into the frame with a sharp sound echoing through the hallway, louder than you had intended. But it doesn’t matter now. Because you are sure that Bucky doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t notice. He is otherwise occupied and you are utterly drained of thinking about with what.

The air outside the apartment feels different. Lighter and cooler, but it doesn’t bring relief. It’s thin and hard to pull into your lungs properly.

Natasha’s place isn’t far. Fifteen minutes on foot. You tell yourself that over and over, like a mantra, like something to grasp on.

No more moans. Lost to silence, left in a place that feels little like home right now. Still, they resonate in your skull, haunting reminders of that pain you can’t dismiss, that hurt that hangs off you like a heavy burden.

You slow your steps on the staircase and inhale deeply. It trembles on its way out.

You hate how fragile you feel. How breakable. Hate how much this affects you. How much he affects you.

But you keep walking.

Just yesterday, you talked to Natasha and she offered you to stay with her for the night, looking at you all sharp and knowing, but in her own way sympathetic. You declined. Because you thought you’d be fine. Well, you were wrong.

It’s past midnight now, completely dark, but you don’t care.

You know, Natasha will let you in. And that will have to be enough for tonight.

The city is alive even at this hour. Neon lights glow in the distance, their reflection shimmering in rain-slicked puddles that dot the cracked pavement. Somewhere across the street, there is a group of people laughing, and disappearing around a corner. A car flies past, with headlights unlocking long shadows lengthening down the sidewalk.

You focus on those things. On the shoes thumping against the pavement. The way the crisp air is somehow refreshing as it weaves through the fabric of your hoodie and stings slightly at the tear-streaked skin of your cheeks, keeping you awake and propelling you forward. Not that you need any more motivation to leave.

You wind your arms around yourself like a shield, like a last-ditch effort to keep yourself from falling apart completely.

You don’t look back.

Somewhere above you, there is a creak of a window opening.

It makes you freeze for a small second, before tightening your arms around yourself and picking up your pace.

Your stomach spins violently because fuck, you know that sound. You know the groan of that window when it moves, just a little off its hinges, just enough to make a noise you’ve heard a hundred times before. Because it’s the window of your apartment. And it makes a noise that has never felt so much like a punch to the gut.

“Y/n?”

You close your eyes.

“Y/n!”

Your name spills from his lips, laced with confusion, infused with something that makes your fingers clench around your arms.

You could ignore him. You should ignore him. Just keep walking, keep moving, pretend you didn’t hear.

But you can’t. You never can.

With a slow, dragging breath, you turn around.

Bucky is leaning over the frame, his torso reaching out the window, bare from the shoulders down. He is bathed in the hazy yellow glow of the streetlights.

His hair is messed up, brown tendrils all sticking in different directions. His brows are knitted in confusion. His lips in a frown so full of worry. And it’s just too much.

Too warm. Too intimate. Too familiar.

Your chest stutters, lurches, and swirls itself into a dozen moving shapes that hurt more than they should. Because he stands there shirtless. Shirtless. And you know why.

You swallow back your hurt, but it stays stuck in your throat and crawls right up again to make you taste it on your tongue.

You force your gaze away from staring at the curve of his collarbone, the slope of his throat, the soft lines of his skin, the hard lines of his muscles that she had her hands on just minutes ago.

“Where are you going?”

The tone highlights his concern, thick with the kind of worry that would have meant everything if it weren’t coming from him like this, not now. His voice is rough, remnants of the time already spent with that girl, but all you can hear is that damn worry in it.

As if you owe him an answer. As if he isn’t the reason your chest feels like it’s been hollowed out and left to rot.

You draw in half a breath and look away - down the street, down at your shoes, the bricks of your building. Anywhere that isn’t him.

“To Nat’s.”

It’s clipped and short. You don’t want to explain, don’t want to talk, don’t want to stand here in the night air beneath the window of the apartment you share with him like some pathetic wreck while he worries about you.

“Nat’s?” You can hear the bewilderment in his voice, the way he is trying to piece it together, the way his brain is already working overtime, scrambling to make sense of this - and you can practically feel the moment he decides he won’t let it go.

“Somethin’ happen?” His voice just won’t stop to be so perplexed, so concerned. It is softer now, but you only glance up at him briefly before averting your eyes again.

Because damn Bucky, yes, something happened. Everything happened. Every night that he brings someone home, every touch that belongs to someone else, every soft moan that isn’t meant for you.

All these moments, all these memories, every feeling left unsaid that swivels and stings and grows into what it is now - a storm inside your rib cage, a hurricane of almosts and never wills and why does it have to be like this?

But of course, you can’t say that. You won’t say that.

So you just shake your head, tighten your arms around yourself, and take a step back.

“Go back to bed, Bucky.”

Because you can’t do this right now. You won’t do this right now.

Not when you are already about to break.

“I- What?”

His voice is a little raspy, puzzled, and under any other circumstance, it might have been endearing. On a normal day, if this were some cozy Sunday morning and not the breaking stretch of midnight, you might have smiled at the sight of him like this - hair in a wild mess, eyes a little heavy from the day, bare shoulders shifting in the glow of the streets.

But this is not a Sunday morning. And nothing about this feels good or cozy or right.

You are so damn exhausted. So damn drained.

“You-” he starts again, brow furrowing deeper, but before he can get another word out, hands appear - slim fingers wrapping around the thick of his bicep, tugging, pulling, trying to drag him back inside.

Bile is pooling at the base of your throat.

She’s alone with him up there, in the space that you have spent so much time making into something warm, something filled with comfort. A space where you feel home. With him. And yet, it’s that random girl in there, laying in his bed, under his covers, in his scent, in him.

“Bucky, come on.” Her voice is thin and peevish, thick with impatience. And exhaustion you believe she has no right to feel when you are the one who has spent the time suffocating under her presence.

But Bucky doesn’t move.

His hand only grips onto the windowsill tighter, muscles in his arm locking.

And his eyes stay fixed on you.

Still searching. Still confused. Still trying to understand.

And it makes your hands clammy.

The way he looks at you like he is reaching for something just beyond his grasp, something that eludes him no matter how hard he tries to hold onto it.

He huffs out a breath that just borders on frustration when her fingers won’t stop pulling at him.

“Hold on, doll-” he calls out to you and unwinds her hands from his arm, barely sparing her a glance as he leans out the window again. There is a little something in his tone when he speaks to you again. Something like exasperation. But it’s not meant for you. “What’re you doin’ at Nat’s? Tell her it’s the middle of the goddamn night. Why would she let you walk over to her? She knows it’s not safe.”

You shake your head, already half turning away again. You just cannot do this right now.

“It’s fine. Just go back to bed, Bucky.”

“Y/n - hey. What’s wrong? What’s this about?” There it is. That softness in his voice. That concern. And it hurts. Because he doesn’t get it.

“Go. Back. To bed,” you repeat, sharper now, gritting it out between clenched teeth.

But Bucky has always been stubborn. And so infuriating. It’s like he doesn’t hear you at all.

“C’mon doll, did something happen? Talk to me,” he urges, voice gentle but he doesn’t seem to like the way you look as if you would bolt around the corner any second. His tone is coaxing in a way that makes you ache because this is what he does. This is what he has always done - pulling you in, making you feel safe, making you feel cared for, making you feel like you matter. Like he means it.

And it’s cruel. So cruel.

Because you are in love with him.

And he is standing in that window, bare-chested and rumpled from a night with another woman, while you are in slacks and a simple hoodie beneath him with your heart cracked wide open, bleeding into the pavement.

“I don’t wanna do this right now, Bucky,” you snip, voice losing patience. But you are so tired.

Bucky sighs and runs a hand through his hair, frustration growing, seeping into his voice. “You’re killin’ me here, sweetheart. Just tell me what’s goin’ on. It’s cold out, doll. You’re not even wearin’ a jacket.”

You swallow down a choked breath.

Because this is making things so much worse.

That he cares. That he is looking at you like this, like you matter, like you are his.

Like you are something he wants to figure out. And he wants to take his time with. Like he wants to fix you.

But you are not broken. You are just in love.

“Bucky,” that girl calls out again, dragging his name out, voice honey-thick and pettish. “Come on babe, let it go. Just-” She tugs at his arm again, nails skimming along his forearm. “Come back to bed.”

But he doesn’t move.

Doesn’t even glance at her.

His mouth twitches, jaw ticking as he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking her off with a firm roll of his shoulder. “Would you quit it for a sec?” His voice is edged now, tinged with a kind of terse impatience he seldom ever lets out. “Jesus, m’tryin to talk here.”

The girl huffs, clearly displeased, but Bucky doesn’t spare her another second.

But the one second he threw his head around at her was your chance. Your feet move before you can think, before you can talk yourself into staying, because if you do, if you let him pull you in, let yourself hope-

“Woah, doll, hey. Wait, I-”

His voice is frantic, stammering over its own syllables and filled with too many things your mind is too jumbled to focus on.

But it makes you stop your body in the midst of a step. And you grind down on your teeth against the frustration burning inside you.

You should keep walking. Shouldn’t have stopped.

But Bucky is leaning even further out now, his knuckles bracing against the sill, the night air tousling his hair, eyes wide and concerned, searching. One of his arms is reaching out, down to you as if he could touch you like this.

“Hold up, yeah? I’m comin’ down.”

You whip halfway back to him, brows snapping together, heart slamming against your ribs.

“No, you-”

He’s already pulling himself back inside, shaking his head as if it should be obvious. “I’m coming down,” he repeats, more insistent, more sure. Leaving no room for argument.

Your fists squeeze the fabric of your hoodie. Your stomach churns. “Bucky-” you try again. But he has already made up his mind.

���Wait there, alright?” His voice dips lower, steadier but still urgent. Resolute, as if he would run after you if you bolted down the street. “Doll. Promise me you’ll wait.”

Something in his tone, the look he is giving you, like he’s begging, almost a sweet-talking declaration. It’s catching your breath somewhere in your throat.

You could run.

You should.

You should turn right back around, disappear into the night, and leave him standing there, shirtless and confused and worried.

But you hold his gaze for just one long and heavy beat, then exhale shakily, shoulders dropping slightly.

“Okay,” you say weakly.

Bucky nods determined and taps his fingers against the windowsill, before rushing away, leaving the window wide open.

And you stand there hating yourself for waiting.

Hating yourself for hoping.

Technically, you could just leave.

Take a different route to Nat’s apartment, slip into the dark veins of the city where his voice wouldn’t reach, and let him walk out onto an empty sidewalk with his hair still tousled from another woman’s fingers and the taste of someone else’s lips still lingering on his own.

You could make him feel just a fraction of what you feel, with something hollow pressing up against his ribs when he finds nothing but cold pavement where you used to stand.

But you don’t.

You know you won’t.

Because it wouldn’t just frustrate him. It would hurt him.

And that’s the one thing you could never bring yourself to do.

Not Bucky.

Never Bucky.

You know him. The way he chews at the inside of his cheek when he’s trying not to say something reckless. The way his brows pull just a little too tight when he’s agitated but trying to play it off like he is fine. The way he folds his arms over his chest, not because he’s closed off, but because he needs something to hold onto.

You know exactly how he would react if he stepped out here and you weren’t there.

How the slight crease between his brows would deepen. How his fingers would twitch, opening and closing, like he’d missed his chance to catch you. How his lips would open and he would stare helplessly around and call your name.

And god, as much as this pain is devouring you from the inside out, pushing its way into the light but leaving you sitting in the dark, as much as your heart feels like being torn apart with unsaid words and unmet confessions - you cannot stand the thought of hurting him.

So you stay.

With feet planted on the concrete, fists clenched so hard, that your fingers start to cramp. You lift your trembling hands to your aching cheeks to hastily scrub away the fresh wave of tears surging forth downwards, willing your body to erase any evidence of your devastation.

But the more you wipe, the more it hurts.

You believe your cheeks are red from the effort of wiping so much, eyes swollen and puffy, your body trying to rebel against all of your commands.

Inhaling shakily, you force the breath down, down, down where you can pretend it doesn’t hurt so much. You angle your face slightly away from the building, hoping the dim spill of moonlight won’t betray your inner struggles.

Because the moment Bucky steps out that door, it will be the same as always.

He’ll look at you like you are his best friend. Like you are his safe place. Like you are the person he can always count on.

And you will look at him like you aren’t falling apart.

Like your heart isn’t unraveling at the seams.

Like you aren’t drowning in a love that will never be returned.

The door swings open with a force that startles you, the sound of it hitting the frame a little too sharp against the night.

Bucky storms out onto the sidewalk like he’s got something urgent to say, like the world might stop spinning if he doesn’t get to you fast enough. He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t pause. Just moves straight to you, his steps quick, closing the space before you can change your mind about standing here. He has a crumpled shirt thrown on and it hangs a little off. But it makes you want to run so hard.

His fingers wrap around your arms, not hard, not forceful but firm.

Those warm hands on you make you want to crumble.

His breath is coming fast, chest rising and falling, like he ran down the staircase to get here as fast as possible.

His eyes are so deep, deep and blue, roaming your face with so much intensity, searching and scanning and pausing.

Shadows cast over his sharp cheekbones at the way his brows are furrowed, his lips slightly parted.

“What’s going on, doll? You been cryin’?” His voice comes out rough and he talks fast. Urgent, breaths spilling over themselves as he rushed through the words, almost tripping on them in his desperation to get them out. “Why’ve you been crying? What happened?”

His thumb twitches against the fabric of your hoodie.

You open your mouth, close it again. Your throat is dry from the sobs you tried to silence earlier. You shake your head, a knee-jerk reaction.

“I was just going to Nat’s, Bucky. Nothing happened.”

It’s a weak excuse, said in a weak voice.

And you hate how it makes Bucky’s expression shift. That tiny wounded something that crosses his features, something that shouldn’t be there, because you did wait for him, you didn’t leave, but it’s still not enough. You lied to him. And he knows it. And he’s hurt. And you hate yourself.

He shakes his head, his jaw going tight.

“No,” he murmurs, eyes never leaving you, voice so low. “That ain’t nothin’, doll. C’mon. You’re runnin’ off in the middle of the night, how could this be nothing?”

You look away. Because if you keep looking at him, him with his concern and confusion and hurt all interflowing in the pool of those blue eyes, you won’t be able to hold yourself together much longer.

You swallow hard and force yourself to breathe slowly.

The sting behind your eyes is never really leaving you.

Bucky leans in, just a little. His grip on your arms tightens, but it’s not harsh. Only insistent. Desperate for you to give him something here.

“Somethin’ up with Natasha?” His voice is gentle, like he knows this has nothing to do with her, but he has to ask anyway to go through all the possible options of what might be going on.

“No,” you croak, barely managing the word.

He softens at the sound of it, but that frown doesn’t ease.

“What’re you doing then, huh? Why’re you running off like that? S’ not safe, you know that.” His voice is soft. Almost like he’s trying to soothe a skittish animal. But the concern is wrapping around every word. “What’s got you so upset, sweetheart? Talk to me, yeah? Please?”

His voice takes on a desperate intensity. Like he’s begging you to just let him in. To make him understand.

You bite down hard on your bottom lip, willing it not to tremble, willing your face not to crumble right in front of him, but the air is too thick for your airway, making it harder and harder to breathe.

And Bucky is looking at you, like you are breaking his goddamn heart. Like you took a shot straight for it.

He is so full of worry, it looks painful, the crease of his brow always there when he’s thinking too hard, when he’s feeling too hard. His lips are still parted, like he wants to beg for an explanation, for some string of words that will make this all click into place and turn this into something fixable.

Because Bucky Barnes fixes things.

But this might be the only thing he can’t fix.

His hands on you are a contrast to the way you feel as if you’re falling apart. You hate how much you just want to collapse into it, to let yourself lean into him, let him hold you up. Because he would. You know he would. He would pull you in without hesitation, wrap his arms around you like he has done so many times before.

But you don’t want him to hold you. Don’t want him to hold you like a friend.

You want him to hold you like he means it. Like you mean something more than the sum of all the nights you spent choking on your own silence, swallowing words you could never say.

So all you can do is stay frozen, bones locked, eyes burning, heart splitting itself open in the middle of the street where he doesn’t even know he’s killing you.

“I-”

You try. You really try.

But then the door swings open again. And the sound of it alone is enough to send a bolt of ice down your spine.

Because this time it’s her walking out.

She steps out onto the sidewalk like she has every right to be a part of this moment.

Like she hasn’t spent the first part of the night in Bucky’s bed. Like she hasn’t been touched by him, kissed by him, fucked by him, wanted by him in a way that you have only ever ached for.

Like she hasn’t taken something that was never hers to have.

But it’s not yours either.

She looks so composed, too. More put together than you would have imagined. Her hair smoothed, clothes adjusted, skin glowing in a way that tells you she wasn’t just sleeping up there - she was living in something you’ve been dying for. She probably took a moment in your bathroom to check herself, to fix her lipstick, maybe even to admire herself in the mirror while you were downstairs, breaking apart.

She had the time for that.

Meanwhile, you can barely stand.

Your body is alive with magnitudes of unspoken things, suffocating. You feel like you’ve been sanded down, like a piece of wood, leaving nothing but the ache and longing and all the words you can’t say. This destruction is slow and ruthless, it doesn’t come with an explosion, but rather a slow erasure.

Like you’re being unmade. Piece by piece.

Like you were never meant to be here in the first place.

And Bucky is still looking at you.

Not at her.

You.

And maybe that should be enough. Maybe it should mean something.

But it just puts more pressure on the knife that is already turning around in your flesh.

The girl doesn’t leave and Bucky stiffens.

“Bucky,” she drawls, almost lazy, like she’s bored with this already. “Are you coming back up, or…?”

Your stomach lurches.

You feel exposed, scraped raw, like you’ve been trampled over, flattened by something massive, left behind for everyone else to step around.

Bucky lets out a slow breath through his nose. His jaw works under pressure. And then, he huffs. Annoyed. Like she’s interrupting something important.

“Go home,” he flatly tells her, his attention still on you. Not even addressing her with a name. Perhaps he doesn’t even know it.

“Seriously?” she scoffs, crossing her arms. Her eyes flick between the two of you.

Bucky exhales another breath and drops one of his arms from you to scrub it over his face, pushing through his hair. He turns toward her just a little, stance rigid.

“Yeah, seriously,” he mutters, already turning back to you. “I’ll call you a cab if you need-”

“God, you’re such a dick,” she snaps, cutting him off, rolling her eyes with an exasperated huff. “Unbelievable.”

And then she’s gone.

But so are you.

You don’t even think about it. You just move.

Your arm slips from Bucky’s loosened grip, your body already shifting, already turning, already pulling you down the sidewalk, away from him, away from this.

It’s pathetic. You know this. But you have to get away.

Your vision is a blur, the streetlights smearing into a soft, hazy glow against the wetness welling in your eyes, and no matter how much you try to breathe through it, it’s too much. Simply too much.

You’re hurting. And you need to go. Now.

But Bucky doesn’t let you.

“Woah, whoah, hey!” His voice is quick, rushed, and then he is moving, closing the space between you. And this time, he cuts you off completely, stepping right into your path, right in front of you, blocking the way like a wall. He’s so broad in front of you, and so fucking present, making it impossible to escape.

You stop so fast it almost sends you stumbling back.

His eyes flick over you so quickly, so intensely, scanning for something he doesn’t understand but is so desperate to find.

“Alright,” he exhales, low and careful, holding his arms out as if ready to stop you again if you make a run for it.

“You want me to put you in chains to keep you still?”It’s a weak and failed attempt at humor.

And it’s not funny. Not even close.

His voice is too thin, too strained, and there is something in his eyes, something tight and aching, that makes it clear he is not even trying all that hard to make his joke work.

You don’t smile. Don’t look at him. Arms still around yourself.

Bucky’s throat bobs as he swallows, as he shifts his weight, as he lets out another slow and deliberate breath. He moves so slow. As if any tiny movement of him would make you walk away from him.

“What’s going on with you, mhm?” His voice is so soft. So concerned. Brooklyn warmth and worry combined with something gentler than you can handle right now.

“What’s this - this fight-or-flight thing you got goin’ on?” he continues, tilting his head just slightly, watching you too closely, reading too much. “You’re rushing off like the damn place is on fire. The hell is that about, doll?” Still so soft. So cautious.

His eyes are on you like you are the only thing in the world that matters, like he’s trying to solve you, like if he just looks long enough, he’ll figure it out.

But if he really understood, if he really found out, everything between you would change.

And you can’t handle that. You can’t handle anything at the moment.

“Just drop it, Bucky, alright?” It comes out sharper than you mean for it to. Harsher. A little spit of venom that you hate yourself for the second it hits the air. He doesn’t deserve your attitude. But you can’t hold it back.

You see the way it lands. The way his brows pull in tighter, the way his lips press together, the way his chest rises and falls so measured. But it’s all not out of irritation. He just tries to figure out where that came from. What is happening. What has you react the way you do.

His voice is even and calm. But oh so careful. “I don’t think I will, doll.”

You look anywhere than at him and his troubled face.

Your throat tightens so fast, you have to swallow hard against it, teeth digging into the inside of your cheek as you blink up at the sky like maybe that keeps the tears from spilling over.

And Bucky watches all of that.

His expression stays soft, but his eyes are burning with something deep, something real, something that makes you feel like you might actually drown if you keep looking at them for too long.

“Y/n,” he almost whispers, and it sounds so pained. “Why are you crying, sweetheart.” He’s so gentle, so tender, so fucking careful like he’s afraid that if he pushes too hard, you’ll just break.

You shake your head, arms around yourself tightening. “I’m fine.”

Bucky makes a quiet noise in his throat, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff, something deep and disbelieving.

“See, that’s bullshit.”

You’re about to turn again, but he anticipates and gets hold of your arms.

“Look,” he sighs, heedfully taking off a hand of you to rub it down his face. “You don’t wanna talk? Fine. You wanna bite my head off cause I’m askin’? Fine. But don’t stand here and tell me you’re okay. Because I’ve got eyes, doll, and I can see that you’re not.”

You want him to stop.

You want him to turn around.

You want him to leave you here to fall apart in peace.

But he won’t.

And you don’t know what to do with that.

And you break.

No matter how hard you bite your lip, it doesn’t matter.

The tears slip and streak down your face before there is anything you can do. A sob follows. You can’t choke it down. Your shoulders shake, your breath stutters, and your face tilts towards the ground as you bring trembling hands up to wipe at your cheeks, in a futile and desperate attempt to regain composure. It’s useless.

You feel so pathetic.

Embarrassed. Ashamed that you ran off like this. That you’re standing here, crying in the middle of the night, on a sidewalk with no explanation, making a fool of yourself in front of him.

And the second your face crumbles, his does, too.

The second your breath hitches, he is moving.

Strong arms envelope you, winding tight, pulling you straight into his chest like he doesn’t even need to think about it. Not for a single second.

You let him.

Because it’s either this, or you’ll collapse down onto the asphalt.

His grip is firm, grounding, warm in a way that makes you ache even more. His hand cradles the back of your head, tucking you against him, and you feel the press of his lips there, gentle, but somehow rough.

Like your pain is his own.

“It’s okay. Shh… it’s okay,” he breathes, pained and low, the words pressed into your hair, into your skin. Making space between your ribs. “Oh, doll.” He presses you tighter to him. His hand brushes over your hair. “It’s okay.”

There is something so deep and aching in the way he talks to you, like the sound of his own voice hurts him. Like you hurt him.

His other hand moves over your back, soothingly, trying to give you some strength.

“I gotcha,” he breathes. “M’here, doll. Okay? Just breathe. Gotta breathe for me, baby. Please.”

It’s a slip. Baby. A mistake.

And it makes you cry harder.

Because it’s so soft. Gentle. Because it falls from his lips like something that’s always been there, something that’s always belonged to you.

Except it hasn’t.

It doesn’t.

Not in the way you want.

You don’t know what he calls those girls he takes home. If they get to hear him say it. Girls who have felt his hands in places you never will. Girls who have heard his voice rasp against their skin in the dark.

But you are not one of those girls.

You never will be.

And you know you will never be able to untangle that damaging wrench in your stomach.

So hearing him call you that. Baby. Like it means something. Like it’s yours. Like it hasn’t been whispered in the dim glow of your apartment, murmured against someone else’s lips, someone else’s skin, just someone else just hours ago.

It’s too hard. too cruel.

You wish it didn’t matter. You wish it didn’t rip through you the way it does, splitting you down the center, carving you open.

But it does.

Because even if it doesn’t belong to you, you still want it.

So you cry harder.

Sobs wrack through you, your chest hitching with the force of them, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt, clumping it in your fists.

Bucky feels it and he hears it and he grips you tighter, pulls you closer.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he coos, voice just above a whisper, more desperate now. Like he’s drowning in your hurt right along with you.

“Sweetheart,” he tries again, voice strained, thick. His lips are in your hair. “Please talk to me. Make me understand, baby, please! Tell me what’s wrong.”

But you can’t.

Because what the hell would you even say?

That you’re in love with him?

That you’ve been in love with him?

That seeing him with her - hearing the sounds that bleed through the walls, the ones you’ll never be able to unhear - feels like being skinned alive?

That you want him in a way you shouldn’t?

That you want him in a way he will never want you back?

You won’t.

So instead, you just press yourself harder into his chest and squeeze your eyes shut, letting him hold you like you are something precious. Like you are his. Even if you are not.

“Help me understand here, baby. Please,” he repeats with a voice so soft, that makes him seem afraid you might break apart completely if he speaks any louder.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe you’re already in pieces at his feet, shattered beyond repair, and he just hasn’t realized it yet.

He lets you cry when you don’t answer, hand stroking up and down your back, the other soothing over your head. He whispers into your hair, words you can’t even process, just the deep cadence of him, the low rasp of his voice against your temple.

His lips move to your forehead, brushing over it. His breath is warm against your skin. You don’t have it in you to pull away, but you wish you would.

Because none of this makes it any easier.

Because his hands feel too good, too steady, too right - and it’s a lie.

Because it’s him.

And that means it hurts.

You wish he would just go and let you have your pathetic heartbreak alone.

But Bucky Barnes has never been the kind of a guy to leave things unsolved.

He pulls back just slightly after a while, just enough to get a better look at you, and when you try to duck your head, to keep him from seeing too much, he doesn’t let you.

Strong, warm fingers cradle your face, thumbs brushing over the damp skin of your cheeks, tilting your head up and forcing your gaze to his.

He looks wrecked.

His brows are drawn, lips parted, chest rising and falling unevenly. His hands tremble just a little against your skin, but his grip stays firm. Solid.

“Don’t look away, doll. Eyes on me, yeah?”

You swallow hard, jaw tight. “You just ruined your good night,” you say, the words falling out bitter, self-deprecating, stiff with something that tastes like resentment but feels like heartbreak.

