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crybabycabin · 24 days ago

Note

Hey, I don't know if you take requests, but if you do, could you do a part two to the soulmate au, please? Like a time jump two years later to see where they're at now and showing them overcoming hurdles in their relationship and bucky healing. It's totally fine if you don't want to do it. I just love that au, and I would like to read more😁

well since you asked so nicely...

bonus drabble: loose threads | b.b.

**read touch and go here**

✮ synopsis: his nightmares bleed through the soul bond. you remind him he's not the only one who knows how to hold broken things.

✮ pairing: soulmate!bucky x soulmate!reader

✮ warnings: (18+) MDNI — established soulmate bond, shared nightmares/trauma, PTSD, emotional hurt/comfort, sexual content, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, praise kink, body worship, brief references to past violence

✮ word count: 2.4k

✮ a/n: this is a bonus chapter to my oneshot 'touch and go', read it here first! also I wrote most of this on my phone on my commute home so please ignore any typos <3

Two Years Later

The nightmare tears you from sleep like a fishhook through flesh—sudden, violent, leaving you gasping in the dark.

Not yours. Never yours.

Your nightmares don't taste like copper pennies and gun oil. Don't echo with the pneumatic hiss of a metal arm recalibrating, with Russian words that burn like acid even when you don't understand them. Your nightmares don't feel like falling through endless white, like ice crystallizing in your lungs, like please, I don't want to hurt anyone, please—

"Shit." Bucky's voice, rough with sleep and guilt, cuts through the phantom sensations. The bed shifts as he reaches for you, and even in the darkness you can feel him hesitating—that split-second pause where he weighs his need against your comfort. "Sweetheart, I'm—"

"Don't." You're already turning into him, seeking his warmth like a plant finding sun. Your hand finds his chest first—bare skin sleep-warm and slightly damp with sweat—and the soul bond settles immediately, that electric recognition that never gets old. "Don't apologize for things that aren't your fault."

His breath hitches. Two years, and he still can't quite believe you mean it.

The lamp clicks on, casting amber shadows across the familiar geography of your bedroom. He looks wrecked—hair sticking up at gravity-defying angles, those devastating blue eyes clouded with memory and guilt. The sheet pools at his waist, revealing the latticework of scars you've mapped with fingers and mouth so many times you could recreate them blind.

"I woke you up." Not a question. He can feel it through the bond—the jagged edges where his nightmare bled into your sleep, the phantom taste of winter he can never quite shake. His metal hand flexes against the mattress, plates whirring in that way that means he's fighting the urge to touch you.

"You had the falling dream again." You shift closer, let your thigh press against his, and watch the tension in his jaw ease fractionally. Through the bond, you feel the dream-echo: falling, always falling, Steve's face getting smaller, smaller, gone. "The train?"

He nods, throat working. "Haven't had that one in months. Thought maybe—" A bitter laugh. "Stupid. Thinking they'd stop."

"Hey." You catch his chin, force him to meet your eyes. "Two years ago, you had them every night. Now it's been months. That's not nothing, Buck. That's not stupid. That's healing."

Something breaks in his expression—that devastating vulnerability he only shows you, only here in the safety of your shared bed at 3 AM when the walls come down. "Sometimes I think I'm getting better. Then nights like this happen and I'm right back there." His throat works around a swallow. "And I can taste your fear in my mouth because I'm bleeding it all over you through the bond and—"

"I love you," you interrupt, simple and certain as gravity.

He goes still. Even after two years, the words hit him like a physical thing, like something he has to brace for. You feel it through the bond—that cocktail of awe and disbelief and desperate, aching love that floods his system every time.

"Say it again." Barely a whisper.

"I love you, James Buchanan Barnes." You shift closer, throw your leg over his hip, needing more contact. Always needing more. The bond hums brighter where skin meets skin. "I love your nightmares and your scars and the way you steal all the blankets. I love how you hum '40s songs when you cook and can't figure out how to work the dishwasher even though you can disassemble a sniper rifle in thirteen seconds."

His flesh hand finds your hip, thumbs the soft skin just above your sleep shorts. "Twelve seconds," he corrects, but his voice is thick. "Got it down to twelve."

"Show-off." You roll your hips just slightly, feel his breath catch. Two years of this and your body still lights up like a struck match every time he touches you. "I love how you look at me like I'm a miracle when you're the one who survived decades of hell and still chose gentleness."

"You are a miracle." His metal hand comes up to cradle your face, thumb tracing your cheekbone with impossible tenderness. The plates are warm now, heated by proximity to your skin. "My miracle. My best girl. My—"

"Yours," you agree, and kiss him before he can spiral back into guilt.

He makes a sound against your mouth—relief and hunger and something deeper, something that lives in the spaces between words. The kiss starts soft, an apology and a promise all at once, but then you nip at his bottom lip and his control splinters. His flesh hand tightens on your hip, pulls you fully on top of him, and suddenly you're straddling his waist, feeling exactly how awake he is now.

"Let me," he says against your mouth, and you know what he's asking. It's become a ritual of sorts—after the bad nights, he needs to ground himself in your pleasure, needs to replace the phantom taste of violence with something sweeter. Needs to prove his hands can create instead of destroy.

His mouth trails down your throat, stubble catching on sensitive skin, and you feel the bond pulse with his desperate need to give, to please, to worship. "Please, baby. Need to taste you. Need to—" His hips roll up, just once, and the friction makes you both groan. "Need to make it up to you."

"There's nothing to make up for," you breathe, but you're already letting him reverse your positions, letting him press you back into the mattress with careful strength.

"Let me anyway." His eyes in the lamplight are winter-storm blue, pupils blown wide with want. "Let me be good for you. Let me make you feel good. Please."

How could you deny him anything when he looks at you like that? Like you're salvation and absolution all at once?

You nod, and his whole body relaxes with relief. He takes his time—pressing grateful kisses to your collarbones, your breasts through thin cotton, the soft curve of your stomach. Each touch is reverent, each kiss a thank you, until you're squirming with need and he hasn't even gotten your shorts off yet.

"Patience," he murmurs against your hip bone, but you can feel his smile, feel the way his own need pulses through the bond like a second heartbeat.

"Don't have any," you gasp, threading your fingers through his hair, still messy from sleep. "Not when it comes to you."

He makes a sound that might be a laugh or might be a sob, pressing his forehead to your stomach. "Fuck, I love you. Love you so much it feels like dying sometimes. Like coming back to life. Like—"

"Bucky." Your voice breaks on his name. "Please."

"Yeah, sweetheart. I've got you."

He pulls your shorts down with careful hands, tosses them somewhere in the darkness beyond the lamp's reach. The first touch of his mouth against you is electric, makes your back arch off the bed, but he just pins you gently with his metal arm across your hips and does it again, slower.

"Perfect," he breathes against you, and through the bond you feel it—how true he finds it, how touching you like this quiets all the broken pieces inside him, makes him feel useful and whole and human. "So fucking perfect. Taste so good, baby. Could do this for hours."

And he has, on lazy Sunday mornings when the world feels less sharp, less demanding. But tonight is different. Tonight he's desperate to give you pleasure like it might erase the nightmares, might prove something to the universe about who he chooses to be.

His tongue finds that spot that makes you see stars, and your hips buck against his hold. The metal arm adjusts, recalibrates, and somehow that tiny mechanical sound in the quiet room makes everything hotter. Makes you remember exactly who's between your thighs, exactly what he's capable of, exactly how he chooses to use all that strength and skill.

"That's it," he encourages when you moan, when your thighs start to shake. "Let me hear you. Love those sounds you make. Love how wet you get for me. Love how you—fuck—"

You've reached down to tangle your fingers with his flesh hand, needing more connection, and the simple touch floods the bond with so much emotion you both gasp. It's always like this—the physical pleasure amplified by emotional intimacy, by the soul-deep recognition that makes every touch feel like coming home.

He doubles his efforts, slides two fingers inside you while his mouth works magic, and the dual sensation has you climbing fast. Your free hand fists in his hair, not guiding, just holding on, and he groans against you like your pleasure is his own.

It is his own, you realize. Through the bond, you can feel the ghost of what you're feeling reflected back—the building pressure, the electric heat, the desperate need for more. It should be overwhelming, feeling everything twice, but instead it's perfect. Like this is what you were made for. What you both were made for.

"Close," you gasp, though he already knows. Can feel it in the way your thighs tense, the way your breathing goes ragged, the way the bond itself seems to pull taut between you.

"Yeah?" He looks up at you, mouth slick and eyes wild, looking like sin and salvation all at once. "You gonna come for me, sweetheart? Gonna let me taste it? Gonna be good for me?"

The words hit you like a physical thing, and he knows it. Knows exactly what that particular tone—commanding and desperate in equal measure—does to you. He curls his fingers just right, seals his mouth over your clit, and you shatter.

The orgasm rolls through you in waves, each crest higher than the last, and through the bond you feel his echoing pleasure—not physical, but soul-deep satisfaction at being the one to take you apart like this. At being trusted with your vulnerability. At being loved despite everything he's done.

He works you through it, gentle but relentless, until you're pushing at his shoulders, oversensitive and shaking. Only then does he crawl back up your body, pressing kisses to heated skin as he goes.

"Better?" he asks against your throat, and you can feel him hard against your thigh, can feel his need through the bond like a physical ache.

"Are you?" you counter, reaching between you to palm him through his sleep pants.

He hisses, hips bucking into your touch. "This isn't about me—"

"Bullshit." You squeeze gently, watch his eyes flutter closed. "Two years, Barnes. I know you by now. You need this as much as I do. Need to feel—"

"Human," he finishes, barely a whisper.

"You are human," you say firmly, working him free of his pants. He's hot and hard in your hand, already leaking, and the first stroke has him burying his face in your neck with a broken sound. "You're human and you're mine and I need you inside me. Please."

"Fuck." His control splinters—you feel it through the bond like ice cracking under spring warmth. "Fuck, okay, yeah. Yeah, sweetheart. Whatever you need."

He lines himself up, meets your eyes in the amber light, and pushes home in one long, perfect slide. Two years of this and it still feels like revelation. Like puzzle pieces clicking together. Like the universe admitting it got something right.

"Love you," he breathes against your mouth, starting to move with slow, deep strokes that have you seeing stars. "Love you so fucking much. Love this, love us, love—"

You kiss him quiet, pouring everything you can't say into the contact. The bond opens fully between you, that rare perfect circuit where you can't tell where you end and he begins. Where his pleasure becomes yours becomes his in an endless feedback loop that builds and builds until you're both shaking with it.

He makes love to you like a poem—all rhythm and reverence and barely contained desperation. Like he's trying to say with his body what he still struggles to say with words: that you saved him, that you see him, that you chose him despite everything.

