#and if i have to sit with this anger bubbling inside of me without letting it out by telling Someone i Will commit multiple felonies

[wereh0gz]

Hiiii jsyk aros and aces are inherently queer doesn't matter if they're also straight and/or cis and if you disagree then death by one million explosions

[brunchable]

UNDER HIS COMMAND [R 18+]

Steve Rogers × Agent!FReader

Words: 6.2K Warming: Age Gap (reader in early 20s), unprotected piv sex, domineering acts. oral (both receiving), dirty talk, praising. Summary: You drove Steve to his utmost limit, but what is it going to take to get him to calm down? A/N: I rewatched the old Marvel movies and have been feeling feral towards coughCAPT'Ncough. Bon appetitties?

The mission had gone sideways in a way that left Steve Rogers simmering with frustration. He could feel the anger bubbling up inside him, a foreign sensation that made his chest tight and his thoughts cloudy. You had gone against his direct orders, putting yourself in danger—again—and it had pushed Steve to his breaking point.

As you stood in your private cabin, both your voices echoing off the walls, Steve couldn’t hold back any longer.

“You had no right to do that, Y/N!” Steve’s voice cut through the air like a blade, sharper and louder than you’d ever heard it.

Your eyes flashed with defiance as you fought back with all your frustration. "I made that call because it was the right thing to do! I was not going to allow those people to die just because you were excessively consumed with following the agenda!

Steve’s fists clenched at his sides, his muscles taut with barely restrained anger. “This isn’t about saving lives—it’s about you ignoring direct orders! You put yourself in danger, and you compromised the entire mission! You can’t just act on impulse and expect everything to work out!”

As he felt feelings he wasn't accustomed to expressing, his normally composed demeanor began to crumble under the strain of mounting aggravation. It frightened him that he could feel his grip weakening. He had never been so furious with you before; the level of intensity was nearly too much to bear.

You stepped closer, refusing to back down. “I thought about it! I knew exactly what I was doing, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat! You’re the one who doesn’t get it! You’re so obsessed with being in control that you can’t stand it when someone else makes a decision!”

“This isn’t about control, Y/N! This is about you thinking you know better than everyone else! You think you’re invincible, but you’re not! One day, your recklessness is going to get you in serious trouble and then what? How are we supposed to deal with that?” Steve’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as the anger threatened to spill over. 

Your eyes narrowed, your voice rising in anger matching his. “You’re the one who’s supposed to trust me! But you don’t! You can’t stand it when things don’t go according to your plan, so you lash out at me like I’m some kind of liability!”

Steve took a step closer, the space between you charged with tension. “I trust you, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to sit back and watch you throw yourself into danger without a second thought! You didn’t see how close you came, Y/N. You didn’t see what I saw!”

“What you saw?” you shot back, your voice shaking with emotion. “You’re always trying to shield me from things, Steve, but you can’t keep doing that! I’m not a child! I’m your partner, and that means you have to let me make my own choices, even if they scare you!”

As Steve struggled to control the flood of emotions that were about to overflow, his breaths came in short, quick bursts and his palms quivered. 

“You think I’m trying to control you? I’m trying to keep you alive! I’m trying to make sure that you come back, every single time! But you… you don’t think about what that does to me.”

“And what about what it does to me? Every time you go off on some mission, every time you put yourself in danger without thinking about the consequences, do you know what that does to me? Do you?”

Steve’s face twisted with frustration, his voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. “I do know. I know because I feel it too, every time you do something reckless, every time you make a decision that could get you. . .” He couldn’t  say the word, “And it terrifies me, Y/N. It terrifies me because one day, I might not be there to save you.”

Even though he looks angry, worry is visible in his eyes. You tightened your jaw because you were at a loss for words to respond to him.

Steve pivoted and stomped out of the room before you had a chance to reply. He had to escape for a moment to collect himself before he spoke a word he would regret. Heading directly for the woodpile, he stepped outside, his breath coming in quick, angry bursts.

By the time you caught up with him, Steve was already there, his jacket discarded on the ground. He grabbed the axe with a force that sent a jolt of pain through his arm, but he welcomed it. He needed to feel something physical, something tangible to anchor him in the midst of the storm raging inside him.

Without hesitation, he began chopping. The axe came down with a powerful swing, the wood splitting cleanly in half. But it wasn’t enough. The anger was still there, burning hot and fierce in his chest, so he swung again. And again. And again.

These pent-up emotions had been growing for weeks, if not months, and it was evident in every swing. The fear that he would lose you, the frustration that you didn’t seem to understand how much he cared, how much it hurt to see you risking your life time and time again. He was feeling helpless and that his only option was to keep chopping, to redirect his wrath onto something that wouldn't harm you or ruin everything both had built together.

Steve reached for yet another thick log, this one feeling rock-solid and unmoveable. None of that mattered. His muscles tensed as he lifted the axe above his head, and he lowered it with such power that the wood splintered. Although he felt the hit all over, it failed to provide him with the relief he had hoped for. He was being torn apart by the rage that remained dormant, just below the surface.

“So this is it? You’re just going to chop wood until the problem disappears?” Amidst the steady clack of the axe on wood, your irritated, sharp voice sliced through the air.

Steve didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The overwhelming wave of feelings he couldn't articulate washed over him, leaving him unable to speak. He swung the axe again, harder this time, as if he could somehow chop away everything he felt.

But then, a switch went off in his brain. That axe wasn't cutting it. He needed more—he needed to break something with his own hands, to feel the physical release of the anger that was consuming him.

He snatched up yet another log, this one heavier and thicker than the rest. His hands, still trembling with fury, gripped the log tightly. His muscles bulged as he poured all his anger, all his frustration, into his grip.

“Steve, talk to me! You can’t just—”

But before you could finish, Steve let out a low, guttural roar and pulled at the log with all his might. The wood resisted at first, but Steve was relentless. His biceps strained, his veins standing out against his skin, and with a deafening crack, the log gave way. He tore it in half with his bare hands, the wood splintering under the sheer force of his strength.

The pieces fell to the ground with a heavy thud, the sound almost drowned out by the ringing in your ears. You stood there, frozen, your breath caught in your throat as you watched Steve’s display of raw power. It was terrifying—seeing him so close to the edge, so consumed by anger—but it was also something else, something that sent a shiver down your spine.

You were genuinely scared by his actions just now. The shock that he could lose control, that he could be so driven by his feelings, was a stark reminder of how much he cared, how deeply he felt. But alongside that shock was a rush of something primal, something that made your pulse quicken and your cheeks flush.

You shouldn’t have found it attractive—this display of strength—but you did. Seeing Steve like this, so powerful, so intense—he never bragged about his power, and it stirred something inside you that you couldn’t deny. Your body reacts before your mind could catch up, a rush of heat flooding your senses.

Steve turned to face you, his chest still heaving, his eyes blazing. “What do you want me to say, Y/N?” His voice was rough, almost broken. “That I’m okay with you going off on your own and putting yourself so close to death? Because I’m not!”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. You could see the chaos in his eyes. It made your heart ache. To him it didn’t matter if you were one of the best agents out there because he knew how life is so fragile, he knew because he's been around for ages—you forget that sometimes his cellular age is not twenty-seven.

For now, both of you stood there, the tension thick and suffocating, wrapping around you like an iron vice.

You took a shaky breath, the sound of it almost deafening in the quiet that had fallen between you. You knew you should say something, anything, to defuse the situation. But your throat felt tight, and the words wouldn’t come. All you could do was stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to reconcile the man you love with the fury that had just been unleashed.

Steve’s chest heaved with each breath, his fists still clenched at his sides. He didn't know how to come down from the brink he'd been driven to, didn’t know how to deal with the mix of relief and frustration that you were standing in front of him, unharmed but defiant. 

His mind raced with the images of what could have happened, what might have happened if he hadn’t been there to pull you out of the fire. The thought was enough to make his vision blur with a fresh wave of anger and fear.

“I can’t lose you, Y/N,” Steve finally managed to say, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “Do you understand that? I can’t. I don’t know what I’d do if something happens to you.” 

Your breath hitched, your heart hurt at the openness in his voice, and the urgent plea cut through your barriers. You knew how much he cared—how deeply he felt everything—but hearing it, seeing it in the way his hands shook, in the way his eyes were filled with unshed tears, made it impossible to stay mad.

Driven by a surge of emotion you couldn't contain, you briskly walked towards him. Steve kept his gaze glued onto you, anticipating your next move. In an instant, you closed the distance between you, your body moving on instinct alone. 

You leaped up, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist, your hands fisting in his hair as you pulled him down into a kiss that was searing, desperate, and filled with every ounce of the fire that had fueled the argument.

His kiss was intoxicating. You pressed yourself against him, your body molding to his as you deepened the kiss, your mouth moving against his lips with a fervor.

You could feel the tension in his muscles, the heat radiating from his skin, and it only made you want him more, made you kiss him harder, as if you could imprint yourself on him, claim him in a way that left no room for doubt.

Steve's grip on you was bruising as his hands found your hips, pulling you even closer, his own body responding to the intensity of the moment. He angled his head, deepening the kiss further, your tongues clashing in a dance that was as much about dominance as it was about the overwhelming need to feel connected.

You let out a soft moan, the sound vibrating between you, spurring you both on. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, as if you couldn't get enough. You shifted against him, your hips pressing into his, feeling the undeniable evidence of his desire for you, and it sent a jolt of heat through your entire body.

When you finally broke apart, it wasn't because you wanted to, but because you both had to breathe. Your foreheads rested against each other, your breaths mingling, both of them trembling from the force of what had just happened. 

Your breathing was ragged, your heart pounding in your chest as you looked into Steve's eyes, blue like the ocean but filled with fire. The air between you crackled with an electric tension, the heat of your shared desire still burning hot.

“I’m still mad at you. Chopping wood was not enough,” Steve whispered his voice rough, “I hope you're prepared for that.”

“Try me.” You replied breathily against his lips. 

Steve didn't need any more encouragement.

When he reached the back-door, he didn’t hesitate. With a powerful kick, he busted it open, the door slamming against the wall with a force that echoed through the room and shook walls.

Steve's hands gripped you firmly as he turned, pinning you against the nearest wall, his body pressing onto yours, the solid weight of him making you gasp. His mouth found yours again, and the kiss, filled with intensity that left you both dizzy, desperate for more.

You could feel the way his body responded to your every touch, every kiss. Your hands slid from his hair to his shoulders, your fingers digging into the hard muscle, needing to hold on, to anchor yourself against the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

Steve's grip on you tightened, his hands sliding from your hips to your lower back, pulling you impossibly closer. He pressed his lips to the side of your neck, his breath hot against your skin, making you shiver. The sensation sent a wave of heat rushing through you, igniting every nerve in your body.

“Y/N…” Steve's voice was low, a rough whisper that sent a thrill down your spine. You could feel the restrained tension in him, the way his body was coiled like a spring, ready to snap. “You drive me fucking crazy.”

Shit. He swore. Now you know you're in deep trouble—and it excites you. You tightened your legs around his waist, leaning into him as you captured his lips once more, this time with even more intensity, more urgency.

Steve responded immediately, his mouth moving against yours in a kiss that was possessive. His hands roamed over your back, his touch firm, grounding you as you lost yourself in the taste of him. His touch ignited a trail of fire everywhere.

He pushes the hem of your shirt above your head and pulls off your black tee shirt, tossing it aside like it was nothing, exposing your bare breast, then his mouth devours you. He suckles and licks urgently, opening his mouth wider to envelop nearly your whole breast. It’s as if he wants to taste every inch of your skin all at once.

You moaned and arched your back, which thrusts your breast against his face, causing your fleshy mound to squeeze against him and bulge out at the sides. 

His hand, rugged and calloused from years of relentless work, moved with purposeful intent to the other. He gripped your breast firmly and began to knead, applying a rough pressure on your flesh.

You squeeze his shoulders, grasping at the starched cotton of his shirt. It feels manly under your palms. Your mouth drops open when the shape of his hard cock lines up perfectly against you, applying a delicious pressure you desperately need. 

“Oh my—Steve. . .”

Any self-preservation you've been holding on to evaporates at the feel of his hot length, and your hips tilt into him on their own. 

You groan simultaneously at the much-needed friction. His scent, his rough groans, the tight hold of his large hands, the stab of his hot tongue—everything about Steve is strong, hard, domineering, and so deliciously male. 

His mouth leaves your breast whispering into your ear, “Are you going to disobey me again?”

“I can't promise you that I won't.” You try to pull back and drop your legs, but he grips your thighs, holding them open, and presses his bulging cock onto you.

He loved the way you looked, the way you reacted, and he loved everything about you. You were the most precious thing in the world to him. So beautiful, so sweet, so giving and too damn good for him, but he was a selfish bastard and wouldn’t let you go.

Ever.

His breath fans over your neck, and he whispers dangerously. “That so?”

You didn’t notice how you both ended up in the bedroom until he shoved you toward the bed, because you found yourself falling onto it, the descent feeling agonizingly slow.

Your head turned sideways just as it was about to collide with the mattress, but you were too shocked to react, too numb to fight back against what was unfolding.

Steve moved with a swift, commanding presence, leaping onto the bed and straddling your torso with an authority that pinned you down. His shirt was already on the floor when you met his eyes—dark, angry. A side of him you're seeing for the first time in the bedroom.

His muscles are swollen from chopping all that wood and splitting one in half with his hands. His abs were a testament to the discipline and strength he had cultivated over the years. The six-pack was not just defined but chiseled, each muscle distinct and firm beneath the taut skin. 

He pushed your thigh open with his knee, his palm grazing from your stomach, between the valleys of your breasts, stopping at where your collar bone meets the base of your neck. 

All of your focus is on its path, and you quiver when his thumb now brushes the bottom curve of your breast. 

“This is mine.” He twists your nipple, sending shards of electricity tumbling through you, and you buck against him, lust completely taking over all your senses. 

“Yes,” You gasp and roll your hips, willing to say anything he wants to get him to continue touching you, searching for the right position to hit your clit with the head of his cock, desperate for more.

His chuckles tickle the sensitive shell of your ear, and a shiver runs through you as the sharp ridges of his teeth gently close on the soft earlobe. “Such a good girl all of a sudden?”

He drags his hand down your body, exploring it like he’s mapping every inch of you by touch alone. He forces your jeans off, almost ripping it in the process.

His thumb grazes your clit through your underwear, and a pained cry escapes your lips. He craves knowing the sounds you'll make as he drives his cock hard inside you. He'd make you beg for more until you scream out his name as he sear himself into your soul.

“Do you know what good girls get, Y/N?” He slides under the thin fabric and circles the spot you need him the most. “Good girls get to come.” 

“Please,” you beg. Every molecule of your being is focused on his fingers. The weight of the air around you compresses until it’s hard to suck in your next breath. Tension radiates as you wait for what happens next. His touch is the only thing that matters.

He shifts you so he can reach lower, sliding wet fingers through your slit, then circling your entrance. You whimper his name as he sinks two fingers inside you. 

“Look at you, soaked for me. Ready. This pussy knows she’s mine.” His voice is a dark rumble as he pumps his fingers in and out in a slow, torturous rhythm.

“I need more,” you grind out through your teeth.

“Take it. Fuck my fingers,” he orders you against your ear and loosens his hold to allow you to take control. 

You wrap your arm around his neck, leveraging yourself, and grip his hair as you work yourself on his fingers. 

Steve’s breath comes out in hot pants against your jaw, and he bites down on the edge at the same time his palm massages your clit. You forget to breathe as you rock against him, your head buzzing with the lack of oxygen.

“Oh yes, right there.” You gasped.

“That’s my pretty little pussy, fucking herself so well.” He adds another finger, and your world goes blank. All that’s left are his commands. ���Come for me.”

Tingles shoot up your spine as your entire body pulls tight, and then your orgasm crashes over you in shuddering waves. “Steve.”

He pumps every last ounce of your release, his hands glistening. “That’s it. Say my name.” 

“Steve,” You say, barely a whisper.

He withdraws his finger then and lifts his hand to your face, pressing his finger against your lips. It’s the same finger that was just inside you. 

“Suck it,” he orders, and you obediently open your mouth, sucking the finger in. You can taste yourself, your own desire, and it makes you even more turned on. 

When he’s satisfied that the fingers are clean, he removes it from your mouth, grasping your chin with his hand instead, forcing you to meet his gaze, “I'm going to ask you again, are you going to disobey me?” 

You stare up at him, mesmerized by the dark blue striations in his irises. Your body is throbbing with need, desperately craving his possession. You want him to take you, to fill the aching emptiness within.

A smile of defiance crept on your lips as you cocked your head forward, “My answer remains that same.” 

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Y/N.” he warns, voice low, and a tremble runs through you. 

Your instincts are on high alert, but you don’t try to pull away. You swallow hard. “What game?” 

“The one where you act like all has been put aside. That you don’t already know who you pissed off. Or do you need a reminder?” He shifts his grip and circles your neck with his fingers, resting them on your collarbone as a warning. 

Heat pours into your core, and your clit throbs. A low moan escapes you, and his smile turns dark. He pushes closer, bent so his breath fans against your mouth. 

“I’m going to spin you around and fuck your pretty pussy against this bed, I think it’s fair I take out my frustrations on you. I will make you beg so hard, because baby, I can do this all fucking day.” He said with grit. 

Your ears ring, and all your thoughts vanish with his words. You push yourself up, closing the distance between your mouths. He groans deep and takes over the kiss, running his tongue against yours until you're consumed by him. Your head feels light from the lack of oxygen, but you don’t pull away, letting him do whatever he wants to you.

There’s a power that surges inside you, giving in to his control. No matter his threats, you know if you told him to stop, he would. 

He’s not gentle when he flips you on your stomach. His hands fisted at your hips and you heard a snap as he tore your panties away. The abrupt sound and the violent action behind it spurred your desire to a fever pitch. 

You hear him unzip his jeans, and in your attempt to look, he presses your head hard into the mattress. Then, you feel him pulling while he collects all of your hair and wraps it around his hand with the intention of using it as a rein. 

You let out a whimper when Steve tugged harder. You don’t hesitate to move when his foot meets yours and spreads your legs further apart. He grunts in approval and runs his fingers up your slit, before his erection brushed between your legs as he moved and you whimpered, so aching and empty, as if the orgasms he’d given you earlier had only deepened your craving rather than appeased it. 

Then he shifts his hips a little and uses his hand to guide his shaft toward your opening. You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut as he begins to push inside. You're extremely wet, but you still feel uncomfortably stretched as he slides in all the way. Steve doesn’t give you time to adjust before withdrawing and slamming in again, his thrust doling out punishment and pleasure.

“Fuck,” he hisses when you squeeze around him, and a sharp slap lands on your ass. “You’re so tight.”

You bite your lower lip, trying to cope with the burning, too-full feeling. You clutch at the bed sheets, needing something to hold on to as the familiar tension starts to gather low in your belly. The head of his cock brushes against that sensitive spot somewhere inside you. You gasp as he pulls your hair harshly making you arch to take him deeper, needing more of that intense sensation, wanting to bring you over the edge.

“Oh my god, Steve, yes,” you cried, finding your face pressed into the mattress again and you could hardly breathe. All you can feel is him: the back-and-forth movement of his thick cock inside your body, the heat emanating from his skin. 

In this position, he goes deep, even deeper than usual, and you can’t help the pained gasps that escape your throat as the head of his cock bumps against your cervix with each thrust of his hips. Yet the discomfort doesn’t seem to prevent the pressure growing inside you again, and you feel climax coming again, your inner muscles clenching helplessly around his shaft.

“Oh no you don't,” He groans harshly, sensing that you're about to come. Then he pulls out. Leaving a void of emptiness that aches. The womanly fluids that leak down your thighs now felt cold, before you could protest, Steve flips you again and your eyes finally get to lay upon his magnificence, his erection at your eye level.

But all he does is look at you, a mocking half-smile playing on his beautiful lips. “You think I’m going to come inside you, Y/N?” he asks softly. “Is that what you’re expecting me to do?”

You blink, startled by the question. Of course you expect him to do that. You did something that upsetted him. Apparently reading the answer on your face, he smiles wider. “Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not exactly in a generous mood.” 

“Sit up and suck it,” he murmurs, looking down at you.

Aroused by the command, you fluttered your tongue across the underside and shivered with delight when he rewarded you with a hot burst of pre-cum. Fisting the root of him with one hand, you hollow your cheeks and draw rhythmically.

You cup his balls in your other hand and squeeze them lightly. He groans, his eyes closing and his hand fisting your hair, and you continue, moving your mouth up and down on his cock, swallowing him deeper every time.

Your head bobbed as you pleasured him, jacking him with one hand while you sucked and stroked the crest with your mouth. Heavy veins coursed the length of his cock, and you slid the flat of your tongue along them, tilting your head to find and caress each one. 

He swelled, growing thicker and longer.

“Baby, you suck me so good.” He held your head still and took over. Thrusting his hips. Fucking your mouth. Stripped to a level of base need where only the race to orgasm mattered.

You gripped his straining thighs in both hands, frantically working your lips and tongue, desperate for his climax. His balls were heavy and big, an audacious display of his powerful virility. You cupped them, rolling them gently, feeling them tighten and draw up.

“Ah, Y/N.” His voice was a guttural rasp. His grip tightened in your hair. “You’re making me come.” 

The first spurt of semen was so thick, you struggled to swallow. Mindless in his pleasure, Steve was thrusting against the back of your throat, his cock throbbing with every wrenching pulse into your mouth. You eyes watered and your lungs burned, but still you pumped your fists, milking him. His entire body shuddered as you took everything he had. The sounds he made and the muttered, breathless praise were the most gratifying you'd ever heard. 

You licked him clean, keeping eye contact the entire time, marveling at how he didn’t fully soften even after an explosive orgasm. He was still capable of fucking you senseless and more than willing to, you knew. He wasn't kidding when he says he can do it all fucking day.

× × × ×

“OH, God.” Your hands fisted the sheets beneath you, your back arching as Steve pinned your hips to the bed and his lips circled your clit and his cheeks hollowed. Sucking rhythmically, he massaged the hypersensitive knot with the tip of his tongue.

Your skin was coated in a fine sheen of sweat, your vision blurring as your core tightened viciously in preparation for orgasm. Your pulse was thrumming and racing. You've comed twice already, as much from the sight of his blonde head between your legs as from his wickedly gifted mouth. 

“I’m ready.” You pushed your fingers into his hair, feeling the dampness at the roots. His restraint was costing him. You're overstimulated and he's taking the time to make sure you are soft and wet before filling you too full with his long, thick cock.

“I’ll decide when you’re ready.”

“I need you inside me, please. I won’t disobey your orders again.” You pleaded, bucking your hips towards his face.

“You ache without my cock inside you. You’ll say anything to have me there.” Steve crawled toward you like a sleek panther on the prowl.

“Yes.”

He hovered over you, his big body casting a shadow over yours. Tilting his head, he lowered his mouth and lightly traced the seam of your lips with the tip of his tongue. 

“You crave it. You feel empty without it.” 

“Yes, damn you.” You gripped his lean hips, arching upward to try to feel his body against your. You never felt closer to him than when you were making love, and you needed that closeness now, needed to feel like you were okay.

He settled between your legs, his erection lying hard and hot between the lips of your pussy. 

“I need you,” you breathed, rubbing your wet cleft shamelessly along the heated length of his cock.

“Not yet.” He moved, rolling his hips to find you with the broad head of his penis. He pushed gently against you, parting you, spreading you open as he slipped just the tip inside. You writhed against the tight fit, your body begging. 

“Fuck me. God … just fuck me!” 

Steve reached down with one hand and grabbed your hip, stemming your frenzied attempts to push up and take more of him.

You fought his hold. Your nails dug into the tight curves of his ass and you tugged him against you. If you didn’t get him in you, you thought you'd lose your mind. 

“Give it to me!”

Steve slid his hand into your hair, fisting it to hold you where he wanted you. “Look at me.” 

“Steven!” 

“Look at me.”

You stilled at the command in his voice. You stared up at him, your frustration melting as you watched a slow, gradual transformation sweep over his handsome face.

With his eyes still on yours, he reached beside him to claim your wrists. One at a time, he lifted your arms over your head, restraining you. Pinned to the mattress by his grip, his weight, and his unflagging erection.

Steve slowly enters you, penetrating you inch by slow inch. It feels good, so unbelievably good, and you moan again, tightening your inner muscles around his shaft. He groans, closing his eyes, and you do it again, wanting more of the sensation. 

He opens his eyes and stares at you, his face taut with lust and his eyes glittering. You hold his gaze, fascinated by the fierce need you see there.

He began to thrust, stroking through the trembling walls of your cunt with the thickly veined length of his big cock. Claiming you. Possessing you.

You can hear his harsh breathing, and you know that he’s exerting a lot of control over himself, that he probably wants to fuck you harder but is trying not to ‘damage you beyond repair.’ Nevertheless, his movements cause your insides to twist and churn, causing you to cry out with every stroke.

“I love you.” your voice is barely audible, each word feeling like it’s being wrenched out of your very soul.

You can see his pupils dilating while grinding breathlessly, “Tell me again.” 

“I love you.” which came out like a small, helpless sound.

“I love you too.”