Bucky’s frown deepens, his lips pressing together, eyes scanning over your face like he’s searching for something, anything that’ll make this make sense.

“The hell I did,” he scoffs, shaking his head. Confused you even brought this up. “I don’t give a shit about her. Don’t even know her name, if I’m bein’ honest.” He lets out a huffed laugh.

But you don’t.

Because somehow this makes it worse.

And you hate it.

You hate that some part of you wanted her to mean something.

Because if she meant something, if she was special, then at least this ache in your chest would have a name. A reason. A shape you could hold in trembling hands and squeeze so hard that it stops hurting at one point.

Then, at least, you could maybe finally accept that there is no hope. No reason to hold on to those feelings.

But Bucky just shrugs.

It meant nothing. It never meant anything. Not with them.

Not with the girls that come and go, the ones who pass through his nights in the same easy way the hours do - fleeting, ephemeral, touched, and forgotten.

Not with anyone. Not even with you.

You have spent so long feeling this, holding onto it, trying to keep it hidden beneath layers of friendship and longing and careful restraint. You have spent so long pretending that it is fine, that it doesn’t matter, that you can live like this - on the sidelines, just the girl in the other room, in the shadows, in the spaces between what you want and what you’re allowed to have.

And he stands here and looks you in the eyes, telling you that it is nothing. That she is nothing. That they - all of them before her, and all of them after her - are nothing.

You can barely breathe past it.

You don’t say anything.

And Bucky freezes.

His hands, where they cup your face, stop their soft, absentminded strokes. His thumbs, which had been tracing reassuring circles along your cheekbones halt. His breath catches and his eyes shift.

There is something uncertain in there.

And then, his lips part. His brows go up ever so slightly. His pupils flare.

Something settles over his expression that you don’t recognize.

Like a switch has been flipped.

Like a puzzle piece has clicked into place.

Like suddenly he is seeing something in your eyes, something like an answer, something that has been there all along.

His fingers tighten, anchoring himself. Making it seem that if he lets go, if he moves even a fraction, something will break. In him, or you, you’re not sure.

He pulls back. Not far. Just an inch. But he needs to see you better. Just enough to search your face for something he needs to know. His gaze locks onto yours and holds you there, testing something, making sure.

His voice is hushed when he talks. Breathless.

“Is that what this is about?”

It’s quiet, the way he says it. Like he’s afraid of it. Like he’s careful with it. There is disbelief on his face. Astonishment.

You shake your head too fast, too sharp, like if you deny it hard enough, it’ll erase the way he’s looking at you right now. That it’ll undo the meaning of his words and the way they sit between you. Something fragile on the verge of breaking.

“No,” you say, but it barely comes out, barely sounds convincing. Your voice is hoarse, scraped raw form holding back everything you don’t want to say. Your lungs refuse to work in sync with the rest of you. You swallow, eyes darting away, grasping for something to latch onto.

But Bucky doesn’t let you.

“Doll…” It comes like a sigh. Weightless and soft. His hands don’t drop from your face, don’t loosen, don’t give you the space you’re so desperately trying to carve out between you. If anything, his grip grows more robust. Just enough to keep you there.

“Hey. Look at me.” His tone is low, carrying the kind of warmth you’d usually like to lean into, but now all you want is to get away from it. You don’t want to meet those stormy blues.

Bucky’s thumbs are sweeping, so feather-light, over the curve of your jaw, smoothing along the damp trail of your tears, and his voice dips even lower. Softer. He is so close.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Give me somethin’ here.”

It’s not fair that he gets to call you all those sweet names like he means them. Like you mean something. Like it’s not the same word he probably called her and all those others who got to have him, even if only for a night.

“I don’t-” you try, but your voice is trembling and thick with tears, and Bucky’s gaze shadows.

“Don’t what?” he coaxes, leaning in just a little, close enough that his breath skims your skin, warm and stable in a way you aren’t. His fingers slightly move against your cheeks, as if resisting the urge to pull you closer.

You shake your head again, your hands wrapping around his wrists - not to push him away exactly, but to have something to hold onto. You have no idea what to say.

“It’s- It’s not-” Your words trip over themselves, stuck somewhere between your throat and your ribs, tangled up in everything you’ve never let yourself say.

But Bucky just watches you, unreadable things swirling in those impossibly blue eyes. Wary things. Still so damn careful.

He exhales and his hands slide down, skimming the column of your throat, settling against the curve of your neck like he’s grounding you. Holding you both together.

“Doll,” he sighs, and it’s too much.

It’s not teasing. It’s not playful. It’s not easy. Not the charming lilt he likes to throw in his tone.

It’s vulnerable. Tender. Substantial.

“You’re breakin’ my heart here.”

And that’s what has another tear slip over your lashes.

Because you’re breaking his heart?

What does that even mean?

You were the one trying to escape the heartache he caused and now he tells you it’s his heart that hurts?

“Please,” he whispers, and his voice is wrecked, gravel thick in his throat. “Just tell me, doll. Tell me what I did. Tell me so I can fix it.”

His lips stay parted, trying to find air, trying to find some kind of solid ground. There is a sheen over his eyes.

“I can’t-” Your voice cracks, but you don’t look away this time. His hands won’t let you. He won’t let you.

His eyes are pleading.

“Can’t what, sweetheart?” he urges, dipping closer, voice just a rasp of sound between you. His thumbs wipe away the new tears and he winces while doing it as if it actually causes him pain that they fell.

The streetlight flickers above. It casts shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the tight pull of his mouth. His fingers flex against your face.

“Is it-” he starts, then stops, then starts again, throat bobbing and voice rough and hesitant. “Is it those girls?”

A shallow gasp slips from your lips. Fractured and tripping over something unseen. Your shoulders grow stiff.

You can’t answer. You only shake your head, not in denial, not in confirmation, but in something else, something tired and so fucking done with feeling like this.

You try to pull back, try to slip free from the heat of his palms, try to turn away. Another tear drops onto the back of his hand.

Your reaction must be answer enough.

Bucky’s head, Bucky’s hands, Bucky’s eyes, Bucky’s whole body - everything is moving so much, keeping you from slipping away, reaching for you, not letting you go.

A breath. A pause. Like his brain needs an extra moment to process what this all could mean. His breath catches in his throat and you can feel the exact moment he gets it.

The exact moment he realizes.

“Shit,” he breathes, so quiet you almost miss it. His grip tightens. It grows distressed. Despairing. Keeping you from leaving his hold, although you don’t stop trying.

You sob and his hands press into your cheeks, thumbs smoothing away tears like he can erase this, like maybe if he holds you tight enough, he can go back five minutes, five months, five years, to a time before he made you feel like this.

“Shit, doll, I-” His voice breaks, gravel and regret and anguish - and something so painful - landing with every syllable.

You don’t stop trying to pull back, trying to push him away. You can’t talk. You can’t stop crying. You can’t look at him.

But Bucky is devastated. And he is desperate. And he won’t let you go.

“No, no, don’t - please, Y/n, don’t.” He runs through his words, frantically getting them out, frantically trying to make you look at him.

He reaches your face again and holds on like it’s important. Your tears won’t stop falling. A whimper falls from your lips when you realize he won’t let you leave.

Bucky panics.

His swallow seems to hurt him. Everything he does seems to hurt him.

“Oh, sweetheart - fuck, fuck, I didn’t-” He lets out a rough breath, one of his hands letting go of you to scrub over his face, pushing through his hair in frustration.

Not at you.

At himself.

“Doll, I didn’t - Jesus Christ, I didn’t know.”

It comes out hoarse, scraped down to nothing but feeling. Each word drags from his throat like sandpaper against silence. Coarse and raspy.

And then he’s shaking his head, hands sliding to your shoulders, his hold firm, his eyes darting over your face like he is trying to memorize it, searching for the right words in the curve of your lips, the glisten of your tears, the way your breathing is a single shuddering mess.

“I didn’t - fuck, I didn’t mean-”

He seems to hold back a scream.

Sucking in another sharp breath, he squeezes his eyes shut like he’s in pain, angry at himself, wanting to go back and rewrite everything, tear out every page where he made you feel like you were anything but his.

You wish you could believe it.

“Bucky-” you croak out.

“No, don’t-” His head doesn’t stop shaking. His jaw is clenched tight. Hands shaking against you. “Don’t say my name like that.”

“Like what?” Your voice is whisper-thin.

His breath shudders out, and when his eyes meet yours again, they are so earnest. Glossy with a sheen of tears.

“Like it’s over.”

Your throat closes around your next breath, never making it reach your lungs.

Because what is he saying? Nothing ever had the chance to be anything.

“I didn’t know, doll,” he whispers, voice breaking. “I swear to God, I didn’t know. You gotta believe me, I - fuck, I never wanted to hurt you. Never wanted you to feel like- I didn’t think you’d-”

He cuts himself off, voice choking.

His hands drop suddenly, like he doesn’t even deserve to hold you anymore. Like the guilt is weighing them down.

And then, unsure and hesitantly, he lifts one of them again and pauses before cupping your face, waiting for something - permission, maybe, or just a sign that you won’t pull away this time.

When you don’t, when you just keep standing there, frozen and broken and bewildered, he lets his palm settle warm against your cheek, his thumb brushing so lightly it sends a shiver down your back.

“Tell me how to fix it. Tell me I can,” he pleads, like he means it. Like he would do anything. “Tell me what to do, baby. Anything. I’d do anything. Just gotta tell me. Please,” he chokes out.

Cars roll past you. There are voices in the distance. A neon sign flickers. But none of it touches this.

This thing between you.

Bucky’s hand shakes against your cheek. His breath stirs against your skin so ragged and he leans in. His forehead presses to yours, his body curling toward you like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, just needing to be close.

“I’m so sorry,” he gasps out. “God, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Never have you seen Bucky like this. He keeps things easy, keeps things light, and shrugs off pain like it never quite reaches him. But it does now.

It consumes him.

His fingers curl at the back of your neck, not pulling, just holding, grounding himself against you. And when you continue standing there, breath shaky, tears still trembling in your lashes, his whole body sags.

His chest heaves with a breath so deep it sounds like it’s costing him something.

“I never meant for this to happen. Please, believe me.”

His forehead presses harder to yours, seemingly trying to press his words straight into you, that maybe if he gets close enough you’ll feel how much he means them.

And you do. You just don’t know what the hell is going on.

He lets out a sound that resembles a sob. And then you feel the damp heat of a tear where his face brushes against yours.

Bucky is crying.

It breaks you. You don’t know what to do with all this pain. His and yours. Don’t know how to ever let it go.

You pull back. Just slightly. Just enough to breathe, to think, to process.

But Bucky’s whole body tenses, and his eyes squeeze shut as if he knew it was coming but it still pains him. Bracing himself for something he already knows is going to hurt. His hands drop to his sides.

And maybe that should give you some kind of satisfaction, a tiny sense of justice for the nights you spent lying awake, wondering if you meant anything to him while he had his hands on someone else.

But it doesn’t.

Because the way he is looking at you, when he cracks his eyes open again, when he meets your gaze with so much open ache, makes your chest hurt. It makes something inside of you quake.

“Bucky,” you start, but your own voice is so small, so lost. You shake your head, scanning his face, trying to piece it together, to make sense of something that refuses to fit. How the tables have turned. You just can’t seem to find the irony in it. “What are you even - I don’t - I don’t I understand.”

His throat bobs, thick and tight, and he pulls in a breath like it’s the last one he’s going to get.

“I love you.”

Your mind blanks. You flatline. Your knees go weak.

He says it like it’s the simplest thing to say. As if it is the most obvious thing in the world. But it isn’t.

Because if it was then why has he spent all those nights with those seemingly meaningless girls. Why has he let you ache for him while he touched someone else.

“I love you,” he says again, softer, trying to make sure you believe it.

But you don’t know how to.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. You feel the words, heavy and warm and terrifying, but your body doesn’t know what to do with them. Your mind is screaming at you to run, to protect yourself, to build the walls back up before it’s too late, but your heart doesn’t listen.

Bucky’s hand trembles when it reaches for you, fingertips ghosting over your jaw, waiting, waiting, waiting for you to pull away.

You don’t and he steps closer again.

His whole body thrums as if he is scared to touch you but more scared not to. He looks at you with those red-rimmed and puffy eyes, so tremendously bare, holding onto your own eyes like he is drowning and you are the only thing keeping him afloat.

“Say something, doll,” he pleads, his voice so unsteady, that it guts you.

But what could you say?

Because love is not supposed to feel like this, to hurt like this. It isn’t supposed to feel like your heart has been split open and stitched back together all in the same breath.

But looking at him and at the way his eyes are just as pleading as his words, at the way he is breaking right in front of you - it makes you wonder if maybe it was hurting him all along, too.

“You-” you begin, voice barely more than a whisper. You have to stop, have to pull in a breath that doesn’t seem to want to settle, have to force your hands to stay at your sides instead of reaching for something - for him - that you don’t know if you can take. “But that-” Another inhale, sharp and broken. Your chest hurts. Your whole body hurts. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Bucky exhales, long and slow and then he drops his head. Shoulders slumping, spine curling, like something inside of him, has just given out.

Guilt.

It sits heavy in his frame, in the set of his jaw, in the way his hands jerk like he wants to touch you but knows he shouldn’t.

“Yeah,” he mutters, a humorless little laugh escaping, barely more than a breath. He drags a hand down his face, through his hair, before letting it fall uselessly at his side. His voice is lower when he speaks again, raspier, weighed down by something that feels an awful lot like regret. “I know.”

You watch him, waiting. Because he owes you this. Because he cracked open something you weren’t ready for, something you tried to bury, and now you need to understand.

And Bucky must feel that. Because after a beat, after a deep, shuddering breath, he looks at you again.

“I didn’t think I could have you,” he admits, voice quiet. Cautious. The words fragile in his mouth. “Didn’t think I was allowed to even want you. To this extent, anyway.”

Air enters you unevenly, shaking on the way in like a shiver made of sound. “Bucky-”

“You’re my best friend,” he pushes on, stepping in just a fraction, like he can’t help himself. His voice is getting rougher, rawer, like something in him is unwinding too fast for him to stop it. “I didn’t wanna mess that up, y’know? Didn’t wanna lose you over somethin’ I couldn’t control.”

Something tightens in your chest. Something shifts.

“So you-” you swallow, shaking your head, trying to put it together, trying to make sense of it. “So you just went around to go get yourself other girls you can fuck?”

Bucky flinches. Actually flinches.

Gaze dropping in shame, his features form a grimace. “I tried,” he croaks out, gesturing at his chest with one hand. “Tried to stop feeling like this. Tried to move on, tried to-” He exhales sharply, tilting his head side to side, something torn playing out with the movement. “It didn’t work. Nothin’ worked. Didn’t even make it easier. But I was afraid to face it. Really face it. So I just kept going.”

It hurts.

It hurts in a way you don’t know how to hold. Don’t know how to carry.

You thought, for so long, that the way you love him, ache for him, is a one-sided agony.

But he is confessing to you, eyes red and weary, voice splintering, telling you that he’s been afraid to speak it aloud too.

That he loves you, that he tried to kill it, that he thought losing himself in someone else would somehow erase you from his mind.

Bucky’s words are a fist curling around your ribs, squeezing the air from your lungs.

It should matter. It should mean something that he’s standing in front of you, breaking apart, pleading for you to understand. Shouldn’t it be enough that he’s telling you it was always you? That no one else ever came close?

But he still touched them.

Still chose them, even if only for a meaningless night.

While you sat in your room, staring at the ceiling, wondering if you were going insane. While you clenched your fists so tight beneath your sheets at night, biting your tongue, swallowing it down, because Bucky is your friend and friends don’t ache like this.

And yet, he is telling you, showing you, he aches too.

But instead of sitting with it, instead of letting it consume him the way it consumed you, he tried to make it disappear.

He tried to fuck it away.

And now he looks at you like you are the only thing that has ever mattered, like the ground beneath his feet, is unsteady, like he is afraid you are going to bolt at any second.

You feel like the ground beneath your feet shits a fraction of an inch, not enough to send you falling, but enough to make you question if you were ever standing solid in the first place.

“But, doll, it-” he rushes forward, watching your pain, stepping into your space until there is barely anything between you. “It never meant anything. Swear to god, none of ‘em ever meant something to me.” His hands wrap around yours, squeezing, grounding, begging. “They weren’t you. Couldn’t be you. Didn’t matter how hard I tried, how many times I told myself to stop thinking about you because you’re supposed to be my best friend, but I wanted so much more than that - it didn’t matter. Nothin’ worked.”

He is struggling to force the words out, but he does. And they leave him with a catch in his voice. Faltering.

“I thought about you, sweetheart. Every fuckin’ time.” His voice turns frantic and he leans in to make it convince you. He watches your lips tremble and shakes his head quickly. “Thought about how you’d feel. How you’d sound.”

Your breath stalls.

Bucky swallows, taking a quick pause but continuing, voice growing softer. Lower. Reverent. “Tried to picture you instead. How you’d look under me, wrapped around me. So goddamn beautiful.” His voice cracks. “But it wasn’t you. And I know it was wrong, but I couldn’t help it.”

He stumbles over his words, afraid of saying too much, of pushing too far, or admitting too much - but it doesn’t stop hurting.

Even if you know it might not be fair.

But the thought of him with them, the thought of his hands gripping someone else’s skin, his lips murmuring something soft against someone else’s throat - it makes you sick.

And he sees it.

You try to blink back another wave of tears.

His hands are on your face again, thumbs swiping furiously at your damp cheeks like he can rub the hurt away.

“Please tell me I didn’t ruin this.” His voice cracks through the words, the panic breaking through. Your silence seems to suffocate him, squeezing his ribs until there is no space left for air.

“I’m so sorry, baby! I wish I could take it all back. I would.” His bottom lip trembles and he bites down on it before continuing. “Tell me I can fix this. There’s gotta be somethin’ I can do. Anything.”

You blink rapidly, vision swimming, breath hiccuping in your throat. You don’t know if there is anything to fix, if there was ever anything there, to begin with, but he is looking at you like there was. Like there is. Like it is still hanging in the air between you, waiting to be caught, waiting to be named.

And you want to catch it. To press it to your heart and cherish it.

But the wounds are fresh. Still bleeding. Still open.

The images you conjured up in your mind, him with all those girls. The sounds of him bringing one after the other home - the routine.

The giggling. The keys. The apartment door. More giggling. His chuckles. The hallway. His bedroom door. The goodbyes. The mornings.

But worst of all is that you can’t even blame him.

Because what was he supposed to do? Wait for something that was never promised? Hold out hope for something that was never offered?

You had no claim on him.

But still, you hate how he tried to fuck you out of his system. Hate that he couldn’t, that he’s standing here now, telling you it was all for nothing, that you were always in his head, in his bones, and that that somehow is supposed to make it better.

You don’t know if it does now. But you hope - you hope so dearly - that it will get better. If he’ll stick with you.

“No more girls.” The words choke out of you, weak and broken, barely a breath. But he jolts like you have screamed them.

“Never,” he breathes immediately, shaking his head as if to get rid of his own images, gripping you tighter, his thumbs pressing into your cheeks, his eyes burning through yours. “No more, baby. No one else. Not ever.”

Your breath catches, body sways.

There is a burn behind your ribs, not quite pain, but not far from it. It is something that pulses in time with your heartbeat. Too quick. Too uneven.

“Only you,” he adds, his forehead dropping to yours, noses brushing, his breath warm against your lips, his hands trembling where they hold you. “It’s only ever been you.”

Heat rises up your throat, something between nausea and electricity, a burst of too much all at once.

“I got a lot to make up for.” His tone is unraveling at the seams. But it sounds firmer now. Convicted. “I know that. I know I- fuck, I screwed this up before I even knew I had a chance. And that’s on me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, because it’s too much - his voice, his touch, the way he is looking at you like you hung the damn moon when you’ve spent years feeling invisible to him in the way that mattered.

“I don’t wanna rush this, alright?”

You blink up at him. Your chest feels stretched too tight, as if the ribs themselves are holding onto something they shouldn’t, something too large, something too consuming.

“I don’t wanna mess this up more than I already have. I don’t wanna push or expect anythin’ from you - I just wanna do this right. For you.” His voice wavers on the last word, still scared of saying the wrong thing, scared of losing something he only just realized he had. “You understand me?”

You nod wordlessly. Almost feeling hypnotized by him. His eyes are so intense. So full.

“I’ve been waitin’ for this, hopin’ for this - Christ, I don’t even know how long.”

Your stomach flips, something curling in your stomach at the heaviness of his confession, at the realization that you weren’t alone in this. Maybe never have been.

“And now that it’s happenin’ - now that I have you, even if I don’t deserve it - I wanna take my time. I wanna make this good for you. Have to. I have to make this right,” he says, voice filled with something gravelly, rough like something barely holding together.

His fingers slide over your jaw, tracing along the column of your throat, memorizing the feel of you beneath his hands.

“And I hate-” his voice falters, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before he forces himself to look at you again. “I hate that it’s happening like this. That I hurt you first. That I didn’t see this sooner.”

“Bucky-”

He cuts you off with his eyes and a shake of his head.

“Please I- I gotta do this. Gotta say this, baby.”

You nod.

He closes his eyes again for a moment like he wants to go back and shake his past self by the shoulders, tell him to wake the hell up and stop hurting the one girl he ever cared about.

He continues, voice hoarse. “I would do anything to make this different. Better. The way you deserve.”

Your breath is shallow, not quite catching, but hovering just short of where it should be, as if your body can’t decide whether to brace itself for collapse.

You’ve spent so long breaking for him, wanting him in ways he never seemed to want you back. But now he is pouring his heart out and asking for something he already has but isn’t sure he is worthy of.

“You don’t gotta say anythin’ right now, doll,” Bucky whispers. Afraid of scaring you off. “I know I shoulda told you sooner.” He grimaces, disgusted with himself. “I shoulda known sooner. I was so fuckin’ stupid. So fuckin’ blind.”

You don’t even notice you started leaning further into him.

Bucky stares at you for a moment. You look back.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says quietly. Whispers really. He exhales shakily and you feel the breath fan along your cheeks. “But I swear to God, I will.”

You don’t weigh the hurt against the want, don’t let the war in your head talk you out of your next move.

Your hands reach up, curling into the fabric of his shirt and before he can say anything else - before he can tear himself apart further - you kiss him.

And for a split second, Bucky freezes.

Not believing this is happening, not expecting it even after everything he just told you.

But then, he exhales this soft and quivering breath against your lips, relief knocking the air out of his lungs.

One hand flies to your waist, pulling you in, the other threading into your hair. He kisses you back like he is starving, like he has been dying for this, like he can’t believe you are real and this moment is something he’s imagined a thousand times but never thought he’d get to have.

And he is so warm. So solid. His lips move against yours, soft and slow at first - savoring you, afraid to go too fast, to push too much. But when you let out a little sigh and your fingers tighten, Bucky melts, pressing in closer, enveloping you in his arms in a way that has you feeling he tries to make sure you never go anywhere else again.

He breathes you in like you are something holy, tilting your head and deepening the kiss. He is not forceful. He takes what he can get and he cherishes it. Like he said, he wants to take his time with you. It makes you fall in love with him even more.

It’s like he can’t believe you are even letting him have this. But he kisses you with a hope and a determination that this will not be the only time he gets to have this.

And when you pull back again, he rests his forehead against yours once more. You feel the way his chest rises and falls against your own, the way his breath shakes, the way his grip does not loosen at all.

“Jesus, doll,” he rasps, panting. “You tryna kill me?”

And the way he says it, the way he looks at you, so full of longing and desire and relief makes you realize that maybe he’s been suffering just as much as you have.

“I want you. It’s as simple as that. I’ve spent a great deal too much of my life already trying to convince myself that I can make do with less but I can’t. You hear me? I’m done. I’m not giving up. A life without you is not enough.”

- Beau Taplin

[thedragonofbadasstemple]

I don't normally comment on posts like this, but obsessed with the take as well that the point of this is to "cheer for them". The project is collecting testimonies from people who were involved with the MAGA movement, explaining why they fell into it, and why they left. We NEED stories like this to understand others and their viewpoints. We can't change people's minds, much less help them, if we can't understand why they think they way they do, or why the made the decisions that they did. Not everyone who voted for Trump did so for the same reason. Not everyone who wears a MAGA hat wears it for the same reason. A personal example, my father and my sibling both voted for Trump. My father blindsided me by this. He didn't vote for him the first two times, but did this time. With a sigh he explained his reason as "I watched the debates. He had a plan for the economy. Kamala didn't." He's a disabled vet. He works two jobs and my mom brings in more money than him. He's sick. He's a wounded dog that reached out for a shred of hope where he saw it. I know its misguided. I know that he made a lot of mistakes in life that led to where he is now, and that the economy is not to blame for his current predicament, but he can't see that. He has an entire lived experience different than mine that led up to this. My sibling is bisexual and transgender. He is 1.75 years younger than me. He is autistic and very mentally ill. He has never moved out from our parent's house, despite having thousands of dollars saved. He enjoys Warhammer 40k. He is a MAGA cultist. This is a change that happened out of nowhere for me. He blindsided me three years ago when we were hanging out on Christmas Eve and he wanted to show me Ben Shapiro stuff. I was surprised. I asked how could he watch that kind of stuff when he was queer and trans. He just responded "why are you bringing identity politics into this?" Its only gotten worse from there. Despite being trans himself, and despite me being his biggest ally and supporter for coming out to our parents, he misgenders me and says that he "doesn't believe in non-binary". He gets mad when I shit talk Trump and Elon. He is someone who doesn't always have a grip on reality, treats everything as a personal attack against him, and has little self-confidence. He has always been someone easily persuaded by others. Hes always had a nasty selfish streak. it makes absolute sense to me that he would end up falling into a hateful cult that would make him feel better than other people. If you have a loved one in the MAGA cult, you need to understand how they got to that point if you want to help them and get them out. If you want to be politically active and engage with other people of opposing viewpoints, then you need to know what those viewpoints are and why they hold those views in order to debate them. If you don't care, then you don't care. Not your circus, not your monkeys. But this information is valuable, even if its not relevant to you. No one is asking you to bend over backgrounds and congratulate anyone. This is just information for those who would seek it. That's all.

This is an interesting thing. Looks like testimonies of people who left the MAGA movement- how they got into it and why.

Leaving a cult is really hard, so I really respect the people who are speaking from this place.

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

chasing city lights

chapter 20 - sweet time erasing you

synopsis: you move to new york to start fresh, hoping to find comfort in the city’s atmosphere. that’s when you meet sarah cameron, where she takes you to a concert and you catch sight of the lead band member, rafe cameron. it only takes a moment for you to realize you’re captivated by him. as sarah helps you navigate your new life in the city, you start to get pulled deeper into rafe's world—the music, the fame, the chaos. the more you get to know him, the more you realise that rafe is not just the rock star he seems to be. he’s wrestling with his own demons, and the last thing he needs is someone like you getting close.

masterlist

cw: language, angst, i recommend listening to sad beautiful tragic while reading this...