"Close," he warns after what could be minutes or hours—time tends to blur when you're like this, when the bond sings so bright between you. "Can't—fuck, you feel so good. Perfect. Mine. My perfect girl, my—"

"Yeah," you gasp, already falling again, dragged under by his need and your own combining into something greater. "Yours. Always. Forever."

He breaks with your name on his lips, face buried in your neck, hips grinding deep as he spills inside you. The physical sensation is intense, but it's the emotional wave through the bond that devastates—love and gratitude and home home home flooding your system until you can't breathe with it, until you're crying with the beauty of being so thoroughly known, so completely held.

After, he doesn't pull out immediately. Never does, on nights like this. Just shifts enough that his weight isn't crushing, keeping you close, keeping you full. His metal hand traces lazy patterns on your spine while his flesh hand tangles in your hair, and through the bond you feel the nightmares retreating, chased away by present sensation and future promise.

"Thank you," he murmurs against your temple.

"For what?"

"Existing. Choosing me. Letting me—" He shifts slightly, and you both gasp at the oversensitivity. "Letting me love you. However I need to. However I can."

You turn to kiss him properly, slow and deep and full of promise. "Always. In any universe. In every universe. I'd always choose you."

He shudders, holds you tighter. Outside, Brooklyn starts to wake—sirens and car horns and life going on. But here in your bed, in the circle of his arms, in the warm glow of the bond that ties you together, the rest of the world can wait.

"No more nightmares tonight," you say, and feel him smile against your skin.

"No," he agrees. "Just good dreams now. Just this. Just us."

"Just us," you echo, and let sleep take you under, safe in the knowledge that when you wake—whether to sunlight or storms—he'll be right here, yours as much as you're his, two souls made one by choice and time and the kind of love that survives everything.

Even falling.

Especially falling.

feedback is always appreciated! ♡

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greenandsorrow · 11 days ago

Text

Sunflower, in a field of roses.

CHAPTER 4: The Line Between

Cho Hyun-ju x fem!reader

🌻 Masterpost & Summary: click here

!!! strangers to friends to lovers, co-worker tension, mutual pining, mutual sapphic awakening, pre-op!Hyunju, dysphoria & euphoria themes, mentions of financial insecurity, suggestive themes, sexual tension, w|w, slow burn, POV changes, leftover ANGST turning into FLUFF, wholesomeness

🧡 I'm back from the dead! I wrote this & then completely abandoned it, so when I actually came back for the final read-through, I was just as amazed as you're about to be –hopefully! Forgive any typos pretty please, I was distracted.

Thank you for not giving up on me & for being so supportive and kind. It truly means the world!

Seriously, this healed something in me. Like, going shopping with Hyun-ju????? I'd be so happy and flustered my cheeks would hurt from constantly smiling. I need this woman. It's no joke 😭

Hyun-ju doesn't look up right away.

You've just clocked in, still smoothing down your work shirt, when she sidles over with a tight-lipped expression and a paper cup held in both hands.

"Hey" she says.

Her voice is soft. Careful.

She shifts from one foot to the other.

You glance at her. Wait.

"I was kind of a bitch last week."

A pause.

"The yelling and stuff. That was on me."

You blink. "Oh?"

"I mean—not that you weren't also annoying. But I was…" she gestures vaguely "...going through it."

A snort escapes you before you can help it. "That's the closest thing to an apology without the actual apology I've ever heard."

"Yeah, well. Don't get used to it."

She offers you the drink then –iced tea with a smuggled plastic straw. Your usual.

You take it.

"Thanks, I guess... And you're good. Seriously. Don't worry about it."

Her shoulders loosen a little.

You're still smiling when you catch her scrolling on her phone a minute later, sitting on a plastic stool behind the counter.

"Are you shopping for pajamas?"

Her ears turn pink.

"Not really. Just browsing. And not just for pajamas."

"Oh I see."

You go back to work but not for long.

Her screen shows a dainty sundress in pale yellow. Then another. Then something with little bows.

You raise an eyebrow. "Cute."

She startles and tilts the phone away.

Sneaky little–

"Mind your business."

"Oh, I will. Right after we go shopping."

"What?"

"You heard me. We're going. I'm kidnapping you, after your shift that is."

Hyun-ju flushes.

"I'm not gonna try anything on" she says automatically, eyes darting.

"I didn't say let's go try stuff on. Just... Wanna come with me? I was going to check out that little boutique down the street after lunch either way."

Hyun-ju hesitates. This isn't an invitation. It's a threat.

But then you add, light and casual, "You can just make fun of my taste while sipping your stupid coffee, girl."

The boutique is small, sunlit, and lined with pastels. There's lo-fi K-pop playing from an unseen speaker. Mirrors everywhere. Rattan baskets holding scrunchies and tiny crop tops. It smells like drugstore make-up and wood polish.

She tries not to make eye contact with the mannequins in their ruffled skirts and ribbed tanks.

You're bouncing between racks, holding up options.

"What about this one? You'd look adorable in this lilac."

Hyun-ju pretends to study the hanger, but really, she's trying not to think about how the satin might feel. How it would cling. She just mumbles a "Yeah, maybe" in response.

You hold up a camisole with thin straps and lace.

"You don't have to try anything on, obviously" you go on without losing a beat. "But if you wanted to? I could help. I mean—I help my friends shop all the time."

Hyun-ju swallows. "Okay."

Just that. Okay.

You "dive" deeper into a sale rack and pull out something softer. Two cotton PJ sets, short-shirt combo, printed with tiny strawberries. You lift them high like trophies.

"Okay but imagine this with, like, your bedhead and a glass of chocolate milk. Peak morning experience."

Hyun-ju laughs, despite herself. "You are deranged..."

"You're not wrong."

You end up with two armfuls of nonsense and lead the way to the dressing rooms. Hyun-ju follows. Her throat is a bit dry.

Two stalls. Thin walls.

The curtains don't quite shut properly, but what's new, right?

Hyun-ju undresses slowly. Undergarments stay on. She pulls the soft cotton PJ top over her torso. It does cling a little. Rests gently at her hips. It's too feminine. Too revealing. Too good.

"This is what a girl wears to bed when she's kissed someone goodnight" she thinks.

From the next stall over... "Hyun-juuuuu... Can I see?"

Hyun-ju hesitates. Then cracks open the curtain.

There you are, bright and already barefoot in your own set of sleep shorts and tank top.

You're standing there like it's nothing. No bra. Hair a little mussed from pulling your shirt over your head. There's a faint stretch mark on your thigh and Hyun-ju's brain short-circuits.

Not sexually. Reverently.

She tries not to stare. So do you.

Both fail.

The line of her collarbone, the faint stretch mark on your thigh.

You look her up and down.

Then giggle. Snap out of it.

"That pattern really does look nice on you."

She nods, but then you step closer.

"Mind if I—?"

You don't wait. Light fingers. A thumb smoothing the hem. A palm grazing the side of her waist.

"This okay?"

Hyun-ju freezes and suppresses a shudder. Nods. Barely.

You smile. Quiet. Kind.

"You've got a good body, you know. Even with all this… pressure you put on yourself."

She exhales. Her lashes flutter. And then...

"Why do you always look at me like you're starving?"

That's it.

That's the sentence of all sentences ever uttered.

Her breath stutters. Her hands twitch at her sides. She shifts and feels it –the heat, the ache of being too close to someone she can't have.

You're looking up at her. Big eyes and parted lips, trusting and open.

"Do you want to kiss me?" you whisper.

Hyun-ju leans in.

Your noses nearly touch.

She huffs.

"Don't ask things you don't mean, you big mouth. I–Why do I always have to repeat myself around you? Anyw–"

"Who says I don't?" you reply, cutting her off.

The kiss doesn't land.

The kiss doesn't happen.

Not quite.

Hyun-ju pulls back at the last second. Enough to make it hurt. Enough to make it clear that she wants to. Not enough to satisfy.

"I can't" she murmurs.

"Why?" you ask, a little desperate now.

"Because if I start… I'm afraid I won't know how to stop."

The aftermath?

You dress in silence. No storm. Just a strange hush. Your cheeks are pink, but you don't look angry. Just thoughtful.

Hyun-ju disappears into the restroom. Takes forever. Re-adjusts herself. Fixes her makeup, her bangs. Tells herself she's overreacting. That it didn't mean anything, as usual.

The irony.

Still, her body won't calm down. And her brain keeps replaying the touch of your hands on her hips. The way your lips parted.

The way she almost let herself want.

"She looked at me again. Not like I was wrong or unfinished. She looked at me like I was allowed to want her. And I hated it. And I wanted her more!

Her pupils dilated, I'm sure of it. Her breathing turned heavier. She wants me. She wants me. She wants me. She wants me and she's not hiding it.

She likes dick. That's her thing... I think? She talks about it like she's talking about perfumes, just part of her joy. So where does that leave me?

No, no, no. She's not just a girl who "likes dick." That was just her default, what she was told, what seemed easiest. She's like me in that regard—

Does she want me? Or the outline I'm trying to hide under three layers of fabric and years of shame?

If she touches me there… will she still say my name like I'm a woman?

Yes, yes she will. Because we'll both be wearing our strawberry PJs and I'll make her blush and she'll hide between my breasts."

The next store is equally small. It smells like cotton candy from a diffuser tucked behind the counter. Blushy pink lights glow above racks of various garments.

The plan was to hit just one shop, but you had seen something that caught your eye on the display outside of this one.

"This is normal. Girls shop together all the time. Girls have crushes on girls. Just keep it normal, Hyun-ju."

She repeats it like a mantra. It doesn't help.

You're already dragging her toward the back of the store, pointing out the dressing room curtain and beaming.

"Come on. It's more fun if we both squeeze in."

Hyun-ju hesitates. "I don't—"

"You already saw me in that baby-pink disaster" you grin. "Your turn."

She follows you behind the cheap velvet curtain with two hangers clutched to her chest: one simple A-line navy dress, one sleeveless forest green maxi thing that makes her look like she is royalty in a period drama.

She fidgets with both, obviously torn.

You're already plopped on the little stool, phone out, watching her undress through the mirror's reflection.

She's careful. Precise. Turns away to remove her shirt, keeps her bra on. Folds her pants. Steps into the dress like it might shatter.

It doesn't. It fits like sin. It looks like sin.

Your throat closes.

"Sweetie, you have to get that one."

Hyun-ju turns, looks at herself, then back at you, while also placing her hands on her to-die-for biceps.

"It's not practical. The other one's cheaper as well. I could wear that with a shirt over it. Or leggings underneath."

"Sure" you say, but you're still staring.