Struggling with the grinding urge to rock into the ferocious thrusts of his big cock. He shoved his other hand beneath your hip, cupping your rear and lifting you into his thrusts so that his cock head stroked over and over the spot that ached for him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he growled, pounding his hips up at you, yanking your hips up to meet his punishing strokes. 

“Yes, yes! Come inside me.” you yelped, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Steve hit the end of you with every deep thrust, battering into you. You could feel him growing harder and thicker. You watched him avidly, needing to see it when he went over the edge for you. His eyes were wild with his need, losing their focus as his control frayed, his gorgeous face ravaged by the brutal race to climax. 

“Y/N, I'm coming!” He came with an animal sound of feral ecstasy, a snarling release that riveted you with its ferocity. He shook as the orgasm tore into him, his cock jerking as it pumped thick spurts of scorching semen into you.

You climaxed in a rush that had you sobbing his name, your bodies convulsing as the sensation enhanced and magnified by the way he’d controlled your body. 

Steve laid on top of you, waiting for his cock to get soft before he pulled out. Your body remains convulsing under him.

“You’re a machine,” you told him, trying to catch your breath. “Or a god.”

Steve let out a low, breathless chuckle, the sound vibrating against your skin as he held you close. He laid beside you, his chest was still heaving from the intensity of what you had just done, but there was a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he looked down at you. Steve shifted slightly, so he could meet your eyes, his expression softening as he brushed a strand of hair away from your face. 

“Maybe,” he murmured, his voice rough and warm from exertion. “But as much as I like the sound of being a god,” he continued, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “I think I’d rather just be the man who’s lucky enough to have you in his arms.”

“Just don’t pull a stunt like that on me again and I’ll be fine,” he responded, his tone a mix of lingering concern and affection. But there was still an edge to his voice.

“But it’s against my nature to ignore—” you started, trying to explain yourself, but Steve cut you off, his gaze intense.

“Do I have to impregnate you? For you to think more carefully?” he asked, his voice low and filled with a rough, teasing tone that sent a shiver down your spine. The words were provocative, laced with a mix of frustration and possessiveness that made your breath catch.

Your eyes widened slightly at his bold statement, your heart skipping a beat as the meaning of his words sank in. There was a challenge in his eyes, but also a deep-seated need—a desire to protect you, to keep you safe in a way that was so intensely Steve.

“Is that what it’s going to take?” he continued, his tone softening just a bit, though the intensity in his gaze never wavered. “Because I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make sure you’re careful out there. I can’t lose you, Y/N. I won’t.”

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, your mind racing with his words and the seriousness behind them. He wasn’t just teasing; there was a part of him that meant every word. It was possessive, yes, but it was also born from a place of deep love and fear of losing you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly as you reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “I’ll be more careful, I promise.”

Steve’s expression softened, his eyes searching yours as he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your lips. 

“Good,” he murmured against your mouth, his tone still laced with that protective tone. “Because I’m not letting you out of my sight, not if I can help it.”

[xobunni0]

𝒸𝒶𝓇𝒾ñ𝑜

𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

➵ ℳ𝓔𝓝𝓤

- DAY 3 💌, boyfriend!shadow, suggestive, wc- 1891, she’s a long one, my best work yet 🤭🤭

it wasn’t the way you imagined the night would go. It was date night. and instead you were scrubbing dishes.

you scrubbed a stubborn spot on one of the plates. your mind wandering as you worked. you thought about how excited you’d been to surprise him, to see Shadow break into one of those rare small smiles he reserved just for you.

but instead you were here, alone, scrubbing dishes at nearly 10 PM

you scrubbed the last of the dishes with more force than necessary trying to distract yourself from the bitterness bubbling up inside it wasn’t fair. not the missed dinner or the lack of communication but the fact that you couldn’t even stay mad. no matter how late Shadow was or how much he forgot your love for him always out won your anger

just as you reached to turn off the water, the faint sound of the front door creaking open made you freeze. you didn’t turn around not right away.

the softest sound of boots against the floor. then warmth.

Shadow’s arms wrapped around you from behind, firm but heavy with exhaustion. his head came to rest against your shoulder the faintest exhale of relief brushing against your neck.

your breath caught and for a moment, you froze your heart racing as his presence washed over you

“Shadow” you whispered

“I’m here” he murmured, his voice low and rough

the anger that had been building up all evening began to crumble, you could feel the tension in his body the exhaustion in the way he leaned into you

Shadow was quiet for a moment, his arms tightening around you. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you” he said finally. “The mission took longer than I expected.”

you turned slightly in his arms, enough to catch a glimpse of his face. his crimson eyes, usually intense were softer now, he looked… tired something he rarely let himself be.

“I waited” you said, your voice trembling just slightly. “I wanted tonight to be special. I thought you..”

“I know” he interrupted gently, his gaze dropping. “I saw the table… the candles.” his voice getting even lower. “I’m sorry.”

your heart ached at the sincerity in his words at the way his guilt seemed to weigh heavier on him than his own exhaustion. slowly, you reached up your fingers brushing lightly against the side of his face.

“I’m not mad” you admitted, “I just… missed you.”

Shadow leaned into your touch, his eyes closing for a brief moment. “I missed you too” he murmured

you leaned into him, your forehead resting against his. for all the frustration and disappointment.. having him here feeling his warmth, hearing his voice was enough to make everything else fade away.

“Come on” you said softly, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. “You need to sit down. You look exhausted.”

he didn’t argue, letting you guide him to the couch. as you moved to grab him a plate of reheated food, Shadow’s hand caught yours pulling you gently back to him.

“Stay” he said simply, his eyes meeting yours

you didn’t hesitate, sinking down beside him. Shadow’s arm wrapped around you again, pulling you close as he rested his head against yours

Shadow sank onto the couch, his usually proud posture was slumped, his head resting against yours as he let out a low weary sigh.

Shadow rarely let his exhaustion show always pushing through without complaint. but tonight, it was clear he’d reached his limit.

“long day?” you asked gently

Shadow nodded, his voice low and rough. “yeah.”

you placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension coiled beneath his fur. “let me help.” you murmured

he glanced at you, crimson eyes searching yours as if trying to decide whether to accept. finally, he gave the faintest nod

you smiled softly and moved behind him, settling on your knees as you placed your hands on his shoulders. slowly you began to work the tight muscles beneath your fingers, kneading gently at first and then applying more pressure as you felt him relax

his head tilted forward slightly, exposing the back of his neck. “you don’t have to” he muttered, though the tension in his voice was already melting away.

“I want to” you replied, your fingers working along the knots in his upper back. “You do so much Shadow. let me take care of you for once.”

a soft, hum escaped him a sound you rarely heard but treasured every time you did.

your hands moved lower, trailing down his spine with carefully. as your thumbs pressed into a particularly tight spot, he tensed for a moment before letting out a deep breath his shoulders slumping further.

“That feels… good” he admitted quietly, his tone softer than usual

you smiled, leaning in to press a light kiss to the back of his neck. “Good” you murmured against his fur, your lips lingering for a moment before moving to another spot

Shadow’s ears flicked slightly, a subtle reaction that made your heart flutter and encouraged you to continue leaving gentle kisses along the curve of his neck, your hands never stopping their soothing rhythm on his back.

“Relax” you whispered, your voice warm and tender.

his breathing slowed, deep and steady, as the tension melted from his body. his head tilted slightly to the side, giving you more access to his neck

you trailed your fingertips along his shoulders now your touch light and soothing, “Does that help?” you asked softly.

Shadow turned his head just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. “It does” he said

you leaned forward, pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek before wrapping your arms around his shoulders from behind. “Good” you whispered. “You deserve it.”

Shadow’s hand came up to rest lightly over yours, his grip firm yet gentle.

as Shadow leaned back into the couch, his body finally relaxed and tension-free, you gently brushed your hands over his shoulders one last time.

“There” you said softly, leaning down to press a light kiss to the top of his head. “Feeling better?”

he tilted his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours. “Better” he murmured. “Thank you.”

you smiled, smoothing your hand over his arm before standing. “Good. Now stay right there I’m not done taking care of you yet.”

before he could argue, you made your way to the kitchen. the meal you’d prepared earlier was still waiting, kept warm in the oven.

when you returned to the living room, Shadow had straightened slightly his posture still tired but no longer as heavy. his gaze followed you as you set the plate in front of him on the coffee table, along with a glass of water.

“I thought you’d be hungry” you said, taking a seat beside him.

he looked at the plate and then back at you.

“You didn’t have to” he said quietly, though he didn’t hesitate to pick up the fork.

“I wanted to” you replied, watching as he took his first bite. you could see the tension in his jaw ease as he took his first bite

“You always do too much” he muttered

you leaned into him slightly, resting your chin on your hand as you watched him eat. “Someone has to take care of you” you teased lightly.

as Shadow’s plate rested empty on the coffee table, he leaned back against the couch his arm draped around you. you felt his warmth as he pulled you closer, but his gaze shifted lingering on you in a way that made your heart flutter.

his eyes traveled from your face, where a soft satisfied smile lingered, down to the dress you wore a black slip dress that clung to your figure just right.

“You wore this” he said quietly, his voice carrying that deep steady tone you loved. his fingers brushed against the hem of the dress where it rested on your thigh

“I wanted to surprise you” you admitted softly, leaning into his side. “It’s your favorite isn’t it?”

Shadow didn’t answer immediately, but by the way he was eyeing you answered that. his hand moved slightly, fingertips grazing the delicate lace trim as his thumb traced over the fabric.

his gaze flicked back to your face, and for a moment he leaned forward slightly his forehead brushing against yours as his hand rested gently on your waist his fingers against the silky fabric.

“so beautiful..” he paused, his voice getting lightly quieter as if the words were foreign to him.

Shadow’s other hand came up, brushing a strand of hair away from your face as his thumb lightly grazed your cheek. the soft touch sent a shiver down your spine.

Shadow leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours in a kiss

his hand slid from your waist to your thigh, resting there lightly. his gaze dropped briefly to the dress again, and a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips

“You really did all this… for me?” he said, his tone low and teasing.

“I did” you said, brushing your fingers over his hand.

Shadow shook his head slightly, a quiet hum escaping him as his hand tightened just slightly on your thigh.

“You trust me don’t you?” he asked searching your eyes.

you nodded unable to form words

“Lay back” he murmured

you swallowed, heat creeping up your neck as you slowly leaned back, your body sinking into the couch beneath you. the second your head met the cushion, Shadow moved placing himself above you.

his hands braced against the couch on either side of your head

your breath hitched. you could feel the warmth radiating from his body the way he traced your features like he was memorizing every detail. you felt trapped in the best possible way completely at his mercy.

“Relax” he cooed

his expression softened just a little. then ever so slowly he leaned down his lips a few inches away from yours. he was waiting, testing you

Shadow lingered just above you, his breath warm against your skin. his crimson eyes flickered with something unreadable and it sent your heart racing. then a slow smirk tugged at his lips.

“I love seeing you like this” he admitted, his voice low and smooth, almost like a purr.

his gaze darkened, trailing over your face then down to where your chest rose and fell beneath him. he wasn’t touching you not yet..

“Laid back looking up at me.” His smirk deepened

finally, he moved, his hand coming up to ghost along your jawline, fingers barely brushing your skin. it was a featherlight touch, but it sent heat spreading through your body

“let me take care of you now” he murmured, pressing the faintest kiss just below your ear before pulling back to look at you again.

and with that, he settled closer one arm slipping around your waist as he rested some of his weight against you his presence consuming.

you could only stare up at him heart pounding.

HEHEHE

day 4 💌 on sunday!

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 ⏦ﾟᢉ𐭩 - 𓊆ྀི𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞𓊇ྀི

[the-winter-spider]

I miss you, I'm sorry

Bucky x Reader AU

Word Count: 10k+

Warnings: Toxic, angst, smut

A/N: I love Gracie, and was like fuck it gonna toss something together based off my fav songs by her

The air feels heavy, even though the room is quiet. You sit cross-legged on your bed, your phone resting beside you, the screen dim and blank. The minutes bleed into each other, but you can’t stop glancing at the clock, as if willing it to rewind to before it all.

It’s been three days. Three days of no texts, no calls, no nothing. That’s how it always goes with Bucky. He’s there, and then he’s not. And every time, you tell yourself it’ll be the last time you wait for him to come back.

It never is.

You hate him for how easy it is to disappear. You hate yourself more for letting him.

The phone rings.

The sharp sound cuts through the haze of your thoughts, and for a moment, your heart skips. You snatch the phone up, seeing his name flash across the screen. The sight of it sends a rush of relief, anger, and something softer, something stupidly hopeful, all at once.

You answer, but don’t say anything.

“Hey.” His voice is quiet, gravelly. Tired.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Hey.”

The silence stretches, brittle and uncomfortable. You can hear him breathing on the other end, steady and soft. It reminds you of the way his breath felt against your skin the last time he stayed over, the last time he let himself get too close before pulling away again.

“I shouldn’t have called,” he mutters finally, his voice tight. “I just… couldn’t sleep.”

You close your eyes. There it is again, the push and pull. The way he says he shouldn’t but always does. The way he drags you back into his orbit every time, knowing you’ll stay.

“What do you want, Bucky?” you ask, keeping your voice steady. It’s a question you’ve asked a hundred times, and you already know the answer.

He exhales sharply, like he’s frustrated—at you, at himself, you’re not sure. “I don’t know.” Another pause. “You were right, okay? About everything. I just…” His voice trails off, and you can picture him sitting on the edge of his bed, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always does when he’s trying to find the words. “I hate this.”

“Hate what?” you snap, the simmering frustration bubbling to the surface. “Hate that you always come back? Or hate that you can’t figure out what the hell you want?”

He doesn’t answer. He never does when you call him out like this.

The silence makes your chest ache. You shake your head, even though he can’t see you. “You can’t keep doing this, Bucky. You can’t keep pulling me back just to push me away again. It’s not fair.”

“I know,” he whispers. And he sounds so broken, so genuine, that it cracks something inside you. It always does.

You take a shaky breath. “Then why do you do it?”

“I don’t know,” he says again. His voice is quieter now, softer, like he’s afraid of breaking you more than he already has. “Because you’re the only thing that feels real. And I don’t know how to hold onto it without screwing it up.”

Your throat tightens. You wish you didn’t understand. But you do. He’s always been good at giving you just enough to stay, but never enough to feel whole. “Its not enough Buck”

“I know,” he says, his voice breaking slightly. “But it’s all I’ve got, you're all i truly have."

You sighed running your head through your hair “Do you wanna come over?”

“I’m already on my way”

You don't have to wait long. The sound of his motorcycle pulling up to your place makes your stomach do a little flip, even though you're still mad at him. You hear his heavy boots on the stairs, and then a soft knock at your door.

You take a deep breath before opening it. He's standing there, his hair tousled from the ride, his face tight and tired. He looks at you, and for a moment, it's like all the walls come down. He reaches out, cupping your face with his hand, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice rough. "I'm so fucking sorry."

And just like that, you melt. You lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed. His other hand comes up to wrap around your waist, pulling you close. He smells like leather and cigarettes and something uniquely him.

"I missed you," he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours. "I hate not seeing you."

"I hate it too," you whisper back. "But you can't keep doing this, Bucky. You can't keep hurting me."

He makes a soft, broken sound. "I know. I'm trying, okay? I'm really trying."

The door closes softly behind them, the click of the lock echoing in the charged silence. Bucky's hand is still cupping your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. You lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed as you breathe him in. He smells like leather and smoke, like home and danger all rolled into one.

You press yourself against him, feeling the hard planes of his body through his clothes. He's solid and warm and real, and it's been too long since you've felt him like this. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you flush against him as he claims your mouth in a hungry kiss.

You moan into it, your fingers tangling in his hair. He kisses like your fights- fierce and intense, like he's trying to claim every inch of you. You kiss back just as fiercely, your tongue sliding against his as you lose yourself in the feel of him.

He walks you backwards towards the bed, his hands roaming your body as he goes. He breaks the kiss only to yank your shirt over your head, tossing it aside carelessly. His mouth is back on yours before you can even blink, his hands cupping your breasts through your bra.

You arch into his touch, your nipples hardening under his palms. He groans low in his throat, his hips pressing forward to grind against yours. You can feel his hardness through his jeans, and it makes you ache with need.

He breaks the kiss again, trailing his lips down your neck as his hands work to unclasp your bra. It falls to the floor, joining the growing pile of clothes. He takes a moment to look at you, his eyes dark with desire as they rake over your naked breasts.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," he murmurs, his hands cupping the soft mounds. You gasp as his thumbs brush over your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

He leans down, taking one of the hardened peaks into his mouth. You cry out, your fingers tangling in his hair as he sucks and licks and nibbles. Your hips buck against his, seeking friction, and he groans around your nipple, the vibrations making you shiver.

He gives the other breast the same attention, lavishing it with kisses and bites until you're writhing beneath him. Only then does he move lower, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach as he kneels before you.

His hands hook in the waistband of your jeans, tugging them down along with your panties. You step out of them, kicking them aside as he looks up at you from his knees. The sight of him there, kneeling before you like you're a goddess to be worshipped, makes your knees weak.

"Bucky," you breathe, and it's half plea, half prayer.

He grins up at you, a devilish glint in his eyes. "Patience, baby. I'm going to take my time with you."

And then his mouth is on you, his tongue delving between your folds to taste you. You cry out, your head falling back as pleasure crashes over you. He licks and sucks and teases, his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place as he devours you.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him to you as he drives you closer and closer to the edge. Just when you think you can't take anymore, he pulls back, leaving you gasping and empty.

"Bucky, please," you whimper, and he chuckles darkly.

"Please what, baby? Tell me what you want."

"I want you," you pant, looking down at him with desperation in your eyes. "I want you inside me."

He stands up, pulling you flush against him as he captures your mouth in a searing kiss. You can taste yourself on his lips, and it makes you even more aroused. His hands grip your ass, kneading the flesh as he grinds his hardness against your bare core.

"Bed," he growls against your lips, and you nod frantically, tugging him towards the mattress.

You tumble onto the bed together, a tangle of limbs and desire. He breaks the kiss to sit up, yanking his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. You take a moment to admire the hard planes of his chest, the scars that crisscross his skin like a roadmap of his past.

He crawls back over you, his hips settling between your thighs as he reaches for his belt. You watch, transfixed, as he unbuckles it and shoves his jeans and boxers down, freeing him.

He settles back over you, his head brushing against your entrance. You shudder at the contact, your hips lifting to try and draw him in.

"Tell me you want this," he whispers, his voice rough with need. "Tell me you want me."

"I want you," you breathe, wrapping your legs around his waist. "I want all of you."

And with that, he thrusts into you, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth motion. You cry out at the sudden fullness, your nails digging into his shoulders as you adjust to the stretch.

He pauses for a moment, letting you get used to him. Then he starts to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in. You meet him thrust for thrust, your hips rising to take him deeper.

The bed creaks beneath you as he sets a relentless pace, driving into you again and again. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts of pleasure.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groans, burying his face in your neck. "So perfect."

You clench around him in response, and he curses, his hips snapping forward harder.

"I'm gonna come," you gasp, your body tensing beneath him. "Bucky, I'm gonna-"

But he cuts off your words with a kiss, swallowing your cries of pleasure as you come undone beneath him. Your body spasms around him, milking him as he follows you over the edge with a hoarse shout of your name.

He collapses on top of you, both of you gasping for breath as the aftershocks of your orgasms roll through you. He presses soft kisses to your neck, your jawline, your lips as you bask in the afterglow.

"I love you," he murmurs against your skin, and you hope it's just not the sex talking.

Later that week, you’re sitting at a bar with Natasha. She watches you nurse your drink, her sharp green eyes narrowing as you tell her what happened.

“He called,” you say, staring down at the condensation on your glass. “And like an idiot, I picked up, and he came over, we had sex and he was gone in the morning”

Natasha doesn’t say anything at first. She just leans back, crossing her arms. “What do you want me to say?” she asks finally. “That he’s going to change? That this time will be different?”

You shake your head. “No. I just…” You trail off, struggling to put the feeling into words. “I just wish I didn’t miss him so much. I wish I could stop.”

She sighs, leaning forward. “Listen to me,” she says, her voice soft but firm. “He’s not going to fix this. You know that, right? He’s not going to wake up one day and suddenly figure out how to love you the way you deserve. That’s not who he is, you have to know that babe…"

“I know,” you whisper. But the ache in your chest doesn’t go away.

Natasha exhales deeply, tilting her head as if trying to decide whether to push further. Finally, she sets her drink down and leans across the table, her voice quieter but no less serious. “So, what’s the plan? You gonna keep answering when he calls? Keep letting him come over, screw you and your head, and leave like nothing happened?”

You don’t answer, just trace the edge of your glass with your finger. The truth is, you don’t have a plan. You’re not even sure you want one. “He said he loves me, he's never said that before”

Natasha leans back in her chair, crossing her arms as she studies you. Her sharp green eyes narrow slightly, but there’s no satisfaction in her expression. She doesn’t look impressed, doesn’t look relieved, like you’d hoped she might. Instead, her face softens, just slightly, in that way that means she’s about to say something you don’t want to hear.

“Okay,” she says slowly, her voice calm but pointed. “And what does that change?”

Her question hits like a bucket of cold water, and you blink at her, your fingers freezing mid-trace on the rim of your glass. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, so what?” Natasha continues, leaning forward now, her elbows on the table. “He said the words. Great. But what does that actually mean to you? Did it make you feel better? Did it fix anything?”

You open your mouth to reply, but no words come out. The truth sits heavy in your chest.

“It’s not enough just to say it,” Natasha presses, her tone still steady but with an edge of frustration. “Love isn’t just words. It’s showing up. It’s consistency. It’s choosing someone, not just when it’s convenient, but every single day. Did he do that? Or did he just say what you’ve been waiting to hear and then disappear again?”

The ache in your chest tightens, and you look down, your fingers clutching the glass like it might hold the answers you’re searching for. “He—he’s trying,” you say weakly, but even you don’t sound convinced.

Natasha lets out a breath, her voice softening again. “Babe… I know you want to believe him. I know you love him. But this?” She gestures vaguely, as if to encompass all of it—your tears, the late-night calls, the endless cycle. “This isn’t what love is supposed to feel like. Love doesn’t leave you questioning your worth every time the sun comes up.”

The words settle over you like a weight, and you swallow hard, blinking back the tears that threaten to spill. You don’t want her to see you cry. Not here. Not like this.

“Nat…” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. But she shakes her head, her expression soft but unyielding.

“I’m not saying this to hurt you,” she says gently. “I just… I want you to be happy. And you’re not happy right now. You haven’t been for a long time.”

Before you can respond, the stool next to her screeches, and Sam slides into it, his energy a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere between you and Nat. He plunks his beer on the table and gives you a once-over.

“Well, you look like someone stole your puppy,” he says, his tone light but his eyes sharp.

Natasha shoots him a look. “Not the time, Sam.”

“I’m just saying,” he replies, leaning back and gesturing to you. “She’s been sitting here all night, looking like a sad indie song, and you’re just gonna let her wallow?”

You glare at him, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “Do you have something to say, or are you just here to make jokes?”

“Both,” Sam says, taking a sip of his beer before setting it down. “Look, I love you, but this thing with Bucky? It’s killing you, and everyone can see it. Hell, you can see it, but you’re still pretending like it’s gonna work itself out.”

“Sam,” Natasha warns, but he holds up a hand.

“No, let me finish,” he says, his voice more serious now. “I’ve been where you are, okay? Hanging onto something that’s breaking you because you’re scared to let it go. But you know what happens if you keep holding on?” He pauses, meeting your eyes. “You lose yourself. And I don’t want that for you.”

His words hit harder than you expect, and for a moment, all you can do is sit there, blinking back the tears threatening to spill.

“I don’t know how to let him go,” you admit finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know who I am without him.”

Sam leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Then it’s time to figure that out. Because you deserve better than waiting around for someone who doesn’t see how amazing you are—not someone who only comes around when it’s convenient for him.”

After Sam and Natasha head home, you find yourself walking through the quiet streets, your hands shoved into your coat pockets. The city hums around you, but you feel untethered, like you’re floating between who you are and who you want to be.

Before you realize it, your feet take you to Bucky’s building. You stop at the corner, staring up at the windows. The lights in his apartment are off, but you know he’s there. He’s always there.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You pull it out, your heart sinking when you see his name.

Bucky: You up?

The message is simple, familiar, and infuriatingly tempting. Your thumb hovers over the screen.

You: Yes, just leaving the bar.

Bucky: Ill see you in 20.

You see his light flick on.

You: Okay.

You’re sitting in your apartment with Steve. He’d shown up unexpectedly, a bag of bagels in one hand and a concerned look on his face. Now, he’s watching you carefully as you pick at your food, the silence between you growing heavier by the minute.

“I heard about last night,” he says eventually, breaking the stillness.

You glance up, narrowing your eyes. “Natasha?”

“Sam,” he admits with a small smile, but his expression stays serious. “He’s worried about you. We all are.”

You sigh, leaning back against the couch. “I’m fine, Steve.”

“You’re not fine,” he says gently, setting his coffee down on the table. “And it’s okay to not be fine. But you need to stop punishing yourself for wanting more than what Bucky can give you.”