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the girls all arrived to your place as fast as they could, finding you in a state.

"oh my god" kie said, taking you in. all the girls did nothing but hold you as you fell to the floor, heartbreaking sobs escaping you.

sarah pulled you into her arms as you completely broke down. kie and cleo followed, wrapping themselves around you like they could physically hold you together while your entire world was shattering.

“it’s okay,” sarah whispered, even though it wasn’t. “we’re here. we’ve got you.”

but nothing felt okay. nothing felt real.

your chest ached like someone had physically torn it open, leaving you raw and exposed. sobs racked your body, each one more painful than the last, and no matter how tightly the girls held you, it didn’t stop the emptiness from swallowing you whole.

“i—” you tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat, another choked cry escaping instead.

“i know, y/n,” kie murmured, rubbing your back in slow, soothing circles. “i know.”

but she didn’t. none of them did.

“i can’t-” shaking your head. “i can’t do this. it hurts. it hurts so much.”

sarah tightened her hold on you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “i know, honey. i know it does.”

this wasn’t just heartbreak, this was losing him, losing everything.

"i don't know what to do." you cried.

"there's nothing you can do." cleo said, wiping your tears.

"i have no right to be upset, i broke up with him." you mumbled.

"you have every right to be upset." kie started, "this is raw, this is painful. you're going through heartbreak. allow yourself to feel this."

you swallowed hard, your breath still coming out in uneven gasps. "but what if he never loved me?" the words felt like glass in your throat, cutting you open on the way out.

sarah pulled back just enough to look at you, her brows furrowed, eyes filled with something close to anger. "don’t do that to yourself, y/n. you know he loved you."

"did he?" you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. "because it sure as hell didn’t take him long to replace me."

kie let out a sharp breath, shaking her head. "that doesn’t mean what you two had wasn’t real. but you were the one who walked away. he was always going to do something reckless after that."

you wiped at your swollen eyes. "well, congrats to him. he fucking won. he destroyed me."

sarah cupped your face, forcing you to look at her. "no. you ended it because you knew you deserved better. and that’s the strongest thing you could have done."

kie squeezed your hand. “ heartbreak is messy. it doesn’t make sense. it tricks you into thinking you need someone who hurt you. but you don’t, y/n. you don’t need him.”

but you did. at least, that’s what it felt like.

rafe had been your everything. your home in a new city, your comfort, your person.

and now?

now, he was just someone kissing another girl on your phone screen.

fresh tears welled up in your eyes as you pulled away, wrapping your arms around yourself like you could physically hold in all the pain. “i hate him,” you whispered, but the words felt hollow, not believing yourself.

because no matter how much you wanted to, you didn’t hate him. you hated how easily he seemed to let go. you hated that he got to be the one moving on while you were stuck here, picking up the pieces of something that had already shattered.

sarah sighed, running a hand through her hair. “you don’t have to be okay right now. but one day, you will be. and when that day comes, you’re gonna realise that you deserve so much more."

maybe one day, you’d believe that, but not today. not yet.

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a/n: i am very sorry about this one

taglist: @hoefordrewstarkey @marleymarleymarleymarley @bee-43 @cherryhoneybabe @skye-44 @drewrry @drewrry  @yesterdaysproblemm @dylsdaily @rafeysworldim19 @valyrianflower @kaiparkerwifes@judesgfirl@4urvalidation@chillgal135 @drewstarkeyslover@yesshewrites1@amterasuu@babykhloutofthisworld@blushmimi  @moonywhisp3rs @rafeysworldim19 @marleymarleymarleymarley@sabrina-carpenter-stan-account@vcnillafairy@bambii1i @sammyrenae68 @kittenjujusblog @bambii1i @thesunflowersociety @wtfdudesblog @voidangxls @jjmaybankmylovee @munsoncultedits @emmiesummers @darlingstarkey @sassyvillaintrophy  @pogueprincesa @stylestarkey @sodapopwaldorf

[kissylec]

TO THE PLACES WE'VE BEEN AND THE NIGHTS WE'VE HAD.

directed by love you goodbye...

pairing . . . rafe cameon x pogue!reader in which . . . the bonfire always has surprises, but you never thought that one of those surprises would be ending up in tannyhill with the kook prince warning .ᐟ . . . (18+) smut, alcohol consumption, curse words, enemies to lovers, tension, dirty talk, praise kink, making out, oral (f), unprotected sex (wrap it up), p in v, first time writing smut and english is not my first language, so please, bear with me w count . . . 1.5k (NO PROOFREAD) kissylec says . . . write this in 3 days and i dont really know if i like it or not. my frist time writing smut! im tweaking! thanks to @rafesheaven for the tips you gave me, i hope this is okay i love u. and thanks to @rafeysbabydoll for the idea of this first extra! i also love u. hope you guys like this 😭

masterlist .ᐟ 𝜗𝜚 navigation .ᐟ

YOU WERE DOING THIS FOR JJ, and you repeated that to yourself over and over again. the bonfire was the last thing on your mind after the day you'd had, having to put on makeup and get dressed made your head hurt and your feet felt tired just walking to the vanity. but everything went to shit in a short time, which you expected, but at least you had that slight glimmer of hope that it won't happen.

it all started when topper – because of course it was topper – started bothering sarah. your and your friends' irritation was instantly aired, creating a tense atmosphere that was not lost on anyone. and between john b complaining, jj trying to fight, and kiara trying to calm down everyone who came near, you couldn't take it anymore.

the overstimulation ate away at you to the point that you left without warning, a habit that was ingrained in you. the sound of voices grew farther away with each step you took, and the cold and salty breeze became more and more present. that's when you thought about the beach, and that maybe it would be a good idea to stop by there.

the sand on your feet felt colder than usual and the wind was a caress on your exposed skin. you took long, deep breaths, making circles in the palm of your left hand as you tried to maintain a calm that you were afraid would slip away. the sound of the sea was in the background, and a relaxation alien to you had found you. until.

you okay?

the thick, familiar voice startles you, causing you to bring a hand to your chest and open your eyes, your gaze traveling to the direction the voice came from.

rafe cameron.

"you scared the shit outta me," you say, your gaze traveling all over rafe's body. a bottle of alcohol in his hand, his brow furrowed. His curtain bangs were gone, replaced by a neat buzz cut, which made him look more... mature, older.

rafe continues to scowl, looking away from you. "yeah well, it's creepier when a girl stands next to you and closes her eyes and all that shit you were doing just now." his lips take a sip from what appears to be a bottle of whiskey, his eyes fixed on the water.

you just rolled your eyes, mimicking his action of looking away. you never gave rafe much importance, but your annoyance for him was no small thing. he was nothing sacred among pogues, as if his name were a curse. "i may be creepy but you're sad" you started saying. "drinking by yourself on the beach? not really a very fun activity."

rafe takes another long sip from the bottle, his muscles flexing as he raises his arm. “shouldn’t you be there?” he asks, still not looking at you.

rafe knew about you, not much, but he knew enough. he always insisted that you stood out from any friend sarah might have had, you were not overlooked, you always left a mark. you had that something that takes a person a while to figure out. you were different, and it sounds corny and repetitive, but you were, and rafe liked that.

for a split second you considered telling him why you left the bonfire, but you didn't. "i got bored," you said simply, feeling rafe turn his head and his eyes burn into your cheek. "what's your excuse?"

rafe swore his heart stopped for a second when you turned your head to make your first eye contact of the night, his lips felt dry but he didn't have the balls to lick them in front of you.

he just shrugged. "i don't want to be there" he says.

you slowly nod your head, your eyes locked on rafe's blue ones, who didn't seem to want to take his eyes off you. the sound of clothes rustling and him handing you the bottle of whiskey caught your attention, raising your eyebrows.

parting your lips you take the bottle, the contact with rafe’s fingers leaving a rough feeling on your skin. still looking into his eyes, you took an unexpectedly long sip, your throat burning instantly, making you grimace in disgust and drop the bottle. he couldn’t help but laugh.

“what was that?” he asks, following with his gaze as you spit the amber liquid into the sand.

“that shit is disgusting” you say, wiping your chin, which had dropped drops of the drink.

you shake your head, your eyes falling on his face. you allow yourself to analyze the small details, how his eyes close when he smiles, the occasional mark on his skin, his hand wrapped around most of the bottle as soon as you handed it back to him.

rafe parts his lips, you could see his eyes drop to his lap, as if he was hesitant. “i have more bottles in tannyhill, of… other things,” he says, hesitantly. "if you want."

your eyes widened, letting out a laugh you couldn’t control. “are you serious?” you said, your smile taken as mockery by rafe.

rafe frowns, his gaze going to you, making you erase your smile. a tension began to be felt between you two, that tension which anyone who was there could feel, that tension that makes your stomach hurt and your heart race.

"did you really just ask me what you just ask me?" you asked, your eyebrows raising as you looked at him.

“what’s wrong with what i said?” rafe asks, his tone of voice harsher than he intended.

you frown, careful not to fumble with your words. “no, absolutely not.”

“why not?"

“because it’s you,” you simply reply, looking at him. “and i would never do anything with you.”

your words seemed to trigger something in rafe, who raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, as if he were studying you. you felt your pulse quicken, his jaw suddenly looked attractive, and his challenging eyes made your lower stomach feel warm.

"never, huh?"

those were the last words you could remember coming out of his mouth, because all you were focused right now, was him. on his tongue expertly moving between your wet folds, on how he flicked it against your clit. his fingers gripped your thighs to keep you from moving, the pressure was so strong that you knew there would be marks, but you didn't care.

you had tears starting to form at the corners of your eyes, your o-shaped lips letting out moan after moan, babbling every now and then as you felt his tongue fucking you as if it were the only thing he was useful for.

"prettiest cunt" he grunts against your center, placing open-mouthed kisses over your clit.

"fuck–rafe" was the only thing that could come out of your mouth.

you start to rub your pussy against him when you feel close, that delicious pressure in your pelvis growing as does the burning in your clit, your moans turning into soft cries, desperate to cum, and rafe notices it, but that wasn't going to happen.

his mouth leaving you, automatically going to the level of your face. his lips, chin and nose glistening with your arousal, his pupils dilated with pleasure, his breathing accelerated, all so sexy that you could have cum just from him.

before you could even protest he crashed your lips against his, moaning as you tasted yourself. your tongues danced deliciously, making everything more disgusting.

"wan' you to cum on my cock" rafe manages to say between kisses, and you never wondered when he took off his pants, but he did. "you're capable of doing that? huh?"

he wrapped his hand around his heavy cock, pumping it slowly, guiding his tip to your puffy and achy clit, teasing it, coating his length with your slick. "fuck–could you be any more fucking wet?"

the tip traveled to your center, gasping as it entered inch by inch to the brim, forcing you to take him all. your eyes rolled back in your head, feeling his cock caress your insides. you could swear you felt him kiss your cervix.

"so tight, all f'me, isn't that right?" rafe purrs against your ear, his hips moving almost instantly after filling you.

your brain blanked out, letting him handle you as he pleased, your legs on his shoulders as his pace quickened. “rafe,” you stammered, your eyes squeezing shut.

"grippin' me so tight, you gonna cum?" rafe murmurs condescendingly. "this sweet pussy gonna cum? huh?"

it was ridiculous, almost pathetic, but his words and the way your sweet spot was hit over and over again had you cumming on his cock, your back arching and a small cry came out. rafe groans, his face hiding in your neck, his cock twitching and painting your insides with his cum.

you felt kisses on your neck, the thrusts fading in rhythm, his hands caressing your sides. your eyes slowly opened, your lips dry as the light from the nightstand made its presence felt beside you.

then, and just then, it clicked.

"we can't do this again" was the first thing that left your lips.

but rafe had already taken you over. and there was no escape from that.

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© KISSYLEC. 2025 — please do not plagiarize, repost, translate or claim any of my work as your own.

[adieutristana]

vanity; jinx x fem! reader

loosely inspired by this fic by @moshuka.

summary; jinx used her looks to flirt her way out of a situation. her girlfriend isn’t happy.

characters included; jinx

tags/warnings; nsfw, porn w (some) plot, sub!jinx, dom!reader, brat!jinx, mirror sex, rough sex, strap-on use, strap-on referred to as a dick/cock, hair pulling, crying, humiliation ig?, slight degradation, use of the word ‘whore’, size queen jinx, squirting

men and minors dni.

at first, you were worried.

jinx tends to get herself into dangerous situations more often than not, way too often for her own good. it's what she's known for, after all. jinx: the mad bomber. the loose cannon. zaun's princess.

but she has a way of getting herself out of those situations. her reflexes are impeccable, her strength nearly inhuman for someone of her stature. it is inhuman, considering the shimmer coursing through her veins. weapons that she's built herself regularly save her in battle, and most of all, she's got a smartass mouth.

one that usually comes in handy, but clearly not this time.

"jinx," you start. your arms are crossed over your chest, one hip popped. you're trembling in frustration- coming apart at the edges. "i heard you were flirting with some guy who cornered you. i'm gonna be graceful and hear you out."

she bristles, and the girl's breath catches.

"what i do depends on if i like what you have to say."

you'd heard from passersby on the streets gossiping about what jinx had done. nothing stays a secret for long in zaun; there's almost always a witness, someone who can't keep their mouth shut. people love to gossip, and with that, they love to twist the truth.

so you're hoping to janna above that what you'd heard was a simple rumor. jinx being cornered by one of smeech's goons. a new one, a guy seemingly too good for the likes of this line of work. apparently not. he'd threatened jinx, gotten close to her, nearly hurt her. but instead of her usual solution of whipping out her gun and pressing the cold barrel to someone's neck as a warning, she'd flirted.

told the guy that he's young, attractive, promising. he's too good for a business like this. if he'd just leave her alone, she'd let him go without any fuss, and there would be no mess to clean up. maybe they'd even cross paths again someday.

"i didn't mean any of it, toots," her hands are raised in a mock-surrender. "he was ugly, honest!"

"i didn't ask if he was ugly," you bite. you're inching closer to her, until your noses are nearly touching. the tone in your voice tells jinx you're not fucking around- yet that makes this all the more exciting for her. "i asked you to tell me what happened."

"i didn't do anything, just flirted a little. no harm done."

"you have a gun. why didn't you use that?" you push.

jinx huffs, rolling her eyes. it only serves to piss you off even more. "i just wanted to switch it up, yanno? try something new. and it worked, didn't it? didn't have to spill any blood or nothin'. no cleanup."

"so what i heard is true?"

"depends what you heard."

"oh, you-"

that's it. you take jinx's wrist, and just about drag her to her cot. she's giggling all the way, that signature shit-eating grin plastered on her face. you wish there was blood to clean up. although you know nothing happened- jinx wouldn't dream of being unfaithful to you, this feels calculated. like she'd done it on purpose, just to get under your skin. she was probably sitting in her hideout, just waiting for someone to start talking.

you want nothing more than to slap that grin off of her, make her grovel and apologize and make it up to you.

but you won't. with a quick motion, jinx is flung onto her cot. she gasps, but doesn’t move from her sitting position, doesn’t stop fucking grinning.

"come oooon! you're always telling me i'm soooo pretty. i’m like a work of art.” she comes to lazily toss around the end of one of her braids, playing with it the same way she’s playing with you. “maybe i just wanted to use that to my advantage.”

gods damn it.

you come to stand closer to jinx, looming over the girl. she’s still sitting on her cot, nice and pretty. she looks so innocent, so sweet, if you didn’t know any better, you’d think she actually was. too bad you do know better. your forefinger and thumb grasp her chin, forcing her to look at you. your thumb lazily traces along her plump bottom lip.

“oh, you’re pretty, alright.” your thumb pushes past her lips, flattening against her tongue. “gorgeous, even. but that doesn’t mean you go around using those looks like a fucking whore.”

jinx would be smiling right now, but her mouth is… occupied, not sucking, not licking at your thumb, but letting you do what you must. you withdraw it as quickly as it was put in, wiping her spit on her bare shoulder.

“you’re all talk,” she gasps. “not gonna do a damn thing about it, are you?”

“do you want me to?”

“sure.”

“do you deserve it?”

“does it matter?”

it’s then that you flip her onto her stomach.

“take those clothes off. get back on the cot- face down, ass up. i’ll be back.”

no time is wasted walking to another platform in her hideout and swiping the shattered mirror from one of her tables, and a strap-on from one of her drawers.

you place the mirror directly in front of jinx’s cot, and to no surprise, jinx is completely bare now. her perfect heart of an ass in the air, pussy nearly glistening in the dim light with her arousal. she’s braced herself on her hands, and she isn’t moving, but you can tell by the way her arousal is already dripping down her inner thighs that she’s eager.

it’s a sight straight out of a porn film. the mad bomber, desperate and wanton. maybe you’ll buy a polaroid camera for next time, really capture the moment.

“ugh, toots, are you just gonna stand there, or are ya gonna fuck me?” she whines, only interrupted by the sound of the harness fastening around your hips.

“you’re not exactly in a place to make demands right now.”

you lean over her, your breasts pushing into the smooth skin of her back and your lips almost touching her ear.

“‘revolver’, if it gets too much.” you whisper.

and with that, the tip pushes past her folds. bright pink and dusted with glitter, about 8.5in and girthy. a large task for a small girl, but jinx insists she can take anything you give her.

“hngh- fuck!” she whines out, already beginning to buckle. you’ve got one hand rested on jinx’s hip, the other trailing down her side- her shoulder, the grooves of her ribs, her tiny waist, until it finds purchase on her other hip and you push into her.

another lewd cry falls from her lips. you’re barely even halfway in, and she’s already panting and moaning so pitifully. maybe another day you would’ve taken pity on jinx, but not after the shit she pulled.

“come on,” you coo. “can’t take it?”

“i didn’t- agh, say that-” she pants. the girl’s form is beginning to tremble, but you don’t waver. you ram the rest of the toy into her hole, which brings a borderline pathetic wail from her. the way her greedy hole is impaled by your cock is a sight you wish you could burn into your mind. if she were on her back, you bet you'd be able to see it from inside her stomach, but that can wait for another time.

“fuck- fuck! too big!”

“too big, huh? should’ve thought about that before you went and threw yourself at some guy.”

you ease the strap out of her, before slamming it back in. positively prying your girlfriend open. you then take one of jinx’s long twin braids in your hands, looping it once around your wrist and yanking. forcing her to look up.

she gasps with the motion, yet somehow, she still has the willpower to defy you. squeezing her eyes shut and grunting. you jerk her braid farther back, jinx hissing at the stinging pain.

“look at yourself.” you demand.

it’s then that you move. a slow pace at first, in, out, in, out. drawing wet squelches from her cunt with every thrust. she’s shaking and thrashing and whining, but you can’t deny the way jinx’s cunt sucks you in, clenches around you. greedy and sopping, as if it was made to take your dick.

“aah, hhhng- oh! oh!”

your pace is quickening, and you can hear the skin of your hips slapping into her ass. jiggling ever so slightly with each movement, but the best thing is the mirror.

there’s multiple images of the scene in the shattered glass. the sight is something right out of a dirty magazine; you pounding jinx’s poor, abused pussy from behind. jinx struggling to support her upper body despite her strength, you tugging at one of her braids and forcing her to look directly at her reflection. small tits bouncing with each thrust, plump lips open and the slightest bit of drool dribbling down her chin.

“do you see it?” you pant, the base of the toy nudging your clit with each thrust. “the- hah, way you look right now? while i’m fuckin’ you?”

“yes,” she breathes out, her voice a high shrill. her strength is starting to fail her, shaking on her arms and eventually dropping down to her elbows to support herself. a smirk tugs at your lips at the sight, seeing jinx being broken down so quickly. she brought this on herself, really.

"f-fuck, you look a mess," snapping your hips against jinx's, pathetic whimpers and whines falling from parted lips like a stream. "feels good, huh?"

"feels- hmmph, so good!" she groans. her body is being forced forward and back ever so slightly with each motion, and to see herself being fucked in real time is both thrilling and downright humiliating. jinx never knew this is what she looked like, so wrecked and sloppy, but she can't be bothered to care right now. all she can care about is you fucking into her relentlessly.

arousal dripping down her inner thighs, a stinging sensation in her scalp while you hold onto her hair. she knew you'd get jealous if she flirted- expected a thorough spanking, maybe, or for you to sit on her face and use her mouth until you were satisfied. never did jinx think you'd force her into a front-row seat to her own punishment.

“you’re not gonna do that again- mm,” you groan, base rubbing against you so right. “are you? hngg- tell me you won’t.”

“i won’t, i won’t! unghh, i’m sorry!”

she nearly screams out. the pleasure is mounting, it’s painful, she’s being stretched open and almost split down the middle. but it’s so fucking delicious, the feeling of you fucking her so thoroughly. so deeply. tears are beginning to well in her eyes, her mascara already running down her cheeks. it’s filthy. the tip of the plastic dick kisses her cervix with each thrust, coated in sleek juices.

"oh- oh, please," she breathes out. her bangs are sticking to the thin sheen on her forehead, her breaths coming out in ragged gasps. "pleasepleaseplease-"

there it is. jinx is close, that much is obvious from her flushed expression, her straining against your grip, trying to push her hips back onto your cock like some needy slut. your own climax is building, but you want- need to see jinx get there first.

you reach underneath her with your free hand and press against her neglected clit, which draws a high-pitched squeal from jinx. you revel in the sound. right now, it’s as if jinx is an instrument, fine-tuned for your playing. making these beautiful, obscene sounds.

you can see hot tears running down her face in the mirror, lips parted and the pale expanse of her neck bared. her lipstick is smeared from the dribble running down her chin, and thin black streaks run down her cheeks.

“i’m- i’m gonna-!”

the girl doesn’t have time to finish her sentence before she squirts over your hand and the cot beneath her- coating you in light pink. she’s boneless, panting beneath you, collapsing as soon as you pull out of her and release her braid. she can’t muster up any words, she’s spent- laid on her stomach, sniffling and simply trying to breathe.

maybe next time, she won’t be so fucking vain.

[themineknight]

My mother was a woman who would, when asked, sit you down to explain a concept you didn't understand, in ways she hoped you would understand. And even though she worked a full-time job while my dad was abroad for several years for work, when she got home, she was a beacon of warmth, and comfort, and understanding. My father was not. When he came home, he was overwhelmed. Burned out. Angry. I know now that none of it was ever malicious, but even so: My dad was not the rock in my life he could have been. Whenever any of my siblings, or me, had an issue, we would go to my mom. She would fight tooth and nail for us to be safe, would never condescend our curiosity, never balk at questions, only say that to answer them would take too long... but she'd always get back around to it. When she made a promise, she would keep it, come hell or high water. My dad came around, eventually. He learned how to corral his children, how to play with us, how to help us, support our curiosity, support us when we needed him. He became, at the end of the day, an amazing father, and is to this day one of the only people I would ever trust with my entire being. But even so... my dad is still terrifying. I trust him, and I love him... but despite having come to understand, forgive, and process everything over the years, the scars of being a tiny human too scared to talk to one of her parents may never fully go away. By scaring your children, all you do is create people who will go to great lengths not to be scared anymore. Not to be hurt again. Not to let anyone down again. Not to be different. They will forever carry that fear with them, will forever feel like they have somehow failed to be the best people they could have been... will forever feel like they might somehow, sometimes, or maybe always, be unworthy of truly being loved. Do not scare the tiny humans. Be the people they can rely on to teach them how to navigate the world. Be the people to show them that they can always rely on you if they need someone. Bring them the safety they need, be ready to fight the battles they may not be able to... and they will forever be thankful for having lived a wonderful childhood.