The top you originally dragged her in here for? Thrown into Lethe's waters.

She doesn't buy the dress, even though she knows she looks good. She just doesn't know how to receive that –yet.

Eventually, she changes back and makes her way to the counter with the A-line dress. You trail behind, feigning interest in some overpriced phone charms.

You watch her card tremble slightly as she taps it.

Then, you double back to the rack. Pick out the green dress again. Fold it discreetly over your arm.

She's too busy re-tying her jacket around her waist to notice. The cashier raises an eyebrow at you but says nothing. You pay quietly, with a wink. The bag is thin and pink and smells like vanilla.

Outside, you nudge it toward her.

"What's this?"

You shrug. "You were glowing. I didn't want the dress to feel sad."

"Are you insane? That's—no, I'm paying you back. Or I'm returning it, there's no way—"

You gently place a manicured finger on her lips, shushing her.

"Shhh. You're really going to ruin this romantic gesture with capitalism?"

She snorts, more flustered than she's been all day.

"I didn't ask for a romantic gesture."

"That's the point missy!"

You keep walking.

She follows, clutching the bag like it might disappear.

She doesn't thank you aloud.

But you catch her smiling into her shoulder more than once.

Life doesn't stop for anyone or anything.

Just like work.

The shift ends slow.

Someone forgot to turn off the cafeteria's playlist's loop, so the same syrupy ballad is playing for the third time as you wipe down counters with increasingly aggressive flourishes.

It's not part of your job to clean this area, but what can you do...

Hyun-ju pretends to clean the floor nearby, though she's really just watching your reflection in the window –how your updo swings when you turn, how your nostrils flare in disapproval at the task at hand.

You don't talk much. Not after the weird energy of the day before.

It lingers, like steam off a just rinsed pot. Tense. Quiet. Something that wants to become words and keeps failing.

It's only once you're clocked out and in the cramped back room when Hyun-ju finally says, voice rough and barely above a whisper, "Sorry."

You look up from your bag. "For?"

"For whatever… snippy thing I said yesterday. And my tone, again."

She grimaces. "I wasn't mad at you. I was... frustrated with myself. I'm not as comfortable as you in certain aspects..."

You don't ask for details. You don't press.

You just smile.

"You're allowed to have moods, y'know" you say, slipping your jacket on with casual grace. "I get it. God knows I'm not the saint of emotional regulation either."

Hyun-ju doesn't answer. Not out loud. But she breathes a little easier after that.

Maybe it's the military habit of being stoic, keeping things in. Maybe it's just how she's survived so far. Still, her gaze lingers on you for a beat too long, something unreadable flickering in her eyes.

You step closer. Not too close. Just enough.

"Hey" you murmur softly. "Come here."

She blinks at you, unsure. But when you open your arms, wide and nonchalant, she hesitates only a second before stepping in.

She's stiff at first, like someone who's clearly not used to being held. But then her chin bumps your shoulder and she exhales through her nose, quiet and steady.

Her arms come around you after that. Tentative and careful.

You hold her like it's the most normal thing in the world, like it's a daily occurrence –which is not but you'd like it to become one.

Not tight. Not overwhelming. Just there.

And she melts into it... Slowly, subtly, like snow softening under the sunlight's warmth.

"Goodnight, Hyun-ju" you whisper into her hair.

She doesn't say it back, just nods.

And that's enough.

Thank you for reading! I appreciate you 🩷🌻

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hedwig221b · 4 months ago

Note

Hello! First, I want to say that I absolutely adore all of your fics, and I love your recommendations. I was wondering if you have any super long Derek fics, I'm not picky on tropes. I just love long fics, peferably 50k or over! Thank you :)

Hi! Thank you so much! I don't know if you wanted Derek-centric fics, or if that was just a typo, so I put together a list of sterek fics over 50k words. Lmk if you wanted Derek-centric ones!

This one's very long...

If You're Lost, You Can Look and You Will Find Me by DaisyBeats

Derek left once the Nogitsune had been defeated, needing to get away from that god forsaken town. 18 year old Stiles is just trying to get through the rest of his senior year without killing his 'best friend' Scott… and missing Derek too much. Stiles goes home one day to find a young man sitting on his bed with no idea how he got there. "Derek?!"

Again, From the Middle by rlnerdgirl

One would think the nogitsune rearing its ugly head again twelve years after having arrived in Stiles’ life the first time would have been the worst of his problems. Surprisingly, or not, it’s the beginning of them. In the aftermath of trying to find a solution to eradicate a thing that cannot be killed, Stiles finds himself a stranger in a strange land. One where the nemeton is a whole tree, the Hale house isn’t burnt to a crisp, and all the Hales are alive and living little Hallmark miracle lives. It’s… disorienting to say the least. Though getting to know a Derek that’s never killed, never been a victim, and never lost is an entirely different matter altogether. It’d be the perfect world, if it were his. For better or worse, Stiles has a world and a home of his own. A dad, friends, and thriving entrepreneurial employment that he’s left behind. All, hopefully, sans nogitsune. Unless he managed to mess that up along with displacing himself. Of course, getting back isn’t nearly as easy as getting… wherever he is. Partly because he has no clue how he got here.

My Name is Derek Hale by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

"What day is it?” Derek demanded. “What?” “The day! What day is today?!” Derek let Stiles go, but only so he could reach into his pocket and pull out his phone. He tapped at the home screen, and then went so perfectly still that Stiles was pretty sure this guy wasn’t human. No human could stand that still. When it was clear Derek wasn’t going to move again without some prompting, Stiles said, “It’s Wednesday.” “That’s impossible,” Derek whispered. “Not really, it comes around every seven days.” “This is impossible,” Derek said again, looking around himself, as if he was searching for something.

Actions Speak Louder than Words by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

"I apologize.” The cop finally looked back up at his face, seeming thrilled. “It’s just—it’s been so long. And we finally have you.” That was a bad word. Not found. Have. Stiles wrenched his hand free and took a step back, but before he could even think up a gameplan, he felt a prick in his neck and jerked away, reaching up to slap one hand against it and twisting in the same moment. One of the others had come up behind him while he hadn’t been paying attention, and his vision began to swim even as his eyes caught sight of the half-empty syringe the guy was holding.

My, What Big Shoulders You Have (The Better to Help You Carry the Weight) by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

"Talia was just telling me an interesting story,” his dad informed him. Stiles didn’t have the nerve to glance over at him, because he knew no matter how much he argued, the proof was all there. The wolves had found him, Parrish had picked him up on the side of the road, he had a fucking picture on his phone. He was screwed. No point in arguing, all it’d do is piss his father off even more. “You don’t say,” Stiles offered slowly. “What uh—you know, I like stories. Is it a uh, good one?” “It seems to be a matter of opinion,” Talia said with another kind smile. “I hear you had quite the night last night.” Okay, time to cut his losses. He was already fucked, all he could do was apologize and hope she didn’t press for him to get fined and arrested. Given he was her husband’s friend’s son, he had high hopes. “I’m really sorry,” Stiles blurted out. “It was stupid and-and irresponsible and just—I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have crossed into your territory. I should’ve known better, I do know better! It was a complete lapse in judgement and I am just—I am so sorry.”

What Fresh Twilight Bullshit Is This? by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

"I am not Bella!” he insisted, shaking his fist angrily at Jackson, as if he’d been the one to suggest he was. “I am not Bella! I am, like, a Jacob, at least!” Lydia made a noise of debate from his right and he whipped around to look at her. “What?! What was that sound?!” “You’re more of a Mike,” she insisted, shrugging neatly and flipping some curls over her shoulder. “Wha—” Stiles had never been so offended in his life! “I am not! No way! I am a solid Jacob!” “Mike,” she argued. “Who’s Mike?” Scott asked. “Shut up, Scott!” Stiles insisted, pointing a finger at him but still glaring at Lydia.

Don't Savage The Messenger by exclamation

There is an uneasy truce between the werewolves in the woods and the humans who live in Beacon Hills, protected by a magical boundary that gives warning any time a werewolf crosses it. Then the sheriff is taken by the werewolves and his son offers himself in exchange. Stiles promises to serve the werewolf pack, not knowing what horrible use they might have for him. But it turns out his most useful skill is the ability to cross the boundary line between humans and werewolves. Life with the werewolves is nothing like he feared and the werewolves themselves are nothing like the hunters' stories would have him believe.

Waiting by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

Not wanting to think on it too much, Stiles took a step forward and passed his hand between the bars, moving the bleeding side closer to Derek’s mouth. “Not too close, he bites.” Stiles snatched his hand away just as Derek had been about to lick at it. The snarl he got in response was not comforting. “He what?” Stiles asked nervously, turning to Deaton. The man looked a little amused. “Don’t worry, only if he doesn’t like you.” “Well, he probably hates me, now!” Stiles insisted, turning back to Derek. He looked extremely displeased.

By Any Other Name (I Will Always Feel the Same) by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

Stiles very slowly reached up with both hands and covered his neck as best he could before whispering, “Are you Vampires?” “What? No.” Derek couldn’t help the small laugh of disbelief that slid up his throat, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. It didn’t matter that he was thousands of years old, or that he was bigger and stronger than Stiles was. Somehow, he was pretty sure once this conversation was over, Stiles was going to be able to crush him like a bug, and he hated that feeling. “Didn’t you say he was smart?” Boyd asked. “Hey,” Stiles insisted, turning to him with a glare but not removing his hands from his neck. “Vampires is a perfectly logical guess in this case. And he said I was right on the Supernatural front. Vampires are Supernatural.” “He said you weren’t wrong,” Boyd corrected. “Not that you were right.” “Well, the opposite of wrong is right, so…” Stiles gave him a look, but turned back to Derek relatively quickly, as if realizing he was delaying his own answers. “We’re not Vampires,” Derek said, then let out a small sigh before admitting, “we’re immortal.” Or: The Old Guard AU nobody asked for (except me).

the poets are right by endversed

"Actually, I don’t give a fuck who you are,” Derek says, curling his lip harshly. “This is private property. How the fuck did you even get in?” In an act of quick placation, Stiles throws up two palms facing outwards in front of his chest. His eyebrows knit together as he hastily and vehemently begins to shake his head, trying desperately to telegraph just how severely Derek has grasped at the wrong end of the stick here. “Hey, whoa,” he says. “That’s not –” “You need to get the fuck out of here before I call the cops.” Derek pauses a moment, his nostrils flaring just a second before his eyes flash burning red, his entire face screwing up in this expression of pure disgust that sends a shiver down Stiles’ spine. “Christ, and you’re a human? A human omega? What kind of fucking moron breaks into a werewolves’ house when they’re just a weak fucking human?” An alpha werewolf and a human omega: a love story that was never supposed to happen.