Your chest tightens, and you look away, your voice barely audible. “He’s not a bad person, Steve. He’s just… broken.”

“I know he is,” Steve says softly, his tone patient but firm. “And I know he cares about you, even if he’s too scared to show it. But that doesn’t mean you have to keep hurting yourself to save him.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words get stuck in your throat. Instead, you ask the question that’s been clawing at you for days. “Is he seeing anyone else?”

Steve freezes mid-bite, his jaw tightening. “Yes.”

You nod slowly, your hands trembling as you set your plate down on the coffee table. “Are they… are they having sex?”

Steve’s shoulders sag slightly, and he shakes his head. “No.”

The relief you feel is fleeting, quickly replaced by another ache—something deeper, sharper. “He told me he loves me, y’know,” you whisper, your voice cracking.

That makes Steve freeze completely. He sets his bagel down, staring at you with wide, startled eyes. “He said that?”

You nod, the words pouring out of you now, unfiltered and raw. “He’s never said it before. And I didn’t know what to do. Because it felt… real. For a second, it felt like maybe this time was different. But then he was gone the next morning, like always.”

Steve leans back in his chair, his brow furrowed, like he’s trying to process what you’ve just said. “Did he mean it?” he asks finally, his voice cautious.

You let out a bitter laugh, wiping at your eyes. “I don’t know, Steve. Does it matter? He says one thing, but everything else he does just…” You trail off, shaking your head.

“It matters,” Steve says firmly, leaning forward. “If he loves you, that’s something. But love isn’t enough if he can’t show it, if he can’t make you feel it.” Steve is quiet for a long moment, his expression pained. “You deserve more than that,” he says finally. “You deserve someone who’s not afraid to fight for you. Someone who doesn’t make you feel like you’re asking for too much just by being yourself.”

-----------

The music is loud, pulsing through the crowded bar in a steady rhythm that matches the pounding in your chest. You're friends are off dancing their cares away, while you sit at a small table near the corner, nursing your drink, half-hidden in the dim lighting. The condensation from the glass drips onto your hand, but you barely notice.

Your eyes keep drifting to him.

Bucky is across the room, his arm slung casually around another woman’s shoulders. She’s laughing, tilting her head toward him like he’s just told her the funniest joke in the world. He looks… relaxed. At ease in a way you haven’t seen in a long time, and it’s like someone’s taken a knife to your chest, twisting it deeper with every passing second.

You force yourself to look away, staring into the amber liquid in your glass like it holds answers to questions you’re too scared to ask. But it doesn’t work. Your gaze flickers back to him, almost involuntarily.

They’re dancing now, swaying to a song you don’t recognize. His hand rests lightly on her hip, his fingers brushing against the fabric of her dress in a way that feels too intimate, too familiar.

And then he kisses her.

Not on the lips, but on her head, his lips lingering against her hair as she leans into him. It’s tender, effortless, the kind of gesture that feels natural, like it belongs to someone who knows how to love without hesitation.

Your chest tightens, and you swallow the lump forming in your throat, forcing yourself to take another sip of your drink. The bitterness burns your tongue, but it’s nothing compared to the ache spreading through you.

You tell yourself you don’t care. That this doesn’t matter. That he’s made his choice, and it isn’t you.

But the truth is, it matters too much.

You drain the rest of your drink, the cold liquid going down in one sharp swallow. You set the glass down harder than you mean to, the dull thud lost in the noise of the bar.

You glance over at him one last time, just to confirm what you already know. He’s still there, his attention focused on her.

But then his eyes shift.

He sees you.

For a split second, your gazes lock across the room, and the weight of his stare pins you in place. His hand pauses on her back, and something flickers in his expression—guilt, maybe, or regret.

You can’t tell, and you’re not sure you want to.

The heat of his gaze follows you as you stand, slipping your bag over your shoulder and making your way toward the door. The noise of the bar fades into the background as you weave through the crowd, your footsteps quick and purposeful.

You don’t look back, but you can feel him watching you, his eyes lingering like a phantom touch that burns even after you’re gone.

The cold night air hits your face as you step outside, and you inhale deeply, trying to push the ache in your chest away.

But it stays. It always stays.

That night, you’re curled up on your couch, a blanket wrapped around you as the city lights flicker through the window. Your phone sits on the coffee table, dark and silent.

Until it’s not.

The screen lights up, and Bucky’s name appears. The voicemail notification lingers like a ghost, and your hand trembles as you reach for it.

You press play, his voice cracking through the silence.

“I know I’ve screwed this up. I know I don’t deserve another chance. But I miss you, and I don’t know how to do this without you. Please… just call me, I’m sorry”

-------

You find him outside on the balcony, leaning heavily against the railing, his shoulders hunched like the weight of the world is pressing down on him. The cold night air bites at your skin, and the faint glow of the streetlights below casts shadows that dance across his face. He doesn’t turn when you step out. He never does. That’s the thing about Bucky—he always knows you’re there, but he’s mastered the art of pretending not to.

The sound of the sliding door closing behind you feels final, like you’ve just stepped into a space you won’t come back from. Your arms wrap around yourself, a weak defense against the cold—or maybe against him—and you take a hesitant step forward.

“I thought you left,” you say, breaking the fragile quiet. Your voice wavers, as unsure as the ground you’re standing on.

He finally looks over his shoulder, his eyes heavy and rimmed with shadows. He looks wrecked. Tired in a way that no amount of sleep could fix. “Almost did,” he says softly, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of the city.

You step closer, your chest tightening at his words, at the way he doesn’t move, doesn’t shift to let you in. “Why didn’t you?”

He shrugs, turning back to the skyline, his fingers gripping the railing. “I haven’t heard from you all week.”

The ache in your chest sharpens at his tone, a flicker of hope you hate sneaking in despite yourself. It’s always like this: just enough vulnerability to keep you tethered. You stop a few feet away, the space between you feeling like a canyon, impossible to bridge.

“This isn’t working,” you say, finally voicing the thought that’s been clawing at you for weeks. “Whatever this is. It’s not working, Bucky.”

He doesn’t react at first, just keeps staring out at the city, like it holds an answer he’s too afraid to look for. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and rough. “I know.”

The simplicity of his admission steals your breath. It’s not that you didn’t expect it. You did. You’ve been here before, standing on the edge of this same cliff, waiting for the inevitable fall.

“So why are we still here?” you ask, your voice trembling, tinged with a desperation you wish you could hide.

He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. The motion is frustrated, exhausted, like he’s tired of his own indecision. “Because I don’t know how to stop,” he admits, his words cutting through the night air with brutal honesty.

You take another step closer, close enough to see the tension in his jaw, the way his knuckles turn white as he grips the railing. “Bucky,” you say, your voice soft but breaking. “I need more than this. I need to know if you’re ever going to stop running every time things get hard. Because I can’t keep waiting for you to figure it out.”

He turns to face you then, his blue eyes locking onto yours. There’s something in them—something raw and fragile and so heartbreakingly familiar. For a fleeting second, you think this is it. The moment he’ll finally tell you what you’ve been waiting to hear.

But then he looks away, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know if I can.”

The nausea hits you like a punch, twisting your stomach into knots. You take a shaky step back, wrapping your arms around yourself like it might keep you from falling apart. “Do you even want to try?”

His silence is deafening, an answer in itself.

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow and sharp. “You’re unbelievable,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him. “I’m standing here, practically begging you to tell me you care, and you can’t even do that.”

“I care,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “You know I care.”

“Do I?” Your voice rises, anger bubbling to the surface, breaking through the pain. “Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it. You say you care, but you act like I’m something you can pick up and put down whenever it’s convenient for you.”

“Stop,” he says, his voice suddenly firm, his eyes snapping back to yours. There’s something desperate in his tone, something pleading that makes your breath hitch. “I don’t… I don’t know how to do this.”

“No, Bucky.” You shake your head, your voice trembling with fury and heartbreak. “You just don’t want to. And there’s a difference.”

The words hang between you, heavy and suffocating. He opens his mouth, like he’s about to say something, but then he stops. His eyes dart back to the city skyline, and you see it—the war he’s waging with himself, the battle between what he wants and what he’s too scared to reach for.

“Say something,” you whisper, your voice cracking under the weight of the moment. “Say anything.”

“I’m seeing someone,” he says suddenly, his hands gripping the railing so tightly you half expect it to snap. The words hit like a freight train, knocking the air from your lungs.

The world around you tilts. Your hands tremble as you take a step back. “Of course you are,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. The bitter laugh that follows feels like it belongs to someone else. “I’m done.”

You turn toward the sliding door, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it might shatter. Your hand trembles as you reach for the handle, pausing for just a second, hoping—praying—he’ll stop you. That he’ll fight.

But the silence stretches on, heavier and colder than the night air.

When you glance over your shoulder, he’s still standing there, staring down at the city like he’s already let you go.

Your throat tightens, but you force yourself to slide the door open and step back inside. The warmth of the apartment hits you like a slap, but it does nothing to ease the chill in your chest.

The door slides shut with a quiet thud.

And Bucky doesn’t follow.

You’d just moved into a new apartment, one that wasn't tainted with all the places he'd touched, places he'd been. It made things easier it wasn't the reason for your move but it helped. Natasha had decided you were both done unpacking for the night so naturally she had dragged you to a party. Steve’s place, of course. The apartment was alive with the energy of too many people crammed into too little space. Natasha had disappeared into a circle of friends near the kitchen, leaving you to nurse your drink in a corner. That’s when you noticed him.

Bucky.

He was leaning against the wall, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. Dark hair falling into his eyes, a leather jacket slung over his shoulder despite the heat of the crowded room. He didn’t see you at first, but when he did, his gaze lingered just long enough to make your pulse race.

You told yourself you wouldn’t approach him, but an hour later, you were pressed against the wall in Steve’s hallway, his lips trailing down your neck, his hands gripping your hips like he couldn’t get close enough. It was messy, impulsive, and thrilling.

“We probably shouldn’t,” you’d whispered, your breath catching as his mouth moved against your collarbone.

He’d laughed softly, his voice low and rough. “Yeah. Probably not.”

Neither of you stopped.

There were moments after that—moments that felt like everything you’d ever wanted. Late nights in his apartment, the room dimly lit by the glow of the city outside. He’d lie next to you, his fingers tracing absent patterns on your arm as you talked about everything and nothing.

He’d tell you about his childhood, the things he rarely told anyone. The weight of his past. And you’d listen, feeling like you were peeling back layers of him that no one else had ever seen.

“You don’t have to fix me,” he’d murmured once, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I like being around you.”

You’d smiled, brushing his hair back from his face. “I’m not trying to fix you, Bucky.”

And in those moments, you weren’t lying.

But then there were the other moments. The ones where he pulled away so fast it left you reeling.

You remember the first time he didn’t text you back. It wasn’t just hours—it was days. Days of overanalyzing every word you’d said to him the last time you saw him. Days of your stomach twisting every time your phone buzzed, only for it to not be him.

When he finally did text, it was so casual it made you want to scream.

“Hey. You good?”

No apology. No explanation. Just like that, he was back. And you let him back in because you didn’t know how not to.

And then there was the jealousy. The way you’d catch him talking to someone else at a party, his body language so open and inviting in a way it rarely was with you. You hated how it made you feel, the bitterness that bubbled up, the way you wanted to pull him aside and demand to know if he cared about you at all.

But you didn’t. You never did.

“Do you even want to move on?” Wanda asks, her tone soft but pointed. “Or is this just who you are now?”

You blink at her, her words cutting through the haze of your thoughts. “I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

She sighs, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “You deserve better, you know that, right?”

The door swings open, and Natasha walks in, dropping her bag on the counter. She gives you a look, one that’s equal parts sympathetic and exasperated.

“Let me guess,” she says, crossing her arms. “You’re thinking about him again.”

You don’t answer, but the way your jaw tightens is enough for her to roll her eyes. “You know he’s not good for you. Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

“I don’t know,” you snap, harsher than you mean to. “Maybe because it’s not that simple.”

“Actually, it is,” Natasha retorts, her voice sharp. “You stop calling him. You stop answering when he calls. You stop letting him treat you like an afterthought.”

“Nat—” Wanda starts, her tone soothing, but Natasha holds up a hand.

“No, she needs to hear this.” She looks at you again, her expression softening just slightly. “I know you care about him. But caring about him isn’t enough if he doesn’t care about you the same way. At some point, you have to start putting yourself first.”

You glance away, her words hitting too close to home.

“I don’t get you,” you’d once said your voice trembling with frustration. “One minute you’re here, and it feels like—like maybe this could be something. And the next, you’re gone.”

He’d run a hand through his hair, pacing the room. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is, Bucky,” you’d said, your voice rising. “You either want me, or you don’t. So which is it?”

He’d stopped then, turning to look at you. And the look on his face—it wasn’t anger or indifference. It was fear.

“I don’t know,” he’d said finally, his voice breaking.

And that was the worst part.

“You’re spiraling,” Sam said. He wasn’t harsh about it, but he didn’t sugarcoat it either. “This isn’t love. It’s self-destruction.”

Even as you think it, your phone buzzes on the coffee table. The sound feels too loud in the quiet room, pulling everyone’s attention. You glance at the screen, and your heart skips when you see his name. Just his name—no message preview, no context, just him.

Wanda notices, her brow furrowing as she leans forward. “Don’t,” she says softly, but there’s a weight behind the word, a plea. “You’ll just end up back where you started.”

You stare at the screen, your thumb hovering over the notification. The silence in the room grows heavier, charged with unspoken tension. Your chest tightens as your mind races. It would be so easy. Just one tap, and he’d be there again. One tap, and you’d hear his voice, feel the pull that always brings you back.

“I just…” Your voice falters, your eyes flickering to Wanda and then to Sam, who watches you with a mix of concern and frustration. “What if this time it’s different?”

Sam lets out a bitter laugh, running a hand over his face. “You think this time is different? Come on. What’s he going to say that he hasn’t already said a hundred times before?”

“It’s not about what he says,” Wanda interjects, her voice gentle but firm. “It’s about what he does. And what has he done, really, except hurt you?”

You look back at the screen. The notification is still there, a glaring reminder of the mess you can’t seem to escape. Your thumb presses down slightly, not enough to open it but enough to feel the weight of the choice.

“But I love him,” you whisper. The words tumble out before you can stop them, raw and unfiltered.

Sam exhales sharply, standing up from the chair and pacing across the room. “Yeah, we know. Everyone knows. But does he love you? Because if he does, he’s got a real shitty way of showing it.”

You flinch at his tone, the harshness cutting through your defenses. “He does love me,” you say quietly, more to yourself than to him.

“Then where is he?” Sam snaps, turning to face you. “Why isn’t he here, fighting for you instead of blowing up your phone every time he feels lonely? Why is it always you doing the heavy lifting?”

Wanda places a hand on Sam’s arm, pulling him back gently. “Sam…”

“No, I need to say it,” he says, his voice softer now but still firm. “Love isn’t supposed to feel like this. It’s not supposed to feel like you’re drowning every damn day just to keep him afloat.”

The bar is too loud, too crowded, and too filled with memories of Bucky for you to feel at ease. But you’re here because it’s Steve’s birthday, and Natasha had insisted. And of course you came it was Steve.

You’re leaning against the bar, talking to a man you barely know. His smile is easy, his laugh smooth, and even though you’re trying to focus on him, you can feel Bucky’s eyes on you. From across the room, his gaze burns into your back, searing through your dress like a brand.

You glance over your shoulder, meeting his eyes for a split second. The tension in his jaw, the way his drink sits untouched in his hand—it’s the most emotion he’s shown all night. But it’s not enough to stop you.

If he wants to act like he doesn’t care, you’ll give him something to not care about.

The man beside you leans in, his hand brushing against your arm as he says something you don’t quite catch over the noise. You laugh, even though you barely hear the joke. You laugh because you know Bucky is watching.

It doesn’t take long for him to snap.

Before you realize what’s happening, his hand is on your wrist. Firm but not rough, his grip sends a jolt through you. “Let’s go,” he says, his voice low and clipped.

“Excuse me?” You pull back, glaring at him, but his grip doesn’t loosen.

“We’re leaving,” he says, not looking at you, not giving the man beside you so much as a glance.

“Bucky—” you start, but he’s already pulling you through the crowd, weaving between bodies with single-minded determination.

By the time you reach his apartment, you’re seething. He slams the door shut behind you, the sound echoing through the dimly lit space.

“What the hell is your problem?” you snap, crossing your arms.

“My problem?” he fires back, pacing across the room like a caged animal. “My problem is you acting like that guy meant anything to you!”

“Oh, and you would know what means something to me, right?” You take a step closer, your voice rising. “Because you’re so good at showing me how much I mean to you.”

He stops, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t turn this on me.”

“Why not? It’s always about you, isn’t it, Bucky? What you want, what you feel. You drag me into your mess every time, and I let you, because I—”

You stop yourself, your breath catching.

“Because you what?” he demands, his voice sharp.

“Because I care about you!” you yell, your chest heaving. “And all you ever do is hurt me for it.”

His face twists, like your words hit him somewhere deep. For a moment, you think he’s going to say something, that he’s going to explain or apologize or do something, but instead, he grabs a plate from the counter and hurls it against the wall. The sharp crash reverberates through the room, the pieces scattering across the floor like jagged confessions neither of you are ready to face.

You flinch at the sound, but the fire in your chest burns brighter, fueled by the chaos. “Oh, real mature, Bucky. Breaking dishes? That’s your solution? Just break things until you don’t have to feel anything anymore?”

He grabs another plate, his hand trembling as he grips it, his knuckles white. His voice breaks as he yells, “You think this is easy for me? You think I don’t know I’m screwing this up? That I don’t hate myself for it?”

“Then stop!” you shout back, your voice raw and cracking under the weight of it all. “Stop hurting me, stop dragging me back, stop—just stop!”

The plate shakes in his hand, and for a second, you think he’s going to throw it again. Instead, he slams it down on the counter with a hollow thud. His shoulders slump as he leans over it, his head bowed like he’s trying to hold himself together. His breathing is ragged, his hands gripping the edge of the counter so tightly you think it might break under the strain.

“I don’t know how,” he whispers finally, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it. “I don’t know how to be what you need.”

The vulnerability in his voice slices through you, but it’s not enough. Not this time. The ache in your chest is unbearable, your heart breaking as you look at the man you love and realize he’ll never love you the way you need him to.

“Then let me go, Bucky,” you say, your voice trembling but resolute. “If you can’t give me what I need, let me go.”

He finally turns to face you, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “I can’t,” he says, his voice breaking like the plates he just shattered. “I don’t want to let you go.”

Your chest tightens, the pain twisting deeper with every word. “Aren’t you seeing someone?” you ask, your voice sharper than you intended.

He shakes his head, his jaw clenching. “She’s not you,” he says, his voice trembling. “They’re never you.”

The admission stuns you into silence for a moment. The tears you’ve been holding back spill over, hot and heavy. “Then why can’t you give me that, Bucky?” you whisper, your voice shaking with anger and grief. “Why can you give it to them but not to me? Why is it always me who’s left bleeding for you? It’s not fair—I give you everything! And you just take, take, take! What’s left of me after this?”

Your words hang between you, raw and unfiltered, and for a moment, he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t try to defend himself, doesn’t even try to apologize. He just stares at you, his eyes wide and desperate, like he’s drowning in the mess he’s made.

Then, without warning, he steps forward, grabbing your face in his hands. His touch is rough, almost frantic, his fingers trembling against your skin. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

And before you can say anything, before you can even catch your breath, his lips crash into yours.

The kiss is desperate and messy, his tears mixing with yours as he pulls you closer like he’s afraid to let go. His hands shake as they cup your face, his lips pressing against yours with a fierceness that makes your knees weak.

You hate how easily you give in, how quickly your hands find their way to his chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. The anger and pain and longing all bleed together in that kiss, every unspoken word, every broken promise, every piece of you he’s taken without giving anything back.

When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm and ragged against your skin. “But I can’t lose you. Please… don’t leave me.” He whispers his voice trembling

Your heart shatters all over again. “Okay”

Bucky’s hands tighten on your arms, his breath warm and uneven against your face. His lips hover just above yours, his eyes searching yours for something—permission, maybe, or forgiveness he doesn’t deserve. You don’t give it to him, but you don’t pull away either.

Instead, your hands move on their own, sliding up his chest and curling into the fabric of his shirt. The tension between you snaps like a live wire as he closes the distance again, his mouth crashing against yours with a desperation that leaves no room for hesitation.

The kiss deepens, his lips parting yours, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that sends heat pooling low in your belly. His hands roam down your sides, fingers gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. You press closer, your body molding to his as the frustration and anger between you melt into something darker, hotter, and infinitely more consuming.

Bucky backs you up until your hips hit the edge of the counter, the cool surface biting into your skin through the thin fabric of your dress. His hands slide up your thighs, his touch firm and deliberate as he lifts you onto the counter. You gasp against his mouth, your hands tangling in his hair as he steps between your legs, his body pressing against yours in all the right ways.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough and breathless. “If this isn’t what you want, tell me now.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, your chest heaving as you meet his gaze. His blue eyes are dark, filled with a mix of longing and uncertainty that tugs at something deep inside you. “Don’t stop,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need.

That’s all it takes. He grips the hem of your dress and pulls it up, his hands sliding over your thighs, rough and calloused against your skin. His lips trail down your neck, his stubble scraping lightly against you as he kisses the sensitive spot just below your ear. Your head tilts back, a soft moan escaping your lips as his hands and mouth make you forget every argument, every broken moment that led you here.

His fingers find the edge of your underwear, his touch teasing as he looks up at you, waiting. You nod, your breath hitching as he slides them aside, his fingers exploring with a skill that leaves you trembling. He watches you intently, his gaze locked on your face as he learns every reaction, every sound you make.

When his name slips from your lips, low and needy, it’s like something inside him snaps. He lifts you effortlessly, carrying you to the couch with a strength that leaves you dizzy. The world blurs around you, your focus narrowing to the feel of his body against yours, the weight of his hands, the intensity of his gaze.

“You’re all I think about,” he says, his voice raw as he settles over you. “Every damn day.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. The only response you can give is the way you arch into him, the way you pull him closer, needing him as much as he needs you. And when he finally joins you, it’s slow and deliberate, every movement designed to pull you deeper into the storm of him.

The morning light seeps through the curtains as you stand by his window, fully dressed, the quiet hum of the city below serving as your only company. Bucky is still asleep in the bed, his arm draped across the pillow where you had been just hours ago. You glance at him one last time, your heart clenching in your chest. For a fleeting moment, you consider crawling back into bed, letting yourself believe in the softness of this moment.

But you can’t.

You quietly grab your things and slip out the door, the sound of it clicking shut behind you feeling heavier than it should.

By mid-morning, you’ve buried yourself in mundane errands—anything to keep your mind from circling back to him. You’re at the farmer’s market now, weaving through the stalls of fresh produce and flowers, the air filled with the faint scent of lavender and bread. You clutch a tote bag tightly in your hand, trying to focus on the vibrant colors of the fruit in front of you.

You pick up an apple, turning it over in your hand absently. It’s almost enough to distract you from the ache still lodged in your chest. Almost.

Until you see him.

You freeze, the apple slipping from your grasp and thudding softly onto the wooden table in front of you. Your breath catches, and the world seems to narrow until it’s just him, standing only a few stalls away.

His dark hair catches the sunlight, and for a moment, it feels like nothing has changed, like the night before never ended. His eyes are locked on yours, wide and filled with a mix of emotions you can’t quite place—shock, guilt, something softer that makes your chest tighten painfully.

For a moment, it’s just the two of you, suspended in time. Everyone else around you fades into nothing, their chatter and laughter muffled like the background of a dream.

But then your gaze shifts.

To her.

The woman standing beside him.

Her hand is clasped firmly in his, their fingers intertwined in a way that feels too familiar, too intimate. She’s beautiful, her expression warm and open as she looks up at him, clearly unaware of the storm brewing between his gaze and yours.

Your stomach twists violently, and the apple you’d forgotten about rolls off the edge of the table and hits the ground.

Bucky’s face changes when he sees you notice her, his eyes softening with guilt, his mouth parting as if he wants to say something, anything. But he doesn’t.

He just stands there, holding her hand, while your chest caves in.

You swallow hard, your throat tight as you force yourself to look away, your vision blurring with unshed tears. You clutch your tote bag tighter and turn, walking away without another word.

You barely make it out of the market before the tears spill over. You wipe them away furiously, your hands trembling as you duck into a side street, out of view from the crowds.

The weight of his gaze lingers on your back, like a hand reaching out but never quite touching you. You can feel him watching you, but you don’t dare turn around. You can’t.

You stop for a moment, your chest heaving as you lean against the wall of a brick building. The morning sun feels too bright, the world too loud despite the hollow silence pounding in your ears.

He didn’t follow.

You told yourself you didn’t want him to, but the ache in your chest says otherwise.

When you glance back toward the market, just for a second, you see him standing at the edge of the stalls, his hand no longer in hers, his face etched with something that looks like regret.

But he doesn’t move.

And neither do you.

With a deep breath, you wipe your face one last time, adjust the strap of your tote bag, and walk away. The weight in your chest feels unbearable, but your feet keep moving anyway.