[mariasont]

maria's fic recs

i have realized how most of these are smut & idk what that says about me but alas this are some super super amazing talented people who write crazy cool stories!!!! check them out!!!!! make sure to follow, reblog & comment on these fics if you like them!!! these incredible fic writers deserve it! i will also probably be adding more as i read follow my fic rec page for more @mariasficrecs if anyone mentioned in this post wants to be removed let me know <3

spencer reid

cedar - @parfaitblogs summary: in which compatible bodies does not always mean compatible minds, but spencer reid is all too kind when you're like this, so perhaps you're allowed to forget that for a night. 

this is the fic for the girlies who have loved someone more than they should, more than they loved you back and more than was every healthy. this is the kind of fic that makes you reread certain lines just to punch yourself in the chest a second time. masterpiece in pining, delusion, and tragic devotion. the most gorgeous piece of writing truthfully

in my dream im fixing your crutch - @notlongtolove summary: most nights, spencer wakes to the sound of your sniffles—unlike most nights, he doesn’t have to ask why. the reason is visceral, tangible—staining the sheets when the wound dressing wasn’t tight enough, seeping and pooling right between the both of you where an ocean of your guilt already lies.

this and everythingggg p writes is so incredibly SHATTERING in the best way possible. i truly need everyone to follow rn! and reader everything written by them! but this one specifically wasn't just a fic it was an experience. it's so painful and beautiful and so unfairly written. the duality of intimacy and violence is insaneeeeee like shakespearean level.

into the rose garden; for evermore - @notlongtolove summary: months of hope, weeks of ache. you’ve stayed. you’ve waited. you’ve stayed in the waiting. more pathetic than poetic if you’re being honest. but now, with him standing here with his heart in his hands, it doesn’t feel simple.

might be my favorite fic ive ever read if im being honest. everything about it had me sobbing like a baby. it's not even angst at this point it's a biblical reckoning. p has made heartbreak into a single character, personified pain and i felt every freaking piece of it actually! every single line was freaking perfection & you get to choose your ending!!!!!!! because user notlongtolove is so cool and so creative.

i can do a lot with fifteen minutes - @reidrum summary: in which you and spencer don't make it out the door on date night

i love a sabrina reference (clearly) and this was just the perfect smut fic literally like poetry disguised as desire. i have read a lot of smut (u got me). but nothing compares to a good intimate zipper scene. i will eat it up everytime!!!!!!! and a mirror scene!!!!! double whammy. fantastic 10000/10

hypothalamus - @reidrum summary: in which spencer gets creative on helping you study for your exam

godddddds to have spencer reid talk nerdy to me in bed. so in character. essentially the anatomy lesson of the gods actually. so amazing

sobriquet - @siriuslylantsov summary: spencer reacts to you calling him a nickname for the first time.

so sweet, so fluffy, a love letter to everything good in the world, essentially love seeping into mundane which is my favorite genre!!!! waking up with spencer!! being in love!! angel!!!! i love spencer calling the reader angel girl!!!!! <3

sweeter - @siriuslylantsov summary: in which, you and spencer try out foodplay, through use of whipped cream.

whipped cream!!!!!!!!! i dont have many words other than that! must read

white noise - @brattyspence summary: spencer x reader -- a situationship defined by white noise; a metaphor for how we pacify ourselves and make stupid decisions to experience comfort, even when it hurts

visceral, soul-shattering, gut wrenching agony. that's about it. slow burn destruction that will have you crying. no doubt. this fic literally lulls you into a false sense of security and then u realize that spencer is white noise and that you'd rather have whatever this is than nothing at all. LOL! definitely did not almost kill me while reading. most accurate portrayal of a situationship

chateau lobby #4 - @burymagdalene summary: Whilst trying to navigate romantic relationships after prison, Spencer finds himself in love and caught in an all-too-serious non-relationship with reader. Wanting to break this streak, he asks to spend Valentine's Day properly with a real date. Afterward, they find themselves desperate with trying to express their love for each other.

so as you might be able to tell i have a pattern of reading situationship spence! call me a masochist! but this one had a happy ending okay!!!!!!!! and a reference to father john misty? yes. immediately. i also just love post prison reid because he's so complicated and different but still him and he doesnt think he deserves soft things and soft love and it's so devastating. reading the date literally felt like falling in love in real time. so good.

a closed mouth doesn't get fed - @burymagdalene summary: When reader notices Spencers dark circles and glossy eyes, they store away their pressing need for him in bed. This desire locked away forms into a wet dream that escalates their prior expectations substantially.

one of the best portrayals of sleep-deprived, love-drunk, desperate sex. that's it. that's the tweet. also when he switches the reader's straw like why was that so sweet to me im crying

xoxo - @pathologicalreid summary: in which your daughter goes to the BAU to hand out her extra Valentines

peak domesticity. i love girl dad spence so much it's not even funny. it's everything he deserves. like i can only hope in some alternate au this is the ending reid got <3

to talk is to bare - @esote-rika summary: three times you've never felt enough for Spencer Reid—and the three times he rectified it immediately

one of the most painfully real depiction of navigating self worth in a relationship with spencer. like exactly what i feel like it would be like to be with someone so brilliant and like so unattainable-seeming, while feeling ordinary and yet spencer makes the reader feel so special ugh

in infinite universes - @nereidprinc3ss summary: in which spencer reid picks up uni!reader from a party. you're drunk, and he's in love with you

there is not a single thing (cannot emphasize this enough) that i won't read from nereidprinc3ss okay? everything she writes is actually literary gold. but this one was so beautiful it almost hurts to reid because it's literally a love letter to inevitability!!!!! and the dialogue is so funny and flirty and so spencer and ugh it's so raw and real.

spencer reid & aaron hotchner

unknown territory - @minswriting Spencer walks in on Aaron going down on you. So he watches the two of you have sex.

had to take multiple breathers after reading this! everyone knows i love hotch and reid and even more so i loveeeee a why choose. also everything min writes is so hot, 10/10 recommend checking out her account. "reid, if you're going to stand there and watch, you can at least come in and close the door" hello????????? immediately yes.

aaron hotchner

crazy - @kimstills summary: after one heated and spontaneous night together, aaron can’t seem to get his pretty subordinate (or her pussy) out of his head.

i did in fact read this bad boy like three times because it's that good. it perfectly mirrors hotch's mental state which i love love love. and i just love a smutty fic that has the best escalation of tension, like it builds until hotch physically cannot take it anymore and shewwwww so hot. exactly what i want in a hotch smut fic

savor - @kimstills summary: after being compromised to working a case the next day, aaron decides on savoring your current moment together for when he’s gone.

maddie is just always going to make the hottest aaron hotchner smut. the fact that this idea comes to aaron mid fuck is wild and i love it LOL.

morphine - @luveline summary: you get a good dose, confess your affections, and leave poor, oblivious hotch to fix things up neatly. 

so if you follow my fic rec blog you know i literally reblog absolutely everything jade writes because it is just that fantastic. and this one is just soooo tender and so perfectly in character with hotch. if you are looking for truly amazing characterizations of hotch and reid !!!!! right here besties !!!!

filthy flat-pack thoughts - @alinathinkstoomuch summary: you had taken the day off to get yourself settled into your new apartment, not expecting hotch to show up at your door and offer a hand.

hey so firstly im just obsessed with the title, idk why it scratches something in my brain. and i feel like this fic should be illegal because it's not just smut-adjacent, it's foreplay with no touching, sexual frustration in furniture assembly and poor decisions lolol and again everyone who knows me knows i eat upppppp sexual tension and this fic was just that. there is literally no kisses no sex nothing and it's still one of the hottest fics i've ever read (there is also a smutty part two so go check that out as well)

can't lose when i'm with you - @aureatelys summary: You work as a beverage cart girl at your local country club and your dad ropes you in to make him look good during a business meeting with his new best friend.

dbf hotch is my weakness. the slow burn!!!!!! possessive hotch!!! daddy hotch!!!! this is the gold standard for dbf hotch truly. felt like i needed a cigarette after and i don't even smoke

red light kiss - @aureatelys summary: You haven't had sex in a week, you're stuck in the car with your new boyfriend/boss, and he's wearing that damn Kevlar vest. How could you resist?

hey yeah so i was positively feral after reading this actually. that damn kevlar vest is right. idk how you managed to make a blowjob in a government vehicle feel romantic but you did so bravo

tyrant - @solardrop summary: Hotch lets you take some anger out on him after he disrespects you on a case.

my favorite genre !!!!!!! making hotch shut up by sitting on his face! mhm mhm mhm. absolutely amazing use of free will was you writing this because i've read it at least 5 times minimum. i was forever changed after this

salt & pepper - @dudeitiskarev summary: dad bod and insecure Hotch. That’s it.

everything cat writes is just so crazy good but everyone knows i have such a weakness for dad bod hotch & this is the absolute perfect fic for it.

we can't be friends (wait for your love) - @cerisereids summary: down on your luck after a huge betrayal, you return to live at your father's house with your tail between your legs. you're humiliated, thoroughly convinced nothing good could come from returning home. then you meet aaron hotchner.

there are three parts to this masterpiece and i need everyone to read them all okay? because it's just so good. hotch flustered is my roman empire and grrrrrr this man was literally on his knees for the reader internally through out the whole thing & once again dbf!hotch!!!!! arghhh obsessed

[munsonsmixtapes]

I Never Got to Say Goodbye

ex boyfriend!eddie x reader

You see Eddie over a year after your break up and you both realize that you never stopped loving each other

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex, hurt/comfort, angst, a guy gets handsy with reader

You sit at your vanity in your room, dreading to get ready. You don’t even want to go out, but you feel like you have no choice. Your friends are trying to get you to meet someone new but how can you when you’re still not over your ex? 

You’re not even sure why you broke up anymore and you’re wondering if he feels the same. If he lies awake playing your breakup over and over, wishing that you would have just stayed together. But you suppose it was just a “right person, wrong time” sort of thing, that it was more the situation than anything that led to your relationship ending. 

You put on your makeup and get dressed as you put on the mixtape that one of your roommates had made for you. You’re dancing around as get ready, loving every song that’s been put onto it. She knows you so well, knows exactly what you like. But then you freeze when the familiar guitar riff floats through your ears. 

“I can’t dance,” you tell Eddie as he guides you around your living room. He’s trying and failing to teach you how to dance but he’s just so determined to show you how. 

“Sure you can,” he says, turning up the volume of the stereo before taking your hands in his. He steps forward and you step back as he guides you through the moves, being so gentle with you like always. “Eyes on me, okay?” 

You nod and keep your eyes on his pretty brown ones as he slowly shows you the steps. You’re not even sure how he learned this but you love seeing the fluid steps and wonder how he does it so well. There’s just so much about him that you want to know and you hope you’re together long enough to find out every single thing about him.

A knock at the door pulls you out of your flashback and you’re quick to turn off the music before hurrying to answer it. Janet is on the other side, a bright smile plastered on her face like always. You know she’s waiting on your to finish so you all can leave and you’re actually kind of pissed at her for not at least letting you finish your flashback. 

You’ve been having a lot of those lately. It’s like your brain is trying to torture you with all of the memories because it knows just how much you’ve been missing Eddie. You miss him so much that it actually hurts. It’s to the point where it’s gotten so painful to think about but you don’t want the memories to stop.

You grab your purse and follow Janet and the other girls out the door. Luckily, the club is just down the street so you don’t have to hail a cab to get there. They’re all talking about finding someone to hook up with but of course, all you’re thinking about is your ex and how much he would have hated a place like this.

Being in that close proximity to strangers-drunk strangers at that-was his worst nightmare and the loud music was so overstimulating which you totally understood. It was something that he would always push through for you because of how much you loved it and now you know you’re going to miss having him by your side, whispering silly things into your ear and staring down any man who even looked at you. 

As the four of you get in line, Violet slips some condoms into your purse that you’re sure you’re not even going to need but you let her anyway. It’s easier not to put up a fight, especially when they’re all just trying to help. 

The club is newer and allegedly very hard to get into and as you look up at the name, you notice that it sounds very familiar, something you’ve heard a billion times but you’re sure that it’s not actually what you’re thinking of. 

“Ed’s?” You ask with a laugh. “That’s the name of a bar, Eddie, not a club. And why do you want to own a club anyway? That’s not exactly your scene.” 

“For you,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world before pressing a kiss to your lips. “I want you to have a place you can call your own, where you can make the decisions. You always complain about the music and the prices and now you’d be able to have whatever you want.” 

“You’re doing this for me?” You feel tears welling up in your eyes at the gesture, wondering how you got so lucky to have someone who cares that much about you. That pays that much attention and is willing to drop a bunch of money just so you could be happy. 

“I’d do anything for you, you know that,” he winks and your heart flutters. 

“Ed’s,” you nod, having a newfound love for the name. “I like it.” You lay your head on Eddie’s chest while he runs his fingers through your hair, your favorite lullaby. 

“I thought you might.” 

You’re thrown back into real life to the bouncer outside the club asking for your ID. When did you get to the front of the line? Did you really zone out of that long? 

You shake the thought away and pull your wallet out of your purse, retrieving your ID and handing it to him. Once he sees that you’re of age, he hands it back and you head inside. As you walk through the doors and take in everything, you still think about how familiar everything looks, almost as if you’ve seen it before. But it can’t be what you think it is…can it?

Your friends have separated from you yet again so you head to the bar for a much needed drink. As soon as you sit at the bar, you look around and see just how busy it is. The bartenders are working hard to stay on top of their orders and as much as you really want a drink, you’re willing to wait as long as you need to. 

You pick up the menu and look at the drinks, the deja vu coming over you again as the names all sound familiar. They’re based on metal songs, songs that you’ve heard so many times you could sing them from memory. 

They would all play so loudly in Eddie’s car as you’d drive around town, screaming the lyrics as loud as you could through giggles because you were just so happy to be around each other. 

You haven’t even been able to listen to any of them since the breakup because it just hurts too much. At first, you were only listening to them because of Eddie, but over time, you really grew to appreciate the genre and even started listening to them on your own. 

Eventually, one of the bartenders comes over to take your order and your mouth falls open as you make eye contact with him. You definitely must be hallucinating because he looks so much like Eddie. As you stare at him, taking in his features, his longer hair, his beard, and nose ring, his own eyes widen which causes you to believe that he is in fact real. 

The last you heard, he was in Chicago. What was he doing back in New York? And why hadn’t he told you? Oh, that’s right. He probably doesn’t have your number anymore and considering that you haven’t kept in contact, you don’t really deserve to know what’s going on in his life anymore. 

And that just kills you. You wonder how much about him has changed besides his appearance. He obviously still opened the club even though you aren’t together anymore. And it seems to be doing really well so you can’t help but feel your heart swell with pride. He got everything he ever wanted. And the stab to the chest is that he didn’t even need your help to do it. 

“What can I get for you?” He asks and now you don’t even want a drink. You want him to sit next to you while you tell each other everything that’s happened over the past year. You want to tell him just how much you fucking miss him. 

“Rum and Coke,” you reply and he smiles, loving to see that you’re still ordering the same drink. 

“You got it,” he nods and moves around the bar, fixing the drink. You watch him, staring at his back, wishing you could hug him from behind like you always used to do. He’d just laugh and turn around , wrapping his arms around you and giving you a squeeze. You miss everything about him, but you’re pretty sure you miss his hugs the most. They were always so tight and long, his favorite way to show you just how much he loved you. 

Loved. As in, past tense. You never stopped loving him but you’re not sure if he still loves you. Considering how he’s been treating you like every other customer, you don’t think he does. You almost want to just get up and leave but he sets your drink on the bar in front of you. 

“One rum and coke,” he says, wiping his hands off on a towel and you can’t even look him in the eye. It’s just too painful. 

Eddie can’t fucking believe that you’re here. He hasn’t stopped thinking about you since you broke up, well, more specifically, that day and how much he regrets the whole thing. It still plays in his head on a loop, torturing him. What he would give to go back in time and beg you to stay.

“So what are you saying?” He asks, crossing his arms over his chest. Surely you’re not suggesting what he thinks you are. No way are you breaking up with him. You just can’t be. You’ve been through far too much to just give up on each other.

“I’m saying that what’s the point of even being together if we can’t be together? We’re both always busy and we see each other once every few weeks. That’s not a relationship Eddie.” He knows your right, but he’s sure that you just need to push through and you’ll get through it just like the two of you have every time you’ve had something you needed to work through.

“So you want to break up?” He almost looks like he’s going to cry and you just can’t bear to look at him if he does. You don’t need this to be any harder than it already is.

“I didn’t say that…but I don’t see any other choice.” You’re both crying now and the whole thing is just pitiful, the two of you looking at each other with tears streaming down your faces, having a conversation you never thought you would. 

“No. No, we can make this work.” He’s taking your hands in his and as much as you love that he’s fighting for you, you know you just can’t keep going like this.

“How?” You ask and he reaches up and wipes your tears, resting his hands on your cheeks. This is one thing he just can’t fix and that breaks you.

“I don’t know. I guess maybe it’s for the best,” he shrugs, finally seeing it from your perspective. He feels like his heart is being ripped out of his chest and he’s not entirely sure what he should do about it. You’re always there to fix things for him and the one time he really needs you, you’re not going to be there.

“I guess so,” you sniff, the two of you now breaking into sobs, knowing that things between the two of you will never be the same. 

You moved your stuff out of his apartment that week and you both cried the whole time, the pain all consuming as he helped you pack up your stuff, being his sweet self which just added salt to the wound. You broke up with him and he still helped you move your stuff, being nothing but a gentleman about the whole thing. 

He didn’t even beg you to stay or anything like you thought he would. He just silently helped you pack stuff into boxes then put it all in the truck you rented. All he did was cry, not even uttering a single word to you as he did so. 

He hasn’t seen you since that day and he has no idea how you got even more beautiful since then. You’re wearing a pretty silver dress and the biggest standout is that you’ve cut your hair. The short style looks good on you, but Eddie thinks that everything looks good on you. 

He doesn’t know how he ever let you slip through his fingers, who he let you move your stuff out of his apartment, why he even went as far as helping you pack everything up. It was the hardest thing he ever had to do but he felt like it was the right thing for both of you. 

But now that you’re here tonight, he’s wondering if it’s fate giving him a second chance. God, if he’s offered one, he’s going to take it. Just thinking about it, he feels the weight on his chest lifting, like everything finally makes sense again. 

You’re sipping on your drink so elegantly, giggling with a man who’s now occupying the stool to the left of you. You seem to be having a good time and now you’re holding Eddie’s heart in your hand, squeezing it as you continue to giggle with the man and he can feel it, his chest aching as he watches you slip through his fingers once again. 

But as he’s turning his back to help the other customers, he sees the man’s hand sliding up your thigh and something about watching this happen is making his skin crawl. Just thinking about this guy touching you like that makes him want to break every single one of his fingers, especially because of how uncomfortable you look. 

You’re trying to scoot away but don’t have the strength, the guy grabbing hold of your arm and holding you there so you’re unable to move. Even from your profile, he can see the fear in your eyes as you try to push him off. 

 Eddie’s had enough of this and rounds the bar, grabbing hold of the guy and pulling him off the stool. As soon as he looks the guy in the eyes, seeing that he’s not even phased tells Eddie that he does this a lot and that doesn’t sit right with him. He’s seen red now as he holds the guy by his shirt and he knows he really shouldn’t but before he can stop himself, he raises his fist and punches him square in the face before letting security take care of him. 

He shakes his fist afterwards because of the tingly feeling just as you’re throwing yourself into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck as you bury your face into it. He doesn’t exactly know what’s going on, pretty sure that you’re trying to thank him, but he doesn’t need it. He did it because it was the right thing and honestly would have done it for anyone. 

You pull away and Eddie feels every part of him ache when he sees that you’re crying. He notices your face change, your eyes widen as you slip your arms from him, almost as if you think that you’ve made a mistake.  

“I’m sorry,” you tell him as you step away, quickly adjusting your dress before wiping your tears from your cheeks. There was a time where that was Eddie’s job but being chronically single since the breakup, you’ve learned to do it for yourself again 

“For what?” He asks, tilting his head to the side as he slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans to prevent from reaching out for you. 

“For hugging you,” you reply as if it’s obvious, but clearly it’s not since he’s still looking at you like a confused puppy. Has he always been this adorable? 

“Baby-” he cuts himself off, the nickname coming so naturally like it hasn't been months since he’s called you that. “You can hug me anytime you want. Especially after that.” 

“Sorry,” you shake your head. “This is just weird for me, I guess. I-I wasn’t expecting to see you here and I guess old feelings are just flooding back.” You’re chuckling awkwardly like you shouldn’t be saying it, but it’s honestly music to Eddie's ears.

Eddie’s brain short circuits as you finish speaking. Old feelings? So you don’t still love him. You don’t feel the same way as he does and that absolutely kills him. This whole thing has just become torture but he can’t get himself to walk away because he’s still wrapped around your goddamn finger. Some things just never change. 

“Well, I um-” you cut yourself off, now feeling flustered. “I should get back to my friends,” you jerk your thumb over your shoulder and Eddie couldn’t be more disappointed. He really wishes he had more time with you, realizing just how much he missed you now that you’re leaving again. If he doesn’t say something now, he’s going to be kicking himself for the rest of his life. 

“Wait,” he calls after you and you turn around, clearly caught off guard by him still having something to say. “I get off in about an hour. Do you want to…go somewhere?” 

“Eddie…” You look hesitant, almost caught off guard and now he’s trying to think of how he can backtrack since he’s clearly made you uncomfortable. 

“I just want to talk.” You think about it and Eddie can practically see the gears turning in your head. You want to, you really do, but there’s so much that you want to say that you probably shouldn’t. 

You want to tell him how much you miss him, how you miss being wrapped up in his arms, the way he’d squeeze you tight before the two of you fell asleep. You miss the humming that he did or the tv constantly playing on low volume in the background because he hates silence. 

You miss his kisses and even though it’s been over a year since your last one, you still vividly remember what his lips felt like. They were almost always chapped and he often tasted like the mint gum he chewed to cover up the tobacco for you. 

“Okay, yeah,” you nod, craving to be in his presence so badly. Being here with him now, all of that anxiety and dread you’ve been carrying around with you is gone, replaced with warmth that’s spreading throughout your body, the calm that always coursed through you when you were around him. For the first time in so long, you finally feel like you’re home. 

-

Eddie’s feeling clammy as he stands outside the club. He’s smoking a cigarette to help ease his anxiety but it’s not working. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous to talk to you. Maybe because there’s so much uncertainty. There’s so much he wants to say and he’s unsure how you’re going to take it all. He wants to tell you just how much he misses you, how much he still loves you. It’s fucking breaking him being apart from you and when you left, he felt like he lost his purpose, his passion for everything gone with you in the moving truck. 

And the thing is, he doesn’t even blame you for leaving because what else were you supposed to do? That’s what happens when people break up. He just wishes he had gotten the chance to say goodbye since you made the decision to leave while he was at work. He got home and all of your stuff was gone, those cute little mugs you had collected over the years gone from the kitchen cabinet, your books that you would read to him every night before bed disappeared from his bookshelf along with everything else that you owned. 

Seeing you tonight made his feelings for you even stronger and now he can’t even fight them off like he usually does. They have to make themselves known, wanting Eddie to not deny them anymore. He guesses he can’t now and he honestly has no idea what he’s going to say to you without looking like a lovesick fool. 

So he just continues to smoke his cigarette until it’s gone, then reaches for his pack to get another one when you exit the club, giggling with your friends before saying goodbye to them and heading over to him. You’ve gotten even more beautiful since he last saw you a couple hours ago and it hurts so bad knowing that he can’t have you. After getting your closure, the two of you will go your separate ways and Eddie will go home to a bottle of tequila and put on the mixtape he made for you while he drinks until he cries himself to sleep. 

He’s pathetic and he knows it. He’s imagining you telling him that you miss him too then sharing a kiss that’s filled with fireworks. He really needs to get a grip and stop wishing for something that will never happen.

“So,” you speak up, standing there awkwardly as you fiddle with the strap of your purse in your hands. “Where are we going?” Eddie completely forgot to come up with a spot and now he’s panicking, saying the first thing that comes to mind. 

“Dina’s,” he says as he takes one last drag of his cigarette before putting it out underneath his boot. Your eyes widen at the name, memories flooding your mind of sitting in your favorite booth, the two of you giggling over pancakes and a milkshake with two straws. 

Eddie suggesting that place is like a stab to the gut, too painful to go there and try to relive the good memories of your failed relationship, but you think that maybe it won’t be too bad. 

“Dina’s, wow, I haven’t been there since-” you cut yourself off, wondering if this is even a good idea, talking things over with your ex, bringing up the past as you both mourn what could have been. You’re just not sure if you should be doing this. Maybe it’s not too late to catch a cab and go home.

“Since our anniversary,” Eddie finishes, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, seeing that you’re not wearing one, your shoulders bare, your arms wrapping tighter around your body to try and warm yourself up but it’s not working. It’s taking everything in him not to give you the jacket right off his back but he knows you won’t take it, too stubborn like always. 

“Right,” you nod, knowing that this will be nothing like that. It will just be an awkward and painful conversation that you really wished you hadn’t agreed to. You have tried so hard not to think about Eddie, pushing out every single thought you’ve had but there is always going to be little pieces of him sprinkled into your life. Whether you like it or not, there’s always going to be something that reminds you of him, taking you back to that painful place where you left him as you moved out that day. 

Eddie leads you to his van and you can’t help but feel like this is a date. You wish it was, though. Maybe you’ll be able to turn everything around and he’ll be your boyfriend again. Or your friend at the very least. 

He opens the passenger door like he always used to and helps you into the van and it’s just like old times. You look around the van as he rounds the hood and it looks exactly the same, the stickers that have been on the dash since you’ve known him are still there, even the ones you gave him. 

They’re curling up at the edges, the adhesive wearing off, but that only means that he’s loved them so much that they’ve been there a while. You run your fingers over them as Eddie gets into the driver’s seat, watching you from where he’s sitting with a smile that’s filled with admiration. 

He starts up the van and catches you singing along to the next song on the tape he’s got in. It’s the last one you made for him that he plays in a loop because apparently he loves to torture himself. It’s got his name written across it in your handwriting with sloppily drawn hearts all over it. 

He can’t keep that stupid smile off of his face and joins you, both of you laughing through your duet as if no time has passed. Things are so different now but one thing you at least know for sure is that Eddie still loves ABBA. 

You sing the rest of the song, your laughter fading away as another one starts and now it’s just awkward silence. Neither of you know what to say even though you unknowingly still love each other. If only the two of you could get over your anxiety and just say it already. 

But you can’t. You won’t. You already hurt him once and you’re not going to do it again. He’s doing so well and you’re not going to stumble into his life and claim your have feelings for him when he’s definitely over you. 

If only you could see how lovesick Eddie still is. If only you could get back all the cobwebs that have gathered in your past and see the future that’s right in front of you. Eddie is still as head over heels for you as he’s always been. He never stopped loving you even when everything went to shit. He’s tried, god, he’s tried. He’s wanted to forget you, but you’re always still there, stuck in his mind forever. 

He pulls up to the restaurant and you’re thrown back in time again, another flashback that you can’t seem to escape as much as you want to. You remember the tender touches of your hands across the table and the loving stares and now you’re just sitting across from each other like two people on a blind date. 

You hate that you still remember your exact orders even though you haven’t even thought about this place since the last time you sat in this very booth. His hand is resting on the table as he looks at the menus and god, you just want to reach for it, to know if they’re as rough as you remember. You hope he still uses that lotion you always used to buy him. 

He’s sitting there, looking so pretty with his hair tucked behind one ear, moving an unlit cigarette between his fingers that’s always been a nervous habit. You hate that he’s nervous but you completely understand why. This is uncharted territory. You’re completely different people now and this whole thing was completely unplanned. 

You mimic him and look at your own menu but you’re not even hungry. You’re actually feeling sick thinking about why you’re actually here. You’re nervous as shit to have this conversation. You just know he’s going to break your heart and you suppose you can’t even be upset with him since you deserve it for leaving him all that time ago without even so much a goodbye. But the thing is, you actually actually left because you were terrified to see the look on his face so you fled to avoid the pain of seeing how heartbroken he was. 

“So,” he says, taking a deep sigh as he sets his menu on the table, looking you in the eyes as he does so. 

“So,” you repeat in the same fashion and furrow your eyebrows when he brings his hands up to cover his face, scrubbing at his eyes. He then slaps his hands onto the table which startles you, looking at you with that fire that you’ve missed the entire night. 

“I’ve gotta be honest,” he says, his gaze still burning into yours. “I’ve missed you. Like, so much that I can’t even stand it.” He knows that it’s rushed and that he probably sounds crazy and eyes widen at his confession, he’s terrified that he’s scaring you away. God, he’s driving you away again, fucking up one more time before you leave his life for good. He just can’t seem to get it right. 

Before he can even finish his speech that he’s been writing in his head for months because in the blink of an eye, you’re sitting right next to him, a goofy but adorable grin on your face. He has no idea what’s going on but he sure as hell isn’t going to deny you being in such close proximity to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he replies, nervous all over again because even though you’re smiling at him, he can’t help but feel iscared that you’re going to slip through his fingers. “I-I don’t know why I said that. I just-”

“Eddie,” you cut him off, your hands cradling his cheeks like they used to and his eyes widen as he stares at you, wondering what you’re going to do next. 

“Yeah?” He asks, his voice small for the first time tonight. 

“Will you please just shut up?” You ask before pressing your lips to his, pouring out all of your repressed emotions for the past year pouring into it and you don’t even care that you’re crying. You just need this and apparently Eddie does too because his arms are wrapped tightly around you, his own tears trailing down his cheeks as he involuntarily whimpers against your lips. 