Divided We Stand by KouriArashi

Derek is being pressured by his family to pick a mate, and somehow stumbles into a choice that they didn't expect and aren't sure they approve of….

With Blood on Your Teeth by Melpomene (Aconitehart)

When his dad speaks, it's in a carefully neutral voice. "You saw two wolves tonight." "One wolf," Stiles corrects. "The other was messed up. It had a wolf face, yes, but it was…" He trails off, not sure how to describe the wrongness of it. The way its muscles moved beneath its skin, rippling and bulging unnaturally. "It wasn't right." The sheriff nods. "And you magically threw this deformed wolf across the store?" "I didn't say it was magic." "A beam of light shoots out of your hands," the sheriff says dryly, "and tosses a wolf several feet away. You don't consider that magic?" Stiles fiddles with his IV. It's pumping fluids into him, but not morphine, unfortunately. He could use some unconscious euphoria right now. "I don't know what it was," Stiles says finally. "It's just what happened." His dad sighs. "Do you know that all wolves in this state are tracked? They have electronic collars on. Every wolf in California is a dot on a map somewhere." Stiles bites the inside of his mouth. "There are no wolves around Beacon Hills," the sheriff says definitively.

What I Did On My Summer Vacation by grimm

There's something weird about Beacon Hills that Stiles can't quite put his finger on. The way everyone in town knows his name the day he arrives. The way they insist the melancholic howling that echoes through the forest every night is just a dog. The way his dad denies getting a dog, even though Stiles comes home to find one sprawled across his bed, some big black thing whose eyes gleam red in the right light. The way that massive oak tree out in the woods vibrates under his touch, pulsing with sickly life. There's something weird going on in this town, and Stiles is determined to get to the bottom of it.

A Tale of Two Princes by AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle

Given his nature of who he was, Derek Hale, only son to Talia and Marcus Hale, never expected to be married. Hell, he didn't even appear in public. But, after the war with the Argents, their country needed stability. And a political marriage suited that. Shame it had to be the prince of their neighbors to the south. Stiles had no idea where his life would take him. But a marriage of convenience to the crown prince of one of their neighboring countries wasn't exactly on his mind. He had to admit, it would have it perks. Both for the royal family, and for his country. He just didn't know anything about werewolves. Especially ones who were cursed out the ass. Oh well, he'd figure things out as he went.

between the click of the light and the start of the dream by thepsychicclam

A twig snaps, and then Stiles hears breathing and the rustle of leaves. He strains to get a better glimpse into the darkness, but it’s pointless. There’s nothing but a black void. It's Stiles' senior year, and he's trying to concentrate on normal things - like the lacrosse championship, spring break, prom, graduation (and definitely not Derek) - when he starts having nightmares and waking up in the middle of nowhere. Oh yeah, and he's being haunted by a hag. Great.

Protect and Serve by MoonlitMemories

Stiles discovers the Nemeton starting to grow again in the preserve on Hale land. What does that mean for the pack? More importantly: why does the Nemeton seem so attached to Stiles?

Not Alone by ModeratelyScathed

When an unexpected visitor shows up with news that leaves Stiles reeling, he suspects that his entire world is about to change. But maybe that's not such a bad thing.

Daybreak by TheObsidianQuill

"There . . ." Stiles swallowed and looked down at the bottle in his grasp as he slowly swirled the amber liquid inside. "There's really nothing left. For me. Everyone is . . . gone, and it feels like I haven't thought of tomorrow in years." His words rang in the air like a gunshot, he took another heavy drink. "I would trade every last breath I take to just have another shot—not even a guarantee, just a chance to make things right and bring back even one of them." The pack was gone. He had nothing left. He had no one. With nothing to lose, Stiles puts everything on the line to go back in time to try to prevent the future from becoming his past. Broken, guarded, and haunted by his past, only one overgrown-pup of a wolf seems able to get past his defenses. Changing the future? Easy. Finding a place for himself in the Hale Pack? Impossible.

Shatter My Reality by Halevetica

Months after the nogitsune, Stiles starts to see his own face around town. He dismisses it as PTSD. That is, until Lydia starts having a feeling that Stiles is going to die. As the pack scramble to find out what is going on, Stiles is forced to face a ghost from a past he didn't know he had and a future that seems to threaten his place in the pack.

In Case The Daylight Never Comes by plume_bob

There's a relentless dark shape tearing through the pack and that's only the half of it. Stiles just wants to sleep and stop being haunted by the faces of his night-time tormentors. His dad thinks he's suffering from post-traumatic stress, Scott thinks he's suffering the after-effects of the ritual; Stiles thinks they're both reasonable theories, except for the part where Derek Hale is the only thing that can take his nightmares away and it seems that fact is no coincidence.

An Apple's Blossom by Dexterous_Sinistrous

Derek had an aura about him—one that drew you into his orbit despite the warning of an imminent threat. It was like a dream, more than Stiles realized at first. Because it wasn’t real. Nothing about the man Stiles had started to fall in love with—romanticize—was real. ~*~ Stiles is a recently graduated art student who agrees to marry his family's rival, only to realize that maybe love is a little more complicated than he first thought.

Cloaked in Gold by kaistrex (weishen)

Stiles' world tilts, the bed dipping as a weight settles over him, caging him in. Growling. His eyes flutter open in distant confusion as hot air sweeps over his throat and he stares up at twin beams of gold shining inches from his face. Werewolf. Stiles does the only thing he can. “DAD!” The werewolf jumps at the sudden shout, blanketing him tighter, and it’s only seconds until his dad is in his bedroom doorway with Melissa close behind, flicking on the light. Stiles' mouth drops open as he stares up at the thick eyebrows, sharp nose and perfectly groomed stubble of a golden-eyed and fanged Derek Hale. - When son of the Alpha, Derek Hale, ends up in his bed in heat, Stiles decides to use it to his advantage and secure the Bite for his sick stepbrother. As he and his family are welcomed into the Hale pack, Stiles grows closer to Derek than he'd ever dreamed he'd get, but with the fanged Soulbite of a born wolf on Derek's neck, he knows he's just setting himself up for heartbreak. Derek has a Soulmate out there, and it definitely isn't Stiles.

When the Dust Has Settled by halcyon1993

After Gerard’s defeat, no one is sure where they stand. Stiles is angry at Scott and doesn’t know why his head is suddenly filled with thoughts of Derek Hale. Derek doesn’t know why Scott’s betrayal isn’t as painful as the prospect of Stiles being in on it. As they ignore their developing feelings for each other, a freshly resurrected Peter Hale schemes to get them together. No one ever said he’d go easy on them, though. After all, where would be the fun in that?

Shovels and Dirt by bellefire

The nogitsune’s power doesn’t leave Stiles after the spirit is defeated. No, it seems Stiles was changing and knowing what that darkness did to his friends he refuses to put them in danger again. He leaves without a word. Now in a new city with not quite new friends Stiles realizes no one can run forever. Because family doesn’t back down and also, yeah, that fuckin’ tree really is talking to him.

And some of mine, as a cherry on top

Twilight

Derek. Stiles thought about him the most. Something told him that it wasn’t the last time, far from it. He thought about his softness and his open desire to kill. Stiles’ hands remembered the heat of his hands. His neck longed to feel the coating warmth of Derek’s breath. His lips burned from the kiss that never happened. Everything was so fucking complicated. Except one thing. It was the only clear thought in his head. The one that made his stomach clench from fear, his heart stutter from hope, and his lips stretch in a smile. He was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with Derek.

Yes To Heaven

Stiles ruined him. The damage was irreparable. He didn’t want the food that wasn’t made by Stiles or shared with him; the water tasted stale; the clothes were asphyxiating and scratchy; the air was wrong, wrong without Stiles’ scent in it. Fuck, what was wrong with him? How could that pretty little thing change him so much? He had an iron grip on his control before, being in tandem with his instincts, but within weeks, all of it was gone. As soon as he thought of Stiles, though, of his scent, his moans, and the little wrinkle on his forehead as he orgasmed, his mind settled. What was life before Stiles? Everything was somewhere far, far away, forgotten, bleak, and meaningless. Derek thought he knew what light was as he looked at the microscopic dots of the stars above. Then Stiles came into his life and showed him the sun.

Predators

He was born for this. Nature itself whispered into his ear where he should put his hands, how to twirl his tongue just right and when to bite. Stiles knew well enough that his saliva was currently working its magic on this unfortunate man, making him hungry, lustful, and insatiable. Soon, all his thoughts would be consumed by Stiles. And, just this once, Stiles would allow Derek to consume him.

Treasure

"I know you don’t trust me,” Derek grunted. When Stiles inhaled to retort, Derek caught his chin and pressed a finger against his lips, making the boy freeze in place, eyes impossibly wide. “Don’t argue. I expected it. Wolves don’t trust easily, too. I just wanted you to know that… I’m sorry. I was selfish and didn’t see what was in front of me. You don’t need to worry. I’ll take care of everything.” It was a thought that grew in his mind, spread to his heart and took root there, reincorporating into a deep desire and a vital need. Derek will take care of him and his little pup, he’ll bring the hearts of his enemies and put them at the boy’s feet. He’ll court and he’ll conquer.

Wait For Me

"Stiles, we know about your Spark,” Scott looked at Stiles with desperate eyes, trying to convey something. “He is the Werewolf who's been chasing you. You must run. We’ll help you…” Stiles stared at his friend, genuinely concerned for his sanity, because the nonsense he was sputtering was really fucking confusing.