The apartment is quiet that night, the silence pressing down on you as you sit by the window, staring out at the city lights. You tell yourself you’re not waiting for him, but your phone sits beside you on the windowsill, the screen dark but heavy with possibilities.

It’s almost midnight when the buzz breaks the silence. You glance at the screen, your heart stopping when you see his name.

The message is simple. “Please, can we talk? I miss you…I’m sorry”

[avonnimimi]

Can you write a parallel story of making sevika jealous. How would she react? 😏

of course i can pretty girl😉

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Hers

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a/n: Here you go anon<3 I hope you enjoy, and i switched it up a little ;) I tried to make it extra special since you’re the first to send an ask ☺️ also i’m a firm believer that sevika has a daddy kink. MEN AND MINORS DNI

content: dom!sevika, mean!sevika, strap-on-sex (r!receiving), cunnilingus (r!receiving), face-sitting, overstimulation, semi-public sex, finger sucking, throat fucking, choking, two pussy slaps, degrading, name calling, daddy kink, bratty!reader, multiple + forced orgasms. lmk if i missed anything!

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Ordinarily, you wouldn’t have dared to be so bold, but Sevika had been a really mean to you today. First, she told you no when you tried to get three large ice creams from the truck. Then, she shut you down when you wanted to buy those $300 heels you’d been obsessing over online. And last, like the cherry on top, she hit you with; “You can’t always get what you want.”

It burned. So, you decided to be petty.

Tonight was one of your once-a-month traditions: a night at the club with Sevika. She was already at the bar, ordering her usual drink. You didn’t even wait for her to turn around before heading to the dance floor, your mind made up.

You scanned the room, searching for your victim. It didn’t take long. Dark eyes met yours from across the crowd, already locked on you. He was watching you like he’d been waiting all night. You smirked, letting your hips sway as you walked toward him, the hem of your mini skirt riding higher with every step. When you reached him, you grabbed his hand, pulling him closer until your ass pressed firmly against his crotch. The music pulsed around you, but all you could hear was the sound of your own heart pounding.

You started to move, grinding against him. His hands gripped your hips, guiding your rhythm. You felt him harden against you, and for a second, nausea twisted in your stomach. But you swallowed it down. This wasn’t about him. This was about Sevika.

Your eyes flicked to the bar. There she was, sitting with her drink in hand, her gaze fixed on you. She didn’t look mad. She didn’t even look fazed. If anything, she looked…amused.

The heat of embarrassment flushed your cheeks. You were doing all this to get her attention, to rile her up, and she didn’t even care. You watched as she downed the rest of her drink, set the glass down, and stood. Your heart dropped. She wasn’t coming to you. She was walking toward the bathrooms.

The sting of rejection hit harder than you expected, twisting your chest tight. You pulled away from the guy without a word, ignoring his protests, and followed her. The anger bubbling inside you felt like it was about to spill over.

You pushed open the bathroom door, ready to confront her, but before you could even call her name, a strong hand yanked you inside, slamming you against the tiled wall, the door clicking shut behind you. The sound of the lock turning made your stomach flip.

It was Sevika. You didn’t need to see her face to know. Her scent, smoky and electric, was unmistakable. Her body pressed against yours, her hips flush with your ass. You gasped as you felt the hard bulge in her pants press against you. Your knees almost buckled.

“Tryna make me jealous, trouble?” she asked, her voice low and deadly, the amusement in it making your thighs clench.

You didn’t answer, biting your lip to keep the words at bay. That only made her laugh, a deep, throaty chuckle that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Cute,” she murmured, before her hands grabbed the hem of your mini skirt and yanked it down your thighs. The fabric pooled at your feet. Then, she spun you around, her hands firm on your shoulders as she pushed you down to your knees.

She unzipped her pants, and her strap sprung free, thick and heavy. Your mouth watered at the sight, but you didn’t move. You just looked up at her, wide-eyed and defiant.

“Open,” she growled, her voice sharp and commanding.

You shook your head, a small, “No,” slipping from your lips before you could stop yourself.

Wrong move. Sevika’s hand shot out, grabbing your face and squeezing your cheeks hard enough to make you cry out. Then, with no warning, she shoved her cock between your lips, pushing it deep into your throat.

You gagged, your hands flying to her hips in a weak attempt to push her back, but it only made her thrust deeper. Tears pricked your eyes as she fucked your throat, her pace merciless. Your body betrayed you, heat pooling in your core as the wetness between your legs grew.

“Yeah, that’s it,” she groaned, her voice rough. Her boot shifted, the toe pressing against your clit through your soaked panties. The pressure made you moan around her cock, your hips instinctively grinding against her boot.

“You know what to do,” she taunted. And you did. You bucked your hips, grinding down harder, chasing the friction as you sucked and licked at her tip. You could feel her watching you, her dark eyes burning into you. “Look at you,” she sneered, her voice dripping with condescension. “Such a pretty little bitch in heat.”

Your cheeks burned, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Not until she pulled back, her cock slipping from your lips with a wet pop. You whined at the loss, your hips stuttering as you found an angle that dragged against your clit perfectly.

“Pathetic,” she muttered, grabbing your arm and hauling you to your feet. She dragged you to the sink, bending you over the counter. The mirror reflected your flushed face, your lips swollen, your eyes glassy. Sevika’s hand ran down your back before hooking into your thong and tearing it clean off.

She spread your legs wide, one hand gripping your hip while the other slapped your clit hard. You yelped, the sting sharp and sudden. But before you could recover, her cock was rubbing against your soaked slit, teasing you.

And then she shoved it in.all of it.

You screamed, your hands flying to the edges of the sink to hold yourself steady. She didn’t wait, didn’t give you time to adjust. Her hips slammed into yours over and over, her cock hitting so deep you thought you might break.

“Look at yourself,” she growled, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head up so you were forced to meet your reflection. “You see what a nasty little fucktoy you are?”

Your lip trembled. You wanted to apologize, to beg for forgiveness, but all you could do was whimper as she fucked you harder, her hips snapping against yours with brutal precision.

“You think that little boy out there could fuck you like this?” she sneered, her voice dripping with disdain.

“N-no, daddy!” you cried, your thighs shaking, your body already teetering on the edge.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she spat, her pace quickening. “Now cum. Cum all over this dick, trouble.”

Her words sent you spiraling. Your body tensed, then shattered, pleasure crashing over you in waves so intense you couldn’t even think. Your pussy clenched tight around her cock, your moans echoing in the small bathroom.

But she didn’t stop. Her thrusts stayed relentless, pulling you from one orgasm straight into the next. Tears streamed down your face, your body trembling from overstimulation.

“Aww, poor baby,” she cooed mockingly, her hand pressing against your stomach, right where her cock was buried deep inside you. “Too much? Or do you love it, slut?”

“Yes!” you sobbed, nodding frantically. “Love it, daddy! Fuck, I love it s’much…”

Your words only spurred her on. She slapped your ass hard, the sound echoing around you. “Good girl,” she growled. “Now cum again.”

And you did. Harder than before, your body writhing as you squirted all over her cock. You were a mess, completely undone, but Sevika wasn’t finished. She pulled out, spinning you around and sitting you on the counter, immediately dropping to her knees.

“Lemme taste,” she said, her voice rough with need.

Her tongue found your clit instantly, sucking and flicking it with no mercy. Your thighs twitched, your body jerking as you cried out, the pleasure almost too much. She didn’t stop, didn’t let up, her tongue dipping into your cunt before returning to your clit.

Your hips jerk up, desperate, fucking yourself against her tongue until she growls and forces your hips down, sucking your clit so hard you can’t stop the scream tearing out of your throat as you cum again. “F-fuck, daddy!” Your hands tangle in her hair, pulling, holding on for dear life as your body grinds into her face, completely out of control, lost in it.

Sevika doesn’t even give you time to recover. She’s up in an instant, her hand wrapping tight around your throat, pinning you to the mirror as two of her thick fingers slam into your dripping cunt. You gasp, legs spreading wider, chasing the stretch, the pressure. “You wanna cum again?” she growls, and all you can do is nod, your voice gone. You need it, fuck, you need her so bad it’s making you ache.

Her fingers curl, hitting that spot inside you like she’s mapped you out, like she owns you. You sob, your hands clutching at her wrist, thighs trembling as she works you open. “Please,” you whimper, sounding pathetic and raw, but you don’t care. She’s fucking you so deep, so good, you’d sell your soul just to keep her there forever.

“God, I love when you’re a brat,” Sevika groans, her voice low and wrecked, her thumb swiping over your clit just to watch you twitch. “Gives me an excuse to ruin this pussy, stuff it full, make it mine.” Her lips curl into a smirk, her eyes dark as she leans in closer. “Look at me.”

You try, you fucking try, but your eyes roll back as your orgasm claws its way up, your walls fluttering around her fingers. The pressure is unbearable, and your body’s trembling so hard you think you might shatter. “Fuck, Sevika—”

“Yeah, that’s it,” she hisses, watching your body give up to her. Her grip on your throat tightens just enough to make your head spin, and then she’s pulling you into a messy, brutal kiss, her tongue dominating yours, kissing all the air out of your lungs. You cum hard, your whole body locking up as you squirt all over her hand, soaking her wrist, the floor, everything.

She doesn’t stop until you’re shaking, until you’re gasping for breath. Pulling her fingers out, she doesn’t even hesitate before shoving them against your lips. “Open,” she demands, and you obey immediately, sucking them clean, tasting yourself on her skin. You’re still trying to catch your breath when her other hand comes down, slapping your oversensitive pussy, making you yelp.

“Good fucking girl,” Sevika mutters, her voice thick with pride as she leans down to kiss you again, stealing the last bit of air you have left.

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this is my original post, please don’t repost, translate, or plagiarize my work ;)

©️avonnimimi 2024

[greengoblinswifey]

i loved "Shattered" although i would have loved for her to keep the baby and have the same success as in the original ending, would you consider writing something like that? as an alternative ending

Alternative Ending to Shattered— Nicholas Chavez x Actress!Reader

warnings— cheating, mature language, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of unprotected sex, mentions of abortion, happy ending, mentions of birth.

Shattered

When Nicholas told you to get an abortion, you felt a flash of anger surge through you. “No,”you said firmly. “You can’t force me to do that.” Nicholas looked shocked, then furious. “I have a girlfriend, and a kid on the way to raise,” he argued, voice hard and unyielding.

A surge of pain mixed with rage bubbled up in you. “I’m your girlfriend, Nicholas,”you shouted back. “And this is your child. You should be here for us, helping raise them, not running off to hide.”

Without another word, Nicholas stormed out, leaving you sitting there, heart pounding as you clutched your stomach protectively. You weren't showing yet, but the weight of the choice before you felt heavy. “Screw Nicholas”, you thought, wiping a tear from your cheek. “I’ll raise this baby on my own if I have to.”

That night, you lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, your mind spiraling as you weighed your options. If you kept the baby, everything would change. Your career, just beginning to gain traction, would be stalled indefinitely. You’d be a single mother, left alone to care for a child Nicholas had already written off. And as a man, he’d be fine. Even with two babies on the way, he wouldn’t be the one carrying or caring for them.

On the other hand, if you didn’t keep it, you weren’t even sure if you’d get another chance. The thought tore at you, but you knew what the world would say. They’d call you a homewrecker, maybe even try to destroy your reputation, and all without knowing the truth. It would be you, bearing the weight of his lies.

Finally, with a heavy but hopeful heart, you decided that you were going to keep the life growing inside you. Thoughts raced through your mind, layering one worry after another. How would your career hold up with a pregnancy? The industry wasn’t always kind to young actresses, especially not ones who suddenly had a child in the picture. You imagined the directors and producers who’d invested in your rising stardom questioning your ability to maintain the same dedication once you had a baby to care for. The idea of managing both a career and motherhood alone felt overwhelming.

Filming the rest of the season with Nicholas suddenly seemed like an impossible task. Every scene together would remind you of how easily he had turned his back on you both, his other life casting a shadow over every word he’d said to you. But you’d have to keep it together, remain professional, pretending there wasn’t a storm beneath the surface whenever you shared the screen with him.

And then, there was the question you dreaded most: Who’s the baby’s father? Interviews, press conferences, appearances, the media would demand answers eventually. How could you admit the truth? How could you tell the world that you’d trusted him, fallen for him, fucked your co-star raw, and now were left to handle the responsibility alone because he had a life, another girlfriend and another baby, in his hometown? The thought of admitting you’d opened your heart and legs to your co-star, only for him to abandon you, made your stomach twist. You couldn’t bear to let the world see that vulnerable side of you.

But despite it all, you rested your hand on your stomach and felt a strange sense of resolve. This baby was a part of you, forget being a part of him, and you knew you’d find a way to raise them, no matter how many obstacles lay in your path.

The next day on set, you were barely holding it together, trying to keep the morning’s nausea from spilling over into the day's work. Nicholas approached you quietly before filming began, his expression tense.

“So, did you take care of it?” he asked, his voice cold.

You looked him right in the eyes. “No, Nicholas. I’m keeping this baby. That’s final.” You could see the frustration in his face, the way he clenched his jaw, but he didn’t argue. He only nodded, his gaze shifting away.

Soon, you were called onto set to film a scene, and as you moved into the frame, you felt the weight of your reality pressing down. The scene called for a romantic kiss, but as you leaned in, all you could think was, How could he do this to us? Every touch felt hollow, each moment of pretend affection a painful reminder of his betrayal.

Still, you held it together for the rest of the day, determined to protect yourself and, more importantly, the little life growing inside you. You’d give them all the love they need, you thought, so they wouldn’t feel the absence of their father.

As days turned into weeks, filming continued then the season wrapped, and you noticed subtle changes, how your clothes fit a bit more snugly, the quiet flutter in your stomach that grew stronger with time. You poured your focus into auditions for roles scheduled to film after the baby’s birth, crafting a new life plan that prioritized their future as much as your own.

Finally, when you went to the doctor alone, you learned you were having a baby girl. The news was bittersweet. Part of you ached for the weight of responsibility, raising a girl, teaching her strength and self-worth under such circumstances. Yet, you held onto a fierce determination to make the most of it, to show her resilience and love, no matter what lay ahead.

The night of the premiere, you walked onto the red carpet in a breathtaking gown that hugged your figure, showing off a noticeable baby bump. As you made your way through the crowd, congratulations poured in from all directions, and you felt a mixture of pride and nerves. Then you spotted Nicholas, standing nearby with his girlfriend, who was visibly pregnant as well. For a moment, his eyes met yours, and he did a double-take, clearly taken aback by how radiant you looked with your growing belly.

His girlfriend approached you, offering her congratulations with a polite smile, and you returned the sentiment, fully aware of the irony, that you both carried a piece of him, each in your own way. Nicholas lingered close by, watching intently, as if afraid you might reveal something.

As you spoke to the press, questions about your pregnancy inevitably came up. When asked about the father, you simply smiled, deflecting with comments about your happiness and excitement for what lay ahead, both as a mother and in your career. You radiated confidence, making it clear that your future was only beginning.

Later, you received the incredible news that you’d been cast in a new movie, and the production team was willing to accommodate your new role as a mother. Filming was set to begin after you'd had time with your baby, and they even offered a nanny and daycare on set. Knowing this support was there, you accepted the role, feeling your career blossom alongside your journey into motherhood.

When the day finally arrived, you gave birth to a healthy, beautiful baby girl, the spitting image of you. Holding her for the first time, you felt an overwhelming relief that she looked nothing like Nicholas—she was purely yours. Your sister stood by, sharing in the joy, and as you looked down at your daughter, you felt stronger and more certain than ever.

Motherhood suited you well, and as the months passed, so did the fascination with your personal life. Though speculation about the baby’s father lingered, it eventually faded. Fans and the public were captivated by your story, a young mom balancing stardom with raising her baby girl. As offers poured in, it was clear that your future was bright, your daughter by your side as you continued to captivate the world.

Meanwhile, Nicholas seemed to fade from the spotlight, mostly at home with his girlfriend, waiting for their baby. Until, finally, karma came for him, an article revealed that the child he thought was his was actually someone else’s, belonging to a rockstar his girlfriend had left him for. You couldn’t help the satisfaction that spread through you. He’d reaped exactly what he’d sown, and you hadn’t lifted a finger.

The night of the Oscars was monumental. Walking the red carpet, you held your baby girl close, basking in the awe and admiration from all around. When the ceremony began, you took your seat, unaware that Nicholas was there, too, until he approached you during a break, nervously glancing at your daughter.

“She looks just like you,” he said, trying to keep his voice soft.

You looked at him coldly, replying, “Yeah, and I'm fucking grateful for that”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Look, I’m so sorry for everything. I miss you, I really do. I was an idiot. Please, give me another chance.”

You took a steadying breath, keeping your tone calm but firm. “Nicholas, we’re done. The moment you cheated, lied and then told me to abort my child, you lost any future with me.” You glanced down at your daughter who was playing with your hair not sparing her father a glance, feeling the strength in your decision. “If you want to be in her life, that’s up to you. I’d prefer it if you weren’t near us, but I won’t deny you the right.”

He hesitated, his eyes darting away. It was clear he hadn’t come to build a relationship with his daughter, he was more interested in your newfound fame.

“That's what I thought,” you said, voice sharp. “Stay out of our lives. Don’t speak to me again.”

With that, you walked away, feeling lighter than ever. When your name was called for Best Actress, you took the stage, holding the Oscar with pride as the crowd erupted in applause. This was your night, a celebration of everything you’d fought for, a testament to your resilience and talent, with your daughter’s future in your hands.

[onlyquinns]

COFFEE SHOP CONFESSIONS, q. hughes

pairing: quinn hughes x reader

content: sitting for a cup of coffee with quinn takes a turn when unspoken thoughts from years ago finally arise, angsty, quinn might be ooc, allusions to sex but no actual smut

rain patters harshly against the window panes of the little coffee shop quinn sits inside of, calloused fingers wrapped tenderly around a warm ceramic mug. his head is ducked low and his hair is pulled back into a black yankees cap—one that he had to steal back from jack during the devils's short visit to the city.

a memory from years ago comes to the front of his mind as he peers up at you sitting across from him; glimpses of long limbs tangled in his sheets, his hands and fingers pressed into your soft skin, your hair sprawled out beneath you, and the soft sound of gasps and moans.

he doesn’t know how the two of you have got to this point, gone from lovers and best friends to acquaintances who meet once or twice in a blue moon to ‘catch up,’ an excuse quinn makes up every time to see your face one more time before he thinks you’ll inevitably refuse to.

you glance up from your own mug and smile softly at quinn, and he tries to memorize every freckle and faded acne scar on your face, so desperate to recall the way you look in the case you go from acquaintances to strangers. your cheeks are far less rounded now than when you’d first met during orientation at umich, more defined now that you’re older and out of college, and quinn is so devastatingly aware of how sharper and more defined his own face is—how fast time goes by without you by his side even though to him it feels like an eternity.

“so,” you start softly, drawing quinn from his thoughts, “what’s up?” you say it so casually that quinn’s chest aches and he swallows harshly, his throat dry and burning.

“aren’t you sick of this?” he blurts, his green-blue eyes peering at his own reflection in his coffee mug. the distorted version of himself seems to mock him, glaring at him for trying to destroy something that could be good with someone the both of them need.

confusion splits across your face, soft smile turned unsure and brows pinched together—quinn grips his mug a little tighter to keep himself from smoothing the space between them over, a habit he’d developed during your first finals week in college.

“i don’t know what you mean,” you tell him, unsure smile now gone and a small frown pulling at your lips instead. you tilt your chin down toward your mug and stare blankly into the liquid inside, losing yourself in the dark contents. “what’s there to be sick of?”

anger bubbles in quinn’s chest, not at you—never at you—but at the situation he’s put himself in. “this,” he vaguely insists, freeing his mug from his rough fingers and instead taking hold of his cap and hair. “where we act like i’m not in love with you anymore, where we pretend everything is fine and ignore that at one point we knew every detail about one another. aren’t you sick of that?”

tears prickle in your eyes, blurring your vision slightly. quinn’s right; you were so tired of pretending with him, so exhausted from going about your daily life trying to rid yourself of every thought of him only to end up back in vancouver in a desperate act to see him again.

“yeah, i am,” you whimper, breaking quinn’s heart a fraction. “i’m really tired of acting like… like i don’t pretend every other person i’ve ever been with is you.”

your admission sends shock rippling through quinn’s body, stunning him momentarily. the little reflection of himself in his coffee mug ripples away, like a little spirit finished with what it intended to do before separating from the real world.

“then don’t,” he tells you, reaching toward you to grip your soft fingers between his. he runs his thumb in circles and letters over the backs of your knuckles, the action soothing for the both of you. “i want to be yours—if you’ll let me. i won’t mess things up this time; i won’t leave you.”

your fingers weakly grip his, trembling in his hold. your guys’ drinks are long cold and the rain outside has lightened, inviting the sun back through the clouds. light streaks across quinn’s eyes, wide and hopeful, and the growing sunlight highlights the specks of brown scattered through the blue.

you inhale deeply, the sound rattly from the unshed tears and emotions deep in your chest. “what if you do, though,” you breathe. “what if i wake up and one day you’re gone, realized i’m not worth it.” insecurity plagues your mind, ebbing its way into your features, into the way you look at quinn through watery lashes.

quinn’s heart sinks deeper with your words, regret filling his entire body. “i’m sorry for leaving you,” he says, inhaling deeply as the memory of his last morning in michigan with you several years ago comes to mind. he’d left you still asleep in his bed at his parents’ house, the sheets curled tightly to your chest and smelling so heavily like him you hadn’t noticed he’d left. “it was a stupid mistake. i didn’t realize that what i had back then—with you—was the best thing to have ever happened to me. i thought… i thought playing in the nhl was the most important thing to have ever happened to me, but i know now that it was actually meeting you—loving you, being loved by you. i’m sorry.”

tears stream down your cheeks as you sob in the quiet coffee shop, fingers tightly digging into quinn’s. the way he looks at you is so earnest you have no choice but to believe him, believe that if you were to pack up your life back home and haul it to canada that quinn wouldn’t abandon you like an old toy after a week.

“please,” quinn nearly begs as he squeezes your hand even tighter, knuckles whitening against yours. “i need you in every way possible, in every universe ever. we can work things out, here in vancouver—or anywhere. i’d drop anything, everything, for you. i promise—i swear.”

quinn’s throat bobs as he watches you intently, waiting for a response. you nod your head furiously, nose scrunched up as you choke on a sob. you cover your mouth with the back of your free hand, still nodding.

“okay,” you rasp against your hand, tears no longer streaming down your face. “i believe you. we can work this out together. i believe you.”

quinn ducks his head graciously, reaching across to cup your hand with both of his. his palms easily envelop yours, tightly wrapped around it as if you’ll take your words back and walk away from him forever.

“thank you,” he whispers, his lips nearly brushing the table. “thank you.”

all photos from pinterest

[phantomwithbreakfast]

~ Forbidden Love ~

DP Phanfic story.

Oh well.

Here’s a teaser from chapter 07 - Actions and Reactions

(You can read the whole chapter or the whole story on FanFiction.net—not finished yet—currently working on chapter 08)

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Teaser loading…

Summary:

Pitch Pearl (coming soon into the story — so that’s a spoiler I guess).

Trigger Warning {Bullying and Harassment — Violence — Emotional Distress — Strong Language}

I rated it as T, but I think maybe it has to be M, I don’t know.

—

Danny’s heart sank, his fingers trembling as he tapped on Tucker’s message, revealing the link. Dread pooled in his stomach, coiling tighter with every second. Another picture. Another post. His chest felt heavy as the image loaded, and there it was—the photo Mikey had snapped of him in class earlier this week.

In the photo he was smiling, cheeks flushed, clearly blushing while looking at his phone. The caption beneath it read:


Mikey’s post:


“Definitely dating Phantom ;)”


The floor seemed to drop out from under Danny as he stared at the picture. His heart pounded in his chest, the rush of anger mixing with heavy embarrassment. How could things get worse? How could Mikey do this just for attention?


Danny clenched his phone so hard it nearly slipped out of his grip. Clout. Mikey did this for clout, for likes, for the attention of being the guy who ’exposed’ Danny. He wasn’t even sure if Mikey believed any of it, but that didn’t matter. The damage was done. The post was already gaining traction, with comments popping up beneath it like wildfire.


Danny’s blood boiled. His vision blurred with frustration, his body tensing as his mind raced. He could feel his ghost core stirring inside him, reacting to the emotional storm building in his chest. This wasn’t just embarrassing—it was humiliating. He wanted to scream. He wanted to disappear. Most of all, he wanted to stop Mikey from making everything worse.


He glanced at the comments below, his hands trembling.


FootballKing01: “Knew it! Fentgay’s been hiding this the whole time. #PhantomDating #Exposed”


CreepyMcCreepFace: “OMG I knew he had a secret life! What a freak!”


PhantomFanboyKW: “No surprise here. Fenton’s a loser either way.”


WestonWS: "No, it can't be! I'm telling you, Fenton is Phantom!"


Danny’s stomach turned, the heat rising in his face. His heart raced as the rage built up inside him. How dare Mikey post this without permission? How dare he mock Danny like that for a few likes? Didn’t he know what this could do to him? Didn’t he know how dangerous this was? The connection between him and Phantom was getting closer to being exposed with each post like this.
He felt the familiar icy cold pulse of his ghost core reacting to his emotions, but he gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay calm. He couldn’t let Phantom take over, not here, not like this. But he was tired—tired of being picked on, tired of having his privacy violated.