This is the best way he’s ever been shut up in his life and it’s crazy to him just quickly you’re both able to do this after so long, picking it up like it’s nothing. It gets progressively more hungry and as you’re sticking your tongue into his mouth, you suddenly realize where you are, deciding that you can’t exactly do what you’re doing here. So you stand from the table and offer him your hand which he gladly takes. 

You’re both out the door in a flash and as soon as you’re heading down the alley between the diner and the other building, you’re pulling Eddie into the dark, pressing yourself to the wall as your lips find his again, somehow even more hungry than before. You’re both crying again but you’re too caught up in your need for each other to be embarrassed. 

His hands are sliding up your dress as he kisses down to your, nipping at whatever skin he’s able to get his teeth on as he goes. It starts off as gentle kisses as he murmurs the words “I missed you” against your skin but it gets progressively more intense as he begins to suck on your skin, making your brain feel fuzzy. 

“I missed you too,” you moan as he pushes you gently against the wall. He’s pulling down your thong and you let him despite being so out of practice that you’ve felt so nervous about sleeping with anyone else. Being with Eddie, though, just feels so right. 

You unbutton his jeans and pull them down with his underwear, so caught up in your thoughts that you don’t even notice that he’s slid himself inside you, both of you grunting at the tight fit.  

He’s moving slowly at first but progressively gets faster, missing the feeling of being inside you, missing the way you moan, the way you grab onto him, scratching up any part of him you can get your hands on, missing you. God has he missed you. It feels so right being here with you now.

He’s moving so fast, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pumps and pumps, his lips finding yours again, biting down on your bottom lip as another moan slips past your lips. It’s loud and he’s eating it up, wondering how much more he can get out of you before you’re absolutely spent. 

You’re close already but to see how long you can hold out. You’ve gone so long without him between your legs that it doesn’t take much for you to orgasm, to completely undone as he bottoms out inside you. He’s still going as you whine his name, pumping in and out, in and out until he reaches his own orgasm, moaning so loudly that you’re almost concerned that someone is going to hear him. 

The words “I love you” fall from his lips and you melt when you hear them, so happy that he still feels the same way, that the love you have for each other has never faded. You’re both smiling now as you pull him into another kiss, mumbling the words back to him against his lips. A laugh escapes his lips as he pulls away and he picks you up and spins you around. He’s the happiest he’s been in so long. 

“C’mon, angel,” he says, grabbing hold of your hand and leading you back to his van that’s around the corner. “Let’s go home.”

[nebulations]

[ID: Tags that say: "#svsss#yeah this explains so much#cause i also paused at her introduction and that sex scene like#’something just don’t seem right here…’#but I’m surprised op didn’t bring up the huan hua palace scene#cause sha hualing directly calls qin wanyue out for this#and i remember making a note of that in my first read through#and sha hualing is said to hate her and make her life miserable in both stories". End ID]

[Plain text: Pink and purple font have been made just bold in the following.

"Do you imagine I don't know who you think of, day and night?" the Little Palace Mistress asked caustically. "The reason you endure humiliation and remain by my side, exhaustively thinking and scheming - isn't it all to lay eyes on him again? So why are you retreating now that you finally see him, acting all fragile and pitiful? Why not try to stop me before we got here instead of only attempting to dissuade me now?"

Qin Wanyue followed alongside her, but sometimes she shot tearful glances at Luo Binghe out of the corner of her eye, as if hoping for something.

Sha Hualing swiftly cut her off. "It was entirely your fault! I've heard that saving face is especially important to Human Realm women, but even though you've failed to seduce the lord many times, you shamelessly refuse to leave - so that's all your face amounts to. Moreover, not leaving is one thing, but you can't even keep a proper eye on a single person. You're her shijie, so her cultivation is inferior to yours, yet you didn't stop her, and you even let her throw a tantrum before the lord. Who are you humiliating yourself and acting pitiful for?" Listening to Sha Hualing point out her inadequacies to her face, Qin Wanyue wanted to die of shame and resentment. Even in the original work, Sha Hualing had deeply hated Qin Wanyue and always found fault with her. It seemed that though they hadn't entered the harem together this time, their relationship hadn't improved in the slightest. End PT]

Qin Wanyue: Unsung Villain of Proud Immortal Demon Way

I know, I know, most of you are going, ‘what?’ (and some, perhaps, ‘who?’). Let’s just say that the interplay between several layers of narrative was one of my favorite elements in SVSSS, and I am delighted to share some of my findings! As you may have guessed from my enthusiasm, those are some messed-up findings, so: content warning for discussion of fictional s/exual a/ssault, though nothing that wasn’t described or alluded to in the novel – ie, if you’ve read the entire novel and were fine, nothing in here should extend past your tolerance.

But that’s for the latter half of this meta. First, some context on what I mean by ‘layers of narrative’: SVSSS, belonging as it does to transmigration-into-a-novel subgenre, includes both ‘the original novel’ PIDW’s story and the altered by transmigration story (which I will be referring to as ‘the new story’ going forth, because while the new story kinda is SVSSS itself, it also really isn’t). The situation is further complicated by mentions of ‘the original outline’ version of PIDW, the possibility of characters from ‘the original novel’ crossing into ‘the new story’ and being influenced by it (as per extras), the fact that ‘the new story’ is still a story, and the limitations that imposes on characters and events, and, of course, our primary narrator Shen Yuan|Qingqiu’s unreliability – both regarding the events happening to himself, in the new story, and the events of the original PIDW.

Keeping in mind the interrelations between those layers is an angle that I found very rewarding for analyzing this novel – which leads me to writing this meta about a character who has… two, I think… in-person appearances in all of SVSSS. Qin Wanyue’s lack of page-time – and relevance – in ‘the new story’ makes sense, given the shift in events and narrative roles brought on by Luo Binghe falling for Shen Qingqiu, demoting her from a prominent love interest to background extra. But I believe that we, as readers, were largely misled about her relevance in PIDW’s story – because Shen Yuan, bless his heart, has all the facts but fails to put them together. Not in the ‘oh he is so oblivious’ way, but rather in a combination of ‘effects of toxic masculinity’ way and ‘lack of critical engagement with reading material’ way. Which are two topics that the novel delves into with some regularity, so hey, makes sense! Anyway, time for us to use our critical thinking and excavate the clues MXTX left us.

(cont. under cut)

Keep reading

[yelenasdiary]

Little reader au! Reader is 11 and is being bullied at school because she has two moms. One of the kids calls her mom's a slur and she punches them. The school tries to suspend her and mama bears Nat and Wanda come to the rescue defending reader. Maybe ends with an ice cream reward??

Message Sent

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Daughter! Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Daughter! Reader

Summary: You got in trouble at school for standing up for yourself, 

Angst, Comfort

Warnings: Homophobic slur (Fag), Mentions of homophobia, Mentions of Blood | 1.1K

AC: Thank you for sending this, I hope you enjoy! x

A Widow’s Sunshine Masterlist

The playground was buzzing with chatter, laughter and the occasional shout of excitement as you ran around playing ‘tag your it’ with your friends. You raced around the playground just like your late uncle, Pietro, would’ve, you were always the hardest one for your friends to tag. But the laughter and big smile soon turned to fear as you saw the schoolyard bullies approaching. 

“Look!” One shouted, pointing at you. “it’s the girl with two moms!” Snickered Bailey, a boy from your class. He was only a few inches taller than you but somehow it always felt like he towered over you. His friends, Drew and Blake, laughed as they stood behind him, pointing at you. Your cheeks flushed with humiliation; the entire playground was now looking at you. 

Feeling confident within himself, Bailey took a few steps closer to you with a teasing grin on his smug face. “Are you going to grow up and be a fag like them?” He teased once more. The feeling of humiliation quickly turned to a surge of anger that you couldn’t contain and in a moment of raw emotion, you stepped forward closer to Bailey and, with a quick motion, your hand in a strong fist, you punched the boy right in the face. 

The playground fell silent as Bailey tumbled back, landing on his backside. Laughter was replaced with gasps of shock, Bailey began to wail when he noticed the blood streaming from his nose. Your heart was pounding as you towered over the school yard bully, the playground around you turned to a blur as you death stared the boy.

“Y/n Romanoff!” A stern voice called, snapping you back to reality. You turned to see your teacher, Miss Smith, with her arms crossed over her chest. “Principal’s office, now!” She added. You sighed heavily knowing just how much trouble you were in as you began to make your way to the large building. “Bailey, come with me, we’ll get you cleaned up and you can tell me what happened” you heard your teacher’s voice behind you.

Lunch time was over, and you were still sitting outside the principal’s office. Miss Smith had not long taken Bailey in to discuss what had happened. Your heart felt heavy as you thought about how much trouble you were in, what would your moms think? 

Before your mind could begin to go deeper into thought, Mr Thompson opened his door. Miss Smith and Bailey walked out without saying a word, Bailey holding a tissue to his nose as he walked by you, sending you a glare. “Y/n, come in” Mr Tompson said in a rather disappointed tone. You pushed yourself up off the chair and walked into his office. Mr Thompson closed the door behind him before taking a seat behind his desk. 

“Y/n, Miss Smith and Bailey told me what happened today during lunch time” he started in a serious tone. “You know that we do not tolerate bullying in this school” he added.

“But…he was bullying me!” You corrected, trying to defend yourself. “He came up to me and made fun of me for having two moms and called them a slur!” You added. Before Mr Thompson could reply, his door swung open and in walked your moms.

“Honey, are you okay?” Nat said in a worry, giving your face a check over, “Mr Thompson said you got into a fight” she added. 

“I’m fine mom, I promise” you said, looking up at her. 

Your mother frowned in confusion, “what happened?” She asked. 

Wanda, gently placing a hand on your shoulder for comfort.

“It was Bailey again” you sighed, “I was just playing with my friends and he came up to me and made fun of me for having two moms and then he asked me if I was going to grow up and be a –“ you paused, not wanting to say the slur that was wrong at you so you looked up at Wanda, letting her read your mind. Wanda turned to Natasha and quietly whispered the slur so you wouldn’t have to say it. 

“So I punched him” you added. 

Your mother, Natasha, turned to Mr Thompson, crossing her arms across her chest, “let’s be clear here. Y/n isn’t the problem. She stood up for herself while this kid has been continuously bullying her!” She said sternly. 

Mr Thompson adjusted his glasses, “I understand your concerns Miss Romanoff, but we do not condone violence in this school. I’m sorry but I have no choice but to suspend Y/n” 

“But you condone homophobia?” Wanda looked at him. 

“Of course, not” he replied, looking up at your mother who stood protectively behind you. “Bullying of any kind is not tolerated here” he added. 

“So, let me get this straight” Natasha cleared her throat, “you’re going to suspend our daughter because she stood up for herself when she was the target of a homophobic slur? But because she hit somebody, this kid gets what? Nothing? A few moments of attention because he got some sense knocked into him?” 

Mr Thompson, taken back by Natasha’s words, “I was not aware of the nature of the situation until Y/n came in here. I was simply told that she had been given Bailey a hard time recently and today when Bailey asked her kindly to stop, she hit him” 

“That’s a lie!” You inserted yourself, “he is always making fun of me! He is always making others laugh at me, it’s not fair!” You snapped, holding bad your tears of frustration.

“If you’re going to suspend her for this, I will make sure everybody knows this school likes to give a pass for homophobic behaviour. Do I make myself clear?” Natasha said in a serious tone. Defeated, Mr Thompson finally relented. “Alright, I won’t suspend her, but I will speak to Bailey and his family. I do apologise for all of this. Y/n, you may go back to class” 

“Actually, we’re going to take her home” Wanda replied, sending a proud glance to Natasha. Your moms always taught you to stand up for yourself, others and what you believed in and today proves that you were taught well. 

As you and your mothers left school, Nat took your hand, “you did the right thing today sweetheart, I’m so proud of you” she smiled softly. 

“But you always said violence was bad” you replied. 

“It is, but, in this case, you used it to send a message and it was big one” your mother explained. 

Wanda smiled softly at you, “how about we go get some ice cream? I think you deserve it” 

Your eyes lit up, “yes please!” You beamed, “can I please get two scoops?” You asked, making your mothers chuckle. 

“I’m sure two scoops is perfect for our brave girl!” Wanda replied. 

“You may have as may scoops as you like, my love” Nat said, taking your backpack from you as you all reached the car. 

“You guys are the best!” You beamed, jumping into the car.

Your mothers smiled at one another, “we love you, darling” Wanda said, before helping you buckle your seatbelt. 

“I love you too!” You replied, sweetly.

Taglist: @koinsss | @liloandstitchstan | @marcia-maximoff | @skittlebum | @katethewritersblog | @taliiiaasteria | @nova-kyle | @daddipantherr | @riyaexee | @sgm616 | @elle161989 | @alphalesbianwolffoxdragontribrid | @mathxa | @sxlfishbrokenheart | @noturlondonboy | @lovelyy-moonlight | @ghxst-guts | @ashensmokescreen | 

If you want to be on the taglist for this series, please see the masterlist. It's linked at the top of this post.

[wtfaniii]

Hi ;-)

Request for an In-Ho x preteen platonic female reader where reader is the adopted shy introverted Daughter of Jun-Ho (frontmens Brother) got adopted 1 year after In-Ho dissapierd and got into the games by accident (cheating her id and faking it) how would ir be if the first time she speaks towards the Group of Gi-Hun and noticed that maybe player 001 used his right hand to throw the toy spin at the second game and for eating with a fork he used his left hand? So she could say neither he is both handed or left handed and mention something like my appa jun-ho can write with left and right but using a weapon he is just right handed funny huh? 💕🙈

I like the idea, I hope what I wrote is to your liking :D

Curiosities, observations and other small qualities

You were a smart but calm girl, with many fascinations towards different things and you constantly asked questions without stopping when you noticed something, that's why your father told you that you would be a researcher and there was no better compliment for you than that, however, for a certain person that would be more of an inconvenience.

¡Hwang In-ho x fem reader platonic!

master list¡!

You were curious, you always had been, since you could remember you questioned everything, even why a fly moved its legs when it stood on food.

Questioning everything and everyone brought you a lot of knowledge, you were smart and active but it also brought you problems, sometimes you found out things that you would rather not have done or people got fed up with you, that's why you spent the first five years of your life in an orphanage feeling the rejection of others.

Until one day there was an accident at the orphanage, the police came to investigate a little and despite feeling somewhat threatened by your superiors when talking about the negligence in the place, you did not stay silent, you glided through the hallways until you could talk to a police officer about your concerns.

You never imagined that the same police officer you spoke to would adopt you a month later, of course he was not going to leave you alone there after having practically ratted out the director of the orphanage.

The feeling of confidence that Jun-ho gave you from the beginning only increased from that moment, soon he was a fun, affectionate and responsible father to you.

Grandma Hwang was the sweetest, she made you chocolate chip cookies every time Jun-ho left you in her care and sometimes she let you sleep in.

Life certainly improved for you but you never stopped asking constant questions, Jun-ho congratulated you for that, he said that you would be a great detective when you grew up but your grandmother didn't seem so happy about that, she said that you would get in trouble.

And she was right.

One afternoon while you were waiting for the next train to take you home after having spent the afternoon doing homework at a friend's house, you noticed something peculiar.

You were leaning against the wall eating a bar of chocolate, with your headphones on and the hood of your sweatshirt over your head when in front of you, at the other end of the tracks, you saw a man in a suit with a briefcase playing Ddakji with another man.

Your eyes practically shone with interest when you saw that if you win the man with the briefcase he would give money, but a grimace formed on your lips when you saw that if lost would receive a hard slap.

The salesman ended up handing a card to that man and turned around to leave but at that moment you ran to catch up with him right on the stairs.

You went towards him but when you faced him his posture seemed really intimidating, you took two steps back with your best friendly smile.

At first he didn't let you play, you weren't on his list and you were just a teenager, you would probably die as soon as you stepped on the first arena but your insistence was too much to the point that he got fed up with you and let play.

You didn't know what you were getting into when you took the money had earned and the card that he offered you, but your curiosity was so much that that night you couldn't even sleep because of the intrigue of knowing what would happen if you dialed that number, he said he would do you a favor, he warned you not to call before he left, but that warning only increased your curiosity.

So the next morning the first thing you did was call, they asked for your full name and age, you lied, you said were twenty-five years old but you were barely turning sixteen.

—I'll be late today appa, I'm going to a friend's house —You told your father that same day while you were getting out of the car to go to school.

—Okay, but call me to come get you, I don't want you to go alone at night —Jun-ho responded with a fatherly tone and a small smile.

You nodded and said goodbye to him to enter the school but "going to a friend's house" was an excuse, you would go to the address those people gave you so you could enter those games.

[...]

You regretted it completely, there were times when your actions led you to good things, maybe bad things… ¿But this? it was already an extreme.

If you had known that approaching that man in a suit would be your biggest butterfly effect, you would have walked away immediately but now here you were, wearing the same set of clothes as the rest while you looked curiously at player 001, the man who condemned them all when he pressed the button with the blue circle.

You stayed away from the rest as all the players dispersed, some with sorrowful expressions and others with triumph, the votes had been made and staying had been the final decision by majority.

But your gaze focused on player 001, his vote was decisive and you were curious to know why he pressed the circle but then you saw him form an almost imperceptible malicious smile while he stared at 456,

Player 456 had shouted that he had already been in those games during the voting and helped the others during "green light, red light", he knew what would happen and judging by his expression of anguish and defeat you deduced that it was true, he was telling the truth, now, ¿why was 001 interested in him? ¿Was he looking for your help or was it something else? The man felt your gaze and turned to see you, you immediately turned away and walked tensely.

You stayed away and alone, just watching the others form groups until you saw some of them surround 456, once again your curiosity got the better of you and you went towards them cautiously like a small cat walking among dogs.

In-ho had a clear goal but since he saw you, observing him in detail, he knew that you would be a problem, for that and other reasons. ¿What the hell was a teenager doing in his games?

After the other curious players left, he sat next to Gi-hun and tried to continue talking but he noticed your presence a few steps in front of them.

—¿Can we help you with something young lady? —390 asked, looking at you with curiosity.

Due to your poor ability to socialize you wanted to deny and walk away but you also had to keep in mind that this place was survive or die, you needed to be with the smartest team and what better than the team of a former winner so gathering all the courage you had in your body you spoke.

—¿Can I be on your team? —They looked at each other doubtfully until 001 spoke.

—¿How old are you girl?

—Twenty-five —Your answer was so sure that it made them hesitate but just by looking at you in silence it made tell your real age —I'll be sixteen next month.

—¿What kind of debts would a sixteen year old girl have? —asked 388 from his bed and with his mouth full of food.

You pressed your lips into a straight line and glared at him —¿Are going to accept me on your team or not?

Before anyone could say anything Gi-hun nodded silently and you sat down next to him. Well, at least you wouldn't be alone anymore during your stay in this place.

When the lights went out and everyone went to sleep you curled up in your bed and tried to close your eyes but it was impossible, even with 456 and 001 awake on guard you couldn't sleep peacefully.

In-ho noticed the uncomfortable way you moved in bed so he spoke to you cautiously and invited you to stand guard with them at least until you get sleepy.

—¿Aren't you afraid of this place? Your parents are probably very worried about you, ¿What would your mother say if she knew that you were not eating and sleeping well? —He said cautiously as he waved goodbye to Gi-hun, now it would only be the two of you on guard.

—I don't have a mother... —You mumbled, drawing with your fingers on the ground and when you saw the expression on him face you smiled sideways —I never met her, I only live with my appa and the halmonim.

—Well…then they'll wondering where you are —He said looking at you with curiosity, in case you were to die here, he wanted to know who would miss you

You twisted the lips and nodded silently, you missed them and wanted to return to them as soon as possible but the idea that you could die tomorrow or in the next five days tormented you.

As if he had read your thoughts, he placed a comforting hand on your shoulder and speak: —You'll be fine, we'll get out of here alive and you'll see them again.

Those words, although seemed simple and empty, were a flash of hope for you, you smiled at him with closed lips and nodded in agreement, anyway, this were just children's games ¿right?

With that thought in mind you went to sleep but when you woke up the next morning with that melody ringing in your ears you couldn't help but feel anxious, your stomach was in knots and the desire to vomit due to stress and fear was evident on your face.

—¿Are you fine? ¿Do you want to go to the bathroom? —001 asked you as followed Gi-hun walking down the colorful stairs to the next game.

You assured him that you were fine and continued walking in silence, "This is going to be a piece of cake, it's just games" you thought as you looked curiously at the playground where they were taken, it was colorful.

But when the robotic voice said that they should make teams of five you reconsidered your chances of survival.

You walked among all the players looking for who would want you on their team but being a female teenager diminished your advantages considerably, you saw player 333 approach you, he was going to ask you to be part of his team but before he could do so two hands placed themselves firmly on your shoulders and dragged you to team 456.

—Now we are complete —001 said with triumph and a smile on his face shaking you gently making you smile gratefully.

After giving them the instructions, each team organized themselves, sat on the floor and waited their turn.

Each team would have to go through a series of games while having their ankles tied to each other and in a time of five minutes, they had to be coordinated and sure, you said you were good at Ddakji so that would be your game.

You felt motivated, you analyzed every move the previous players made and noticed every small mistake that led to their death, your team would not make those mistakes.

In-ho saw you from time to time, you were observant, a detail that he would not overlook, that gave you value points because he was almost sure that you would be one of the finalists if another stronger player did not kill you before that.

However, he never thought that you could also become a problem.

—¿How do you know my name? —Gi-hun asked after he had mistakenly called him by his name.

—I heard that's what your friend called you and I thought could do it too, ¿does it bother you?

His justification got him out of trouble but he could feel your intriguing gaze boring into the back of his neck, your mind wandered in previous conversations, you hadn't really heard him but maybe it was because you were nervous, even so, your curiosity and intrigue were present.

You proposed saying their names, maybe that would help build confidence in the team and they could get out of this test alive.

Each team had their turn to play, some passed successfully and others ended up dead, when it was their turn to play you noticed that they were the last, you didn't pay much attention to this detail but your brain saved it just in case.

You were the first to play, you did it the first time and the rest celebrated, then it was Jung-bae's turn, another triumph, Dae-ho also had immediate success.

Now it was Young-il's turn, it would be his turn to spin the top and everyone would believe that like the first three he would do it the first time but their hearts stopped and the air left their lungs when the top didn't spin on the ground.

You remained silent during the three attempts he made and failed, time was ticking and your heart was beating like crazy but you clearly noticed how in the last attempt that was successful he used his left hand.

Curious, first he did it with his right hand and failed three times, now he did it with his left hand and he did it the first time.

[...]

Once again in the huge dormitory, all the players who managed to survive the second game were scattered talking among small groups, alliances they had formed with this test.

You were happy, you put aside your suspicions about Young-il convincing yourself that you were just paranoid and there was nothing strange.

—I apologize for the reaction I had a few minutes ago —He said as they sat on the stairs of the huge bunk beds —I lost control...

He finished with a smile that almost seemed like genuine apology and understanding but when you spoke the expression on his face tensed.

—That's fine, but if you knew you were left-handed you should have tried left from the beginning —You said calmly, as if you were talking about a simple observation, but the rest's gaze rested on him with intrigue and even slight suspicion, especially Gi-hun, because this observation added to the fact that he had called him by his confident name, caused a certain distrust —Maybe this way we would have saved ourselves time and that scare.

The soft laugh you made at the end managed to lighten the atmosphere a little but In-ho knew that your words had caused a crack in his plan.

—I usually use the right but I think I'm good at playing with the left —He lied, letting out a small laugh to disguise the tension in his body.

Fortunately for him, Dae-ho changed the conversation bragging a little about how they were about to pass all the minigames without any errors, but In-ho remained attentive to you ¿How could a simple teenager be so observant? Now he was going to make sure you died in the next game, he wasn't going to risk slipping up with you around.

He had a problem with you and he was going to eliminate it, the complete opposite of what you thought, you believed that Young-il was someone you could trust and for no reason you had hopes that with him by your side you could get out of there alive.

After the votes, the pink guards distributed the food to each player but you had trouble opening your milk box.

—¿Can you help me? —You asked Young-il next to you.

He took the box and opened it without any problem but you noticed again that he used his left hand causing a giggle on your part.

—¿What are you laughing at?

—You are left-handed.

In-ho looked at the rest to make sure no one had heard you and then turned to look at you, this time with sharper and colder eyes.

He was definitely going to make sure you died in tomorrow's game

But the next thing you said made his mind go blank.

—My appa Jun-ho can write with his left and right but when he uses his weapon he is right-handed —You said with a small smile on your lips.

—¿Is your dad a police officer? —He asked, his voice lower than he would have liked, you nodded taking a bite of the piece of bread you held in your hands —Repeat your last name to me.

His voice sounded demanding and tense so you looked at him intrigued but when you saw that he was serious you responded.

—Hwang, ¿Do you know my dad? —You asked, curious and with a happy expression on your face.

You were his brother's daughter ¿how could that be possible? He didn't know about any existing girlfriend but now he reconsiders his decision, you were family but if you kept talking about every observation you had and went so far as to give him away he would kill you before you even spoke.

—No —He said with a more serene expression but his eyes still reflected something that you couldn't decipher —I've only heard him name before.

Now In-ho had a severe conflict.

But one thing was for sure, he would try to keep you close, whether to protect you or simply to make sure you didn't notice anything suspicious.

[noctiva]

Obsessed with your writing oh my god could you do alternative reader meeting Toby at a concert and they end up fucking in the bathroom

this spoke to me in ways I cannot describe. I had an a similar thought on my idea list so I just had to write this

this might’ve been nastier than you were hoping I’m sorry I got carried away LMAOAOAO

//

The Afterparty

Toby Rogers x F!Reader [NSFW!]

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WC: 9.7k

Summary: You came to this concert for the same reason you always did - to listen to good music, and have a good time. Little did you know, the main event would be long after the show was over.

CW: 18+ content, explicit sexual content, unsafe sex, semi-public sex, exhibitionism lowkey, biting, dry humping, oral sex (female receiving), Toby’s a little shit, lowkey coercion but it’s not that deep, mentions of breeding, creampie, filthy shit, getting fucked in a grimy bathroom, rough handling, dirty talk, salirophilia, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, almost fully clothed sex, big dick toby bc duh

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NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!

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The bathroom you find yourself in is hot and stuffy.

There’s graffiti on the walls, grimy smudges on the mirror you’re gazing at yourself in, and the floors are suspiciously sticky. It’s… Gross, to say the least, but it’s the only place in the damn establishment that had a mirror - and you had just smudged your eyeliner.