[masterlist link]

#sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #sterek fic #stiles x derek #sterek fanfic #sterek fanfiction #derek x stiles #sterek au #sterek fic rec #sterek ao3 #teen wolf fic #teen wolf fanfic #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf fic rec #teen wolf sterek #teen wolf derek #teen wolf stiles #teen wolf au

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playerninth · 10 months ago

Text

P.S I LIKE YOU (TOO) ⪧ DAY 13 OF PIWONTOBER

non idol!jiung x fem!reader (smut mdni)

彡 – everything transpired after a single drunken mistake—you and your best friend getting inspired after watching: ‘to all the boys i’ve loved before’ one friday night after midterm week had dragged on. except, you weren’t lara jean covey. and no one’s exactly a peter kavinsky in your life. all you’ve got is a last chance to retake your econ class for the second time, and an undeniably attractive guy as a project partner. a thought you wouldn’t express out loud. but what if he accidentally receives your drunk written love letter detailing just how much you thought of it so?

author's note: the way this thing had a billion revisions before reaching this stage... anyway, although i'm incredibly late TT i'm still very excited to share with you guys yet another jiung fic!! also, i can't forget to mention how amazing @kisseobie and @sxfterhearts are for hosting piwontober & bringing the p1ece community together♡ it's my first time joining these sort of events, and i had a lot of fun writing! + apologies for any typos! :(

word count: 7.9k

warnings: smut, blackmail, make up sex, face-sitting, seven minutes in heaven

comments are welcome♡ i'd love to hear your thoughts!

despite being drunk out of your mind to the point you've written that piece of tangible regret, you remember the same night all too well—the clock ticks past after hours as the mingling whiff of alcohol and a box of left over pizza hangs in the air. you were surprised you've managed to drag yourself all the way to the weekend, remnants of grueling exams left unspoken between you and your best friend whom you share a dorm room with. midterms weren't really worth mentioning when you could drown in gossip and delude about your hypothetical boyfriends.

from random guys in class, to boybands, and above all: celebrities in cheesy romcoms you've rewatched an abnormal amount. that certain night's choice was a classic between you and your best friend: 'to all the boys i've loved before.'

except, you weren't lara jean covey. and no one's exactly a peter kavinsky in your life. yet, hell breaks loose when you receive a text from choi jiung one fated morning that had you unleash a piercing shriek, and thankfully, had locked yourself in a stall at an empty bathroom in the middle of your university campus.

not like that makes things any better than they already are.

enclosed within the four cramped walls of the bathroom stall was a feeling you'd never forget—the continuous drip of the leaking faucet and silence amplified the thudding beat of your heart. the screen of your phone glowing faintly as you stare at the message you've left on read for the past five minutes: a photo jiung had sent of the letter you've written that certain night after getting wrongfully inspired from lara jean's dilemma. unfortunately detailing an exaggerated confession on your unfiltered thoughts of jiung being totally attractive. hot, even. a running commentary on everything you wouldn’t express out loud.

this fiasco would probably cost you a couple of months avoiding a bottle of soju, because how are you going to dodge yourself out of this one? especially when his follow up message adds further salt to the wound—the envelope clearly stating your full name and address in bold, inked letters.

the seconds stretch out as the cramped stall started feeling a bit stuffier, your shaky fingers hovering over the keyboard in contemplation. you’d normally block him and just fail the damn class if it were like any other instance, except… it was your last chance to retake this subject. you couldn’t afford another fuck up.

[9:07] jiung: this letter’s handwriting strangely matches the one on your notes

[9:09] jiung: before you try to deny anything

all you ever wanted at that moment was to strangle yourself... because a love letter so vulnerable like that has no place being in a pile of notes, and to be given to your partner for a class project. when you thought handing him the material would be the end of it (after being utterly sick of his self-centered work ethic), but the universe had plans otherwise.

[9:13] y/n: it wasn’t something you’re supposed to see

[9:14] jiung: but i did

[9:16] y/n: i was drunk, okay? can we please forget about it?

[9:18] jiung: and people say drunk words are sober thoughts

[9:20] y/n: do i look like i care about stupid bullshit like that rn

[9:22] jiung: oh

[9:22] jiung: so you don’t care if people other than me see this letter?

[9:23] y/n: what

[9:24] y/n: you can’t just use that against me??

[9:26] jiung: let’s see how well this thing means so much to you then

[9:27] y/n: ???

and when you thought you’d never see the pulsating, message bubble as he types as such a dreadful thing, your nerves suspended in the most excruciating minutes. 9:28, 9:29… 9:30...

[9:31] jiung: main library, 2pm, this friday. oct 13

that was, a distant week ago. you figured you should probably show up this time, all in the name of having the existence of the letter stay between the two of you. even if it meant having to deal with the growing habit of waking up in the middle of the night from the anxiety crawling upon your thoughts. until once and for all, the day came.

your feet felt rather heavier that day, dragging your mopey figure through the winding halls of the university. the halloween spirit on campus feeling far too suffocating, the orange and black streamers hanging from the ceilings a mere blur. other people were buzzing about the upcoming university halloween party at the end of the month, yet all you ever wished was that you were some random skull decor perched at a corner, undisturbed. and that you weren't nearing the doors to the main library, a sight that you loathed with your whole being.

and there he was, choi jiung. the guy wreaking havoc in your life. okay, well—maybe not that actively, but he's been a constant force you're trying to push toward the back of your mind ever since you made such a stupid mistake, to the point you don’t even know how you could redeem yourself.

“hey,”

“hey.” you're surprised you even managed to croak out a reply, finding yourself unable to maintain eye contact with him for more than two seconds–pathetically.

you were about to claim the seat in front of him before he raises a familiar envelope nestled within his fingers, and you wasted absolutely no time at the chance. snatching the thing with vigor just to rip it to smithereens, earning a few glares from other people in the library. you couldn't care less.

jiung lets out a laugh underneath his breath, adorably irritating so, as he watches fragments of the letter fall before him like confetti. you finally settled on a seat across him, and the further time dragged on, the more it seemed to prove your written letter right.

he was undeniably magnetic, from the way his clothes drape over his shoulders, his bangs framing his face with its stark black—the waft of his perfume despite the distance. your gaze can't help itself from shifting over to his fingers with every turn of a page, almost as if he was the perfect distraction.

and that tie sitting on his collar, really? what was his major again? you couldn't be bothered to muse over whether or not academia fashion was a staple for whatever program he was taking, especially when you couldn't blame him. 'cause he truly held a sort of charm that makes you wanna ravish him right then and there. that you had to remind yourself: time and place, his glasses beginning to lean crooked subtly to the side before his finger pushed it further up his nose bridge. ultimately turning back to you—who already had eyes on him, locked.

jiung speaks, faintly registered in your currently preoccupied head. honestly, the only qualm you carry against him is that he wants to get things done, his way. which is partly the reason why this partner project has gotten awry, his ego clashing a horrible amount with your stubbornness. guess not everyone can have it after all.

of course you had to have it figured out eventually. even if it had to cost you biting down your tongue from spewing possible scathing remarks with his every word. due to the fact that any moment you tried to challenge his ideas, he'd quote all the lines he could possibly remember from your embarrassing letter. and it was only the librarian's stare pinning you down from grabbing jiung by the hair out of annoyance, because the both of you were causing quite a bit of disturbance.

“you know, i can't deny that little love letter of yours was kinda cute.” he leans forward, loving the way your face morphs into irritation.

“cute? you think it's cute that i accidentally confessed about—” you caught yourself, clearing your throat before rolling your eyes at him. “i mean, whatever. just concentrate.”

“hey, hey. finish it. about what? your quote on quote, suppressed feelings for me?” god, you so badly wanted to slap that smirk out of his face.

you could only manage to groan, running a hand through your hair. “no! i mean my deep annoyance at your inability to take me seriously, to take this project seriously!”

“excuse me, could you keep it down? this is a library.” you immediately turn towards the librarian, clutching a hand over your mouth at the realization that you might've… raised your voice a little too loud.

“sorry,” you muttered, eyes fixated on your notes sprawled over the table. “we were just—”

“working very loudly?” the librarian cut you off, and the worst part is–jiung still had the audacity to look at you with much mischief in his eyes. and that stupid smirk. “if you can’t keep quiet, i'm kindly asking you to leave.”

and that was… the last of what you've heard once you began gathering your things out of embarrassment, jiung trailing behind you like a lost puppy as you pretend you don't even know who he is, walking towards the nearest exit.

maybe choi jiung really is a constant force in your life. despite the day at the library being the last time you’d spend with him until presentations came tomorrow, it felt as if he never really left your mind. constantly drifting like a cloud over your head, lingering. and you so desperately wanted to bury him as a distant memory. busying yourself with other major projects, going out with friends, and the main event that the everyone’s been buzzing about for weeks: the awaited university halloween party.

it worked to distract you for the most part, lost within the crowd sprawled over the expanse of the green field, now only a crackle of grass beneath your heels. lights flickered along with the thump of the music’s bass. you watched the collective silhouette of people dressed in costumes, either tipsy out of their mind or buzz undying. you’d probably be seen with a red cup full of alcohol in hand, if you hadn’t sworn to yourself that you wouldn’t be touching a bottle of soju until a few months time. remnants of your little disaster from not too long ago trying to haunt you.

and so you turned to the cold air nipping at your bare skin, which you have to thank your skimpy little black dress for. the racy outfit you’d put together in an excuse to dress up as a witch, seductively at that. you partly regret bringing your witch hat with you despite contemplating about it a while ago, having to deal with the thing repeatedly slipping over your eyes. making a simple task of opening your phone to a flood of text messages, a challenge. after a couple of foiled attempts, you managed to get the gist—and that your friends are waiting for you at some frat house to join an after party.

the main event endlessly unfolds despite midnight fastly approaching. dragging your feet towards the front part of the crowd where it pulsed with much more energy, hopefully making your way towards the right direction of the area near the frat house. the music echoed like it wanted you to stay for a while, lose yourself to the beat as you tried to keep your witch hat tilted upright. not until another drag of the hat back up had your eyes flickering towards the dj manning the booth. keeping the night alive as lights hung overhead, casting a glow behind his figure and perfectly accentuating his side profile. yet the more your gaze traced the curve of his nose, the tousle of his hair as he let himself move to the rhythm.

for a split second the lights confirmed your suspicion, except you didn’t want to say anything. say his name, his everything, crawling back to your mind. you’d even forgotten why you were trying to erase him from your thoughts. maybe, just maybe… it wouldn’t be too bad to keep your eyes rested on him this time around. and it wasn’t as if you could turn away if you tried regardless.

there was something about catching sight of this side of him you never knew he had. at that moment, it felt like it was only the both of you existing in a bubble of your own. there was quite a distance between his position at the makeshift stage and yours below; nevertheless, the sparkle within his eyes didn’t go unnoticed. and in that moment nothing else mattered, the difficulty of trying to tear your stare away from him weighing over you.

no, no, no. not again. not this time.

the after party at the frat house, right.

reality comes crashing in once more, blinking rapidly as you tried to bump your way through the crowd. glancing everywhere you could to seek refuge, any way out, somewhere. mind racing with a mantra, “forget him forget him forget about him,” suppressing everything you’ve ever thought of the moment you laid eyes on him. chalking it up to the fact that it was probably your unrequited feelings for him hitting you like a brick. but… it wasn’t like you were ever serious about him, weren’t you?

your feet felt heavy trying to keep him out of reach, away from the taunt of his presence. the further you tried to push through what seems to be the edge of the field had you jostled within the crowd, and it didn’t help the flashing lights began disorienting your vision. you hastily fish your phone out, scrolling for past messages to double check the location of the frat house. except you realized, you weren’t really sure where to go from here.

your chest tightens. trying to take in sharper breaths as the mass of people were closing in around you, trying to push more, yet was met with more resistance. the smell of alcohol and loud noise started swallowing you, panic rushing through your veins. this is bad. this is really really bad.

and all of a sudden you heard a faint call, your ears picking it up with its subtlety. it was a brief echo through the music, until you heard it once more.