Danny threw his phone down onto the bed, sitting up in frustration. His fists clenched at his sides as the anger bubbled over. How was he going to fix this? How could he possibly stop this spiral?

———————

Made in ProCreate. Drawings + GIF

DP copyright/rights, belongs to Nickelodeon.

So. If I don’t draw Danny like… angry, he looks so… weird. 😭

I draw scenes to get a vision of the situation. (Duh)

And if I may be honest, this specific story I’m writing hits me very personal. Just trying to get over my PTSD here! (the bullying parts)! So it’s kind of therapy I guess.

[mattslolita]

bambis friends finally letting Chris see Bambi but there watching u 2 like a hawk and say “u got five minutes” 😭😭

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧

chris was unavoidable — he called and texted you every day, almost filling up your voicemail box. you couldn't go to certain places without knowing for sure that he'd be there, and you weren't ready to see him. he hurt you really bad, and he needed to realize it. you'd always spoken so highly about the way he treated you, but you should've known you would never be anything more with him.

it's been two weeks — you would be lying if you said you weren't completely losing your mind having not seen chris. you were a wreck, not your usual bubbly, emotional self. of course, the crying had doubled and stayed consistent — you felt bad for your friends taking care of you in this time, but they didn't mind and insisted on helping you out.

"you won't believe who the fuck just asked to see y/n," niyah fumes, walking into your bedroom as she shook her head whilst staring down at her phone, "chris gon text me and ask to see you!"

you sniffled as you were cuddled into riri's side, scream playing on the laptop in front of you. if chris were here, he would've looked at you crazy since he knew that horror movies were your way of trying to cheer yourself up. the thought of chris made your chest tighten, as you realized — you really missed him.

"let him," you say in between sniffles, causing everyone's eyes to widen as they stare down at you.

"y/n, are you serious?" zay asks you seriously, her eyebrows knitted together, "are you sure it's a good idea?"

"maybe he has an explanation," you said, wiping at your eyes as you hiccup, "i deserve to hear it. it's not fair."

your friends all share a knowing look with each other, before niyah sighs and types away on her phone. "here's some tissues pookie, he's coming in six minutes."

—

the familiarity of your house brings chris a desperate comfort he'd been missing for the past two weeks — his hair was tousled messily, eye bags prominent under his eyes from lack of sleep. he'd been in a terrible state without you, and it was definitely showing. when he walks inside of your home, your friends are quick to stare the man down. his cheeks heat up with shame, fully expecting one of the girls to lunge at him.

"five fucking minutes," niyah hisses, her eyes boring into chris's with anger, nodding towards your room.

he gulps before walking past the group of girls who stare at him as he makes his way into your room. the door creaks open, and your head pops up from your bed quickly as your eyes land on chris — he looks tired and numb, and something inside of you breaks as you sniffle and sit up.

"hey, bambi," chris says hoarsely, voice barely above a whisper as he closes the door behind him.

"hi, chris," you say quietly, playing with the hem of your shorts as you stare up at him curiously.

he motions towards the end of your bed, and you nod as he sits down and lets a sigh escape his lips — you watch him fold his hands in lap, struggling to maintain the eye contact you insist on trying to keep with him. "dunno if you're gonna forgive me, but i jus' wan' tell you what happened."

you're silent, still eyeing him curiously — he takes this as an initiative to continue. "for some time now, you an' me have been together, but not together, if that makes sense. i will admit i was scared that i would fuck shit up, thas' why i haven't made any moves to make shit official with you. but i was finally ready to do things the right way."

you could feel your heart skip a beat at his words — chris wanted to make things official with you. it was all you'd ever wanted, but now you're conflicted, because you don't know if you could trust him. "that doesn't explain madilyn...why were you with her?"

the crack in your voice causes chris to run a hand along his jaw as he shakes his head. "i went to her for advice on how to ask you. i didn't realize she had a different motive, i swear."

suddenly anger beings to course through your veins upon the realization that madilyn had been after chris just to spite you — for whatever stupid reason, she had always been jealous of you, and you didn't know why. you should've known better that chris would go for someone else — still, you weary on anything to go further for you guys.

you slowly crawled over to chris, running your hands along his shoulders to his chest, as your lips hovered over his neck. you pressed a soft kiss there, inhaling his familiar cologne, "i really missed you, baby."

"i missed you too, ma," chris mumbles, his strong hands moving to place on you on his lap, causing a small giggle to escape your lips. he wipes away at a stray tear that leaves your eye, "can i make it up to you?"

[casedclosedbye]

The Missing tag

Bucky Barnes x reader

Oneshot

Summary: What started as a simple misunderstanding over a missing dog tag escalates, with both of you blaming each other. You storm out in frustration, hurt by Bucky’s stubbornness and lack of understanding.

The apartment was unusually quiet, save for the sound of the occasional rain pattering against the windows. The kind of quiet that settled into your bones, heavy and thick, the way things did when tension grew thick enough to suffocate the air.

You paced in front of the couch, every step faster than the last, the anger and frustration bubbling up inside you. The argument had started small, a simple misunderstanding—at least that’s how you thought of it. But Bucky’s dismissive attitude had turned it into something else entirely.

“You’re really gonna blame me for this?” you snapped, glaring at him as he stood in the kitchen, his arms crossed. His posture was tense, defensive, and every second that ticked by only seemed to fuel your anger.

Bucky didn’t flinch. “You’re the one who lost it. I told you to give it back, and what do I get? One dog tag gone.” He gestured at the counter with a flick of his wrist, his voice low and sharp. “I’m not sure how you lose something that important, but here we are.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “I didn’t lose it, Bucky! I didn’t even have them when you took them back. You left one of them on the bathroom sink after you took them from me. I didn’t touch it!” You were yelling now, the frustration that had been building finally spilling over.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed as if he was trying to make sense of what you were saying, but instead of looking guilty, he looked almost annoyed. "So what? It’s your fault now that it went missing?”

“Yes, it’s your fault!" you shot back. "You took them back from me, then left one of them on the sink when you went to shower! How is that my fault? You think I’m just going to sit here and pretend you didn’t make a mistake?”

Bucky’s face hardened. His expression shifted, that wall of armor he so often wore slipping into place as his temper flared. “I’m not gonna stand here and let you accuse me of things I didn’t do. You were supposed to take care of them.”

You threw your hands up in exasperation. “I was careful with them, Bucky! I didn’t lose them. You left it there!”

There was a long, drawn-out silence as the words hung between you both, neither one of you willing to back down. But the tension in the room was suffocating, like it was building up to something much worse.

“I don’t need this right now,” you muttered, shaking your head. The hurt in your chest was overwhelming, your voice trembling. “You always do this. You always make it my fault when something goes wrong. I’m so sick of it, Bucky.”

Without waiting for a response, you grabbed your jacket and stormed out, slamming the door behind you. The cold hit you immediately as you walked out into the hallway, but it did nothing to ease the anger or the sadness that twisted your gut.

Bucky stood there in the kitchen, his mind racing, a mix of anger and guilt clouding his thoughts. He had never meant for any of this to happen. Sure, he had taken the dog tags back, but in his mind, they were just… tags. The connection wasn’t something he had verbalized much, but it was important to him, and now… now everything felt wrong.

But it wasn’t just the tags. It was you. It was always you.

Hours later, Bucky found himself alone in the apartment, the weight of the argument still heavy in the air. He had tried to distract himself, tried to get his mind off everything, but it was impossible. The longer he was by himself, the more the guilt ate at him. He hadn’t meant to hurt you, but his pride had gotten in the way. He knew that now.

It was late, far too late, but he found himself walking to the bathroom. He needed to clear his head, maybe wash his face and go to bed. He stood in front of the mirror for a long moment, staring at his reflection as if he could figure out where everything had gone wrong.

That’s when he saw it.

The dog tag.

There, lying innocently on the bathroom sink where he had left it the day before. He hadn’t even remembered to pick it up. His stomach sank as he realized it had been there all along, just waiting for him to notice. He had left it. It wasn’t your fault. It was his.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair as guilt hit him like a punch to the gut.

He cursed under his breath, realizing how much he had messed up. The argument had been petty. The way he’d blown it all out of proportion—it was foolish. But even more than that, he felt the sting of knowing he had let you walk out of the door hurt, all because of his stubbornness and pride.

Bucky didn’t waste another second. He grabbed the dog tag, his heart racing. Without thinking, he rushed out the door, the need to fix things with you consuming him. He couldn’t let it end like this.

You didn’t expect to feel so… alone when you walked into your friend's apartment. The anger was still there, hot and stinging, but beneath it, there was a pang of sadness. You had left because you needed space, needed to think, but you never imagined Bucky would dig his heels in like that. He never really saw things from your perspective, it seemed. And maybe that was what hurt the most.

Your phone buzzed on the counter, the notification lighting up the screen with Bucky’s name. You ignored it. You didn’t feel like dealing with it right now. You needed time to cool off, to let your emotions settle.

But then you heard a knock on the door. You frowned, wondering if your friend was coming back, or if someone else was visiting. It wasn’t until the door opened, and you saw Bucky standing there, his expression frantic, eyes wide, that you realized he’d come to find you.

"Bucky?" you whispered, your heart suddenly in your throat.

“I messed up,” he said, breathless. “I shouldn’t have—" He paused, taking a deep breath as if trying to gather his thoughts. "I shouldn’t have blamed you for losing the tag. It was my fault. I left it there on the sink after I took it back, and I didn’t even realize until now. I… I was too stubborn, and I hurt you. I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t want to admit I was wrong.”

You stared at him for a long moment, your mind racing. He was standing there, his eyes soft and regretful, holding the dog tag in his hand like it was the most important thing in the world.

“You always think you’re right,” you said quietly, the frustration still lingering in your voice, but the edge had softened. “I just wanted you to see it wasn’t my fault. I care about those tags. I care about you, and I hate that you think I’d lose something that matters to you.”

“I know,” Bucky said, stepping closer. “I know. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His voice was quieter now, sincere, and the tension between you both seemed to dissipate just a little.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “It’s not just the tag, Bucky. It’s about us—how we always seem to fight, and then no one wants to apologize first.”

Bucky reached out, gently taking your hand. His touch was warm, comforting. "I don’t want to fight anymore. I don’t want to lose you over something so stupid."

You nodded, squeezing his hand. Maybe things weren’t perfect. Maybe it wasn’t all fixed in one conversation. But for the first time in hours, you felt the anger start to fade. There was hope again, quiet and uncertain, but it was there.

And maybe that was enough for now.

[pretty-circa006]

Backyard Barbecue pt. 2 of the Summer Break mini series

dadsbsf! Negan x F! Reader x dadsbsf! Rick

summary Rick and Negan are back for the annual backyard barbecue tags pseudo smut?, making out, groping, dry humping, age gap

wc 2.5k

note @a-vampire-bat this one's for you! thank you so much for being patient! i'm so sorry that this took forever and i really hope it doesn't disappoint!! i promise that pt.3 is already in the works!

p.s. be sure to let me know if i missed any warnings, i've gotten a bit rusty haha

*you are responsible for your own content consumption. if this is something you DO NOT like, simply DO NOT read or interact! :) *

Out of all her family’s traditions, the annual summer barbecue her father puts on his her favorite. It’s not just the food–although that is one of the highlights–but it’s the atmosphere. A bright sunny day with a backyard full of laughter and people she hasn’t seen in oh so long, her favorites, of course, being Rick and Negan. Before she left for college, she saw Negan quite frequently since he lived nearby, but Rick, she only saw a couple times a year; major holidays, the annual summer barbecue, and whenever he just happened to be in the area. 

“Honey, come down and help me with something real quick,” her mom’s voice calls from downstairs. 

“Coming!” she shouts back. She’s not actually coming, though, she’s looking in the mirror trying to decide if her outfit is sexy enough to catch Rick’s and Negan’s eyes while also being appropriate to wear around the other guests. Maybe just a bikini would catch too many eyes, so she opts for a little, pink, floral sundress instead. It's short enough that she shouldn't bend over while leaving just enough for the imagination. 

“Finally, what took you so long? Never mind, just go open the gate. The guests’ll be here soon,” her mom tells her. 

Feeling giddy, she hurries out the sliding glass door and across the back yard, passing her dad who’s putting charcoal in the grill. As soon as she swings the wooden gate open, she comes face to face with Rick. His bright blue eyes that look even brighter and bluer in the summer sunlight take her in, eyeing her body before forcing their way to her face. 

“Rick! You’re here early.” She jumps into his arms, embracing him as if she didn’t see him last night. He reciprocates and presses a lingering kiss to her temple. 

“Came early to help set up,” he explains without looking away from her. 

The sound of a motorcycle snatches her attention away from Rick and when she realizes that it’s Negan she perks up even more. 

“Looks like Negan’s early, too!” She sidesteps Rick and hurries out to the front to greet Negan. Jealousy bubbles in Rick’s chest as he watches her jump into Negan’s arms, much like she did to him a second ago. But Negan picks her up and spins her around before setting her back down, still keeping an arm wrapped around her. They’re too far away for him to hear what they’re talking about, but seeing Negan make her laugh causes him to clench his jaw and ball his hand into a fist. Negan playfully smacking her ass pushes him over the edge.

“Hey, Negan,” Rick shouts, catching both hers and Negan’s attention. 

“Are you gonna help set up or what?” He doesn’t mean for so much anger to seep into his voice, but seeing Negan touching what’s his pisses him off. 

“I just got here, asshole. Give me a minute!” 

Rick is able to relax a little when she leaves Negan’s side and walks back into the yard, but what he just saw leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆

The backyard's full of guests; family and friends reuniting, children running around splashing in the pool, and the smell of food wafting through the humid air. This is another thing she loves about summer. With all the activity happening, she hadn't been able to check in on Rick or Negan. Having finally finished making fruit salad for the quests, she heads back inside to sit down for a moment. 

"Honey, can you do me a favor?" she hears her mom ask as soon as she sat down. Begrudgingly, she gets up and trudges into the kitchen. 

"Bring these out to Negan while he's still grilling." Her mom dumps a pack of ribs into her arms before going back to whatever busywork she was doing before. Normally she's irritated by these little favors, but since it’s a reason to see Negan, she's happy. Happily, she saunters over to Negan who’s manning the grill in a white t-shirt and shorts, covered by an apron that says ‘kiss the cook’ because of course he has one of those. 

“Hey doll!” Negan greets when she comes into view, his arm open wide for a hug while the other tends to the meat. She melts into the hug, her face pressed into his strong chest as his arm holds her close. He smells mostly of grill smoke and faintly of cologne and it’s hypnotizing. Despite the sweltering weather, she feels cold when he pulls away from the hug. 

“It smells great over here, what’re you makin’? She asks, handing him the package of ribs. 

“You’re smellin’ this barbecue sauce I made,” he dips his index finger into the bowl of sauce and holds it up to her, “Taste it. It is fuckin’ delicious.” This gives her pause, but only momentarily. She leans down, maintaining eye contact with him as she takes his finger into her mouth and sucks the sauce from it. A smirk grows across his face as he watches her, feeling her warm mouth around his finger. 

“Good, huh?” He pridefully questions, taking back his finger. She nods with approval but is barely able to hide the fact that she's flustered. 

"Wanna try it on some ribs?"

"I wanna go swimmin' 'fore I eat!" 

"Better fuckin' hope there's some food left for ya. Nobody can resist my cookin'." 

"Or...," she grabs his hand and holds it in hers, looking up at him with sultry, half-lidded eyes, "you can just wait 'til I'm done to finish cookin' up everything." She bites back a smile when she sees a look in Negan's hazel eyes telling her that he's considering her proposition. 

"Sorry, doll. As much as I'd love to, I can't leave all these other assholes to starve." 

"Fine," she drops his hand and he lets it fall limp against his side, "guess you don't wanna help me pick out a swimsuit." She doesn't wait for a response or reaction and just walks toward the house. Seconds later, she hears his hurried footsteps rushing to catch up to her.  

Another perk of him being her dad's best friend is that nobody seems to bat an eye at the two of them heading toward her bedroom. He sits on her bed like it's second nature and she shuts the door. His elbows are rested on his knees and head resting on his hands. It's almost as if he physically can't tear his eyes away from her as he watches her every move with a growing lust. 

"One piece or bikini?" she asks him, snatching his focus away from her smooth legs. 

"Hmmmm," he shamelessly eyes her body up and down before locking into her eyes, "bikini." 

"Good call," she replies as she makes her way over to her dresser. She doesn't have to look behind her to know that Negan's watching her every move. Being under his scrutinizing gaze isn't uncomfortable, in fact, it makes her feel hot inside, knowing that of everything around them, she's capturing his focus. It makes teasing him irresistible. She seductively bends over to open her bottom drawer, allowing her dress to reveal all of what's underneath to Negan's eager eyes. Without looking, she tosses the garments at him. 

"Okay!" she stands up abruptly and cuts his show short, "which one?" 

He takes a moment to sift through the options and pick his favorite: a bandeau bikini with matching bottoms. 

"I think you'd look so goddamn delicious in...." His mouth goes dry before he can finish his sentence when he looks up and realize she's already naked. 

"Holy shit," he says under his breath. 

She steps in front of him and stands between his legs, her tits almost directly in his face. 

"Help me put it on." 

A dimpled, toothy grin spreads across his face as he grabs her hips and helps her straddle his lap. 

"Why don't we keep it off for a bit?" A gasp cuts off whatever reply popped into her mind upon feeling Negan's large hands slip lower and grip her ass. Unabashedly, he kneads at the soft flesh. She can feel him growing hard beneath the confines of his jeans. 

"What happened to not wanting all the guests to starve?" she teases. 

"There's snacks for a reason." 

She smiles at him, happy that he fell right into her trap. Her not-so-sneaky hands make their way to his belt, eager to free him, to finally feel him. 

"What's the rush, baby, we've got all goddamn day." 

His belt's now undone and she's working on unbuttoning his pants. 

"I've already been waitin' all goddamn day!" 

"That's it? I've been waitin' since I got here last night." 

"Then let's not wait anymore!" 

He lays back again the bed, pulling her with him to lay on top of him. She cups his face in her hand, running her thumb along the prickly hairs of his beard before leaning down and pressing her soft lips to his. Her free hand palms him through his boxers, feeling him twitch beneath her teasing touch. He lets out a guttural groan into her mouth, allowing her to slide her tongue in and kiss him deeper. From behind, he slides a finger along her folds, feeling her wetness. She stops palming him and starts grinding her bare pussy against his clothed erection. 

"Can you feel how badly I missed you?" he asks when she pulls away for a breath. 

"Wanna feel it inside me." 

He flips them over leaving her beneath him on her back and him on top of her. He admires her kiss-swollen lips and lust-darkened eyes: a picture of pure beauty. 

"Anything you want, doll," he promises as he pulls down his boxers. 

A flurry of panicked knocks interrupts things before they could escalate. 

"Honey, have you seen Negan? There's somethin' burnin' on the grill outside and he's nowhere to be seen!" her mom whines from behind the door. Without missing a beat to wait for a reply, her mom tries the doorknob, causing her heart to race. 

"Wait! I'm changing!" she screams. 

"Sorry! I'll just go see if your dad has seen him." 

Negan breathes a sigh of frustration and redresses himself. "I guess this is my sign to get back on the grill. But I fuckin' promise ya, I'll be back to finish what I started." 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆

With a bottle of sunscreen in hand and a dream, she walks over to Rick who's sitting by the pool nursing a beer. Her shadow blocks the sunlight from his face, causing him to look up. His jaw nearly drops when he sees her, which tells her that it's gonna be easy to get him to do what she wants him to. 

"Long time, no see," she greets him as she takes a seat on his lap. Thankfully, they're in the shade and out of the view of any prying eyes. His arms immediately wrap around her and pull her close. He presses a few gentle, lingering kisses on her bare shoulder, making her get all hot and bothered again. 

"Where've you been all day, princess?" he asks. 

Her mind wanders back to minutes ago when she was in her bedroom with Negan about to have sex with him, but Rick doesn't need to know that. She completely ignores the question and hands him the bottle of sunscreen. 

"You'll help me out, won't you?" 

"Of course, darlin'. Wouldn't want you to get a sun burn," he replies as he accepts the bottle. He flips open the cap and squeezes a dollop of the sunscreen in into his palm before rubbing it in. He starts with her shoulders and the back of her neck, massaging her slightly as he rubs in the sunscreen. Her eyes flutter shut as she relaxes into his touch.

"Lay down so I can do your back," he commands softly. They change positions so that she's laying on her stomach in the lawn chair and he's standing above her. His eyes can't help but wander down to her ass. Her bikini bottoms don't leave much to the imagination, yet somehow it's still too much clothing for Rick's taste. He takes a deep breath, a weak attempt to hold himself back from pulling her bottoms to the side and fucking her right there and then. 

"Rick?" she asks, taking a peek at the man behind her. His face is slightly flushed and she can see him getting hard in his pants. 

"Sunscreen, remember?" she taunts as she wiggles her ass at him. 

A gasp unleashes itself from her throat at the unexpected slap Rick plants on her ass. He doesn't stop there. Roughly, he rubs the sunscreen in, his hands occasionally slipping beneath the garment and even between her thighs. His hands disappear for a second as he squirts more sunscreen into his hand. Rick's hands slide up her body as he applies the spf onto her back. She misses the sensation of his big, rough hands groping her ass. 

"Need help with your front, too?" he jokingly asks. He's already squeezing more sunscreen into his hand as if he knows the answer is going to be yes. She sits up in the chair and turns 

to face him. Like he did before, he starts with her neck and shoulders. He runs his thumb along her jugular, feeling how fast her heart's racing. He moves lower and caresses her collar bones, taking his sweet time feeling her up. 

"Riiiick," she whines impatiently. 

"Let me take my time with you, darlin'." He slides his hands down to the tops of her breasts before reaching behind and unclasping her bikini top. Rick gropes and kneads at the soft mounds, causing her to clench her thighs together. Without pulling his hands away, he leans down and captures her mouth in a deep, passionate kiss. She briefly wonders if he can taste Negan on her tongue, but quickly pushes the thought away. He pulls away from her mouth, almost as if he also heard that thought, and starts kissing down her neck, his facial hair tickling at her soft skin. Her body tastes like sunscreen, but he doesn't care, he licks and sucks at her skin, intentionally leaving marks as he does so, but her mind is too far gone to care. 

Nearby footsteps snatch both of their attention. 

"Last I saw him, he was by the pool." 

"Shit! It's my dad," she hisses as she fumbles to put her bikini top back on. Rick clumsily helps her out. 

"Maybe that asshole is too scared I'll kick his ass in another poker game," she hears Negan reply. 

Rick lets out a sigh of frustration- whether it's at Negan's comment or the fact he has to leave, she's not sure- and gets up.

"I better go find 'em before they find us." 

She crosses her arms over her now covered chest and pouts at him. He grabs her chin and tilts her head up to look at him. 

"Don't give me that attitude. I promise we'll finish this later, okay baby?" he reassures. She timidly nods and he presses a quick kiss to her lips before running off. 

for those who requested to be tagged @i-yua @tatertati-fangirl @noneofmyshipsarereal @lunajay33 @ricks-dumbdoll @darylssextoy69 @tsukiko26 @everyonelovesava @eternalrose81 @a-vampire-bat

[irsfjin]

what he should have and could have (part 1)

part 2

she's come as suddenly as the change in your relationship, caused by her, but of course satoru won't say so

"babe, she's haru's sis, we can't just leave her out" he says exasperatedly

"and i'm telling you, that's not what i want. what i want... no what i need from you is to show me that my doubts are wrong. that she's no getting in the way of us" you beg

"and i've told you that you have nothing to worry about-"

"nothing to worry about?" you cut him off

"my lover's started walking another girl to her classes, they've started having inside jokes, and everytime she's there, all of the sudden i'm not even though i'm sitting right fucking next to you. not that my place beside you's there anymore because all of the sudden she's always sitting beside you, all of the fucking time. and i have nothing to worry about?" you spill with the dread that has been building up for the last 2 months

"what don't you get? she's just a friend, i do that to everyone. what's different with her? because she's a girl?" satoru argues, tired and annoyed

"you know damn well it's not because of that. is there a single friend of yours that i've ever told you not to be with? in the two years we're been together, has there been a single time i've asked you to do this? do you maybe, maybe think it's because she literally has feelings for you?" anger starts to bubble up in your chest

"and you can't even say you didn't know, you have nothing fucking right. specially with her always asking if you think she looks pretty" your voice hardens

"i've never reciprocated, you know that" his voice grows softer, weaker

"right, but do you genuinely think she would have disrespected me so blatantly if you hadn't given her the chance to think it was ok? shit, you've never even tried to defend me" helpless, your tears begin to fall

"and to think i was gonna give you another chance" you whisper

"what? no, baby. you can't just-" panic sets in

"i'll fix this honey, hm? i'll tell her to fuck off, i'm sorry baby, i didn't know you felt this way" he tries, moving closer, his arms stretched out, reaching for you

you move back, avoiding his touch, he flinches, hurt shadowing his eyes

"you did know, we've been together for two years, i know you saw i was uncomfortable, hurt but you ignored it. clearly it wasn't worth the trouble for you, and this-" you motion between the two of you

"- is not worth it to me"

"no, no you can't leave me. please. i'll fix this, please baby, you're always worth it"

"right, then what was different this time?"