It’s a Friday night. The venue you stand in is one that you’ve frequented multiple times now, having the layout practically memorized. Through the door, you can hear the rhythmic thump of drums and bass guitar stemming from the opening band that you knew was on stage right now. It sucked that you were missing it, but you didn’t spend two hours at home making sure your makeup was perfect only to fuck it up before the main act even came on.

Why did you care so much? You weren’t sure. Maybe you had the vain hope that you’d catch one of the band members’s eyes, and they’d invite you backstage after the show. Even better, maybe they’d invite you to their tour bus.

You didn’t think it was an insane fantasy. You looked nice. Sexy, even. Donned in all black with ripped fishnets hugging your plush thighs, the alluring glint of metal from the piercings in your lips and nose, and platforms tall enough to intimidate. A practical concert outfit? Definitely not. But a cute one? Bingo.

You breathe out a soft sigh before wetting your thumb with saliva and using it to wipe away some of the smudged eyeliner marking up your cheekbone. Your eyes were lined in heavy black, as were your lips, hair teased and styled with enough hairspray to suffocate a man.

You take a step back, smoothing out the black pleated skirt that hugged your hips - analyzing your reflection in the mirror. It’s alright, I suppose. You think to yourself, before doing a little turn for good measure, just to make sure nothing about you was array. Only once you were decently satisfied, did you finally step away.

Boots clicking against the bathroom flooring, the soles sticking to the tiles with each step. You grab hold of the door handle and turn it, before stepping back out into the hustle and bustle of the show.

Where you promptly, smack right into someone.

If you weren’t wearing platforms, you probably would’ve just bumped face first into their chest - but because you are a few inches taller than normal right now, you instead end up smacking your nose right off their chin. Hard.

The pain blossoms immediately, and you let out a sharp cry of pain. Your hand flies up to clutch at your (probably about to be bruised) nose, and you can already feel the instinctive tears stinging in the corners of your eyes.

“Fucking hell-“ You hiss out, stumbling back a few steps from the impact. So disoriented, you probably would’ve completely broken your ankle in these boots and fallen straight on your ass, but luckily - the living brick wall you just smacked into reached out to grab your arm and steady you.

“Ah, sh-shit.” You hear him mutter, and when your eyes flick up his face is contorted into a grimace. Expression equal parts shocked and embarrassed. Your vision is blurry, and your nose is throbbing, but you can still make out the sight of him. Fluffy brown hair frizzed up from the humidity in the building, an eccentric looking pair orange goggles nestled within the strands. Dark eyes glinting under the glow of the neon lights coming from the stage. “Are you g-good?”

“I’ve been better.” You mutter, letting out a little groan as you rub your busted nose. You meet his eyes, and frown. “Am I bleeding?”

The man hums softly before leaning forwards a bit to examine you better in the low lighting. Immediately, you’re greeted with the thick scent of cigarettes coming off of him - bordered by the smell of some woodsy cologne. He smelled… Nice. Compared to all of the sweat slick bodies you had come into contact with beforehand.

“N-Nope.” The man answers, then leaning back again and finally releasing your arm from his grip. You hadn’t even noticed he was still holding you up until then. “But y-you’re bruising already.”

His voice is low and soft, raspy and wracked with stutters. It’s… Endearing in a strange way. It almost suits him.

You finally get a good look at him once you blink away your tears, your vision clearing to reveal a view that you wouldn’t soon forget. He stands tall even with your platforms giving you a boost, messy brown curls falling over his dark eyes. Freckles dot his cheeks and wash over the bridge of his nose - which was pierced through quite a few times. A stud in each nostril, along with a septum sitting proudly in the middle.

That wasn’t all of it either. Your eyes catch on the glint of a dermal placed high on his cheekbone, then dropping lower to appreciate the sight of a spiked pair of snakebites adorning his bottom lip.

You almost caught off guard by how entirely your type this man was. It was almost uncanny. Like he had been dropped straight from the heavens just to make your mouth go dry.

After what was probably far too long of just standing there gawking at him, you find your voice again. Clearing your throat awkwardly and crossing your arms over your chest, you finally let the words he spoke last sink into your head properly.

“Great.” You huff. “You know, I came out here to fix my makeup and now I’m gonna go back looking worse than ever.”

“N-Nah.” The man chuckles, his lips stretching into an amused grin. You notice the bandaging on his cheek and don’t comment on it, but you do notice the way it shifts in tandem with the way his face moves. “It’s w-workin’ for ya’. With this whole th-thing you got goin’ on.” He raised a hand to gesture at you lazily, before his eyes are roaming you from head to toe. He either didn’t realize how incredibly obvious he was being, or he didn’t care.

Either way, you were glad the lights were low, because you could feel a heat start rising to your cheeks.

“Well, thanks then, I guess.” You snort, throwing in a little eye roll just for good measure. He was cute, but you had dignity, so you weren’t about to start falling to his feet just because he had the most charming smile you’ve ever seen. Or, because of how the faded black t-shirt he was wearing hugged his torso just right - short sleeves exposing lean, toned arms, littered with scars that only sparked your interest more.

Definitely not because his voice made goosebumps prick up on your arms, even partially drowned out by the drone of guitars in the background. “Listen, I already missed the opener and if I want an even half-decent spot I’ve got to get going now.” He hums softly, and his eyes are still roaming you. Across your face, sweeping down your neck, and stopping at your cleavage a little too unabashedly. God, did he have no shame? “I’ll see you around? Maybe?”

You start to take a few steps away, slowly wedging open an exit from this impromptu conversation. You didn’t really want to, would much rather ogle at this fine stranger for a few minutes more, but you didn’t buy a ticket to this show just to drool over boys that simultaneously looked like deep trouble but also an incredibly good time. You bought it to listen to music. So, that’s what you’ll do.

The man gives you a nod as his eyes finally flick up to somewhere more appropriate - your eyes. And he’s looking at you like he’s trying to stare into your fucking soul, so you’re immediately shrinking back even more. There was something about him. Something off. He was charismatic, but in a way that almost felt sinister. Like it wasn’t natural. Manufactured. Purposefully trying to pull you in.

(It was working).

“H-Hopefully.” He smiles down at you, reaching a hand up to adjust the goggles nestled within his messy hair. Such a strange accessory, even for here, but it worked for him somehow. Catered to the uncanny, yet captivating aura he was shrouded in. “I-I’m Toby, in case y-you wanna find me again.” That sweet smile widens into a sly grin, revealing sharp toothy canines that make your heart jump. “Which, I’m th-thinkin’ you might.”

Oh, and he’s cocky too. Great.

“Don’t count on it.” You snort, walking backwards away from him now - growing the distance though it felt like a chore. “Bashing my nose in isn’t exactly the best first impression.”

You turn on your heel, then you’re walking back out into the crowd.

“B-But it’s memorable, right?” You hear Toby call after you, and you’re glad he can’t see your face now, because the smile that stretches across your face is something you can’t fight. Like a parasite, he wriggled his way into your brain after only a few moments of contact. Finding it hard to steer your thoughts away from him even as you wedge your way through a sea of bodies smushed together.

It was the way he had looked at you. Appreciative, but with such a heavy gaze it made your skin crawl. It was that stupid grin of his, and how each piercing lodged in his skin suited him so well it was almost annoying. It was how he talked to you, so smooth you barely even noticed the stutters. Like he had done this a million times before.

Like he knew he had gotten you good.

Maybe you had just been far too obvious. You hadn’t exactly been subtle in the way your eyes raked over him, noting and cataloging every little thing that made him a delicious sight. But god, he didn’t need to be so arrogant about it.

If only that was as much of a turn off as you wanted it to be. But, if anything, the smugness just made your blood burn hotter.

Whatever, though. Whatever. That’s not why you’re here, and you’ll probably never see him again. The crowd you were shoving through was dense - people packed together like sardines as you attempt to wiggle your way as close to the stage as possible. You had gotten here late, so you definitely weren’t getting barricade, but you knew your way around a concert well enough to at least get a decent view.

It’s hot and stuffy. Hot, slick bodies rubbing against yours each time you wriggled past another person. Your choice of attire wasn’t making it easy either, and in your head you’re apologizing to any poor souls that might’ve gotten their toes wedged under your boot.

By the time that you’re too tired to keep pushing, you’ve found an alright spot. Claustrophobic, definitely, but you didn’t think there was a single area in this venue that wasn’t right now. You got a good view of the stage, and there wasn’t some obnoxiously tall guy standing in front of you and blocking your view - so you were happy. Happy enough that you can feel that familiar concert excitement thrumming through your veins, easily blocking out thoughts of the strange man you had encountered by the bathroom.

What did he say his name was? Tony? You supposed it didn’t matter. Especially not when the stage lights came bursting to life again as the headliner started walking on stage - instruments in hand.

This is what you came here for. Cute boys be damned.

And you lose yourself in it easily. Smiling as the vibrations from the speakers make your limbs feels gooey, swaying your hips and raising your arms up high. You sing (more so scream) along to the lyrics you knew by heart until your throat went raw. Your hair getting messier and messier with each enthusiastic nod of your head.

It was a situation you had seen time and time before, but it never got old. Never stopped making you feel alive.

Your excitement only crests as the set goes on, the band blessing you with each and every one of your favourite songs. You’re giddy, buzzing, absolutely high on life. So much so, that you don’t realize you’re straying a little too far out of your personal bubble until you step back and feel the crunch of someone’s toes under your heel.

And your head might be in the clouds, but not enough to not be aware of how much that must’ve fucking hurt.

So, you twist your body around, moving as much as you can though there’s a body on every side of you - hoping to offer up a sincere apology to whoever you’ve just flattened the foot of.

But the moment you’re turning around, what comes out is something a lot different.

“Are you following me?” Because it’s Toby. Toby standing right behind you, like he had tracked you down through the sea of people - finding you in the mix like plucking a needle out of a haystack. You suppose it’s not insane to say that he just ended up there because the crowd moved him in the exact way it had moved you, but come on. This was way too much of a coincidence.

“Huh?” Toby shouts back to you over the music, leaning down close and cupping his ear with his hand to try and hear you better. There’s not even a hint of pain on his face, despite the fact that you had definitely just stomped on his toes. Unless it wasn’t him? You theme a quick look around, and no one else looks fazed either. God, this was strange.

You let out a huff before twisting your body to lean into him, your cheek brushing his hand as you speak right into his ear.

“I said, are you following me?” You repeat, to which Toby lets out an amused snort of laughter.

“F-Following you?” He snickers. “You’re the o-one who keeps b-bumpin’ into me.” You can just barely hear him over the music, but the cheekiness in his tone is still evident. “T-Told ya’ that you’d c-come find me again.”

“Not on purpose.” You snap back, eyes narrowed despite the flutter you feel in your gut. He’s so effortlessly magnetic, pulling you closer with just the heat in his eyes. The grin on his face makes him look like he thinks he’s just playing a game, but the weight of his gaze says otherwise. He wants something from you, and you know it.

And maybe you’re only annoyed because of how easily your body is caving in to the desire to give him whatever he wanted.

You didn’t know this man. The only information you had about him was his name. You’ve never been one for quick and easy hookups, but somethings telling you to try it with him.

Somethings making you so sure he’d make it worth it.

“What’cha ss-so mad for?” Toby leans down low to speak right next to your ear - for convenience sake, because of how loud it was around you - but the feeling of his breath fanning against made you feel so hot. The scent of him was circling around your head like a halo, the softness of his curls tickling your cheek due to the close proximity. “Y-You just crushed m-my toes. P-Pretty sure we’re even now.”

If Toby had to be honest, he had followed you. Trailed the sight of you through the crowd until he found you right in front of him again - hips swaying to the beat, sweat beading up on your neck from exertion. Could you blame him? You were easily the most beautiful woman in this entire damn building. Such a sweet face, but the attire hugged your body gave you bite. Not to mention, that little attitude of yours.

He was hooked, completely and utterly hooked. And if things went his way, he’d hopefully have his craving satiated by the end of the night. Kiss the lipstick off of your lips. Rip those tempting fishnets more than they already were.

Feel you. Really feel you. Even closer than you were now. Wanted to make you his, even if it was just for the night.

(He’d bet that you’d let him.)

He just had to have you. His thoughts were saturated with idea of what it would be like. He was sure you could tell, the desire was practically emanating off of him.

He was also sure, that you wanted him just as badly. He had seen the way you looked at him, almost awestruck in the way your eyes drank him in. You were just playing hard to get. All you needed was a little push, and he wasn’t afraid to get bold. “W-What’re you doing a-after the show?”

The question sends a bolt of excitement down your spine. He was so blunt. Not an ounce of shyness or shame in his body. It was a fact that made goosebumps rise on your arms. You don’t think you’ve ever been faced with a force like Toby, so unapologetic, drawing you in closer and closer until you were falling right at his feet. You were trying to stay rational, stay focused, but you could barely even hear the music playing around you anymore. Like you were submerged underwater; every sound that wasn’t his voice sounded far away and foggy.

“Nothing.” You speak back to him, the forced proximity making you sweat. You had no choice but to be nearly pressed right up to him, able to feel his heat sinking into your bones. “Why?”

You hear him chuckle in your ear, a low rumble that makes your brain feel fuzzy. He leans in a little closer, just to nose at your jaw softly before pulling back.

But not before saying;

“Y-You know why.” He doesn’t elaborate further. He doesn’t need to, and you’re left hanging in the balance as he gazes down at you with a well pleased smile on his face.

And so, he leaves it up to you. The choice of whether or not to play right into the cards he’s dealt. At this point, with your head already flooded with images of just what he’s got planned for you, it’s an easy decision. You want him, bad. Had from the first second you laid eyes on him.

You knew for a fact, that if you passed up on this, you’d be kicking yourself for years to come.

So, you don’t say anything. Instead, turning back around with a look in your eyes that told the whole story. If it didn’t, then the way you were leaning back into him definitely did.

Back pressed against his chest, a hand trailing down his arm before it came to circle around his wrist - locking him in place. No space between you now, just sweat and heat, the curve of your ass pressing against him and making him let out a hiss through his teeth.

If Toby wasn’t focused on the show before, he definitely wasn’t now. Instead he presses his face into the crook of your neck from behind and breathes in deep. You smelled like vanilla. So sweet and smooth. And when his you guide his hand to your hip and let him give a little squeeze, he finds that you’re just as soft as he’d thought you’d be.

If he had it his way, he’d just fuck you right here and now. Flip up that way too short skirt of yours, and tug your panties to the side. It was so claustrophobic, and the whole crowd was focused on the act on stage, he doubted anyone would really notice. You wouldn’t even have to be that quiet. The music would drown you out.

So tempting. So tempting that his free hand has a mind of its own, already slipping under the hem of your skirt to feel all the plush flesh hidden from him.

“Toby-“ You lean your head back to rest on his shoulder and peer up at him, your heart thudding wildly in your chest. You could just feel him getting harder behind you, the outline of his clothed cock pressed right up against you. You could tell he was big, and immediately butterflies are erupting in your stomach because of it. Of course he would be, with an attitude like that. “Be patient.”

“Th-That’s not a virtue I’m w-well versed in.” He murmurs back to you. His nose drags against your neck before he finds your ear, catching the lobe between his teeth and giving a soft nip. “B-But don’t worry, I’ll be nice.” His breath fans against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “I-I’ll fuck you in the b-bathroom, like a gentleman.”

You can’t help but let out an amused snort at his words, but the prospect does send a bolt of heat right between your thighs. Would you really go through with it? Let him have you in that grimy ass bathroom you were in not too long ago?

Beneath your skirt, he tugs at your fishnets, before releasing them so that they hit your skin with a snap. His grip on your waist tightens, then he’s pulling you back to subtly grind against him.

Yeah. You would.

You don’t think a concert has ever gone by faster for you. It’s a blur of loud music, and even louder breathing in your ear. Toby’s greedy hands wandering, getting more risky by the minute. Under your skirt, slipping between your thighs to graze against the material of your panties. Trailing upwards to tangle in your hair; cupping the back of your neck with a dizzying pressure.

By the time the last chord sounds out in the air, he’s got you dripping for it.

It’s how dirty it is. The risk. Wedged between hundreds of bodies that would notice the depravity going on if they looked away from the stage for just a second. Your thighs trembling, skin hot as he leaned in close to whisper dirty promises in your ear.

‘B-Bet this pussy tastes ss-so sweet.’

‘Gonna m-make you scream. Whole b-buildings g-gonna know who’s fucking you.’

‘I-If you thought your makeup was f-fucked up before…’

You don’t even waste time shouting for an encore. The moment the stage lights go out, you’re moving. With a hand still grasping his wrist you tug him through the crowd with a dizzying speed - weaving through all the people with more efficiency than you’ve ever managed before. You can hear him behind you, letting out amused little huffs of laughter and you can only imagine the shit eating grin on his face.

But you don’t care. You could not give less of a shit how desperate you looked right now, because that’s exactly what you were. Desperate, burning up, with an ache between your legs that could only be relieved by the man you were tugging along behind you.

Your panties were far past uncomfortable. The material soaked through and clinging to your folds, your pussy throbbing within the confines of them. Considering Toby had spent the last half hour riling you up to a maddening degree, you think that your urgency is completely warranted.

You reach the bathroom in record time, and then you’re shoving him through the door, completely ignoring the odd glances you get from some of the other patrons. Nothing else matters right now. You need his skin on yours. Properly.

“Ss-so eager.” Toby snickers as you press him up against the door once it’s shut behind the two of you, his hands immediately circling your waist and pulling you right to him. “I like th-that. It’s c-cute.” The lights in the bathroom are fluorescent, casting him in a neon green glow as he gazes down at you. He looks predatory. You’re more than happy to be prey.

“You’ve done enough talking.” You breathe out. Then, you’re shaking your arms around his neck and tugging him down towards you. Not wanting another word to be exchanged before you get your lips on his.

It’s a heated, messy, and desperate kiss. More so trying to consume one another rather than slot your lips together properly.

He’s all teeth and tongue. Nipping at your bottom lip and tugging it. Sinking his teeth in hard enough to make you gasp. Licking into your mouth with an undying fervour, his fingers clawing at your hips to try and pull you impossibly closer. You taste divine. Sweeter than sugar, just as addictive as he knew you’d be.

He knows your lipstick is probably smearing across his skin, he can taste it, but it’s the least of his worries. Especially now that you’ve started letting out the most beautiful noises, which he swallows up eagerly.

His cock had been straining against his jeans for a while now, but it’s more awake than ever as your hands snake into his hair. Tugging and scratching his scalp with those pretty painted nails of yours. His hands, wander down low. Finding a home splayed against your ass once more, this time grasping at the flesh with all the intensity he had been holding back before hand. Groping it almost harshly, kneading it in his palms as he groaned into your mouth.

“Need t-to be inside you.” He gasps against your lips, tugging you close so that you could feel just how worked up he was. Rock hard and throbbing against your stomach. The combination of his actions and words gets you even wetter. “G-God, I wanna fuckin’ r-ruin you.”

He barely gives you any time to respond, pushing himself off of the door the moment the last word leaves his lips. Then, he’s backing you up - lips on your neck the whole time he guides you into a bathroom stall. He kicks the door open with his foot and promptly nudges you inside.

And now you’re the one pinned. His hands slip under your thighs and haul you up into his arms before pressing you against the stall door. A motion that makes you let out a little squeak of surprise. His fingers dig into your skin, and then he’s back to attacking your neck again - nipping, biting, and licking every inch of skin he could get his mouth on. Rutting up against you all the while.

With your legs wrapped around his waist, you can really feel him now. The hardness of his clothed cock slotting between your thighs, dragging against your dampened core so deliciously. You try to stifle a moan by tugging at your bottom lip, but it comes spilling out anyway when his teeth sink into your shoulder. It’s just so much, so overwhelming that your body barely knows how to respond to it.

The bulge in his jeans bucking up against you so desperately, you’re half convinced he’s trying to fuck you through your clothes. The sting of his teeth scraping against your skin. His hands bearing an intensity that made your knees weak every time he touched you.

His breath against your skin, his husky groans in your ear.

It felt like he was suffocating you with his presence, and it was intoxicating.

“T-Toby-“ You gasp out right as the head of his cock presses against your clit, blooming a wave of heat that washed over your entire body. “C’mon. Give it to me.” Your hands are getting just as greedy, clawing at his shirt - feeling the shape of his muscles through the thin material. You can tell he’s built. No wonder he’s got you held up so effortlessly.

“What-“ Toby’s panting against your neck, his grip on you nearing a bruising degree. “Whatever h-happened to patience?” He murmurs, voice strained and husky. And it’s laughable that he’s even trying to play that card right now, with how he’s falling to pieces just from a little dry humping.

But, to be fair, so were you. You don’t think you’ve ever been more turned on in your life; cunt throbbing, thighs tingling, a hoard of butterflies fluttering around in your gut. You’d be surprised if you weren’t staining the front of his jeans with your slick right now.

He couldn’t feel it, due to the thickness of the material separating the two of you, but he could fucking smell it. The arousal emanating off of your pliant body, your pussy practically begging for him to sink into its wetness.

And he would, in due time.

“Don’t be a cunt.” You groan out of frustration, now moving your hips back against his to chase more of that delicious feeling. If you really had to, you could cum like this, you knew you could. The drag of his length against your throbbing core was teetering on the line between perfect, and not enough. But, it was just getting better by the minute.

The friction of his jeans against your panties, practically rubbing your cunt raw. No let up, just one buck of his hips after another, pressing against your desperate heat. He had you quivering already, thighs trembling as his nails dug into them.

Your snippy words though, give him pause. Much to your dismay, his movements halt, and then he’s pulling away from your neck to stare down at you with a look that makes you shrink backwards. He raises an eyebrow, eyes glinting with something dangerous, but just when you think you’re in trouble - he’s breaking into an amused grin.

“You’re luh-lucky I like ‘em f-feisty.” He chuckles lowly. His skin is flushed pink, hair all frizzed up and tangled from you frantically tugging at it. Even the lenses of his goggles had begun to fog up, giving visual proof of just how much heat has generated between the two of you. “I kn-knew you’d be fun.”

Then, he’s setting you back onto the ground - your knees nearly buckling once your feet come in contact with the floor once more. He keeps you steady with his hands on your hips though, but only for a few moments.

Because next, he’s spinning you around; pressing your front flush against the stall door. You gasp at the change in position, fingers searching for purchase but finding no such thing against the slippery smooth surface you’re sandwiched against.

If you weren’t literally melting in his hands right now, you might’ve complained about him smushing your face against an undoubtedly germ ridden surface. But, you don’t have a lot of time to think about it, because in the next coming moments you feel your skirt bring flipped up.

You knew it was coming, but the feeling of being exposed still made you squirm - your knees pressing together in embarrassment, as if that would shield you at all. Toby though, is nothing but appreciative, letting out a low growl as he rubs his palm against your ass cheek.

Then, unable to help himself, he gives it a light smack.

You let out a yelp of surprise that you quickly stifle, finger curling into fists against the door. It was a light hit, but the sting still persisted, just further emboldening the ache between your legs. “L-Look at that..” You hear him murmur from behind you, and you don’t have to crane your head back to know what he’s talking about.

The sight of the fat of your ass rippling on impact made his already aching cock throb. Absolutely mesermized by the sight of it, presented to him so beautifully in those soft fishnets. He does it one more time, landing a blow against the other cheek, before letting out a deep groan and sinking his fingers back into the soft flesh. “SS-So fuckin’ hot.” He mutters under his breath. “I’m g-gonna keep you like this, so you b-better get comfy.”

You’d try. It wasn’t exactly the most comfortable position. Sliding against the grimy stall door, back arched to a degree that made your hips ache. Legs trembling from the strain of keeping balanced in your boots. But then, you feel his fingers hook into the gaps of your fishnets, and your attention is directed elsewhere.

In the otherwise quiet bathroom, the sound of him ripping your tights open is loud. It rings in your ears, making your eyes widen as he exposes you completely. Tearing open a hole in your fishnets for him to slot himself into. “Th-That’s better.” He murmurs softly. “Hope you d-didn’t like these too much.”

He’s lucky you didn’t. But even if you did, you probably still would’ve let him do what he just did. He was a feral ball of desire, acting purely on impulse and need - and it was mouthwatering. Humiliating too, but that was a thought that was buried deep in the back of your mind.

Right now, all that mattered was his touch. His rough, calloused hands groping your flesh like you were putty for him to mould.

Next, his fingers hook under the waistband of the pretty black panties just barely covering your cunt, and he tugs them down in one swift motion. Not all the way off, that would be too much of a hassle, just enough to expose you in all of your sopping wet glory. “So w-wet.”

And then, he’s sinking downwards. He takes a seat on the closed lid of the toilet behind you. In your boots, you’re the perfect height - your pussy practically directly in his face once he gets comfortable. Immediately, he feels drool pool in his mouth, wetting his bandage from the inside. Because fuck, what a glorious sight.

Glistening with slick, all puffy and swollen from him grinding the roughness of his jeans against you. He can see it throb. Your cunt pulsing to the rhythm of your heartbeat.

“Toby-“ You whine softly, brows pinching together in a mixture of both frustration and embarrassment. You can’t take the weight of his eyes on you so directly. It makes your stomach twist into a knot.

“I know, I-I know.” Toby murmurs from behind you, before reaching forwards and grabbing at your ass again. Pulling the cheeks apart, exposing your dripping cunt even more. Fuck, you looked tight. He couldn’t wait to sink his cock in. “I w-wanna taste first. You g-gonna let me?”

Well, of course. You felt as if you may just combust if you don’t get any form of stimulation.

“Y-Yes, please.” You’re whimpering out, breath fogging up the surface your face is pressed pressed against. Almost pathetically, you nudge your hips backwards, and Toby has to bite back a moan at the desperate display.

“Such a ss-slut.” He leans forwards, and you can feel his breath brush against you. “Just how I l-like ‘em.”

After that, he gives no further warning before diving straight in. Tongue flat against your cunt, lapping up every drop of slick you were leaking out for him. And he moans, a deep groan right against you that rumbles through your core. Because you just taste so fucking good. So good it makes it head spin. Even sweeter than the saliva he had swallowed down when his tongue slid against yours.

You were hands down, the most delicious thing he had laid his mouth on. He had a hunch you would be, but the reality of it was something else entirely. The taste of your pussy made his mind go blank, arousal sparking down his spine as his tongue swiped between your folds. Finding your clit easily, rubbing against it in a way that made you squirm.

He had you shaking already, thighs trembling as your body started slipping against the stall door - falling into an arch that Toby would’ve definitely raved over if his face wasn’t buried in your cunt. That was exactly where he wanted to be though. Lapping at your heat, slurping up all the decedent slick that just kept gushing out of you.