“y/n! over here!”

you swiftly whip your head around to scan the blur of faces, pulse quickening—at last, your gaze landing on someone familiar.

“i’ve been looking for you for ages.” he pants, trying to catch his breath from approaching you through the tight crowd. yoon keeho, although clad in a rather comical vampire costume, brought you a sense of relief.

“you okay? you look…”

“yeah, i’m just…. i got a bit lost.” you admit, lacing your fingers through your hair after finally taking off your witch hat.

keeho lets out a laugh beneath his breath, earning a piercing glare from you before extending a hand out to point. “you’re better off at the after party with me, everyone else is here so… it isn’t too crowded there yet.”

you hum, clutching your purse before following as keeho steps towards the way out. “come on,”

and at that, the both of you slip away from the field with its chaos, music fading far beyond the distance.

within the frat house lingered the scent of alcohol from a previous round of beer pong. it was dimly lit, but you’ll know empty red cups are strewn around from its hollow crunch beneath accidental steps. the door trickled bit by bit with newcomers, the party outside eventually simmering down to a hum, occasionally cut with bursts of laughter and constant conversation. thank god keeho had found you.

yet that was a while ago. you couldn’t decipher the exact time but it seemed way past midnight. it was a stark contrast to the huddle of people buzzing in excitement, your figure amongst them in a circle on the floor. it was probably, what… like the third or fourth round of seven minutes in heaven? the poor closet door slams open to another couple exiting, far too all over each other than you’d like to witness.

it was like that for the past thirty minutes, having to sit through rounds of people shutting themselves within the closet as you were forced to hear thumps against the wall hear and there—and you’d rather not find out what had gone on. the soju bottle in the middle of your formed circle felt like a threat as it waits to be spun, yet you couldn’t manage to grasp out of the situation from keeho’s grip on your wrist.

“you’re not leaving until the bottle points to you.” his fingers tighten his hold, his other hand bringing a drink up to his lips.

"keeho, i don’t know these people!” you whisper-shouted, narrowing your brows at him.

and it wasn’t helping that it was proving especially difficult to take him seriously with the vampire get up he had on. "that’s the thrill about it? and when i thought you’ll live up to your words when you told me you’ll get out of your comfort zone right after high school.”

it was probably your over-ambitioned self talking back then. “we’re only juniors. we have plenty of time.”

"plenty of time? you only have a year, y/n”

you didn’t bother responding, yet he’s still trying his best to provoke a reaction out of you. “no one really stands out to me right now among these strangers if i’m going to be honest. but… maybe you’ll find someone that’s your type—”

"keeho, how many times do i have to tell you that i really don’t give a fuck about anyone else here right now.”

"yeah, that! fuck.” he drags the end of his sentence in such an overly teasing tone, flashing him a look like he just said something so outrageous, because indeed it was...

"mess around a little bit, you know. get frisky in that closet or something.”

"seven minutes isn’t enough for that.”

“yeah, you would know.”

you were on the verge of landing a smack over his shoulder when a chorus of gasps erupted, drawing your attention.

and just your luck, the bottle points to you.

all you could muster was a defeated sigh, waiting for the soju bottle to spin once more to select the stranger you’d be stuck with in that closet for an excruciating seven minutes. except it never came, and only a hand reaches out to snap you out of your thoughts.

“shall we?” oh. it was that same voice you wished you weren’t at all familiar with, looking above the shadow looming over you. akin to a moth towards a flame. and it’s just a matter of figuring out who’s who between the two of you.

choi jiung, wearing a smirk that tugged on his lips that you almost wanted to slap off him, like always. you did—well, slap his hand away from your face, rolling your eyes before rising and rushing towards the closet door as he follows.

you almost missed keeho’s words, “is that…” a comment faint in volume when he recalls the day you told him all about your ‘jiung fiasco’ during a phone call.

you drowned in silence inside the closet, not even bothering to turn the light on. figures slumped against the wooden walls across each other. you hugged your knees to your chest, hyper aware of how cramped the space was and your paralyzing fear of having your legs accidentally brush against his.

all you could hear was the frantic hammer of your heartbeat within your chest, sighing in relief that he couldn’t see the flush creeping over your expression. him, well… the most you could make out from the dimness was the stupid mask you hadn’t realized he put back on.

“take that damn ghostface mask off before i punch it out of your face.”

oh, and you regret saying that, 'cause he truly took the mask off, “as you wish.”

he looked so unbelievably hot. annoyingly disproportionate to his simple costume of black fabric draped over his figure, accentuating the broadness of his shoulders just right. along with his hair falling over his eyes and—no. not another monologue of being down bad. enough.

silence hung in the air once more, not like it ever left, but the noise from outside seemed to have drained away and all it was in the moment were you and jiung, paused.

"so, what’s up with… the situation lately?” he speaks up, breaking the silence.

"you know…” you find yourself trailing off, voice small.

"know what?"

“the letter,” you finished his sentence, fragility within your words. “i never meant for you to see it.”

"you’re mad because i found out about it? y/n it’s just a letter—”

"to you, jiung. for me it was my vulnerable thoughts out in the open. t-too personal.”

your voice began to break, the air feeling heavier by the minute. the absence of sound failed to muffle the thud within your pulse. further amplified when he rests his hand over yours perched atop your knee, his touch noticeably warm. you didn’t pull away.

"right, i’m sorry. i understand, i shouldn’t have said that.”

“it’s okay. it was a mistake of mine and—i kinda… made it feel weird between us because of that.” jiung’s lips part in search of words, though you couldn’t see. his fingers tried fiddling with yours, an attempt to ease your tentative tone.

"weird how?”

"you know, ‘cause…”

"hm?”

"shut up,” fuck. you weren’t supposed to let that slip out of your lips, far too affected from how effortlessly attractive he sounded from a single, minor hum. and he didn’t even mean for it to come across like that. “sorry i, just. i can’t face you right now.”

"take your time, y/n”

yet how can you think straight when he says your name like that? the softness his voice held, the gentle tone making your heart skip a beat without fail.

"i was just caught off guard when you… did the whole blackmail thing. i’d—i thought you would just laugh it off or whatever.” you scoff lightly.

"i wouldn’t ever mock you like that. i mean, i kinda did… joke around with you at the library but! i meant it, lightheartedly.”

"mhm.” his fingers remain fidgeting with yours, your eyes drifting downwards. “i just, wanted some space. it was humiliating for me, okay?”

and then it hit jiung with a click. he might’ve went too far with the whole blackmail thing. “i get that. i never meant for you to feel that way, i just… wanted a chance to talk to you further. and spend maybe... a bit more time together.” he clarified, eventually lacing his fingers with yours, closely.

"but deep down i kinda knew you wouldn’t like, rat me out to whoever. it’s part of why i came to like you—sorry i… i know you don’t like me back and i keep talking about my feelings for you and—”

"i never said i didn’t like you back.”

"huh?”

"tell me, when did i ever tell you i don’t like you?”

the question looped within your mind. except all that there ever was is a cloud of uncertainty, his intentions slipping through your grasp like sand. what does he even mean?

"jiung, you’re confusing me.”

then all of a sudden you watch as he bursts into laughter, and you hastily grab his ghostface mask from a corner to playfully smack it against his head.

"you’re so unbelievably dense.”

you click your tongue, shoulders slumping in defeat. "it’s always been a problem of mine, i just don’t know how to handle my feelings.”

the next few words came out almost in a whisper, despite feeling your most vulnerable. “it’s probably why i… don’t have much experience with… this kinda stuff, unlike my friends.”

his fingers ceased playing with yours, now taking both of your hands in his, enveloped around yours like it were meant to be like that. warm.

“you don’t have to deal with this alone, y/n”

the moment wound down once more at the silence that fell.

"okay, look. i’ll just say it once and for all.” his tone is firm, almost commanding you to lift your gaze up at him. “i really, really like you. and i want to be with you. can we start over? please?”

you didn’t know what to respond at that instance. held frozen in place, but the rush of emotion through your nerves acted otherwise. all at once, it came washing over you like a wave.

"jiung?” you call out to him, as there goes another one of his hums. “you mean it?”

"of course i do.” he’s kneeling before you now, so damn close, it felt like your heart’s going to jump out of your chest. your pulse picks up, racing, as his other hand remains interlocked with yours and the other sneaks to caress your cheek.

jiung’s inching closer with every passing second, the air thick with anticipation as if it wasn’t already so stuffy from the cramped space. your eyes flutter shut while the only thing you could sense is the warmth of his breath against your lips. tilting your head subtly to the side, was that how they did it in the romcoms? failing to realize that you’re beginning to clutch his hand in yours harder that—“seven minutes is up!”

the closet door swings open without warning, your hands flying to push jiung away as his back meets the wall with a slight thud, watching the light stream into the cramped space. all over too soon.

yet it was just the catalyst to your eager desire; unable to take your hands off each other the moment you stepped foot outside of the closet. more like it was jiung getting rather handsy, his palm warm over the small of your back. even unabashedly pulling you closer to his side once you sink back down with the rest of the huddled group playing seven minutes. you’ve no reason to stay here anymore.

it came fleeting rather quickly, one moment he had you by the hand out of the door to that damned frat house, traversing through the empty, wasted field and towards the direction of the university dormitories. from the slightest ounce of privacy that touched your fingertips, you started yearning for more. as you reached the floor to your room, jiung wastes no time trapping you against the corridor wall, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

“can i?” he mumbles against your skin, rather sensitive. and you would think he’s incapable of holding back a little kiss during the heat of the moment. except he still asks, lips beginning to ghost over you, bare.

"you don’t look like you could wait for—hngh, anything else.” you struggle underneath his grip, his hands fastening your wrists against the wall as he pushes against you impossibly closer. “i wanna hear you say yes.”

he follows, trailing further up that his nose subtly bumps on your cheek. you feel like you’re turning insane, the more time dragged on and he keeps holding back.

“please jiung, want you all over me…” you whine, a bit more when he finally presses a soft kiss over your flushed cheeks. he looked irresistible, pulling away to stare down at you with his eyes; glossed with hunger.