"i- i don't know, she- it- it just felt easier to" he sighs

"i just thought you'd eventually get over it"

you laugh, bitter, with a hint of humour, realising just how miserable the whole situation was

"we're done. i'm not going to get used to my lover accepting another person's advances. i'm not gonna sit there and take any kind of disrespect. and you know that, so don't be surprised, this is your fault, and if you really are as devastated about our end, then i hope you carry it to your grave." you spit

satoru falla to his knees, sobbing

"please, my love. i can't live without you, please let me fix this. i'll do better, i fucked up i'm so sorry. please don't leave me" he catches your hands in his, his eyes finding yours

it was a pitiful sight, like an injured puppy on the side of the road, begging for help and warmth

"do you remember what i told you when i agreed to be your lover gojo?"

he stiffens, you're not sure if it's because he does, or because you'd called him gojo, you've only called him gojo before you started dating. 2 months into your relationship, it was always toru or a pet name

and it sounded so cold and sharp, his heart was bleeding out, crying, mourning

"i told you, i will never take any disrespect. the second you make me beg for your participation in this relationship, the second you dismiss my doubts, i will leave you"

his head hangs, whole body sobbing with constant pleas leaving his lips

"let me go. before i hate you"

he starts shaking his head vehemently

"please, please, please..."

you try to fight out of his grip, and he can only continue pleading, tightening his grip

"you're hurting me, let me go" mentally and physically, the sight of him was nothing pleasant for your heart that still aches for him and his grip was beginning to bruise

he lightens his grip and you take this chance to wrench put of his grip

you head to your keys and hear him behind you

before he could reach you, your voice rings out first

"touch me again and i'll make sure you never see nor hear from me again, follow me out and it'll be the same thing"

he halts immediately

"can we at least talk more about this, please, my love" his voice is hoarse, still wrapped in tears

"we had the chance to do that tonight, i don't think we need another one, i'll drop by to grab my things one day, i'll send you a message then" opening the door, the cold wind bites you, but you're too warm with emotions to feel it

you do feel a warmth draped over you

"it's cold outside" a voice whispers above you

"don't need it" your voice chokes, emotions welling up again

as you move to remove it, his voice begs behind you

"please, at least accept this. give me the peace of mind that you'll at least be warm"

"goodbye" you accept the jacket and head out

getting into your car, you immediately start it and drive off, not wanting satoru to see what you will let yourself become once your alone

he, on the other hand, stands at the doorway, eyes stuck where you'd disappeared from his line of sight

he could only wallow in regret, he knew who you were

he knew you wouldn't take bullshit from anyone, including him, that's part of why he loves you, it's you

and now he's lost you, he can only blame himself like you said

he wanted to give you the best, you were his life, his world, his everything

he didn't think some useless person, who he'd just thought of as a joke would hurt his relationship like this

but then again, it wasn't the other woman, it was him for deciding to be ignorant because it was easier

he only realises now it would've been easier to just tighten his boundaries instead of being compliant

he would take any drama, hell he would take on the world as long as you stayed beside him

so why didn't he?

an:

not proofread, i'm contemplating doing my assessment so i did this rq

[redr0sewrites]

i love you most - Jason Todd x reader

🥀A/n: based on this, basically this is jason comforting u when ur having an anxiety attack

🥀Word Count: 1k

🥀Cw: anxiety, slight disassociation, angst to fluff, incredibly self indulgent

acknowledging that it was a chemical imbalance was one thing, but using it as an excuse was another. you knew you should have taken your medication, you knew you shouldn't have stayed up so late, and you knew that pushing yourself too far would make you anxious, and yet you did it anyway. blame and guilt wriggles its way deep into your chest, lodging itself like a stone in your stomach and refusing to let go of its chokehold on you.

a small part of your mind, that sounds suspiciously like your lovers voice, whispers that it's not your fault. that your valid and loved. but the louder, raging, violent anxiety drowns out that tiny voice, like a tumultuous storm engulfing a small boat.

the only sound within the darkness of yours and Jason's shared bedroom is your own ragged, heavy breathing. you bite down on your lip hard enough to draw blood, struggling to muffle your noises. it was bad enough that you had let yourself get anxious again, for no real reason at all, but it would be even worse if you woke up Jason. it was so rare that he got to sleep so comfortably besides you, and it wasn't fair to him.

it wasn't fair at all.

and yet, that didn't stop you from selfishly wanting him. attempting to self soothe, you start rocking in place, ignoring the tears welling in your eyes and the lump in your throat. you were barely aware of your nails digging into your scalp, fisting themselves into your hair as your breathing refuses to level out. tears of frustration slide down your cheeks, you hate this, you hate feeling this way. the anger only makes you cry harder, but at this point you can't even bring yourself to care.

your barely aware of rustling besides you, too engulfed in your own self depricating thoughts to notice Jason stirring.

"baby? you okay?" he murmurs, voice husky from sleep.

no. no no no no no. you weren't supposed to wake him, it was selfish, it was wrong, he was asleep and never got to rest and it wasn't fair-

"hey. hey, it's okay, its okay- fuck-" Jason sits up, immediately moving to place a comforting hand on your shoulder before stopping himself.

"can i touch you?" he whispers, and you nod fervently, collapsing against his chest with a soft sob as he wraps his arms around you. one hand rubs up and down your back while the other cups your face. your nails dig into his sides, pulling him impossibly close, but he doesn't even flinch.

"shh, shh, 's okay, i got you doll, i've got you. its okay." his words help soothe the raging storm in your head, but it isn't enough. guilt is still bubbling inside you, and you cry harder, sobs wrenching from deep within your chest.

"m sorry, 'm so sorry- hic- i can't-"

"shh, i know, it's okay. you don't have to be sorry, it's okay." his voice is calm and steady, like an anchor that weighs you down and keeps you steady. he continues rubbing your back, holding you as you rock back and forth, struggling to breathe. instead of digging into your own skin, Jason subtly makes sure your hands stay firm on his sides or back, where you couldn't do yourself any harm. its not long before you begin to level out, and Jason, as attuned as ever, notices as well.

"i need you to breathe for me, is that okay?" you nod, and he grabs one of your hands, and places it on his chest. "just breathe at the same time as me. it's going to be okay, i promise." you nod numbly, listening to his instructions without a second thought. you shake and threaten to burst into tears as your breathing refuses to regulate, but you swallow hard, refusing to succumb to the anxiety once again.

you hiccup a little as you begin to get more grounded. you've exhausted yourself, and you slump against Jason out of pure and utter fatigue. your breathing matches him almost perfectly, and you can hear his heart beat rhythmically in your ear.

"i'm so sorry for waking you," you whisper, voice cracking slightly as you speak. "i tried to stop it, i really did, im sorry-" Jason cuts you off by wrapping his arms even tighter around you, nestling you into the crook of his neck and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"don't apologize. i want you to wake me up, i promise. i would much rather have you wake me up so i can help you than leave you to suffer in silence..." he trails off, and you sigh.

"m sorry."

"s'ok. i get it. you should go to sleep," he accentuates his words with another kiss on the crown of your head, squeezing you impossibly tighter. "you look exhausted."

Jason lays down on his chest, pulling you with him so that your laying on top of him. you're quick to snuggle in close as sleep sounds very nice at the moment, and with your anxiety mostly gone, exhaustion had appeared in its wake. Jason rubs your back absentmindedly as you begin to drift. your eyes are burning from all the crying, and you soon find yourself much less than conscious.

just as sleep begins to claim you, Jason speaks in a low rumble.

"i love you, doll. i hope you know that."

mustering up all of the strength you have left, you giggle softly. "i love you more," you whisper, inhaling his comforting scent.

"not possible. i love you most."

un proof read and un checked because um. yea. based on a real life scenario except there was no Jason and i made up with this mini fic idea in my head instead of actually coping lmao. i tried to keep the cause of the anxiety very ambiguous to appeal to readers, but overall this was definitely very self indulgent and based on my own personal experiences w anxiety. anyways!!!! hope u enjoyed, MY 2K EVENT REQS ARE DEFINITELY STILM OPEN I NEED MOREEE HEHE

[ceyanabbiolo]

CONTRACT // C.S [09]

Summary: Christopher Sturniolo, a 26-year-old billionaire CEO, agrees to a strategic marriage with Aurora Devereaux, the 21-year-old daughter of his rival, to save his company during a crisis. Raised in a cold, arrogant environment, Chris is used to control and detachment. Aurora, a final-year fashion student, is forced into the arrangement by her powerful father and struggles with the fear of losing herself. As the two navigate their unexpected marriage, they begin to confront emotional walls and develop a connection that challenges everything they thought they knew about love and trust. But with their families’ influence looming, will their bond be strong enough to survive—or will it fall apart?

warnings: argument, kissing, slightly suggestive

wc: 6474

Chapter 9: Your mine

The hotel room was shrouded in darkness, the only light coming from my laptop screen and the faint glow of Milan’s skyline outside the window. It was around 6 PM, and I was nearing the end of my third day here. The same routine had played out every single day: checking up on the businesses, making sure the factories were running smoothly, handling emails, meetings, and reports. The usual grind.

I could’ve gone back to Boston today, but I decided against it. Another two days of peace, at least.

The hum of a Celtics game played in the background, but my attention was elsewhere. My phone buzzed, and an unknown number flashed on the screen, followed by a single notification: one image.

I didn’t think much of it at first. Probably spam. But something in my gut twisted, and before I could talk myself out of it, I opened the message.

My blood ran cold.

It was a picture of my fiancee, sitting on a couch next to some fucker at a party. 

Too many questions were running through my head. 

Who the hell is that guy? Never seen him before, and he was way too close for my liking. What the hello was she doing at a party? When was this? Where the fuck was she now. Why was she even there? She hates parties.

I didn’t waste a second. I pressed the call button.

One ring. Two.

Then the call connected.

"Hello?" Her voice was dripping with sweetness, fake as hell.

"Who the fuck is this?" I snapped, my voice low and sharp, the anger already bubbling inside me.

She let out a laugh, slow and smug, like she knew exactly what she was doing. "Relax, Chris. It’s Hailee."

Of course, it was her. Of fucking course.

I clenched my jaw so hard, it hurt, trying to hold back the anger that threatened to spill over.

"You’ve got ten seconds to explain what the hell you want before I block your number," I growled, every word coated in venom.

She laughed again, unfazed. "I just thought you’d want to know what your sweet little fiancée has been up to while you’re off playing businessman. Didn’t realize she was still so... friendly with old flames."

My stomach turned, an unfamiliar protectiveness taking over. I leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table.

"You don’t know shit about her," I said, my voice low and lethal, each word dripping with warning.

"Maybe not," she purred. "But from what I remember... You don’t exactly like being made a fool of, Chris."

I scoffed, the anger inside me growing by the second. "Listen…" I let out a breath, trying to steady myself. "We hooked up a few times. That’s it. It was nothing more than a mutual arrangement. I made it clear to you, Hailee. It was purely beneficial, and you know that."

“I'm just looking out for you, Chris,” she said sweetly. 

I didn’t have the patience for this. I didn’t need her twisted words any longer. Without another thought, I ended the call.

I threw my phone onto the bed, frustration coursing through my veins like poison. My eyes darted to the clock — it was nearly 6 pm in Milan, meaning it was noon in Boston. Aurora should’ve been awake by now.

I didn’t waste any more time. I immediately dialed Ana, the housekeeper. The phone rang twice before she picked up.

"Hello, sir?" Ana answered with her usual calm voice.

"Ana, where’s Aurora?" I asked, my tone sharp, not bothering to hide my irritation.

"Oh, Mr. Sturniolo, she and her friend came in late last night, sir," Ana responded, her voice soft but respectful. "They’ve been sleeping since about 3 am, I believe."

I felt a wave of irritation wash over me. "So, they came back that late?" I pressed. "Was there any sign of her doing something... out of the ordinary before they went to bed?"

Ana hesitated for a moment before answering, "Not that I noticed, sir. They were both fine when they came in. I didn’t hear any disturbances."

I could feel my jaw tightening. This wasn’t sitting right with me. "And what about this morning? Did Aurora seem different at all?"

"She seemed... fine, sir," Ana said carefully. "I haven't spoken with her directly today, though."

I rubbed a hand over my face, trying to keep my cool. "Alright, Ana. Just... keep an eye out, please. Let me know if anything changes."

"Of course, sir. I'll let you know."

I hung up, still seething. Something didn’t add up. I had half a mind to fly back to Boston that instant, but I needed answers from her — real answers, not from some cryptic photo or Hailee’s taunting. I would wait until I saw her face-to-face. When I did, she’d be explaining everything. 

I paced the hotel room, each step making the tension in my chest feel worse. The anger was like a thick fog, clouding my mind and making it hard to focus. I hadn’t expected this. Not from her. Not from my fiancée.

The image of Aurora, sitting on the couch with some guy—someone I didn’t know—kept flashing in my mind. I didn’t recognize him, and it pissed me off even more. She looked too comfortable with him. She laughed. Her body language. It was too much.

I could feel the knot in my stomach tightening with each passing second. I didn’t know who the hell this guy was, and frankly, I didn’t care. What pissed me off was that she was there at that party, out with someone like that while I was stuck here, doing work that was technically already done. The meetings, the reports, everything—it was finished. But I wasn’t finished. Not with her.

I grabbed my phone and dialed Lila, my assistant, barely giving it a second thought. The phone rang twice, and then her voice came through, calm and professional as always.

"Yes, Mr. Sturniolo?"

“Cancel everything,” I snapped. “I’m done here. Get me on a flight back to Boston, ASAP. I want to be home by midnight.”

There was a brief pause on the other end. “Sir, but your last meeting isn't until—”

“I don’t care about the damn meeting. I’m done,” I cut her off, my frustration building. “Get me a flight. Midnight. No excuses.”

I could practically hear her sigh on the other end of the line, but she didn’t argue. “Understood. I’ll have the arrangements made.”

“Good,” I said, my voice sharp. I ended the call and shoved the phone into my pocket.

I wasn’t wasting any more time here. Work was done. There was no reason for me to stay in Milan and brood over things.

I stormed around the room, packing my things quickly, as if the sooner I got on the plane, the sooner I could figure this all out. I didn’t even know what I was walking back home, but I had to get there. I couldn’t just let this go.

I couldn’t let her be out there, in a situation like that, with some random guy I didn’t know. Whatever the hell was going on, I was going to find out. And she was going to answer for it.

I headed for the elevator, the anger simmering inside me, knowing that when I got back to Boston, I was going to have one hell of a conversation with Aurora.

It didn’t matter if Aurora and I weren't in love, but it sure as hell mattered how we both acted if this engagement was to seem real. 

An hour went by in a buzz, and by 7:30 PM, I was seated in my jet and taking off. 

I calmed myself by letting myself believe Aurora had a rational explanation for all this, and praying that the photo of her at the party didn't get sent to anyone.

The jet touched down just after 1:00 AM Boston time.

By the time I made it through the airport’s private exit and into the black SUV waiting for me, my blood was at a full simmer. Every wasted minute between Milan and Boston had given me more time to overthink, more time to get pissed off.

The drive home was a blur. I barely registered the empty streets or the cool October air seeping through the cracked window. All I could think about was Aurora — and the fact that the woman I was supposed to marry was out at some fucking party, sitting next to some random guy, while I was halfway across the world.

The gates opened slower than I had patience for, but I forced myself to stay calm. I parked, grabbed my bag, and walked up the driveway. Every step felt heavier.

As soon as I pushed the door open, a soft glow spilled from the living room.

I stilled.

Someone was awake.

Quietly, I set my bag down in the foyer, shrugging off my jacket. My steps were soundless as I moved toward the light.

And then I saw her.

Aurora was curled up on the couch, barefoot, wearing one of those oversized sweaters she loved. A thick book was open in her lap, her hair falling around her face as she turned a page, completely unaware of me standing there.

Something sharp twisted in my chest.

She looked so fucking innocent sitting there — like she hadn’t done a damn thing wrong.

I clenched my jaw, forcing the emotion down. I couldn't afford to let her looks cloud the situation.

"Aurora," I said, my voice cutting through the silence.

She jumped, her head snapping up. Her eyes widened when she saw me — surprise flickering across her face, then confusion.

"Chris?" she said, setting the book down. "What— you’re back?"

I nodded once, stepping further into the room.

"Yeah," I said coldly. "Trip’s over."

I watched her closely — the way she shifted, the way her hands nervously tugged at the sleeve of her sweater.

"You didn't tell me you were coming back early," she said, her voice softer now, guarded.

"Didn't feel like there was a point," I replied, my voice sharp. "Seems like you were keeping yourself plenty busy while I was gone."

Her mouth parted slightly, confusion flashing in her eyes.

"Chris, what are you talking about?"

I crossed my arms, the anger barely held back now.

"You want to explain why I got sent a picture of you all cozy next to some guy at a party?"

Her face paled.

I didn’t move. I didn’t blink. I just waited, and the longer she stayed silent, the harder it was to pretend I wasn’t already pissed off beyond belief.

Her brows pulled together, genuine confusion flashing across her face.

"What guy?" she asked, her voice small but laced with honest bewilderment.

I didn’t move. My arms stayed crossed, my stare locked on her. "Don’t play dumb, Aurora."

She blinked, like she was scrambling to piece things together. "I... I was at the party with Jen ," she said slowly, searching my face. "We danced, we ate— I don't—"

Then something clicked. Her face shifted.

"Wait... are you talking about Mason?" she asked, like the idea was ridiculous.

Mason.

My jaw ticked. The name meant nothing to me, but just hearing another man's name come out of her mouth made something snap inside me.

I took a step forward, my voice low and sharp. "Who the fuck is Mason?"

Aurora’s eyes widened slightly, taken back by the bite in my tone. She held her hands up like she was trying to calm me down.

"Nobody," she rushed out. "He’s no one, Chris. Just some guy I used to know from high school. He sat next to me for like two minutes — that’s it."

"Used to know?" I repeated, my voice rising. "And he just shows up at some party you're at while I'm out of the fucking country? And you're sitting there with him, like it’s a damn reunion?"

She flinched.

"It wasn’t like that," she insisted, her voice trembling with urgency. "I didn’t even want to talk to him. He just showed up and started talking. I barely said anything back."

I let out a humorless laugh, running a hand roughly through my hair, trying — failing — to calm the rage boiling under my skin.

"You think that makes it better?" I snapped. "You think it looks better that you’re just sitting there letting random assholes get cozy with you while my back’s turned?"

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them away fast, standing her ground.

"I wasn’t being cozy with him," she said fiercely. "I didn’t want him there. I didn’t even want to be there! Jen convinced me to go, and I was sitting alone when he came over. I didn't invite him!"

I stared at her, breathing heavily, Fuck…I didn’t want to be the reason she gets a panic attack. My fists were clenched at my sides. I wanted to believe her. God, I wanted to believe her so bad.

But that fucking photo kept flashing in my mind — her, looking too pretty, sitting there while some guy sat way too damn close.

"You shouldn’t have been there to begin with," I bit out. "You shouldn’t even have given anyone the chance to get near you."

Aurora’s lips parted like she wanted to argue, but she stopped herself, swallowing hard instead. Her voice came out quieter. "I just wanted one normal night."

Normal. She still didn’t get it.

"You’re not just some rich girl anymore, Aurora," I said, my voice ice-cold, every word deliberate. "You’re mine, whether you like it or not. It doesn’t matter what you think or feel. To the world, you're already my fucking wife. And I’m expected to act like your husband, to handle you, to control everything about this — because that’s what they all see.”

The words hung in the air, thick and heavy.

"You’re a grown woman, Aurora," I said, my voice laced with frustration, the tension still heavy in the air. "And I really fucking wish your father hadn’t put you in this position. But here we are." I paced, my hand running through my hair, the anger simmering beneath my skin. "I hate that it comes off like I’m trying to control your life, but the reality is, we have to accept this shit, whether we want to or not. This is our life now. And you don’t get to just ignore that."

Her face crumpled slightly, like she didn’t know whether to be angry or heartbroken.

But I didn’t back down.

Not this time.

Aurora took a shaky breath, stepping toward me like she could somehow make me understand if she just got close enough.

"I would never," she said, her voice breaking. "Chris, I would never do something like that to jeopardize this. Especially not with him. I hate Mason."

I didn’t move.

"I don’t care how it looked," she rushed out, desperate. "I wasn’t sitting there enjoying it. The second he came over, I froze up because I didn’t even know how to react."

That caught my attention. My eyes narrowed slightly. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

She swallowed, her throat bobbing. Her hands fidgeted at her sides.

"I... I don’t want to get into details," she stammered, her voice wavering as she tried to backpedal. "Everything that has to do with him happened a long time ago."

"Tell me," I demanded, my tone cold and unyielding. The weight of the words hung heavy in the room, and I wasn’t giving her an inch until I had the answers I wanted. “I’m trying to understand”. 

I looked at the hesitance on her face, before she seemed to finally crack. 

"He’s not some old friend," she muttered. "He was cruel to me. He humiliated me... made my life hell back then. Seeing him again just brought it all back. I didn’t know what to say. I didn't even want to be near him."

Her voice cracked, and for the first time tonight, my anger faltered — just slightly.

But I still couldn’t erase the image from my mind.

"You could've left," I said coldly. "You could've gotten up and walked away."

"I know," she said quickly, her eyes pleading. "I know that. I just— I was stunned. I wasn’t thinking straight. And then Jen came back and I went to her. I didn’t stay with him."

She blinked rapidly, like she was trying to keep it together in front of me.

"You have to believe me, Chris," she whispered. "I don’t even look at anyone else."

For a moment, it was just the sound of our breathing filling the space between us. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears, her fists clenching so tight her knuckles were white.

I stayed silent, my chest heaving, the war inside me tearing me up — anger, protectiveness, and something deeper I wasn’t ready to name yet.

I exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down my face.

"Why?" I asked, my voice low but sharp. "Why was he cruel to you?"

Aurora flinched like I’d struck her. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly looking smaller under the weight of my stare.

She hesitated, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip. "I... back in high school," she said slowly, her voice tight, "I liked him. Stupid, I know. He pretended to like me back. Asked me out in front of everyone. Told me to meet him at some restaurant."

She looked down at the floor, her fingers digging into the sleeves of her sweatshirt.

"I waited for an hour," she whispered. "He never showed. And then some girls from school—" she choked out a bitter laugh, "they showed up instead. Poured coffee all over me. Laughed in my face. The next day at school, Mason told everyone it was a joke. That no one would ever actually want me."

Silence clamped down between us, heavy and suffocating.

I felt like something inside me cracked.

The image of her — younger, humiliated, alone — made my hands clenched into fists at my sides.

I stared at her, feeling rage burn hotter in my veins than anything else tonight.

"It wasn’t just that day, there were several other things that happened with him, and you think I would ever even look at him that way?" she said, her voice thick with emotion, her eyes glistening. "I don’t care about him anymore, but it weighs on me, Chris, I hate him. I hate everything he did to me."

My jaw locked so tight it hurt. I didn't know whether I wanted to go find this Mason prick and beat the shit out of him, or pull Aurora into my arms and promise her no one would ever humiliate her again.

Maybe both, but I stayed where I was, my body rigid, my mind racing.

I didn’t have emotions. I didn’t feel comfortable. But hearing her say all that — seeing the way she shrank under the weight of it — made something deep and ugly claw up inside me.

"You should’ve told me," I muttered, my voice coming out rougher than I intended.

She shook her head quickly. "I didn’t think it mattered anymore. It was years ago. I didn’t... I didn’t want to seem weak."

Weak. Gosh, she had no idea.

There wasn’t a single thing about her that was weak.

I stared at her for a long beat, my heart hammering against my ribs, my anger still simmering just below the surface — not at her, but at the entire fucking situation. At that prick Mason. At Hailee. At myself for not being there tonight, for leaving her vulnerable to people who didn’t deserve to even breathe the same air as her.

"You’re not weak," I said, my voice low and certain. "Don’t ever say that shit again."

Aurora’s eyes widened a little, surprised by my tone. She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but then closed it again.

I took a breath, forcing some of the rage back down. I needed to get a grip. This wasn’t the time to explode.

"You’re not going to any more parties without me," I said firmly, stepping closer. "I don’t give a shit if it was innocent. I’m not letting some asshole even think he can get close to you again."

Her lips parted slightly, clearly taken aback by the sharpness in my voice.

Maybe it wasn’t just the tone that threw her off. Maybe it was the intensity—the raw possessiveness that I couldn’t hide. I was done pretending it wasn’t there.

She gathered herself quickly, her posture stiffening, as if trying to protect herself from whatever was swirling between us. “So what? You cut your trip short to come and talk to me about this party?” she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

I shot her a glance and got closer.

“Yes,” I towered over her. “Yes, did.I may have not taken this seriously at the start, but one thing I take seriously is business, and you are very much my business, Aurora”. 

I watched her face redden and her pulse quicken.