You were so sensitive. Practically sobbing against the stall door, unable to bite back the moans that Toby was pulling out of you. Your nails claw at the door, scratching at the already chipping paint as you try and search for a way to ground yourself. It’s fruitless though, because he wanted you to be a mess, and he was too damn good at fulfilling that goal. “SS-Such a good fuckin’ pussy.” He slurs against you, before slipping his tongue past the tightness of your entrance.

Your knees nearly buckle. The only thing really keeping you upright being Toby’s hands as he licked into you, sliding his tongue against your quivering walls. A mixture of his saliva and your wetness was dripping down his chin, but the filthiness was just adding to the appeal. You were practically melting for him. Soaking his face with your sweet, sweet slick as his tongue thrust into you.

He tugs you back, pressing his tongue in deeper, and you see stars. Toby was eating you out like it was his fucking job. Giving you absolute no break, his tongue flicking in deep enough to reach your gspot. Every so often, he’d relent, only just to suction his lips around your clit.

So, was it really a surprise that you were coming undone almost embarrassingly quickly?

“T-Toby-“ You choke out, brows pinching together as your pleasure crests. Your whole body has reached a fever pitch, sweat beading up on your brow. And your hips have a mind of their own, pathetically bucking back against him, practically shoving your pussy into his face with each toe-curling swipe of his tongue. “Don’t stop- fuck- don’t stop.”

He wasn’t planning on it, and so he listens. Savouring the sweetness of your cunt on his tastebuds until you’re crumbling apart, using his grip on your hips to keep you upright even when your legs go weak.

The taste of your release, is even sweeter. He laps it up eagerly, licking you clean as you tremble through your orgasm - mouth hung open in absolute ecstasy. “A-Alright.” He murmurs against you. “Th-Think you’re ready to take m-my cock now?”

Yes. No. Maybe? You didn’t fucking know. You were still so fucked out and sensitive from your release that even just the lightest brush against your pussy has your hips bucking. But, fuck. You thought back to the feeling of his clothed cock pressing against you, and you knew you wanted it. Needed it. He’d stretch you out just right, and you didn’t even need to see it to know that.

“Please, Toby.” You breathe out in a gasping breath, still trying to regain your composure as he slowly stands up behind you.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, barely cleaning himself up but making the effort anyway. Then, his hands go to the buckle of his belt.

“Oh, n-now you’ve got manners.” He snorts, the clink of his belt buckle coming undone making goosebumps rise on the back of your neck - sparking up a chill that goes down your spine. “J-Just had to treat this p-pretty pussy nice and you get so ss-sweet for me.”

His belt comes loose, and the button and zipper of his jeans come undone in quick succession. If he was impatient before, he was fucking starving for it now; unable to take the throbbing ache in his pants any longer. He tugs down his jeans and boxers just below his hips, enough to free his cock and let it slap against your ass. “B-Bet you’ll get even sweeter o-once I actually fuck you.” You can’t help the moan that slips from your lips when he nudges his hips forwards, grinding his length against your heat from behind.

And it feels so good, but you still have a tiny shred of rationality left.

“Y-You got a condom?” You manage to choke out, craning your neck to try and glance at him over your shoulder. Toby doesn’t let you, bringing a hand up to press against the side of your head - using it to smush your face back against the stall door.

“Nope.” He snickers, his other hand coming to grasp your hip roughly. “D-Didn’t come here planning t-to fuck some chick in the b-bathroom.” You feel the head of his cock notch on your entrance for a second, and your heart skips a beat. “B-But don’t worry. I’m c-clean.”

You were going to choose to believe him, for your sake. But, that was only half of the worry, really.

“If you cum in me, I’ll kill you.” You warn, but the words don’t come out as intimidating as you want them to. They leave your mouth strained and breathless, because the feeling of his bare cock slipping against your folds was reigniting the heat between your legs.

“Th-That’d be so fuckin’ worth it.” He huffs out a laugh, and if he didn’t have your face sandwiched between his palm and the door, you would’ve cut him a glare. “But I’ll puh-play nice. Wanted to cum a-all over this sweet ass anyway.”

That brings a small sense of relief, but you’re tensing up all over again when you feel the head of his cock prod at entrance. “S-Stay relaxed for me, a-alright?” He curls his body over yours to murmur in your ear, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against your hipbone. “G-Gonna make you feel s-so good.”

You feel his lips on your ear, giving soft wet kisses. Then they’re trailing down your neck. Once he reaches your shoulder, you feel him start to push in.

And you had been right. You hadn’t actually seen his cock (bummer!) but you were correct to guess that he was packing. The stretch immediately has your jaw going slack, knees wobbling as he slowly sinks in deeper and deeper. Bigger than anyone you’ve had before, that’s for sure, and even him loosening you up with his tongue first wasn’t helping much.

He’s got you clawing at the door, ripping old crusty paint from it as you scramble to find purchase somewhere. When you can’t, one of your hands flies backwards to curl around his wrist. “I know baby, I-I know.” Toby murmurs to you softly as he laves over your shoulder with his tongue in attempts to soothe you. He gently rocks his hips forwards, slowly sinking in more and more - a shudder going down his spine at the feeling of your tight heat wrapping around him like a vice.

And he was only halfway in. He wouldn’t tell you that though. “You c-can take it.” With each nudge of his hips he’s slipping in further, and it gets to a point where you have to grit your teeth - eyebrows pinching together in a mixture of pain and pleasure. You’re practically coated in sweat now, slipping against the surface Toby’s got you pinned against as you try to stay stable. But you knew that if he wasn’t holding you up, your legs probably would’ve given out by now.

He’s just got you stuffed so full you’d swear you could taste him. You could feel him in your fucking guts; carving open a path for himself with his thick cock, nibbling and sucking at your shoulder all the while.

When his hips finally meet yours, it’s euphoric for both parties. Toby’s head drops down, resting on your shoulder as he pants against your skin. Fuck, you were tight. Like your cunt was trying to strangle his dick.

With one hand digging into the soft flesh of your hips, and the other one curling into your hair, he has to take a moment to really focus on not shooting his load right there. He knew you’d probably rip his head off if he did, but Christ it was like your pussy was crying for it; gushing slick that was dripping around the base of his length, pulsing around him like it was trying to coax out his release. “You’re ss-so fuckin’ tight-“ He grits out, breathing out hot huffs of breath against your skin.

“It’s- ah!” He nudges forwards, somehow getting even deeper. “It’s been awhile.” You force out, your expression wrinkling as the pain starts to subside for a pleasure that makes your mouth water.

“Yeah?” Toby draws his hips back just a couple inches, testing the waters as he starts slowly rocking into your heat. And it’s good. Too fucking good. This might not end up just being a one time thing, he knows he’s going to be dreaming about this sweet cunt. “A-And you’re giving it t-to me?”

Slow, shallow rocks of his hips make your vision go hazy. His cock dragging against your walls deliciously, nudging up against your gspot with each press in. He was being gentle, getting you used to it, and yet you’re already struggling to breathe. You can hear your pulse in your ears, every single nerve in your body seemingly set alight each time his hips met yours. “I f-feel special.”

“Don’t-“ You choke out a moan against the door when he pulls out more, slipping his entire length back in this time in a movement that makes your breath leave your lungs. “D-Don’t get cocky.”

Toby lets out a soft huff of laughter. Still not picking up the pace, just rolling in deeper. Getting his whole cock buried in the gush of your leaking cunt on each press in.

It was an intoxicating sight. That soft, supple flesh, rippling each time his hips connected with yours. Fishnets ripped open to reveal your glorious cunt, which just kept swallowing him up to the base on every single stroke. Sucking him back in every time he pulled out. So tight it made him feel dizzy. “It’s a l-little hard not to be r-right now.”

And you’re about to try and make a snide comment in response, but your throat is quickly closing up.

Because you just heard the sound of the bathroom door opening.

You can hear the chatter of two girls that had definitely just come from the show, giggling to themselves as they gather around the mirror to look at the damage their makeup went through.

And you know that you’re hidden away in a stall, but it still wasn’t exactly discreet. Just once glance under the stall and you’d find two pairs of feet standing suspiciously close to one another - one of which, visibly trembling.

Your eyes blow wide immediately, a mixture of panic and being absolutely mortified.

Toby though, doesn’t seem as fazed.

The hand that had been pressing against your head slips down lower, covering your mouth with his palm. “B-Better keep quiet.” He murmurs low in your ear, quiet enough to be drowned out by the chatter of the girls just a door away. “Unless y-you want them to know h-how much of a whore you are:”

Then, he’s back to moving. Even slower and smoother than before, pressing into you at a pace so agonizingly languid that you almost find yourself pressing your hips back to get more. Sliding into you with enough cautiousness that his belt buckle doesn’t even jingle - which you appreciate, but it’s also agonizing.

You’re breathing raggedly through your nose, unable to even part your lips because of the pressure his palm is holding against your mouth. And he’s rutting into you, over and over, not a care in the world that the bathroom wasn’t nearly as private as it had once been.

If you thought you were humiliated before, this was taking the cake. Teeth gritted each time his length stretched you open, whole body tense as you try and hold back even the smallest noise. But, fate isn’t on your side, because you’re already feeling that familiar heat start to build again.

Getting hotter and hotter with each buck of his hips, your cunt getting tighter and tighter around him as you struggle to hold it back. “O-Oh, bad timing.” Toby chuckles softly in your ear, but makes no effort to make things easier for you.

Instead, he starts pulling you back so that he can sink in deeper. Nudging against your gspot with a pressure that was making you see stars. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the hand gripping your hip slips down your front - sliding between your thighs to find your clit.

Oh, he was trying to kill you.

It only takes a couple tight circles against the swollen nub before you’re crumbling. Practically convulsing beneath him, drool wetting the palm of his hand as you gasp raggedly through your nose. This time, your legs really do give out, but Toby keeps you held up effortlessly - still pounding away at you cunt like he owned it.

Your vision is swimming, ears ringing, your walls spasming around his cock as your head spins.

You’re so out of it, you barely hear it when the bathroom door opens again, and the chatter starts to fade away. “F-Fuckin’ finally.” You hear Toby groan, before he’s picking up the pace at long last.

Snapping his hips into yours, slamming his length into your quivering cunt with a ferocity he had long been holding back. The buckle of his belt jingles with each thrust in, but you can barely hear it. You’re too busy melting.

He was fucking you with an intensity you’ve never encountered before, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the bathroom. If anyone else walked in, you were sure they’d quickly be turning on their heel. Because the air was flooded with the filthiest noises possible; Toby’s husky grunts and groans, the smack of his hips connecting with yours, and all the breathy whimpers and moans that were spilling out of you once his hand slipped away from your mouth.

You were long past caring now though. Too drunk on his cock to be embarrassed about any of this. Especially when he’s gripping at your hips with both hands, fingernails biting into the flesh, tugging you back to meet each brutal thrust. “S-Such a good pussy.” He’s panting in your ear, voice strained and ragged. Still fucking up into you like he’d die if he ever stopped. “Y-You sure I can’t c-cum in you?” He’s mumbling against your ear next, nuzzling into your hair. “I-I’ll buy you th-the pill.”

Convincing argument. So much so that you almost just cave. Almost.

But, you’d hang onto that last shred of your dignity even if it killed you.

“N-No-“ You’re whining out, almost too pathetically to take seriously. You definitely don’t look like a convincing sight, with the way you’re drooling against the door with each snap of his hips. “Y-You can’t-“

“I c-can’t?” Toby chuckles. “I t-totally can.”

Such an asshole. If he wasn’t currently giving you the best lay of your life, you’d probably smack him.

“Toby-“ You warn, managing to crane your head back to finally look at him. He’s not looking at you though - well, not your face - his eyes are locked in on the sight of his cock disappearing into you. Breathing getting heavier and heavier every time he buried himself to the hilt.

And he looked damn gorgeous. All slick with sweat and flushed pink on his cheeks. His eyes half-lidded and hazy, the muscles in his arms flexing every time he tugged your hips back. When his gaze finally flits up to meet yours, you’re even more convinced.

Because he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that exists to him, pupils blown out with arousal. It had your already spiked hormones going crazy. And suddenly, the desire to have his cum flood your cunt is stronger than ever. To let him mark you from the inside out. Let him make you his.

It’s a horrible idea. You know it is. But Toby looks like a god amongst men as his hips snap into yours, lips parted and glistening with saliva. “O-Okay.” You find yourself choking out, knees wobbling as your body goes even more pliant in his hold. You were barely even standing anymore, more so just wedged between his body and the wall. “You can.”

Nail in the coffin. Just because the sight of him made your mouth go dry. Was that pretty privilege?

“Y-Yeah?” Toby eyes gain a feral sheen once he’s looking back up to you once more, a stupidly smug grin on his face. “Gonna let m-me b-breed this tight l-little cunt?” His hips somehow move even faster, practically punching the moans out of you now with each rough thrust. “I-I’ll get you fuckin’ dripping with it.”

It’s embarrassing how much those words turn you on more. Even more embarrassing that you’re sure he can feel it; how your pussy tightens up around him once his voice reaches your ears.

Leaning back forwards, his lips and teeth are everywhere. Adding to the marks already littering your shoulder, scraping up your neck, nipping at your jaw before he’s tugging at your earlobe with his canines. The sound of his panted breathing in your ear is just getting you hotter, all those gravelly moans he’s letting out going straight to your leaking cunt. “SS-So fuckin’ good- God-“

Then, his hand is slipping back to your already overly sensitive clit - rubbing quick, tight circles that rip a cry from your lungs. “G-Give me one m-more.” He huffs out. “O-One more, and I’ll fill you up.”

You don’t think you could deny him even if you tried. Your nerves were going on overdrive, so sensitive that the feeling of his fingers spring tears to your eyes. Not to mention, how he was still ruthlessly pounding against your gspot. You don’t think a single woman in the world would be able to hold back.

And so you don’t. And this one, nearly fucking knocks you out from the intensity. Your eyes roll back as your pleasure crests for the third time, toes curling within the confines on your boots as stars dance behind your eyelids. Your walls convulse around him, sucking him in so tight he couldn’t have pulled out even if he wanted to. “Hah, fuck-“ Toby pants in your ear, his grip on your hips bruising as his thrusts begin to stutter.

He fucks you through your release until you’re trembling like a leaf, then with one brutal thrust back into you - he’s coming undone right after.

You feel it as the warmth of his cum gushes into you, flooring your cunt with his hot sticky load. It gushes out around his cock as he fucks it into you with languid thrusts, his breathing hot and heavy against your ear - littered with strained groans that make your whole body tingle. “F-Fuck, that’s good-“ He huffs out.

The grips on your hips loosens, before his hands are roaming your body. Sliding up your torso, tracing your curves with his calloused palms as he lets out a well satisfied hum. You feel his release drip down your thighs, staining your tights and surely pooling on the ground below you.

Toby nuzzles into your hair, trying to steady his breathing as he taking in a deep inhale of your scent. Still so sweet, but tainted now by the musk of sweat and sex. All his doing. He can’t help but feel proud.

After he finally seems to find his bearings, he pulls out - to which the rest of his spend comes gushing out after, making your brows wrinkle together at the feeling. But then, he’s spinning you back around, finally getting a good look at your face for the first time since he pinned you down.

And you look so gorgeous. All fucked out and messy, makeup smeared and mascara running, lips red and swollen from how you had bitten them raw. Yeah. This isn’t just going to be a one time thing. So he says; “Th-This pussy’s mine now, r-right?”

His hands are back on your waist again as you raise an eyebrow at him, thumbs rubbing against your soft skin.

“Thought I told you not to get cocky.” You murmur back to him, voice hoarse and raspy. A quality that makes Toby’s lips twitch into a little smirk.

“And I-I thought I told you that it’s ha-hard not to.”He chuckles softly, before leaning down to nose at your jaw. “What d-do you say though? I-I’ll treat you e-even better next time.” He places a soft, wet kiss against your skin. “G-Got a twin sized bed at home w-with your n-name on it.”

“W-Wow, a twin.” You snort, though you do raise a hand to cup the back of his head as he nuzzles into you. “Fancy guy, huh?”

“W-What can I say?” He hums against you, and you can’t see it, but you can feel his lips curl into a grin against you. “I know h-how to impress a g-girl.” Then he’s lifting his head back up to gaze down at you. “So? I-Is that a yes, then?”

And though it was absolutely not what you had expected when you walked through the venue doors earlier, you find that offer being incredibly tempting. But then again, everything about him was.

Besides, he still owed you that morning after pill.

—————————————————————————☆

hi lol

I stg I always get carried away writing I tired to not this one as much of a beast and yet we’re STILL at nearly 10k words

I’m am bestowed with the curse of yapping too much

but as always thank you for reading!!

[writingwithgeoffrey]

You stared down at the crisp twenty-dollar bill. It was the nicest one you’d ever seen, and you’d seen plenty of them in your time on this earth. Why, just looking at this one, you could remember them all.

The old lady who gave you twenty dollars to save her cat. You recalled fondly how it gave you the power of flight—even if temporary.

The young man who gave you twenty dollars to hang a proposal sign off the side of a building. Learning how to stick to walls and climb them was exhilarating.

Then there was that time the government gave you twenty bucks just to fix a water treatment plant. Swimming around in waste was disgusting, but the money had given you the ability to breathe underwater and resist the horrid stench.

You didn’t know how your power worked, but you didn’t really care. Twenty bucks was twenty bucks, and you honestly liked helping people out. The smiles on their faces, the joyful reunions between owners and pets, the ability to bring fun … That was why you were a hero. Sure, you could’ve been doing multiple smaller odd jobs for the money, but why bother?

This job, however, was the literal definition of getting the most bang for your buck.

“I’m sorry, what?” You’d been so distracted by the newness of the bill that you hadn’t been paying attention. The government guy across from you seemed on edge. As he should’ve been, you thought. They’re always desperate when they come to me.

“There’s an asteroid coming right for us. We’ve tried everything in our power to stop it.”

“Nukes?”

The guy nodded.

“How about a team of drillers trained to fly in space so they can plant a bomb?”

The guy scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, we tried that.”

“What about taking the problem and pushing it somewhere else?”

“Tried that, too.” The guy got upset. “Look, are you gonna take the money and do your job, or do I have to take that back?”

If there was one thing you were defensive about, it was someone taking away your twenties. You’d grown quite a varied collection over the years, and this one would’ve made a great centerpiece.

“No,” you said as you pocketed the bill. “So, what? You just need me to stop the asteroid?” Already, you were excited to find out what powers you’d get. What would possibly help you stop an asteroid?

“Preferably destroy it so that it doesn’t return on a destructive arc.”

“Right. Destroy it. You looked up toward the night sky, where a faint glow was visible far off in the distance. You pointed at it. “That it?”

“Do your thing, sir.”

You took in a deep breath, moved a few steps away on the off chance your powers developed poorly, and leaped into the sky. Your vertical jump had always been horrible without powers, and this time was no different. You hardly made it a foot off the ground!

“Okay. No flight. How about …”

You stared intently in the direction of the asteroid, remembering that one time you’d gotten laser eyes to help someone slice up a watermelon. You just ended up looking like a fool with constipation.

“Okay.” You began to grow nervous. This was the longest it’d taken for your powers to develop. “Maybe this?”

You held your fist out front, hoping you’d gotten some kind of light-projection powers, like that one time when you’d used them as an umbrella and someone had called you Green Lantern. Nothing came out.

“Uh-oh.”

“What’s wrong?”

You glanced at the government guy, trying to hide your lack-of-powers. “N-nothing! Just, you know, building up suspense.” You let out a nervous laugh, then hunched over your balled up fists. “Come on,” you hissed at them. “Work.”

You clenched, focused all the energy in your body, felt it build up, and then you farted.

“Oh, come on!”

By this point, the asteroid was close enough that it was beginning to illuminate the world like the moon would.

“Anytime now, sir!” the government guy said.

You whirled on him. “It’s not my fault! You gave me twenty dollars! It should be easy for me! I should be able to solve this problem with a snap of my fingers!”

You snapped your fingers for effect. The sound of a bell tolling rang out across the world. It echoed in your skull, reverberated through your entire body, treated you like an amplifier for the universe’s will.

Then, the light cut out. You glanced over your shoulder, but there was no asteroid to see. The world was normal, too. There was nothing wrong with the city or the people who lived in it.

“Did … did you do it?”

You gawked as you stared up at the empty night sky. Well, not empty, there were still stars and the moon, but the threat was gone.

“Um … I guess.”

The government guy stood beside you, similarly shocked by the revelation, then pulled an envelope from his pocket. “Well.” He gulped and turned to face you. “On behalf of the world’s governments, this is for you.”

You took the envelope, broke the seal, and looked inside. “Aw, sick. Twenty bucks!”

You're a hero with a weird name: "Anything for $20." You gain the ability to do anything, as long as you're offered $20. Everyone takes it as a joke, until one day there's a cataclysm, and someone offers you $20 to end it.

[uuchii]

"In a world filled with men, he's a gentleman." ♡ - headcannons

Pairings: bf! Choi seung-hyun x reader

Warnings: none just fluff, hehe

︴note: hi <3, this is my first fic on this acc! I'm excited to post here on tumblr, I got inspired by so many writers out there! My writting might be a bit off, so please bear with me 😓 ,, anyway I hope you enjoy ♡.

Choi seung-hyun never was interested on dating or be in a relationship, he felt like it wasn't the right time to be one, considering his heavy schedules. But all that changes once he met you.

He instantly fell inlove once you two made eye contact. And after that he just couldn't help but think about you.

And of course you two ended up together.

- he probably did the first move! He might've asked you out but gosh he was nervous. He made sure on your first date he was being a gentleman. Like holding your hands, opening the door for you, paying everything, he made sure if your enjoying it so far. He would constantly check up on you, making sure your okay or feel comfortable. He wants to see you smile throughout the day. He would pull small jokes here and there, asking how's your day, he would talk about how passionate he was for music and art, and he would listen to your chat. He wouldn't get tire of listening to your voice at all. honestly he just wanted it to be perfect for you.

- your his passenger princess! Whenever your on a car with him, he would always put a hand on your thigh, would constantly rub his thumb against your skin in circles, caressing your thigh gently, as he talks to you AUGHH. He would glance at you every now and then, soft music fills the silence on the car as he drives.

- every night is always a cuddle session with him. Bed? Yes. couch? Absolutely! He likes being close to you, his hands wrapping around your waist, as he peppers your neck small pecks and kisses while he whispers sweet nothings to your ear. "I missed you today, jagi. Can we stay like this?" Honestly he would pull you back whenever you try to stand up.

- you always cook for him, breakfast, lunch and dinner. And he would always appreciate every bite because you made it. Every mornings, he would walk up behind you will you cook, wrapping his hand around your waist, as he watches you cook. "It smells good, can I help you with anything?" You would tell him to set up the table and he would. He would also make coffee for the both of you.

Everytime he has to go away for practice, recording, photoshoots, filming or whatnot. You would always pack him lunch, and he loves it when you do. He felt appreciated whenever you do, and it always makes his day, especially when you leave small notes. He always knows that how much you spend time making this just for him, and he is grateful about it.

On dinner, after you two eat, he would help you clean the table off and clean the dishes, it's a way of showing appreciation for the food your making hehe. Knowing he can't cook, he'd help you out instead.

- If you ask him to teach you how to paint, he would definitely, he feels giddy knowing you want to know about his intrests. Brings you to his studio, shows you how and tell you tips and tricks, like how to blend the colors, how to mix them and etc. He's always there. And whenever you show your paintings and your works to him, he couldn't help but feel proud. Even though if it looks bad or good, he would praise you about it. "Aein, this looks amazing, you learned so fast."

- this man brings you to his studio and would make you listen to his unreleased songs. He would ask if they sound okay, he just wants to know your opinions... that's all.. "Hey, jagi. Listen to this for me." "What do you think?" "It sounds okay." "Just okay? Are you sure?" "Yes baby, why?" "Alright I'm gonna do some changes wait-"

- whenever you feel down, he's always right there with you. He would ask if your doing alright, following you around the house like a puppy, he just wanted to make sure. "Hey baby, is everything okay? You look upset.." he would try his best to cheer you up, giving you cuddles, hugs, small kisses here and there.

[asterafroditis]

Hi, could I request Silver with a platonic know-it-all reader? Like they're blunt and always getting on everybody's nerves by flexing their knowledge on others and nobody really knows why Silver puts up with them, but he's always like "wow, that was really informative :)" whenever they talk and they genuinely enjoy his company. Sorry if this is an odd request!

𐔌 . ⋮ quiet understanding .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Platonic Silver x yapper gn! reader

𓏵 910 words

ᝰ.ᐟ 3rd Person POV, they/them pronouns used, fluff

teehee, I definitely had fun writing this, hope it caters to your request! feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

If there was one thing people knew about you, it was that you knew things. A lot of things. About history, science, magic theory, ancient spell formations—sometimes even completely random trivia that had no relevance to anyone's life. And you made sure people knew that you knew.

"Actually, that's incorrect," you’d interject, arms crossed as you interrupted yet another conversation in the Diasomnia common room. "The proper incantation for that spell dates back to the late Sorcerer's Era, not the early one. If you used that variation, you'd end up setting your own robes on fire."

Sebek groaned loudly, turning on his heel with a scowl. "No one asked for your input!"

"Yeah, but you'd have burned your eyebrows off. You're welcome."

Lilia only chuckled, amused as always, but the rest of the students? Not so much. You had a habit of inserting your knowledge into every discussion, and it wasn’t exactly winning you many friends. Some people saw you as insufferable, others as a walking encyclopedia that never knew when to shut up.

But if there was one person who never seemed annoyed by you, it was Silver.

"That was really informative," he said as he blinked at you, entirely sincere. "I didn’t know that spell variation had such a history."

You smirked, satisfied. "Of course. Most people just assume the modern version is correct, but they don’t consider how—"

"Are you seriously encouraging them, Silver?!" Sebek cut in, looking completely exasperated. "They never stop talking as it is!"

Silver only tilted his head, clearly not understanding why that was an issue. "I think it's nice. They know a lot of useful things."

"Exactly," you agreed smugly, nudging Silver's arm. "At least someone appreciates my genius."

Sebek let out a long-suffering groan and stomped away while you turned back to Silver, pleased as ever.

And that was how it always went. While most people avoided you when you got too deep into an explanation, Silver never brushed you off. He never mocked you, never got irritated—he just listened, nodding along even when your tangents stretched far longer than necessary. He even asked follow-up questions sometimes, which was practically an invitation for you to keep going.

You liked that about him.

One day, as you sat under a tree with Silver during a break, you glanced at him curiously. "You never get tired of me talking your ear off, do you?"

Silver looked thoughtful for a moment before shaking his head. "No. You always have something interesting to say. And I like learning new things."

You blinked. "...Huh."

That was… unexpected. But nice.

A breeze rustled through the trees, and you hesitated before adding, "Most people think I’m just annoying."