“even better.” and this time he inches closer once more, his lips hovering over yours tentatively, waiting for you to bridge the gap. and so you did, kissing him back with as much fervor. completely forgetting about the fact that this was the first time you’ve properly made out with someone, and you weren’t even quite sure if you’re doing it right.

it were as if jiung had a sort of sixth-sense, holding you gently by your jaw as your lips weave into a searing kiss, wet by the second as his tongue peeks out. sliding over your bottom lip. “i got you, relax.” he utters, the rumble of his voice traveling straight to your core.

jiung pulls away for a brief moment of oxygen, crashing his lips back to yours. sliding his tongue into your mouth this time ‘round, and you melt against him—weak in the knees as he rolls his wet muscle sinfully against yours.

“can’t get enough of you already,” it was a mystery how he manages to slip a few words here and there, from your pathetic state struggling to keep up with his desperate pace. proving truth to his words when the swirl of his tongue was followed by suckling on your own, that all you could do was mewl, you poor little thing.

it was dangerously risqué, anyone could simply walk into the sight of your sorry state, falling apart fully if it weren’t for jiung holding you up. keeping you upright despite the evident wobble in your knees as he continued to ravage you wantonly, done with his assault on your tongue that he’s moved to subtly bite on your bottom lip, bruised.

"mhmm.” you shudder, swallowing in a moan when he turns to the shell of your ear instead, tracing it sensitive, his spit cold once the air hit. and so he sucks, like he obsessively does, feeling every gentle flick of his tongue rush straight to your core.

you’re already so embarrassingly wet despite still being fully clothed, and his hands had done nothing but to remain over your cheek all this time. his nails raked against the thin fabric of your skimpy dress, mind turned to mush as the only thought you could render was that he needed to touch you right now. futher, more… more than you could ever fathom to beg for him out in the open.

“jiung…” you whimper, right against his ear. feeling his pants get uncomfortably tight that he just has to redirect his energy into smothering you, littering wet, hot, open-mouthed kisses on the expanse of your sensitive neck.

“yes baby?” it took him quite a while to respond, the petname sending a flutter in your chest. he tries to hold himself back before he began to litter nibbles over your skin.

his fingertips are a prickle over your body, finding yourself struggling to respond. mind blank, and you couldn’t even remember why you called out to him in the first place.

“mhmm,”

"you’re already so, horny. aren’t you?”

he’s met yet another smack to the shoulder, probably the nth time from yours this evening.

"don’t say it like that!” you tried leaning impossibly closer, your tone much less than a whisper.

nonetheless, jiung’s brain was equally as foggy, the impact of your hit disregarded. from his point of view, it was unbeknownst that your mind was swirling with how to break the looming silence. the only thing that had his attention in a headlock was the intoxicating sight of you, looking up at him, eyes glossed over in feral desire

your lips adorably bruised, proud of his insatiable work from earlier. your cheeks flushed and brows frustratingly knitted together. it was as if you’re wordlessly begging for him to kneel before you. in fact he would, right at the first syllable of anything you’d utter. and right past that was a sight behold, the swell of your breast, cleavage peeking underneath your outfit.

fuck, he needs you, mind driven towards delirium from his longing to touch. within the warmth from the palm of his hand, undoubtedly even better if he had his mouth on them, loving it wet. he needed you. so. so. badly.

"did you drink?” your voice was delicate, snapping him out of his trance.

“no.” and he was saying the truth. no sip of alcohol carried the same effect of his drunken want over your everything.

this time you took initiative, interlocking fingers with his as you dragged him towards your dorm room. every step you took in the hall felt electric, finding yourself fumbling with the key through the door as jiung’s hand teasingly dips past your waist.

at last pulling him inside, closing the door with a slam as you resume ravishing each other’s lips. you’re too dizzy at this point, his forehead pressing against yours as tries to keep you close. and with every step backwards goes a wet peck, bodies trailing toward your bed until your legs hit the edge.

and so he pushes you, gently, attempting to hold yourself up with your elbows toward the headboard. not until jiung grabs you by your thighs, nails digging over the plush—from that he abruptly yanks you back toward him and earns a surprised mewl.

“don’t go anywhere.”

“jiung, ‘m not.” yet he doesn’t answer anymore, resting his arms on either side of your head. you’ll never catch him without his lips on you, searching, sucking less than harshly that he might as well leave a mark. every nibble and flick of his tongue had you writhing beneath, and you couldn’t help but spread your legs open. hoping he’d take the hint.

he’s turning you breathless, with every press of his lips over your skin igniting such flame in your tummy.

“touch me jiung, please,” you finally cry out, driven crazy when your cunt’s clenching around nothing, wet yet untouched.

“where baby?” jiung rises from busying himself with your neck, only realizing just how much effect he had on you now that he’s gotten a proper view.

you lay there, helpless beneath his figure with your hair disheveled. lips parted from panting, chest heaving up and down.

“here,” you replied, out of breath. turning your head to the side abashed, that you couldn’t even grasp the fact that you’d reach this point. jiung meets your hands, letting you guide his hold toward your clothed breasts.

he couldn’t help a subtle smile tug on his lips, “you’re so damn cute,” jiung teases, swiftly pressing a kiss on your exposed cheek. “i’ll make you feel good, alright?”

please, you’d probably whine out, if you weren’t wallowing so much in the shame of drawing his touch right over your breasts. even so, he’s eager to pry you apart, relishing in the fact that despite your inexperience, you still push through, for him—communicating what you truly wanted.

and it left him with the inclination to fulfill it.

jiung groped your sensitive mounds through the fabric, turning your breathing ragged by the minute. god, you’re already so sensitive, and with every fleeting touch of his hands against your breasts, went to travel straight down to your cunt. sopping wet as you pushed your thighs together in an attempt to relieve the sticky feeling of your panties. proving useless. he then slips his fingers beneath the edge of your dress, thankfully strapless. right atop your chest, pulling it down until he’s met with the sight of your lacey little bra. “pretty,”

and yet he doesn’t show a single trace of rush carried in his actions, feeling you up to build the thrill, groping. “jiung...” you beg, reaching out to his wrist.

“patience,” he sounded curt, but the way he gently fondles your clothed breasts said otherwise.

right when he’s dragged as much of your dress down as he can, jiung catches you off guard—promptly sliding his hands beneath your bra that had your breath hitching. the warmth of his palms flush against your nipples, already perky, yearning for his touch.

jiung just has you pliant beneath him as the vulgar scene unfolds, tenderly groping, fondling your tits along with occasional pinches to your sensitive buds and making you mewl without fail. turns him on so so much, seeing you exposed so adorably that you had let go of all sense left within your body.

it didn’t take too long for him to come to a point, he couldn’t help himself anymore. the erotic sight of your desperate state rutting your clothed cunny up against his torso, helplessly. jiung finally hikes your bra up, your breasts spilling out of a fabric in such a way he can’t resist salivating over your vulnerable image.

and so he wastes no time. if you weren’t so lost within such a sensual trance that had your eyes fixated on the ceiling, you might’ve gotten the chance to catch jiung’s expression, his eyes completely glazed over. hungrily, he encloses his lips around your nipple, the warm wetness of his tongue swirling and flicking against the bud with abandon.

you swore your cunt begins to clench around nothing as he continued his work on you, skin erupting in goosebumps as he relentlessly sucks on the bud; lewd sounds filling the expanse of your dorm room. he doesn’t let your other breast get neglected, fondling its plush with the sporadic flick of his thumb over the bud over and over. ultimately urging you to hump against him suffocated in lust that’s taken over your whole being.

“ahh… jiung—” all you could manage to sputter out were pathetic whimpers, head thrown back as you sink into the mattress. his actions were a medley of flicking his hot tongue on to the other bud, switching, towards rapid kitten licks with his lips fully enclosed around it. eventually withdrawing with a short pop from the messy slick of his drool. once more diving back in to continue his feral abuse on your sensitive nipple. “feeling good?”

and you couldn’t even manage to choke out a reply even if you wanted to, drowning in suffocating desire. jiung pulls away, the hunger in him still begging to get satiated, his cock hard in his pants. a string of spit between your bud and his lip, glistening as it snapped.

anticipation overtakes you once more as he gently pushes your breasts together, flushed before craning back in to tongue over your swollen nipples, moving his head side to side in a frenzy. and you’re just so far gone, the warmth of his tongue licking over your buds with each turn. your already helpless state reduced to a mess, only able to splutter out hoarse moans. and he hasn’t even touched your needy cunt yet.

you had to pry him away from you, it was enough—more than enough before jiung manages to drive you towards an orgasm from merely stimulating your tits, having enough of embarrassing yourself in front of him. you’re not about to cum this early on, clothes barely taken off. you entwine your fingers through his hair, and just when he lets you breathe does he really see what he’s made of you.

sure, he looked disheveled as well, spit by the side of his lip. except you’re far worse, legs trembling from the growing wetness from your center, eyes lidded in a struggle to keep them open. blissed out of your mind and still, all you’ve ever wanted to see was jiung ravaging you like an animal.

“wanna take this all off, jiung…” he’s watchful, hooked on your voice that’s starting to turn a pitch higher than before.

“want more,”

lust bubbles within his chest, listening as you wish despite your struggle finishing sentences out of daze. “want to feel good with you,” your fingers try to reach beyond jiung’s chest, not making it far down but hoping he’d take the hint. swearing that the further you went without relief from your uncomfortable, sticky panties, the more you’ll spiral insane.

you began pulling the rest of your dress down in a hurry when jiung stops you. meeting your eyes glossed over as if you’re on the verge of tearing up from the pleasure, quite so. flashing him a puzzled look.

“i don’t have a condom with me.” he finally brings it up, fingers slowly tracing the curve of your wrist.

“me too…” you replied, sullen. jiung feeling guilty from discreetly thinking you looked adorable from the pout on your face.

at that moment you saw the instantaneous spark of idea carried in his eyes. any other day, you’d probably shoot him a glare, but now you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. especially when he’s had you wrapped around his finger, vulnerable and exposed, feeling your nerves ignite from the tension.

“you can sit on my face baby.”

“what?”

“sit on my face.”

he repeats it so matter-of-factly that it left you completely speechless, in a struggle to find the right words in response.

“jiung, i– it’s my first time and—”

“i know” his tone is reassuring, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “and i want you to know that i got you.” you could only conjure a feeble whine. ‘cause what does he mean with the fact that the two of you were just bickering a few weeks ago, and now he wants you to smother his face with your cunt.

“think of it as payback.” he spoke, his voice holding a honeyed warmth.