“You still didn’t need to cut the trip short,” she said, her voice softer now. “I was doing fine.”

I scoffed, not bothering to hide the sarcasm. “Yeah, clearly.”

She let out a long breath, her frustration palpable. “Who sent you the photo anyway?”

I hesitated for a moment, weighing whether I should tell her the truth. But what was the point in lying? I couldn't hold this back forever.

“Just someone I used to mess around with,” I muttered, hoping that would be enough.

Her brow furrowed as she processed the information. Her eyes flickered to mine, confusion crossing her face, before something seemed to click. “Hailee?”

The name hit me like a punch to the gut.

I froze, my pulse spiking. “You know her?” I asked, disbelief creeping into my voice.

Aurora’s gaze softened, her lips pressing together in a thin line. 

“I met her yesterday at the party,” she said, her voice steady, though a touch of something... bitter lingered in her tone. “She was... around. We talked for a bit.”

I raised my eyebrow, “what did she say to you?” 

I watched as she looked away, clearly uncomfortable, but trying to maintain her composure. “I met her yesterday at the party,” she said, her voice steady but tinged with something darker, something... bitter. “She was... around. We talked for a bit.”

I raised an eyebrow, my curiosity piqued. “What did she say to you?”

Aurora hesitated for a moment, before looking back at me. “She just said you two used to be close.”

The unease in her voice was undeniable, and I couldn’t help but let a sly smile tug at the corners of my lips. I stayed quiet though, letting her finish.

She shifted, clearly trying to process everything. “I’m just curious,” she started, her eyes narrowing a bit. “You mentioned you don’t do relationships, but she said you guys had something going on.”

I stepped closer, closing the space between us. “I don’t do relationships,” I said, my voice low and firm.

Aurora’s brow furrowed slightly as she processed my words. She raised an eyebrow. “And your... relationship with Hailee?”

I paused, taking in the look on her face. There was something almost fragile in her expression, like she wasn’t sure where this conversation would lead. I watched her closely as I continued.

“It was purely physical,” I said, my voice measured, deliberate.

Aurora blinked, clearly taken aback. She looked genuinely surprised—though, there was a hint of confusion in her eyes. “Oh...Oh, I see. Like... sleeping together?”

I nodded, watching her carefully. I could feel the tension shift in her. She was uneasy now, the energy between us was different than before. She was trying to process what I’d said, but something in her was rattled.

“Why does that bother you?” I smirked, sensing her discomfort, but enjoying the way her guard seemed to be slipping.

Aurora quickly shook her head, her voice quick and defensive. “No—no, I’m just asking.” She laughed nervously, but I could see the flush creeping up her neck.

I hummed in amusement as I stepped even closer, my hand coming to rest gently on the back of her neck. I tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at me. 

“You’re blushing, ma,” I said softly, a teasing smile playing on my lips as I closed the remaining distance between us.

Her breath hitched, her eyes locking onto mine. There was a flicker of something in her gaze—something uncertain, but maybe something more. Something she wasn’t ready to admit, but I could feel it in the air between us.

“Were you guys really close?” she asked again, her voice a little tighter this time. “I mean, outside of… well, the bedroom, I guess.”

A teasing grin tugged at my lips. “Are you jealous, Aurora? Your cheeks are pink.”

She quickly looked away, her eyes flickering with something she was desperately trying to hide.

“Why would I be jealous?” she snapped, but the uncertainty in her voice gave her away.

I leaned in closer, dropping my voice to a near whisper. “I don’t know. Maybe because you care more than you’re willing to admit.”

I stepped in until her back pressed flush against the wall, her breathing shallow. The air between us practically crackled.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” I said, letting my gaze fall deliberately to her lips before meeting her eyes again. “You think about it, don’t you?”

Her chest rose and fell a little quicker, her eyes darting to the side.

“Think about what?” she asked, voice soft — almost too soft.

“The kiss,” I muttered, my voice rough against her ear. “The way your body reacted to me. You think about it when you’re alone, don’t you?”

She swallowed hard, her fingers trembling slightly as she clutched the edge of a nearby shelf. I caught the moment she faltered, the moment her defenses slipped — even if she tried to hide it by shooting me a glare.

“You’re not fooling me,” I said, my mouth brushing her ear, the words a low threat and a promise all at once.

She didn’t answer — she didn’t have to. I could feel it — the way her body leaned toward me without even meaning to.

I slid my hand into her hair, gripping it just tight enough to pull a gasp from her lips.

"You can pretend all you want," I murmured against her mouth, "but your body’s betraying you, ma."

The last shred of my self-control snapped when I caught the look in her eyes — wide, vulnerable, and begging without a single word.

Without another second of hesitation, I crushed my mouth to hers, kissing her fiercely, claiming her like I'd been dying to. She gasped into me, and I took full advantage, deepening the kiss, pressing her harder against the wall until there wasn’t an inch of space between us.

My hand gripped her waist, possessive, grounding her to me as she trembled under my touch.

I didn’t stop there — I let my mouth trail sloppily down her jaw to her neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin. I heard her breath hitch, then a soft, desperate moan escape her.

"Chris…" she whispered, breathless, the sound of my name almost wrecking me.

My hand slid up, cupping the soft curve of her breast through the thin fabric. My mouth tugged at the V neckline of her sweater, my lips dangerously close to exposing more. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her chestline, the temptation gnawing at the last of my sanity.

I should stop. I knew it. But the way she submitted to my touch — the smell of her skin, like fresh roses — drove me insane.

Her small hand gripped my arm, grounding herself, but not pulling away.

I pulled back just slightly, searching her face. Her lips were kiss-swollen, her hair a beautiful mess, and her eyes — wide, vulnerable, uncertain — locked with mine.

I kept her pinned lightly against the wall, our bodies pressed together. “Did that feel like business to you, ma?” I asked roughly, my thumb brushing her waist.

The blush crept up her neck again, warm and unfiltered. She shook her head shyly, her voice caught somewhere in her throat.

I exhaled sharply, trying to reel myself back.

Reluctantly, I stepped away — but kept a hand on her waist, not ready to let her go completely. I dragged my eyes down the faint marks I'd left along her collarbone and smiled, 

“Go to bed,” I said, my voice low, a bit softer now. “It’s really late.”

She blinked up at me, still dazed, then nodded, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Yeah… it is,” she whispered, picking up the book she had earlier, clutching it tightly to her chest as she made her way down the hall.

But just before she disappeared, I called out.

“Aurora.”

She paused, turning back, cheeks flushed, lips parted slightly.

“Yeah?”

I held her gaze, serious now, needing her to understand.

“To answer your question,” I said slowly, “just know... I’d never cut work short for her, or for anyone of that matter. So no, we weren’t close.”

I caught the realization flicker in her eyes — then turned and disappeared down the hallway into my room, needing a cold shower and my own hand to deal with the ache between my legs she left behind.

The next morning, I woke up later than usual — closer to eleven. I hadn’t gone into the office; as far as everyone knew, I was still in Milan.

Dragging myself out of bed, I expected to find Aurora in the kitchen, maybe eating a bagel or picking at something. Instead, I walked into the dining room to see both my brothers shoveling down the food my chefs had laid out.

I scrubbed a hand over my face. “What the fuck are you two doing in my house?”

“Wow, real warm welcome,” Nick said around a mouthful of pancakes.

Matt snorted into his drink, trying not to laugh.

I rolled my eyes and grabbed a can of Pepsi from the fridge.

“Heard you cut your trip short,” Matt said, taking a slow sip of apple juice. “Why?”

“Finished early,” I said, keeping my voice casual.

Nick raised an eyebrow. “Finished early? Since when do you not milk a whole week out of those trips?”

“Didn’t feel like it this time,” I muttered, popping the tab on my drink. 

Nick exchanged a look with Matt as I cracked the Pepsi open.

Matt leaned back in his chair, glancing toward the hallway. “Where’s your girl?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Mind your business.”

Nick smirked around a mouthful of pancakes. “Touchy.”

Matt grinned. “Didn’t say anything. Just asking where she’s at.”

“She’s sleeping,” I said shortly, popping the tab on my drink. “Or reading. I don’t know. Why do you care?”

Nick shrugged innocently. “Just making conversation, man. You don’t gotta bite our heads off.”

Matt snorted into his juice. “Yeah, God forbid we ask about Sleeping Beauty.” 

I shot him a warning look, but before I could tell him to shut the fuck up, Nick leaned forward on his elbows, studying me way too closely.

“So you finished early in Milan?” he said, dragging out the words. “Didn’t feel like hanging around? Since when?”

I took a long sip of Pepsi, not answering right away.

Nick smirked like he already knew the answer. Matt raised his eyebrows, exchanging another look with him.

"You," Matt said slowly, grinning, "cut a trip short for a girl?"

I slammed the Pepsi can down on the counter a little harder than necessary.

"Drop it."

Nick held his hands up in mock surrender, but the smug look never left his face. “Hey, man. Whatever you say.”

Before I could tell them both to get the hell out, soft footsteps sounded from down the hall.

Soft footsteps padded down the hallway.

Aurora.

Wearing a loose pair of light grey pajama set. Her hair was slightly damp, pushed back from her face like she’d just washed it, her skin fresh and glowing from her skincare.

As soon as she stepped into the dining room, her eyes landed on Matt and Nick — both frozen mid-bite, staring at her like they'd seen a ghost.

Aurora blinked, clearly caught off guard by their presence. She shifted her weight awkwardly, her brows furrowing in confusion.

“Uh...hi, morning,” she said hesitantly, giving them a small, awkward wave with the hand not holding her mug.

Matt just blinked at her.

Nick nearly dropped his fork.

I bit back a smirk, watching the whole thing unfold.

She looked so damn cute like this — sleep still clinging to her, skin soft and dewy, voice a little raspy from just waking up. She didn’t even have to try, and somehow it made it even harder not to stare.

Aurora shuffled toward the coffee pot, her cheeks flushing slightly as she turned her back on them, clearly trying to pretend like this wasn’t awkward as hell. 

Nick leaned toward Matt and stage-whispered, "Is it just me or did Chris just smile?"

Matt answered just as quietly. “Real big. Like some Disney prince shit.”

I shot them both a death glare. Matt pretended to cough. Nick suddenly found the butter on his pancakes very interesting.

Turning back to Aurora, I kept my voice low, just for her. “You eat yet, ma?”

She blinked, a little startled by the nickname in front of my brothers, but shook her head.

Nick elbowed Matt under the table. “Ma?” he mouthed dramatically.

She glanced over her shoulder at me, flushing a little, and shook her head.

I pushed out a chair. “Sit.”

She obeyed without a word, sliding into the seat beside mine, her knee brushing against mine under the table.

Nick watched the whole thing like it was the most entertaining thing he’d ever seen in his life. Matt, for once, had enough sense not to say anything.

But even I could see it written all over their faces: They were never gonna let me live this down, and for the first time, I didn’t give a fuck.

“So Aurora”, Matt started. “how are you?”.

I shot Matt a quick glance, narrowing my eyes slightly. What the hell was he getting at with his line of questioning?

Aurora met Matt's gaze, offering a soft smile. "I'm fine," she said, her voice gentle but steady. "How about you?"

"Good, good," Matt replied, nodding thoughtfully. "How are you finding everything here so far?"

Aurora’s smile never faltered. "Everything’s been okay," she said, her tone polite, as if carefully measuring her words.

Nick then chimed in, breaking the quiet tension. "You're a design student, right?"

Aurora nodded. "Yeah. I am."

A strange silence hung in the air for a moment, like everyone was waiting for something more, but no one quite knew what. The awkwardness was palpable, and I couldn’t help but find the whole situation oddly amusing. I leaned back in my chair, a smirk tugging at the corners of my lips, watching the way they were trying to make small talk, as if they weren’t fully sure of what to say to her.

"I have to get going," Aurora said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I have some things to do. Enjoy."

She stood up from the table, her movements graceful but just a little too quick. I could tell she felt out of place—she didn’t like being the center of attention, especially under my brothers’ watchful eyes.

She glanced at me, a brief, almost uncertain look. I gave her a small nod, letting her know it was fine. Without another word, she disappeared down the hallway, and a few seconds later, I heard the soft click of her bedroom door shutting.

The second she was gone, Nick leaned forward, dropping his fork with a loud clatter against his plate. "Bro," he said, smirking. "She’s cute."

Matt snorted, reaching for another pancake. "Way out of your league, too."

I shot them both a dry look. "Don’t start."

Matt held up his hands innocently. "Just saying. She’s...different. Not what I expected when you said you were getting married."

Nick nodded, mouth full. "Yeah, like, she’s actually nice. Thought you'd end up with some stuck-up heiress."

I took a long drink of my Pepsi, ignoring the way they both stared at me like they were waiting for a reaction.

"Arranged or not," Matt said, nudging Nick, "you lucked out, man."

I stayed silent, my jaw tight.

Matt leaned back in his chair, eyeing me. "You like her," he said bluntly, like it wasn’t even a question.

Nick laughed under his breath. "Yeah, you definitely do. Never seen you look at anyone like that."

"Cut the shit," I muttered, tossing my empty can of Pepsi into the trash. "It’s not like that."

Matt raised an eyebrow. “Sure it’s not. You were basically eye-fucking her the entire time she was sitting here.”

I shot him a glare. "Watch your mouth," I said, my voice low, protective without even meaning to be. "I was just making sure she was comfortable. You idiots were making her uncomfortable."

Nick held his hands up, grinning. "Hey, we're just saying. It's new seeing you like this. Mr. 'No Relationships' acting like a fucking husband already."

I leaned back against the counter, arms crossed over my chest. "I’m being respectful."

Matt smirked. "Respectful? Bro, you looked like you were two seconds away from dragging her back to your room."

I gave him a sharp look. "Matt. Don’t talk about her like that."

Matt just rolled his eyes, clearly not taking me seriously. "Didn’t say anything about her," he said lazily, picking up his fork and poking at his pancakes again. "For an arranged thing, it’s not bad," he added with a shrug.

Nick nodded. "She's sweet. She didn’t even roast us for showing up uninvited."

"She’s used to it," I said without thinking. Then realizing how that sounded, I added, "High society bullshit. She’s been around it her whole life."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, but still. She's... real. Not fake like the other rich girls."

"Don’t call her a rich girl," I snapped before I could stop myself.

Both of them froze for a second—then broke into matching grins.

Matt whistled low. "Man’s in deep already."

I shook my head, pushing off the counter. "You two need to get out of my house."

Nick laughed. "Not until you admit you like her."

"Not happening," I said, walking past them. "And wipe those stupid looks off your faces before I throw you out myself."

READ ALL RELEASED CHAPTERS HERE!

[a/n: ya'll i think I should start with the mega juicy stuff soon. Hopefully new chapter soon! like & reblog. mwahh] – ceyana

[victoryverse]

simon with a gf who gets terrible pms and periods like moody af, horrible cramps etc.😫😭

it'd be nice if u add a bit of nsfw👀 but if u're not comfy w that it's ok

PMS Hell*

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You and Simon had been dating for a few months now, and things were going great. He was sweet, and caring, and always knew how to make you feel loved and special. But there was one time of the month that tested the strength of your relationship: your PMS and periods.

You lie in bed, clutching your stomach as another wave of cramps washes over you. Your boyfriend, Simon, stands by your side, rubbing your back and whispering soothing words. But even his comforting touch can't ease the pain you're feeling.

'Ugh, I hate this,' you groan, feeling the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. 'Why do I have to go through this every month?'

Simon sighs and wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer. 'I wish I could take your pain away,' he says softly, nuzzling his face into your neck.

'I know, but you can't,' you sniffle, feeling a wave of anger wash over you as you remember the reason for your pain - your period. 'Why did you have to give me such horrible PMS and periods?' you ask, looking up at Simon with accusing eyes.

Simon chuckles and kisses the top of your head. 'I didn't give it to you, love. It's just a natural part of being a woman.'

You let out a frustrated growl and push yourself away from him, sitting up on the bed. 'I hate feeling like this,' you mutter, feeling the anger bubbling up inside you. 'I'm so moody and emotional and I can't control it.'

'I know, baby,' Simon says, sitting next to you and gently taking your hand in his. 'But I love you, no matter what mood you're in.'

You let out a sigh and lean your head on his shoulder, feeling a sense of calm wash over you. Simon always knows just what to say to make you feel better, even when you're at your worst.

But as your period gets heavier and the cramps become more intense, your mood swings become even more extreme. One minute, you're yelling and snapping at Simon, and the next, you're telling him how much you love him and how lucky you are to have him.

Simon takes it all in stride, knowing that it's not really you, but the hormones messing with your mind. He just holds you close and lets you ride out the storm, patiently waiting for you to calm down.

But tonight, as you're lying in bed, cradled in Simon's arms, you feel a different kind of mood coming over you. You nodded, trying to hide how much pain you were in. But Simon could see right through your façade. He knew exactly what you needed.

Without saying a word, he stood up and lifted you onto his lap, positioning you so that you were straddling him. You could feel his hardening bulge against your core, and a wave of arousal washed over you. This was exactly what you needed to distract you from your cramps.

Simon's hands trailed up your thighs, pushing your skirt up to your waist. He leaned in to kiss you, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth. Your hands tangled in his hair as you deepened the kiss, your hips grinding against his.

Simon lets out a low groan, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he starts to move with you.

You smirk and lean down to capture his lips in a passionate kiss, your hands roaming over his toned chest as you grind against him.

'Please, Simon,' you moan, feeling the heat pooling between your legs. 'I need you.'

With a smirk, he moves his hand down to your heat, his fingers finding your most sensitive spot and rubbing it in slow, circular motions. Your back bows off the bed as you let out a long, loud moan, your eyes rolling back into your head.

He continues to pleasure you with his fingers, adding a second one and thrusting them in and out of you as he sucks on your nipples. The pleasure is almost too much to handle, and you feel yourself reaching your climax.

'Simon, please,' you begged, grinding your hips against his hand.

He chuckled, his breath hot against your ear. 'Patience, love. I want to make you feel good.'

And he did just that. His fingers worked their magic, bringing you to the edge over and over again. You could feel your whole body trembling, your eyes rolling into the back of your head, and toes curling as you reached your peak.

But he wasn't done with you yet. He pulled his hard cock out, and positioned himself at your entrance, teasing you with his tip. He looked into your eyes, asking for permission. And with a nod, he slowly pushed himself inside you, filling you up completely.

You cried out in pleasure, your hips moving in sync with his. He gripped onto your hips, guiding you as he thrusted into you at a steady pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed throughout the room, filling you with pure ecstasy.

'God, you feel so good,' he groaned, his thrusts becoming more erratic.

Your hands gripped onto his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you rode out your high. He followed soon after, his release filling you up.

The two of you sat there, panting and trying to catch your breaths. Simon lifted you off his lap and onto the bed, pulling you into his embrace.

'I love you, even when you're a moody mess,' he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You laughed, your earlier mood swings long forgotten. 'I love you too. Now, can we order some pizza? I'm craving it like crazy.'

From that day on, whenever you were feeling extra moody during your time of the month, Simon knew exactly what to do to put a smile on your face – and a very satisfied ache between your thighs.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

tags: @ilovehobi101

[lila-lou]

✨Obsessed - Pt. 4✨

Summary: After weeks of searching, you finally found Dean. However, he was no longer the man you had been in love with- but more importantly, no longer the man who never returned your love. Because now, in his twisted state, he was somehow obsessed with you.

Pairing: Dean x PregnantReader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language, Angst, Humiliation, naive reader, fluff, Pregnancy

Word Count: 7126

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

Two days later, you assumed that Dean and Sam had already left town. You tried to settle back into your routine, but the encounter with them lingered in your mind, making it difficult to focus on anything else. As you sat in your small apartment, dressed in a comfortable top and shorts, your baby bump more prominent, you heard a knock on your door.

Sighing, you stood up and walked to the door, not expecting to see Dean standing there. The sight of him made your heart skip a beat, and without thinking, you tried to close the door immediately. But Dean was quicker, holding it open with his hand.

“Y/N, please”, he said, his voice filled with desperation. “I just need to talk to you”.

You glared at him, your anger and frustration bubbling to the surface. “Dean, I told you I don’t want you to be a part of this”.

He took a deep breath, refusing to let go of the door. “I know what you said, and I respect your wishes, but I can’t just walk away. This is my child too, and I need to be here, even if it’s just to support you from a distance”.

You hesitated, torn between slamming the door in his face and giving him a chance to explain. Finally, you stepped back, allowing him to enter but keeping a wary distance.

Dean stepped inside, his eyes immediately drawn to your baby bump. He swallowed hard, the sight of you carrying his child filling him with a mixture of awe and sorrow.

You instinctively tried to hide your belly with your arms, feeling exposed and vulnerable. The tension in the room was palpable, and you shifted uncomfortably on your feet.

Finally, you made your way over to the couch, deciding to sit down since your back and feet were aching like hell. Dean hesitated for a moment before following you, sitting down beside you but keeping a respectful distance.

The silence between you stretched out, heavy and suffocating. Dean looked at you, searching for the right words to say, while you avoided his gaze, staring down at your hands.

“Y/N”, Dean began, his voice gentle. “I know this is hard for you. It’s hard for me too. But I want to be here for you, for the baby. I want to do whatever it takes to make things right”.

You sighed, still not looking at him. “Dean, it’s not that simple. You can’t just come back and expect everything to be okay. I’ve been doing this on my own, and I’ve come to terms with that”.

The idea of raising this child together with him, with the man you loved for years but who simply couldn’t love you back, was surreal. It was too much for you.

Dean’s gaze softened, filled with understanding and regret. “I know I’ve let you down. I know I’ve hurt you. But I want to make things right, for you and for our baby. I’m not asking you to forgive me right away, or even to trust me fully. I just want to be here, to support you and be the father this baby deserves”.

You looked up at him, tears brimming in your eyes. “Dean, it’s not just about the baby. It’s about everything. It’s about us. I loved you for so long, and I’ve always wanted to be with you. But you couldn’t love me back, and it broke me. Now, having you here, wanting to be a part of this… it’s confusing. It’s overwhelming”.

Dean’s expression was pained, his eyes reflecting the turmoil inside him. “I know, Y/N. And I’m sorry. I wish I could change the past, but I can’t. All I can do is try to be better, to be the man you and our child need me to be”.

You sighed, running your hands over your face before you looked at him. “Dean, that’s the point. You could never be the man I need you to be because you can’t love me. And that’s okay. I’ve made peace with it, but I can’t bear to have you back in my life only to face the same heartbreak again”.

The weight of your words pressing down on him. “Y/N, I wish I could take back everything I did to hurt you. I know I can’t change how I feel, but I do care about you deeply. I want to be there for our child, even if it means we can’t be together the way you wanted”.

You looked away, the tears threatening to spill over. “I don’t know if I can handle that, Dean. Seeing you every day, knowing that we’ll never be more than two people accidentally having a child together. It’s too painful”.

Dean nodded, his own eyes misting with tears. “I understand. I just… I don’t want our child to grow up without knowing his father. I want to be there for the baby, to give him the love and support he deserve”.

You swallowed, the weight of the decision heavy on your heart. You knew that Dean deserved a chance to connect with his baby and that your child deserved a chance to grow up with a dad. The conflicting emotions swirled within you, but you couldn’t deny the truth of his words.

Dean looked at you with pleading eyes, his gaze dropping again to your belly. “Please, Y/N”, he said softly. “Let me be a part of this. Let me be there for you and our baby”.

You took a deep breath, feeling the tears welling up again. “Dean, it’s going to be fucking hard. Really fucking hard. But maybe… maybe we can find a way to make this work for the sake of the baby”.

A glimmer of hope appeared in Dean’s eyes as he nodded. “Thank you, Y/N. I promise I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll be there for every step of the way, as much as you’ll allow me to be”.

You nodded, feeling a mix of relief and apprehension. “We’ll take it one day at a time, Dean. But you have to understand that I need space, and I need time”.

Dean reached out tentatively, his hand hovering near yours before finally settling gently on top. “I understand. And I’ll respect your boundaries".

You managed a small, shaky smile. “Okay. We’ll start slow. And see where things go from there”.

Dean’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, his eyes filled with determination. “I’ll be here, Y/N. For you and for our baby. No matter what”.

You nodded, feeling a small sense of hope. It wouldn’t be easy, but for the sake of your child, you were willing to try. As you both sat there, the tension slowly began to ease, replaced by a fragile but growing sense of possibility.

Dean’s gaze dropped to your belly, his heart aching to touch it, to somehow ground him in reality. He looked back up at you, his eyes filled with silent pleading. You could see the yearning and the uncertainty in his expression, and it tugged at your heart.

Slowly, you nodded, giving him silent permission. Dean hesitated for a moment, then gently placed his hand on your belly. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you, and for a moment, all the pain and confusion melted away.

Dean’s gaze softened as he felt the first faint movements. His heart raced, filled with a mix of awe and emotion. “Let me”, you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. You took his hand with your shaking one, gently guiding it to where the baby’s feet were. Almost instantly, Dean felt a firm kick against his palm.

His eyes widened in amazement, a smile breaking through his usually stoic expression. “Did you feel that?”, he asked, his voice trembling with emotion.

You chuckled softly. “Yes, I feel it all the time. It’s a strong one”.