Silver closed his eyes, considering your words. Then, with the same calm sincerity he always carried, he said, "They're missing out, then."

You scoffed lightly, rolling your eyes. "Well, obviously." You leaned back against the tree, folding your arms. "I mean, I know things no one else does. If people don’t want to listen, that's their loss."

Silver hummed in agreement, then after a pause, added, "Still, I think it's nice to have someone who enjoys talking. I spend a lot of time in silence."

You thought about that for a moment. Most people probably assumed he was just a quiet guy, but considering how often he drifted off to sleep, maybe he was just too tired to talk much. If that was the case… maybe he liked having someone around who could carry the conversation.

A moment of silence passed between you before Silver spoke again. "You mentioned something about knight traditions earlier," he said, tilting his head slightly. "Can you tell me more about that?"

Your eyes lit up. "Oh, absolutely! Did you know that in ancient knightly orders, squires would have to recite the entire code of chivalry before they could even touch a sword? It wasn’t just about combat—they had to memorize historical texts, strategy guides, even poetry."

Silver’s lips quirked upward slightly. "I see. I think my father would have liked that tradition."

You paused, momentarily caught off guard. "Huh. Yeah, I guess he would’ve. You probably would’ve excelled at it, too."

Silver blinked at you, mildly surprised. "You think so?"

"Of course," you scoffed. "You're basically already a knight. Just missing the fancy title and dramatic cape."

He chuckled softly. "That’s… nice to hear."

You huffed, nudging his shoulder. "Well, don’t get too cocky about it. I still know more history than you."

Silver smiled faintly. "I don’t mind. That just means I can learn more from you."

For once, you found yourself at a loss for words.

It was easy to brush off other people’s irritation toward you, easy to act like you didn’t care whether they appreciated your knowledge or not. But Silver—he listened. He valued what you had to say. And in a world where people were constantly rolling their eyes or sighing in exasperation at you, that meant more than you wanted to admit.

So, with a quiet hum, you settled in beside him, watching the leaves rustle overhead.

"Alright," you said eventually, voice softer than usual. "I’ll tell you about the old knight tournaments next. You’ll like this one."

Silver nodded, his expression relaxed and content. "I’m listening."

And for once, you felt like someone truly was.

[01zfan]

bad friend: bestfriend’s sister

brothers bestfriend!sungchan x reader | 5.3k words

well...you guys know i couldn't end it without sungchan getting his lick back.

contains: eunseok and sungchan are in a war that hasn't been vocally waged, sungchan is kind of a manipulator, reader is semi-innocent, some sort of tension between sungchan and eunseok that neither of them acknowledge

bad friend: AITA

Sungchan was disappointed that it took him so long to figure out what to do. After he read Eunseok’s Reddit post he had to think, picking at the peeling skin of the vinyl seat he was in. 

He sat in the seat of the cafe closer to their apartment basking in rage while his bestfriend was unaffected. Eunseok barely looked up from his laptop, Sungchan imagined his friend was editing the post as he sat right across from him. He could see Eunseok mouthing words, repeating phrases back to himself before he could hear backspacing on his computer and some more typing. Sungchan felt his friend’s eyes occasionally lift to look at him, and when he would catch his eyes Eunseok would snap right back to his screen.

Sungchan could feel the atmosphere around them change, until Eunseok couldn’t bare it anymore and closed his laptop. Sungchan stared at the logo of Eunseok's laptop, thinking about the post that his friend was working on only moments ago.

“Are you ready to go back to the apartment?”

Eunseok hesitated with each movement. Sungchan was unbothered, stretching his back and arms until they rested on the vinyl seats again.

He couldn't lie and say he didn't enjoy seeing Eunseok uneasy from the tension. Asking about something as trivial as food left in their shared fridge made Eunseok finally drop that nonchalant act. The facade fell to show what Eunseok truly was, remorseful even if he tried to hide it and thinking about what he did to his alleged roommate and bestfriend.

Sungchan enjoyed seeing Eunseok uncomfortable, he hoped that it was guilt. Eunseok was so used to being the diplomat he didn’t know what to do when he was the one waging a war. Sungchan recalled the times Eunseok's easygoing attitude got him out of trouble while growing up. Eunseok asking Sungchan is it worth it? when he was about to lose his cool or telling him to calm down in that annoying monotone voice.

Sungchan could tell his friend didn’t know how to face a problem he created. Sungchan was sure the comments on whatever he was going to post would be telling him that he wasn’t the asshole. That's what losers on the Internet did. They convened in the dark corners, circle jerking and letting eachother know that even at their lowest they're justified. There would be someone like Sungchan, well adjusted and socialized telling him he should come clean. That he should tell Sungchan that he slept with his girlfriend. Sungchan even gave him the perfect segue into the conversation. All he had to do was come clean about the leftover food in the fridge. Sungchan would even let Eunseok lie, he could tell Sungchan that you came onto him, and he couldn't deny you. He could spare Sungchan the details because he read them already, he could just say that he wanted you to feel better.

Sungchan looked from the barista behind the counter back to Eunseok. He was taking too long to slip his laptop into the secure place in his backpack.

“My sister is coming over later today, by the way.” Eunseok was still looking into his backpack, speaking to it quietly. “Some mail still ends up going to my parents house for some reason. So she’s bringing it to me. She might bring some food too.” He added.

Food was always the olive branch extended between the two of them. When Sungchan was invited to that birthday party in elementary school and Eunseok wasn't he brought him vegetable dumplings from the convenience store. When Eunseok beat Sungchan at the schools spelling bee they ate samgyeopsal until Sungchan thought his stomach would explode. Food was always how they silently told eachother the other went too far without directly saying it, and each time it worked. The resentment that built up over the twenty years of friendship was in no way related to the fact they never actually talked about their problems. That was something that couldn't be explained, or maybe Eunseok could ask a fucking sub-reddit about it.

But what was important was that Eunseok was offering another olive branch. Although Eunseok nodded his head, Sungchan barely listened to the rest of Eunseok’s mumble, they were going to be even. Eunseok was talking about the mail that ended up at his parents house, or something about the coffee here, but Sungchan couldn't be bothered. Revenge walked into his lap, mentioned candidly while Eunseok tried hard to push past the uneasy feeling in his heart.

When Eunseok finally looked up from his backpack to look at Sungchan, he had already honed his emotions and changed the expression on his face to something neutral.

“I didn’t know your sister was coming over.” Sungchan tried remembering what you were doing with your life now. Your brother rarely mentioned you for some reason. You were just a contact on Eunseok’s phone that would call when you had a question about your computer and an old contact photo in his family’s groupchat. “Is she back in town?” He asked.

After Sungchan asked his question Eunseok had the nerve to side eye him from his backpack. As if Eunseok wasn’t the one who fucked his bestfriends girlfriend then was going on the Internet to garner sympathy. He looked at Sungchan like he was the crazy one for asking about your life.

“Only for a month or so." Eunseok stood up from his recliner and Sungchan followed suit. "She's staying in town for a friend's wedding or something.”

Sungchan could tell that Eunseok really wanted to repeat what he told him all those years ago. Back when the three of you became young adults and Sungchan stopped looking at you like you were Eunseok’s little sister.

Eunseok caught on fast, but you were more like Sungchan when it came to hiding things. All cards were on the table, you couldn’t hide your adoration for your older brother's bestfriend.

In the beginning Eunseok and Sungchan just chalked it up to you wanting to know how boys had fun. When he would complain about you suddenly taking an interest in video games or action figures your mother always told Eunseok to let you play. When he was still young and hardheaded he would protest, saying you were a girl and his sister and he didn't want to play with you. But when you wouldn't budge and neither were his parents, Eunseok was forced to become indifferent.

He had to be indifferent about your presence because his parents would always take your side. Sometime during that, Eunseok became indifferent to you as a whole. He never wanted the responsibilities of an older brother so he nevver doted on you or was protective.

Sungchan noticed that you two never became close. Even when you got older and started to become your own person, Eunseok was unconcerned with what was going on in your life. Sungchan watched you both separately behave like only children, living under the same roof but never having conversations that went beyond telling the other that dinner was ready. 

Eunseok would never admit that you were closer to Sungchan than you were to him, that you favored being around him. There are pictures of you hanging on the wall at Eunseok's parents' place. An old digital picture at Sungchan and Eunseok's soccer game, clinging to Sungchan instead of your brother. You were barely to his waist then, but your smile was bigger than the two of there's put together. You held onto him so tight it wrinkled his jersey. When you would call for your older brother it used to be in reference to Sungchan, when you wanted comfort you used to run past Eunseok right into Sungchan's arms. You used to complain about Sungchan having to go to his own house instead of spending another night at your place.

When the looks you started giving him became more obvious and turned to something different. Overnight you started hanging on every word Sungchan would say, batting your eyelashes and looking up at him. Eunseok and Sungchan still hung around after they graduated highschool and you were nearly done yourself. During that gap year you seemed to always be home, seniors in highschool always seemed to be everywhere else but school.

Eunseok was casual about it, he always was. He would only look between you and Sungchan's exchanges, nothing more than a scratch at the top of his head and everything else was forgotten. Sungchan knew that being an older brother was never something Eunseok strived to excel at, he remembered the casual confession from his friend that he never asked for a younger sibling. Eunseok described your existence as something that just happened one day, his parents went to the hospital and he was watched by his grandparents all day. Sungchan could even recall the day sometimes, how he was buzzing with excitement at the thought of seeing a baby while his friend only shrugged his shoulders.

Eunseok was convinced that he had to still remain indifferent to you. But Sungchan could tell that it upset him to no end that he was bested at another thing. Even if something was irking Eunseok so deeply about whatever was blossoming he refused to let it show. The idea of Eunseok truly not caring upset Sungchan even more. He was too stoic.

Eunseok’s calm demeanor regarding you pissed Sungchan off. If he had a sister and he caught wind of mutual attraction he would’ve forbid Eunseok from coming over before it ever turned into whatever your stares at him had become. But Eunseok was a sleazy older brother, nonchalant and more concerned with video games and anime than being protective of you. Then Eunseok went as far to accuse Sungchan of liking you because he cared more about where you were going dressed the way you were. Sungchan was the one asking if you needed to be picked up later, if your parents knew what you were doing. Eunseok would only ask more questions to follow his friends lead, side-eyeing your conversation he was pushed out of. Eunseok would have to clear his throat to get the focus back on him, and then he would finally try being an older brother. But it was obvious he was only doing it for show.

He thinks to this day Eunseok never truly cared about protecting you when he gave Sungchan the rule, he just wanted to stand between another thing Sungchan was good at.

Eunseok was casual about it, paying more attention to the game than Sungchan. Sungchan stopped playing entirely, he could feel the controller vibrate in his hand with each hit he was taking. Eunseok didn’t look towards him once. He bit his lip in concentration from pressing the buttons at the right time, leaning back like the game was fair as Sungchan lost. Eunseok watched his character rip out the spine of Sungchan’s character in a gruesome way while the announcer called out the fatality. 

You had to have picked up on the rule. The dynamic between Sungchan and Eunseok changed that night and Sungchan knew you noticed, He gave you more credit than Eunseok ever did, even if you conflated things and blew them out of proportion. You thought that it was funny to call them boyfriends, and you said they were always in competition with eachother. Your commentary on their relationship was one of the things that pushed Eunseok to get his own place, because he couldn’t get rid of you but to his dismay he couldn’t get rid of Sungchan either. So that night only after Eunseok won a game over Sungchan, he told him two things.

He was getting his own apartment but he needed a roommate.

Sungchan absolutely could not, under any circumstance, fuck his sister. 

When you’d come around looking for Eunseok but find Sungchan you still had that look of adoration in your eyes, but Sungchan had respect for his friend. He avoided you, looked past you, would end up gone each time you came around. He knew you were looking for him, because he wasn’t stupid and you were more like your brother than you would ever know. When you stopped coming around after they moved in together Sungchan knew you knew he was purposefully making himself scarce. He also knew that Eunseok would feign benevolence each time, and would’ve just shrugged his shoulders if you asked where he was. 

Sungchan convinced himself that all was fair in the car ride back to the apartment. Eunseok was the one who waged the war, and the way you always looked at Sungchan was reminiscent of something tender. Maybe not love but blind adoration. A childhood crush that was never requited. Sungchan knew the crush was still fresh for you, because you still asked where he was each time he came around. He knew it still bothered Eunseok because he would always avoid giving you a straight answer. Sungchan would just have to be there to tell you himself.

Sungchan and Eunseok spent another quiet night on separate ends of their couch, watching a television show neither of them liked. The episodes dragged on after they were finished eating. It was obvious both of them were focused on other things. Eunseok’s leg was permanently restless, and Sungchan had his head balanced on his hand while the other picked at the couch. 

Your knock on the door gave Eunseok an excuse to call it a night, he got up too quick and paused the television show too fast. Sungchan lingered on the couch. When Eunseok’s back faced him he fixed his appearance, making sure his shirt fell just right and his hair looked nice, that he wasn’t getting the life drained out of him by boring television and his boring roommate. He made sure the hair you always used to pull at when you were younger looked fluffy, and the shoulders you used to hang off of when Eunseok didn’t want to play with you looked broad.

Instead of going back into his room when Eunseok opened the door for you Sungchan stayed right there, he even leaned forward to come into your line of sight. Sungchan watched you try focusing on your brother before you looked over his shoulder, then he watched Eunseok follow your line of sight until he grabbed the mail from your hands.

“Is that it?” Eunseok spoke loudly but you still didn’t look at him. Watching him try to be a big brother after all this time was amusing. Sungchan hoped he saw the way your eyes still focused on him, how you spoke to Eunseok but stayed looking at Sungchan on the couch. “Mom found some of your clothes laying around and she made me bring that too. She also made me bring food because she knows you guys are eating only eating takeout.”

“She made food for me too?” Sungchan asked.

He got up from the couch, and he watched you two focus on him. You two were too easy to fluster. Eunseok narrowed his eyes and you nodded your head mindlessly.

“Of course, she loves you.” Eunseok turned back towards you, because his mom rarely said something so heartfelt. Like Sungchan hadn’t been there a majority of Eunseok’s childhood to see it first hand, he watched you take your shake your head and quickly motion between him and Eunseok. “She loves you both. She loves you both and the food is in my car.” 

Before Eunseok could reluctantly offer to help you, Sungchan was clearing the apartment and sliding on Eunseok’s crocs. He took his friends small shoes and crammed his feet in them, knowing those were things Eunseok had chided him for in the past. 

Sungchan didn’t close the door in Eunseok’s face. He let him see the way your expression lit up, he let him see the way he looked down at you with a smile. He wanted Eunseok to bask in it, he wanted you to ignore him when he insisted he could help you instead. He let Eunseok’s thoughts ferment in the entryway and wonder what you two were talking about while he scrambled around the apartment for another pair of his shoes. When Eunseok finally made it down the stairs to the parking lot Sungchan let him see the moment you put your number in his phone before realizing he was there, and he let Eunseok see the way you tried to act inconspicuous about the whole thing. 

The following weeks, Sungchan played you and your brother. Eunseok’s guilt made it easy. Eunseok knew that Sungchan was texting you because he didn’t try to hide it. He saw your name pop up on his phone screen, he saw the way you came around everyday. Eunseok suddenly had a million things waiting for him at his parents place, and you were the only one who could bring it by. Eunseok didn’t press the issue further because he didn’t know how to be a good big brother after years of pretending you didn’t exist, and he didn’t know how to be a good friend after fucking Sungchan’s ex. He just watched and waited, question on the tip of his tongue when Sungchan would tell him he would be bringing company over at night.

Eunseok did try to catch him in the act once. In the middle of the night after Eunseok came back from what Sungchan assumed to be another visit to his ex he heard him come through the door. Almost instantly when the front door close Sungchan let himself get louder, letting go of his bitten lip to let the smallest sounds slip through the walls. Sungchan had the biggest room but it was right by the entryway, he could hear Eunseok’s loud steps stop right by his closed door. Sungchan ignored the quiet knocks, instead getting louder and squeezing his hand tighter. 

When Eunseok opened the door, Sungchan jolted in his bed. He pretended like he didn’t hear Eunseok the past week try to subtly drops hints about how he was too loud late at night. He watched his friend’s expression shift from triumph of catching him in the act to pure horror when he realized it was Sungchan in his room by himself.

After Sungchan told him to get out, he had to worry about Eunseok’s presence alot less. Guilt from walking in on his roommate masturbating tacked on with the guilt of fucking his ex-girlfriend made Eunseok disappear all together. He was doing things on his own throughout the day and turned the sound up on his headset late at night. When Sungchan would come out to grab something from the common area Eunseok would duck away no matter what he was doing. Food was left on the table and the fridge was practically left open, the only trace of him being there was the glow from his headset and the sound of his door closing. 

Eunseok unfortunately made himself too hidden. Sungchan realized after the fact that he foolishly pushed his bestfriend past his limit, turning him into a complete hermit. When Sungchan started sneaking you into the apartment Eunseok never got the chance to get a glimpse of you. The first night you were in Sungchan’s room and your body was leaned against his shoulder the only thing Sungchan was paying attention to was the sound of his friend coming out of his room. Both you and Sungchan sat on the edge of his bed facing the door, his fingers deep inside of you. You made him promise to lock the door but you two still managed to end up there, practically on display just waiting for the door to open. The anticipation made it so Sungchan couldn't look away even if he wanted to. He didn’t take his eyes away from the door, he still looked at the handle when he'd turn his head ever so often to plant a distracted kiss on your lips. You were no better, not even paying attention to what was going on beyond the walls of Sungchan's bedroom. You still held your sounds back then, the same way Eunseok always held back his, so worried about your unknowing brother who did not care.

The second time you got too loud. Sungchan was thinking about other things, like what was going on beyond the wall he shared and you were distracting him. You called him by the nickname Eunseok gave him mockingly, telling jinsu to go faster and that you were so close. He had you bent over the dresser that was against their shared wall, and he had to finally clasp a large hand over your mouth. By the end of that night you were sucking on his fingers, and moved to the center of his bed and pushed down to a pathetic position on your stomach. Sungchan had to wrap a hand underneath your waist to keep you up.

Sungchan found out you were weak just like Eunseok too. No endurance, no sports you stayed involved in. There was a pattern between the two of you that was never brought up, where you two started in sports but developed a liking for indoor activities instead. There was a time where Eunseok played sports with Sungchan, then overnight his friend ditched him for anime and video games. You went down the same path, you were just able to cover it up with makeup and making friends. When Eunseok became a recluse you became a social butterfly, a homebody that was ironically out every weekend. Sungchan told himself he could never bring this up because how much you hated being compared to your brother, and Eunseok spent most of his days forgetting he even had a sister.

You were also low maintenance just like your brother. The pretty hair and expensive clothes were just for show. The spoiled princess accusations Eunseok used to say under his breath passing was false. The concept of someone wanting something and vocalizing it was just so foreign to Eunseok he assumed you were rotten. If anything it was Sungchan who was spoiled. You came running with just a text, ditching your friends and any plans just to sneak into his apartment. The only thing you asked was if your brother would be there. That didn’t seem to bother you too much, because Sungchan said maybe and you still were at his door with an overnight bag tucked underneath your arm.

When he opened the door you came right into his arms. Like the day you went without seeing him was a century, you buried your head deep in his chest and breathed him in. You smelled like Eunseok but sweeter, as if he was drowned in rose and vanilla.

“I missed you.” You whispered it when you pressed the side of your face into Sungchan’s chest. Sungchan felt you squeeze him tighter and play with the bottom of his shirt. He hummed and rubbed your back, easing out that tension in your shoulders. 

He didn’t know someone in your family could be so vulnerable. He had known Eunseok for years and there were still walls he didn’t bother to break down anymore. He let his friend be mysterious and he let your parents be passive. You treated Sungchan like a gift because he let you be vulnerable, even if he only responded with i know or it’s okay.

Sungchan almost felt bad for what he was doing. Even in the dark entryway he could see that look in your eye. Always like a lost puppy, seemingly becoming even more innocent in debauched circumstances. Eunseok was going to come home at some point, Sungchan knew that. He knew that you were going to make noise that would bleed through the cracks in his doors and the thin walls. He had to clasp a hand over your mouth anytime he had you like this, or push your face into the mattress until you got the hint. Being vulnerable came with being loud, a bumbling mess with tears welling in your eyes and broken words falling from your lips. You looked like a puppy and you sounded like one too, whimpering and drooling while you wasted all your energy.

But that wasn’t his view just yet. You were kneeling on his bed for him right now, left in your underwear and a camisole as you looked up to him. Sungchan was still fully clothed, looking down at the way your thighs pressed together the more you leaned back to try and settle yourself. He brought his hand up to your face, already knowing you’d eagerly move to put your chin in the palm of his hand.

“You’re too cute.” A pitiful exhale fans his palm. Your eyes manage to get even more watery, almost twinkling as you look up at him. He almost feels bad for what he’s doing. “Do you know how cute you are?” He asks.

You shake your head, and Sungchan is grateful for Eunseok being a terrible brother. Sungchan even feels gratitude in his heart for Eunseok being a terrible friend. If those things hadn’t happened, and Eunseok hadn’t made that post Sungchan would’ve never been here. Caressing your chin, feeling you give all your free will to him. You were malleable, made in Sungchan’s image after a little less than two weeks. His hands crafted you into whatever you were becoming. The power was intoxicating, because even he had no idea what you were molding into. Submissive, eager to please, reaching for something you didn’t know how to handle. 

“Do you think your brother is an asshole?” Sungchan’s hand underneath your chin tilted your head up to him. Your pretty eyebrows knit together in confusion, and Sungchan tried not to laugh at tripping you up. He remained serious, tilting your head even further up. “Do you think he’s a bad person?” He asked.

He gave you the smallest amount of authority when you started messing with his belt. He let his hands fall to his sides and he overcompensated your strength, letting your shaking hands pull his hips towards you. Sungchan sighed at the thought of you being dominant. He knew you didn’t have it in you. Your avoidance of responsibility made Sungchan relinquishing power hard. Even if it was for your benefit, even if it was all a show the second sigh he let out was smug. His hands went to resting at his hips as yours became more hesitant.

You didn’t take well to being in charge. You didn’t take well to questions you didn’t know how to answer. You don’t know your brother, even if you grew up in the same house and had so much in common. Sungchan almost wants to tell you about the Reddit post, to let you know how truly sleazy your older brother is. But if he was honest he’d have to tell you that’s the reason why you two are in this room when there’s only a wall separating you from your brother’s room. Almost immediately your hands started to falter, the thought of disapproval from Sungchan made you fix your gaze on his stomach instead. You pulled his belt tighter instead of pulling it loose. You were more like your brother than either of you would ever know. Sungchan knew your palms were lining with sweat, the same way Eunseok would get whenever he knew he wasn’t doing something perfectly. Your face was hot to the touch, he could feel it when his hand went back to your chin. 

“You’re really too cute.” Sungchan said again.

He notices that you two both have the same habit of denying compliments when you first receive them. Eunseok looks to the side while you slowly shake your head. Sungchan manually nods your head with his fingers holding your chin.

You and Eunseok were meant to be lead by someone like Sungchan. The self-proclaimed brains to his brawn. One couldn’t exist without the other, no matter how miserable the other had become. That’s why Eunseok fucked his ex. That’s why he was about to fuck you. Eunseok would eventually find out about you two, if he didn’t already know he would figure out by the clothes Sungchan would strategically leave laying around in the common area. He could tell you were going to make noise for him tonight. Eunseok was still up around this time, the banging on his wall and the sound of things falling would keep him awake.

Sungchan watches your hands go back to your thighs, resting in a clenched fist. Everything about you was made to please Sungchan. From his favorite color on your underwear to your shirt that was a size to small. You gave him everything, the little bow on your waistband like you were his gift. He should feel terrible for doing this. Breaking the one stipulation his bestfriend gave him. But he waged the war, and this was fair. You didn’t mind, because you started digging your nails into your leg when Sungchan took too long undoing his belt. He kept you waiting, until his pants were at his ankles and you were watching him grab himself over his boxers.

“Turn around for me baby.” He said.

You were better at listening to him than Eunseok. When Eunseok would’ve shaken his head or pretended not to hear him all together you were scurrying to the center of his mattress, turning around and sticking your ass in the air. Sungchan watched you let out out a pensive breath, settling into the arch he showed you the very first night. You were a faster learner than Eunseok too.

Sungchan took off his underwear and touched himself, knowing you wished you were the one doing it. The first night you told Sungchan a million times how much you thought of him, how you waited so long just for the chance to touch him. Sungchan let you remember while he slowly worked his hand up his length, the same way he did when Eunseok caught him all those weeks ago. He put on the condom slowly after he watched your shaky hands pull out the slimy latex. The top of the foil packaging was still between your teeth, only falling out when you let out another labored breath. Your head fell back to the mattress and Sungchan settled behind you, hands gripping your waist tight.

“Be loud tonight, okay?” Sungchan watched you preemptively bite your lip and look towards the shared wall. The occasional thud on the other side could be heard, the dull whirring of Eunseok talking into his microphone came through. Worry crossed your pretty eyes, you wiped your palms on Sungchan's comforter. Sungchan come clower to you, until he felt your frame give slightly underneath his. He focused on your big eyes and he pulled together his most sincere look. “Please? For me?” Sungchan asked.

That’s all it took for you to nod your head. You were easier than Eunseok, that was for certain. He pushed into you with ease because you were made for him, and you groaned loudly solely because he asked. Sungchan made sure you made noise for good reason, until you were rivaling with the creak in his mattress and his headboard bumping into the wall. He hoped that it rocked Eunseok’s computer setup, that his friends could hear it in their voice chat. The thought of it made Sungchan prop a leg up and pull your hips backwards to meet him. The thought made him make sounds of his own, until his throat become dry and his voice become hoarse. He was made for you too it seemed, because you squeezed him tight and your sweaty hand clasped around his perfectly. 

He knew when you were getting close. He knows your brother so by extension he knows you too, and the same time you started forgetting about anyone else in the apartment he finally heard Eunseok’s door open. Sungchan heard the creak in the floorboards and then Eunseok's timid steps outside his door. Eunseok knocked just like he did the first night, and Sungchan wrapped his arms around your chest to bring you up from the bed to pull you against him. He let your sounds come out, the identity of who was crying obvious even to indifferent brothers. Eunseok didn’t knock again, he left the apartment completely and closed the front door so loud pictures on Sungchan’s wall shook. You shook in Sungchan's arms before you melted to his bed.

Sungchan broke the one rule Eunseok set for him. All is fair. Eunseok waged the war and Sungchan would end it. He wouldn't make a Reddit post about it, he would only leave the white sweater Eunseok bought for you on Christmas draped over the couch in their shared common area.