Dean’s eyes met yours, and for the first time in a long while, there was a spark of genuine connection.

You looked down, your soft smile turning upside down as you mumbled, “Don’t look at me like that”.

Dean’s smile faltered, replaced by a look of concern. “Like what?”, he asked gently, his hand still resting on your belly.

“Like you care about me”, you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s confusing, and it hurts”.

You withdrew your hand from his, and he reluctantly withdrew his from your belly. The warmth of his touch lingered, making the space between you feel even colder.

Dean started to say, "But I do care", but you stopped him, mumbling, "I’m tired, Dean. I need to take a nap".

Dean sighed, his gaze dropping to your belly again. He hesitated, then asked quietly, “Can I stay, just a bit longer? I just want to make sure you’re safe. I’ll wait in the living room, and you won’t even notice I’m here”.

You looked at him, the earnestness in his eyes tugging at your heart. The thought of having him nearby, even if just for a little while, offered a strange comfort. After a moment of hesitation, you nodded.

“Okay”, you whispered. “You can stay”.

Dean’s relief was palpable. He gave you a small, grateful smile before stepping back. “Thank you”, he said softly.

You made your way to the bedroom, your exhaustion weighing heavily on you. As you settled into bed, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of emotions—relief, anxiety, and a lingering sense of hope.

The silence of the apartment was comforting, yet filled with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings. He glanced around, taking in the space you had made your home. Dean settled into the couch, pulling out his phone and quickly typing a message to Sam. He sent him your address and a brief update on how things had gone so far.

"Hey, just wanted to let you know it went well. She’s letting me stay for a bit. Can you head over in an hour or two with some food? Make sure to get something healthy for her".

He hit send and leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment. The emotional toll of the past few days weighed heavily on him, but there was a glimmer of hope now. He was determined to be there for you and the baby, no matter what it took.

As he waited for Sam’s response, Dean glanced around your living room, taking in the little details that made it your space. There were a few framed photos on a shelf, some books stacked haphazardly, and a cozy blanket draped over the arm of the couch. It felt warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the sterile, transient places he was used to.

A few minutes later, his phone buzzed with a reply from Sam.

"Got it. Be there soon. Hang in there, Dean".

Dean sighed, feeling a small measure of relief. He looked towards the closed bedroom door, hoping you were finding some rest. The weight of his earlier words lingered in his mind, and he silently vowed to do everything in his power to make things right for you and your child.

He checked his watch, estimating how much time he had before Sam arrived. He figured it was best to keep himself occupied, so he quietly tidied up the living room, straightening the books and folding the blanket neatly. It wasn’t much, but it was something he could do to help.

As he moved around, he kept an ear out for any sounds from the bedroom, ready to come to your aid if you needed anything. He knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but for the first time in a long while, he felt like he had a purpose beyond hunting.

While getting himself something to drink, Dean stumbled upon a stack of documents on your kitchen island. Curiosity piqued, he gently looked through them and quickly realized they were your pregnancy documents. Among the papers, he found some ultrasound pictures. He carefully picked them up, studying the black-and-white images with a mix of awe and reverence.

He traced his finger over the tiny figure captured in the ultrasound, feeling a deep connection to the child growing inside you. The sight of the little one brought a soft smile to his face, a rare moment of peace amidst the turmoil.

Dean flipped through the documents, trying to find any mention of the baby’s gender. He was determined to know more about his child, to understand everything he could about this new life. However, as he scanned the pages, he quickly realized that the gender was not mentioned anywhere.

Frustrated but undeterred, Dean set the documents back down carefully, making sure everything was in order. He took another long look at the ultrasound pictures, feeling an overwhelming sense of responsibility and love.

He returned to the living room, still deep in thought. The realization that he was going to be a father hit him hard, and he knew he had a lot to make up for. His past mistakes loomed large, but he was resolute in his determination to be there for you and the baby.

As he settled back onto the couch, his mind raced with thoughts of the future. He pulled out his phone again, this time to search for information on how to be a supportive partner during pregnancy. He wanted to be prepared, to show you that he was committed to being a better man.

Time passed slowly as Dean waited for Sam, the minutes stretching into what felt like hours. Eventually, the boredom and anxiety got the better of him. Even though he had promised not to interrupt you, he quietly walked into your bedroom. It had been 40 minutes since you went to bed, but you couldn’t sleep. Your back was turned towards the door, but you could hear Dean’s footsteps approaching.

“You promised you’d be unnoticed”, you mumbled, your voice laced with exhaustion and emotion. Dean froze, feeling a pang of guilt.

“I know, I’m sorry”, he replied softly. “I just… I couldn’t sit out there any longer. I needed to see if you were okay”.

You didn’t respond immediately, your shoulders shaking slightly with the sobs you were trying to suppress. The sound broke Dean’s heart, and he felt an overwhelming need to comfort you.

“Y/N”, he whispered, stepping closer to the bed. “Please, let me be here for you. Even if it’s just sitting quietly by your side”.

You took a deep breath, your back still turned to him. “It’s hard, Dean. Having you here, it brings back everything. The pain, the confusion… I don’t know how to handle it”.

Dean sat down gently on the edge of the bed, careful not to startle you. “I understand. And I know I’ve made things so difficult for you. But I want to help, to make amends. Just tell me what you need”.

You wiped your tears, feeling a mixture of frustration and longing. “I need… I need to know that you’re not just here out of guilt. That you really want to be a part of this”.

Dean’s eyes softened as he looked at you, though you couldn’t see it. “Y/N, I want to be here because I care about you. Because I care about our baby. I’m not perfect, and I’ve made so many mistakes, but I’m here because I want to be. I need to be”.

His words resonated with you, the sincerity in his voice breaking through your walls. Slowly, you turned to face him, your eyes red and puffy from crying.

Dean sighed at your gaze, the pain and vulnerability in your eyes tugging at his heart. He remembered how, every time you felt bad, you always wanted to be held. It was something that had comforted you in the past, and he hoped it might help now.

He hesitated, his own emotions swirling inside him, before softly asking, “Can I hold you?”.

You looked at him, the walls around your heart crumbling just a little. You nodded, your tears still falling. “Okay”, you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Dean carefully moved closer, wrapping his arms around you with a gentleness that belied his usual tough exterior. You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself be vulnerable in his embrace.

The warmth of his arms around you, the steady beat of his heart, all combined to create a sense of safety that you hadn’t felt in a long time. Dean held you tightly, yet tenderly, his own emotions raw and exposed.

“I’m here”, he murmured against your hair. “I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get through this together”.

You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to believe his words, if only for a moment. The pain was still there, the confusion and hurt, but so was the hope that maybe, just maybe, you could find a way to navigate this new reality together.

Time seemed to stand still as you stayed in Dean’s arms, finding solace in his presence. With all these emotions swirling inside you, you couldn’t hold back. You sat up slightly, looking up at him. The room was dimly lit, and you could barely see each other, but feeling him after all these months stirred something inside you.

Without thinking about the consequences, you reached for his face, pulling him softly closer, giving him enough time to stop you if he didn’t want it. When he didn’t pull away, you closed the distance and laid your lips on his.

The kiss was gentle, tentative at first, as if both of you were testing the waters, unsure of how to navigate this new territory. But then, as the moments stretched, it deepened, filled with the pent-up emotions and longing that had been building up for so long.

Dean pulled you onto his lap without breaking the kiss, his hands gently brushing over your back. The warmth of his touch sent shivers down your spine, and you found yourself melting into him, the months of separation and longing dissolving in this moment of connection.

His kiss grew more passionate, a desperate need to convey everything he felt but couldn’t put into words. You responded in kind, your hands tangling in his hair, your body pressing closer to his. It was as if the world outside ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the two of you, rediscovering each other.

Dean’s hands roamed your back with a tenderness that contrasted the intensity of his kiss. He held you close, as if afraid you might slip away again. The gentle caress of his fingers was both comforting and electrifying, reigniting a flame that had never truly gone out.

Dean pulled back slightly, feeling the growing tension in his pants. His breath was ragged as he looked into your eyes, filled with a mix of desire and regret. “We shouldn’t”, he mumbled, his voice strained. “You’ll regret this”.

But you were already too far gone, your pregnancy hormones amplifying the need and desire you felt for him. You shook your head, your fingers tracing his jawline. “I don’t care”, you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. “I need you, Dean”.

Dean hesitated for a moment, his resolve wavering as he looked at you. The intensity of your gaze, the raw emotion in your voice—it was too much to resist. He closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in another heated kiss. This time, there was no hesitation, no holding back.

His hands slid under your shirt, the warmth of his touch sending shivers through your body. You arched into him, your breath hitching as his fingers traced the curve of your spine. Dean’s touch was both gentle and possessive, a reminder of the connection you shared.

You moved against him, your body responding to his in ways that felt both familiar and new. The months of separation had only heightened the longing between you, and now, there was no denying the pull you felt toward each other.

Dean’s lips trailed down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You moaned softly, your fingers tightening in his hair as he found the sensitive spot just below your ear. “Dean”, you whispered, your voice a plea and a promise.

He lifted his head, his eyes dark with desire as he looked at you. “Are you sure?”, he asked, his voice husky.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yes. I want this. I want you”.

With a soft touch, one you hadn’t experienced during your time together when he was a demon, Dean pulled your top over your head, exposing your belly to him. He looked down, swallowing hard, his eyes wide with a mix of awe and apprehension. “I don’t know how to do this”, he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can I hurt it inside?”. He pointed toward your belly, genuine concern etched on his face.

You couldn’t help but raise a brow at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “For real, Dean? You aren’t that big”.

Dean’s eyes flashed with a mix of relief and a touch of wounded pride, his ego clearly bruised. “Hey, I just don’t want to hurt you or the baby”, he protested, his tone defensive but still laced with affection.

You chuckled softly, leaning in to kiss him gently, your lips brushing against his in reassurance. “You won’t hurt us. Trust me”, you whispered against his mouth.

He sighed, the tension easing from his shoulders as he returned your kiss, more deeply this time. His hands moved over your bare skin, gentle and exploratory, as if he were rediscovering you. You could feel the care in every touch, the unspoken promise to protect and cherish you.

Dean’s hands moved to your back, deftly unclasping your bra and letting it fall away.

His eyes widened slightly as he took in the sight of your breasts, which had grown bigger through the pregnancy. Dean brushed his fingertips over your swollen breasts absentmindedly before cupping them gently with his large palms. He looked up at you, a teasing yet genuine smile playing on his lips.

“Pregnancy looks damn good on you”, he murmured, his voice filled with a mix of awe and mischief.

You laughed softly, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. His touch was both tender and electrifying, sending shivers through your body. Dean’s thumbs brushed over your sensitive nipples, causing you to gasp softly.

“Does that feel good?”, he asked, his tone softening with genuine concern.

You nodded, your breath hitching. “Yes, it feels really good”.

Dean’s smile widened, and he leaned in to kiss you again, this time with more passion. Deep down, both of you knew this wasn’t such a good idea, but right now, none of you cared. Instead, Dean took it as an opportunity to show you how good sex could be if you were with someone who cared about what felt good to you.

His mouth wandered over your jaw, down to your neck, and finally to your breasts. He cupped them again, his hands warm and gentle. As his lips brushed over your sensitive nipples, a soft moan escaped your lips, your body arching into his touch.

Dean took his time, lavishing attention on your breasts, his tongue flicking over your nipples, sending waves of pleasure through you. His hands roamed over your body, caressing your skin with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

“Dean”, you whispered, your voice trembling with desire.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with passion. “Just tell me what you need”.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “I need you, Dean. I need all of you”.

Dean nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. With an extremely gentle touch, he shifted you until you were lying on your back. As he hovered above you, careful around your belly, he kissed your breasts again, his lips trailing down to your growing bump. Each kiss was filled with tenderness and reverence, a silent promise of his commitment to you and your child.

Dean’s hands caressed your sides, his fingers tracing soft patterns on your skin. His touch was both soothing and electrifying, sending shivers down your spine. He took his time, savoring every moment, every reaction from you.

As he reached your belly, he paused, placing a gentle kiss just above your navel. “You’re so beautiful”, he murmured against your skin, his voice filled with awe and love.

You felt a lump form in your throat, the emotions overwhelming you. “Dean…”.

Dean moved lower, his eyes never leaving yours as he gently pulled down your shorts and panties. His touch was tender, reverent, as if he were unwrapping a precious gift. The cool air against your skin sent a shiver through you, heightening your anticipation.

His hands brushed over your thighs, spreading them gently. He took his time, savoring every inch of your skin as his lips followed the path of his hands. His kisses were soft, each one a promise, a declaration of his intent to cherish you.

Dean looked up at you, his gaze intense and filled with love. “I want to make you feel good”, he whispered, his voice low and husky. “Tell me if I do anything that doesn’t.”

You nodded, your breath hitching as his mouth moved lower.

Dean’s eyes never left yours as he moved lower, his breath warm against your skin. When his lips finally reached your clit, he kissed it with a wet, gentle sound. The sensation sent a jolt through your body, making you shake slightly. This was new territory for you; no one had ever gone down on you before.

Because of your belly, you couldn’t see everything he was doing, but you could see his eyes, filled with desire, and that was enough.

Dean’s tongue began to move in slow, deliberate circles around your clit, the warmth and wetness making your breath hitch. His eyes remained locked onto yours, watching your reactions closely. He wanted to ensure every touch, every movement brought you pleasure.

The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and intimacy that took your breath away. You arched into his touch, your hands gripping the sheets as he continued his tender ministrations. Soft moans escaped your lips, your body trembling with each gentle flick of his tongue.

Dean increased the intensity gradually, his hands gripping your thighs, keeping you in place. The combination of his tongue and the sight of his eyes filled with such devotion pushed you closer to the edge. The pleasure built steadily, like a wave rising higher and higher, until you felt yourself teetering on the brink.

“Dean”, you gasped, your voice trembling with need. “Please…”.

He responded by increasing the pressure and speed, his tongue moving with expert precision. The sensation became too much, and with a final cry, you felt yourself shatter, the pleasure crashing over you in waves. Dean continued his gentle movements, helping you ride out the aftershocks until you were left trembling and breathless.

He moved back up your body, his lips trailing kisses along your skin, until he reached your face. He kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. The intimacy of the moment made your heart swell with emotion.

Dean took the opportunity of you catching your breath to quickly get rid of his clothes. He stood there for a moment, looking at you with a mixture of desire and tenderness, before slipping back onto the bed. Despite your reassurances, he was still cautious about how to proceed without hurting you or the baby. His eyes lingered on you, filled with both love and concern.

“C’mere”, he whispered, gesturing to his lap while he gave himself a few lazy pumps. The sight of him, ready and waiting, sent another wave of heat through you.

You moved closer, carefully positioning yourself on his lap. Dean’s hands gently guided you, his touch reassuring. As you settled over him, you could feel his length pressing against you, the anticipation building once more. His hands moved to your hips, steadying you as you aligned yourself with him.

He looked into your eyes, his gaze searching. “Are you sure?”, he asked, his voice husky but filled with genuine concern.

You nodded, your heart pounding. “I’m sure”.

With that, Dean slowly helped you lower yourself onto him. The sensation was intense, a mix of pleasure and the familiar feeling of being connected with him. You both gasped as he filled you, taking a moment to adjust to the sensation.

Dean’s hands moved to your back, supporting you as you began to move. He watched you intently, his eyes dark with desire and love. “You feel so good”, he murmured, his voice a low growl.

You leaned forward, your hands resting on his shoulders for support. The new angle allowed him to go deeper, and you both moaned at the sensation. The rhythm you set was slow and deliberate, each movement sending waves of pleasure through your bodies.

Dean’s hands roamed your back, his touch both gentle and possessive. He kissed your neck, your collarbone, anywhere he could reach, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The intimacy of the moment, combined with the physical pleasure, created a heady mix that left you both breathless.

Dean groaned, his voice thick with pleasure, “You’re so tight", he muttered, his hands holding your hips gently, guiding you as you moved. The sensation of being so deeply connected with him again sent shivers down your spine.

You moved on top of him, your rhythm slower and more deliberate than it had been months ago. The pregnancy made everything feel different, more intense and yet more careful. You could feel every inch of him, the way he stretched and filled you, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

Dean was aware of your condition, making sure every movement was gentle and considerate. His eyes stayed locked on yours, the connection between you two deeper than it had ever been.

You leaned down, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss, your movements becoming more fluid as you found a comfortable rhythm. The sensation was overwhelming, your bodies moving in sync, creating a perfect harmony of pleasure and intimacy.

Dean’s grip on your hips tightened slightly as he thrust upward, meeting your movements with a controlled intensity. The pleasure built slowly, each movement sending sparks through your body. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you felt yourself climbing higher and higher.

“I’ve missed you so much”, he murmured earnestly.

And he did. Ever since Sam and Cas turned him back, he felt like something was missing. When you left, he felt like he was drowning, but he couldn’t point out what it was until now. Buried inside you, feeling your lips, hearing your moans and your heartbeat, being connected with you—he finally understood. For the first time since he was back to being himself, he felt whole, he felt complete.

Dean couldn’t hold back much longer. The feeling of you wrapped around him so tightly was way too intense, especially since he hadn’t had sex in months. Every movement, every sound you made pushed him closer to the edge.

“Y/N”, he gasped, his voice filled with desperation and need. His hands gripped your hips tighter, guiding you as you rode him. The intensity of the sensations was overwhelming, and he could feel his control slipping.

You sensed his urgency and increased your pace, your own pleasure building as you moved faster. The friction, the connection, the sheer intimacy of the moment drove you both towards the brink.

Dean’s breath hitched, and he pulled you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “I’m so close”, he whispered, his voice trembling.

You nodded, your own climax approaching rapidly. “Me too”, you managed to say between gasps.

With a final, powerful thrust, Dean groaned, his release crashing over him. The feeling of him coming inside you triggered your own orgasm, and you clung to him, your body shaking with the force of it.

Dean held you close, his body trembling with the intensity of his release. You could feel the warmth spreading inside you, mingling with the overwhelming pleasure of your own climax. Your bodies pressed together, skin to skin, hearts racing in unison. The room was filled with the sounds of your mingled breaths, the aftershocks of pleasure still rippling through both of you.

Dean’s hands moved gently over your back, his touch soothing and tender. He brushed his lips against your shoulder, trailing soft kisses along your skin. His breathing slowly began to steady, the raw urgency of moments ago giving way to a deep, abiding connection.

You rested your forehead against his, your eyes closed, savoring the closeness and the calm that followed such intense passion. Just then, you felt a series of strong kicks from the baby, so powerful that even Dean could feel them against his stomach.

Dean chuckled softly, his eyes lighting up with amusement and wonder. “Looks like the baby got a few endorphins too”, he teased, his hand gently moving to your belly to feel the movement more clearly.

You chuckled, feeling the baby continue to kick against Dean’s hand. The sensation brought a wave of joy and connection between the three of you. Dean’s eyes sparkled with a mixture of awe and tenderness as he felt the strong movements.

Dean bent down slightly, his hand still resting on your belly. He hesitated for a moment, then leaned in closer, speaking softly to your belly for the first time. “Hey there, little one”, he said, his voice gentle and filled with emotion. “You’re already a strong kicker, huh? Just like your mom”.

You blushed, leaning back a bit to give Dean more space to talk to the baby. The sight of him speaking so tenderly to your unborn child filled your heart with warmth and affection.

Dean continued, his voice low and soothing. “I can’t wait to meet you”, he murmured, gently rubbing your belly with his thumb. “We’re going to have so much fun together. I’ll teach you everything I know, and we’ll go on all sorts of adventures”.

You watched him, your heart swelling once more with love for the man before you.

With that, Dean pulled you down softly, kissing you gently. The tenderness in his touch made your heart flutter, and you felt a sense of peace wash over you. As he rolled you back onto your back, he moved with care, ensuring you were comfortable.

Just then, he gently pulled out of you, causing both of you to gasp softly at the loss of contact. He reached over, grabbing your top to clean up the mess he had made. His movements were gentle and considerate, his focus entirely on your comfort.

You watched him. Dean’s eyes met yours, and you saw the sincerity and commitment reflected in them.

After he finished cleaning you, Dean slipped back beside you, pulling you close. His arms wrapped around you, and you could feel the steady beat of his heart against your back. As he was about to say something, you hushed him, placing a finger gently over his lips.

“Just… give me this moment, Dean”, you mumbled, your voice pleading and tired. “We can deal with everything later”.

Dean nodded, understanding the weight of your request. He tightened his embrace, holding you close, his warmth and presence offering a comfort you hadn’t felt in a long time. The room was quiet, the only sounds the soft rustle of sheets and your synchronized breathing.

You closed your eyes, savoring the feeling of being wrapped in Dean’s arms, the steady rise and fall of his chest lulling you into a sense of peace. For now, you allowed yourself to simply be in the moment, letting go of the worries and uncertainties that had plagued you.

Dean’s hand gently stroked your arm, his touch soothing and reassuring. “I’m here”, he whispered softly, his breath warm against your ear. “I’m not going anywhere”.

You nodded slightly, your heart swelling with a mix of love and hope. Despite the challenges and heartache, you knew that having Dean by your side made you stronger.

As you drifted off to sleep, you felt a sense of contentment settle over you, knowing that you were not alone. Dean’s presence was a promise of better days to come, and with him, you felt ready to embrace the future, one step at a time.

It wasn’t until Dean’s phone buzzed that he realized he needed to move. He saw Sam’s name on the screen and quickly, but quietly, slipped away from your side. You were too exhausted to wake up, your breathing steady and peaceful.

Dean dressed quickly, running a hand through his tousled hair to try and tame it. He headed to the front door, his mind still reeling from the emotional and physical intensity of the afternoon. As he opened the door, his typical sheepish and boyish grin spread across his face.

Sam stood there with two bags of Chinese food, his eyes narrowing as he took in Dean’s disheveled appearance. “Tell me you didn’t”, Sam sighed heavily, stepping inside.

Dean’s grin faded slowly. “It just… happened, man. We were talking, and one thing led to another”.

Sam shook his head, setting the bags down on the kitchen counter. “Dean, this isn’t just ‘one thing leading to another’. She’s pregnant! And you two have a lot to work through. Jumping back into bed with her might not be the best way to fix things!”.

Dean’s grin faded completely, replaced by a more serious expression. “I know, Sam. But it felt right. For the first time in a long time, it felt like we were connected again”.

Sam sighed, pulling out the food containers and setting them on the counter. “I get that, Dean. But you need to think about more than just the moment. This is about her, the baby, and your future. This isn’t something you can fix with your dick”, he mumbled, shaking his head.

Dean looked down, feeling the weight of Sam’s words. “I know, Sammy. It’s just… I’ve messed up so much already, and I don’t want to lose her again. I need to make this right”.

Sam sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck. “Dean, playing with her emotions, sleeping with her, and making her believe there’s a chance for a real relationship isn’t making it right. You need to be honest with her, and with yourself. You need to decide if you’re really committed to being with her, not just because of the baby”.

Dean nodded slowly, understanding the gravity of Sam’s words. “I get it, Sam. I do. And I am committed. I just don’t know how to show it properly… I… I like her. Really like her”.

Sam looked at him, confused and slightly exasperated. “Dean, you’ve been telling me for the last two years that you didn’t love her. You even told her yourself that you didn’t love her. What’s changed?”.

Dean ran a hand through his hair, clearly struggling to articulate his feelings. “I don’t know, Sam. Maybe I was scared, or maybe I just didn’t realize what I had until I almost lost it. But seeing her, being with her again… it made me realize how much she means to me. I can’t lose her, and I can’t lose our baby”.

Sam crossed his arms, a skeptical look on his face. “Dean, are you sure you’re not just thinking you love her now because she’s carrying your baby? It’s a big responsibility, and it can mess with your head”.

Dean frowned, considering Sam’s words. “I’ve thought about that, too. But it’s more than just the baby. It’s everything about her. I’ve missed her every day she’s been gone, and I’ve felt this emptiness that I couldn’t explain until now. I realize now that I’ve loved her for a long time, but I was too stupid or scared to admit it”.

Sam’s expression softened slightly, seeing the genuine struggle in his brother’s eyes. “Dean, I just want you to be sure. Y/N deserves honesty and commitment. If you’re going to be a part of her life, you need to be all in”.

Sam added, his voice firm but gentle, “Before you tell her that you want to be with her, you have to be 100 percent sure. Not pushed by guilt or the responsibility of a baby. You have to know in your heart that this is what you really want”.

Dean groaned, annoyed and frustrated by the situation. “Sam, I get it. I’ve been beating myself up over this for months. I know what I feel now. I’m not just doing this because of the baby. I want to be with her because I love her. I just… I need to show her that”.

Sam studied Dean for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. If you’re sure, then you need to tell her. But be prepared for her to need time. She’s been through a lot”.

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair again. “Yeah, I know. I’ll give her all the time she needs. I just hope she can believe me”.

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A/N: OK, guys, from now on it's all about pregnancy and babies and all that cutesy, cheesy stuff. If you're not into that, you should stop reading because I got really carried away. Anyway, wrong time of the month to write, lol.

I would have ended the story after part 3, so imagine that everything from part 4 onwards is bonus material or an alternative ending, hehe.

Please let me know what you think.🥰 

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Part 5

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