“use me however you want, after all, i’ve caused you enough problems with that letter.”

well, it was the last you’ve coherently heard of him that night. especially when everything he tried to say came out muffled while he’s got quite literally a mouthful of your dripping pussy. the lewd scene unfolds within the privacy of your dorm room, relieved that your roommate hadn’t decided to return yet. and if you could still recall whether or not these walls were soundproof.

everything that unraveled was such a filthy sight. your black dress, bra, and panties with it’s notable patch of your arousal on the fabric—discarded in a pile somewhere on the floor. it was the least of your worries when you’re currently sitting snug over jiung’s face, cunny rubbing against his wet, warm tongue that had your knuckles clenched and holding onto the headboard for dear life.

making sense of how the hell you’d gotten yourself in this position, taking into account that it’s your first time delving into anything frisky. however, you were running on nothing else but raging horniness, maintaining your desperate rhythm as you ride his face. grinding your hips in haste, folds slick as you use his tongue to get off. just so damn erotic.

it was truly pushing you towards the edge faster than you’d like to admit. his tongue sliding in and out of your pulsing hole, lightning fast. slick kitten licking against your clit over and over, when it isn’t the tip of his nose bumping on your pleasured, swollen bud.

fuck, it was a far more tantalizing sight as you turned to look behind you. through your lashes, watching jiung’s obscene state—his pants dragged down, jerking himself off, fast. his hand gripping his cock just right, up and down, wishing it was your pulsing cunt squeezing his shaft right now.

he made it a point, the next time he gets to ravage you senseless, you’d be crying out having enough of his cock plowing into your hole.

now it was just you you you, using him like he insisted you did.

jiung begins to amp it up, eager to send you towards your high. his tongue simultaneously slipping in and out of your hole before dragging back up, flattened to flick at your clit—god, it felt insatiably good, the pace in which you roll your hips on his face grew faltered. thighs turning wobbly as you neared your climax.

“hahh—fuckkk… jiung, you… you make me feel so good,” you pant, breathlessly fucking yourself on his tongue.

the best he could do was to hum in reply, against your clit, the vibration feeling insanely good as it travels straight to your core. his other hand grips harshly on the plush of your thigh, nails raking over the skin. almost forming crescents, vulgar and indecent, yet it all felt too pleasurable.

“i’m close, ‘m so, so close~” you whine out, your tangled fingers in his hair tightening. earning another moan that vibrated over your swollen, needy clit. your other hand struggling to keep leverage on to the headboard.

at this point you’re far too deep in pleasure, desperate to cum as you chase your high. turning crazy from how it felt so so good to ride his face, tongue working you toward it, the squelch of your sticky arousal dripping down his chin. more, more, moreee—rolling your hips over his face like you’re in such a rut, and it seems to be the case.

suddenly—you trembled, writhing in convulse as it came crashing over you like a wave. a particular bump of the tip of his nose against your clit before his relentless suckling pushed you teetering toward the edge. and he so desperately wanted to cum with you at the same time, stroking his cock faster. collecting part of your slick dripping down his chin to wet his shaft. jiung feels your cunt begin to gush, his nails digging deeper crescents into the plush of your thigh because you visibly couldn't handle the shake of your knees from the pleasure. his tongue, never ceasing to flick and flatten as he drags it on to your clit. over and over, lapping up your sticky cum.

“ahh–mhmh, jiung~!” you tug on his hair, fingers laced as you tried to squirm away from his grip. “no more!” yet he's making it difficult for you to do so, both of his arms locking your thighs in place as he began his endless ordeal of licking up your release. s'too much, too much–yet felt too fucking good, rendering you overstimulated out of your mind, merciless.

and when you've finally freed yourself from his grip, you stumbled back on to your mattress, disoriented. it was a blur, feeling yourself momentarily lose balance, suddenly collapsing onto the sheets. jiung immediately rose to his elbows, reaching toward you despite his voice beginning to sound like a distant muffle. concern was greatly etched across his face, “y/n are you okay?” you hear him, and yet it resounded like a distant echo, seeing his concerned expression the last few seconds before your vision slips into darkness.

his composure falters at that instant. had he pushed you too hard? he gazed down on your figure, laying there seemingly peaceful despite your exhaustion. once again you're vulnerable beneath his eyes. to him, jiung takes it as another chance to take care of you, his eyes tracing every outline of your features. and the gentle heaving of your chest that reminded him that he has to prove you that you can trust him.

“tired... ung, i'm okay,” you manage to mumble, and he releases a sigh of relief. almost moving to touch you before he realizes that he's… made quite a mess of his own as well. making a quick trip to the bathroom to clean himself up, stumbling upon bits of your clothes strewn over the floor.

he found you alrewdy fast asleep when he came back. making it a point in his head to go easy on you next time–he wouldn't admit, but the way panic surged through his nerves once you collapsed got him shaken. but in a few minutes he's gotten you into your matching pajamas, tucked underneath a blanket as he slides beside you. he holds your body close to his chest, “night baby,” you couldn't hear him; nonetheless, he still wanted to whisper to you sweet, pressing chaste kisses atop your head.

jiung turns to your bedside table, almost reaching out to turn off your lampshade when he stops to see an abnormally neon yellow sticky note stuck on the wall above that read in bold ink: ‘presentation monday morning’

the presentation.

oh god, you both have to do the presentation tomorrow at 8am.

fuck.

[1:47] kyo: y/n where’d you go???

[1:49] kyo: jiung’s not here too?

[2:05] kyo: alright damn

[2:06] kyo: i get it

#📂 playerninth's library #p1harmony x reader #p1harmony smut #choi jiung smut #piwontober24 #p1h smut #jiung x reader

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feveredvisions · 4 months ago

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Talking Body: Epilogue

(Harry Da Souza x you) 🔞

Here's Part 1 and my Masterlist if you want some more filth or some fluff. I'm open for requests too. Just drop by an ask xxx

Warnings: pussy eating, cunnilingus, power play, degradation, orgasm denial, public sex, car sex, possessive sex, dirty talk, bodily fluids (cum n squirt), bodily noises (queefing) Summary: The part where Harry Da Souza makes up for being consistently an absent boyfriend. He takes righting any mistakes seriously. And serving time for the offences he has committed against you and your relationship. He doesn't back down from facing the consequences of his actions. Especially not from you. Author's note: Fucking finally. I forced my sleep-deprived ass to finish this. At least before a new MobLand EP comes out this weekend. Could you tell I wrote this in a weird limbo between my dying ovulation phase and my incoming luteal phase? Love writing Harry btw. Can't wait to write more with his character. If you have any requests, just hmu on my ask box. Also, thank you so much for reading and sharing Kiss Me Thru The Phone. You're fucking crazy okay I love you. I hope you can forgive some typos and other weird grammatical errors and weird sentences I may have constructed. I am very eepy. Enjoy reading!

At closing time, after having a quick murmured conversation with the doorman, Harry strolled into Charlie's at half-twelve with you in his arm, wrapped like a protective steel band around your waist.

The dress you’re wearing now is a different one. A lilac chiffon dress with a slit up your thigh. When Harry reached home, seeing and smelling the roses drenched in your squirt and cum, poor man nearly ripped the new dress off you and fought against himself to mindlessly fuck the hell out of you on the petaled floor; on top of the soaked debauched sorry roses; and spoiling you with his vicious romancing the entire evening.

No. He was a better man than that.

Although he did dab a soaked petal on his neck and wrists. Liking how the natural scent of the rose mixed with your musk. But tonight, at midnight, which is technically the next day and is no longer the day of your anniversary, he remained dead set on making it up to you and preserving your efforts in reserving a table for two at Charlie’s. It was the least he could do to be a decent boyfriend. Stave off a new burning guilt amongst the sea of candle lit ones.

The host's face fell at the sight of the two of you. He recognised Harry Da Souza and was unsure if someone will be butchered alive at their restaurant or not at this time of night. Last time he was here, he took care of a feud between two quarreling gangs in an attempt to meet each other halfway to a peace pact and an apology towards each other. Both sides chose peace and a spit at each others leather shoes. So, with Conrad Harrigan's blessing, Harry had to make the final call to execute both gangs along with their heads to prevent any more trouble from arising in the future.

You, having no idea at all of that violence and chaos at all, smiled apologetically at the host and at the other staff who were already cleaning up the place.

Tonight, it’s all about him and his lady.

“Evening,” Harry drawls, flashing a sharp smile at the host. “Table for Mr. And Mrs. Da Souza, please.”

The host glanced at the done up empty dining room, the tables stripped from the expensive linen and silk and chairs already stored up on the table. He knew well not to decline a request from a man as powerful as Harry. The staff had already done cleaning up for their closing shift including the kitchen. Torn between wanting to close the private restaurant for the night and not wanting to piss off the assassin, the host tried his own way. “Sir, we're already—”

Harry places a roll of cash in the host's hand. “Keep the chef. Keep the wine. And keep ya fuckin’ mouth shut.”

The man pales. “R-right this way.”

Harry smirks, leaning in to whisper in your ear as you were led to a cosy table booth. “Told you, didn't I?”

You rolled your eyes at him. Show off. Sliding into the cozy plush seat of the intimate booth, then having Harry sit across you. He instinctively adjust the golden Rolex on his right wrist that glimmered under the dim warm lights.

The menu was a high-end formality. You ordered a bloody rare steak and a salad all for yourself. You handed the menu booklet back to the waiter with an innocent smile.

“And how about for you, sir?”

“None for him.” You immediately answered for Harry. “He's…on a strict diet.” Your sly gaze flicking at Harry. Oh it's fucking on.

The waiter knew not to question anything and simply nodded then walked away.

“Hmm,” Harry let out a soft grunt as his bearded jaw twitched. He knew it was his turn to be on the receiving end of however you wish to torture and get back at him. For your own satisfaction, this time, which he wouldn't mind fulfilling for you.

Harry Da Souza always pays his debts.

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

Your rare bloody steak arrived on a clean white ceramic plate along with the salad and complimentary bread and dip. The way it glistened under the dim chandelier lighting made your mouth water and your belly clench. Its juices pool at the bottom like a fresh kill. Exactly just how you liked it. A wicked smirk formed in your lips as you watched your beautiful, tortured, tough boyfriend—his nostrils flaring, his cock twitching in protest.

Harry watches, jaw tight, as you slice into the meat with deliberate slowness. Revealing the beautiful ombre of pink meat and its rich red myoglobin in the centre. The scraping of the silver knife on the plate made his fingers twitch. Whether from hunger or the urge to flip the table and fuck your glistening blushing pussy right there—he wasn't sure.

You take your time, swirling a nice bite in the juices then popping the meat in your mouth. Savoring the tender and juicy meat, its flavours bursting in your mouth. “Mmm, delicious.” you lick your lips. Glancing at Harry. “Shame you can't have any.”

Harry grabbed a piece of the smooth bread and began to tear it. “Fuckin' cruel, you are.”

“Cruel?” You tilt your head innocently. “I’m just making sure you don't have something heavy at midnight. I care about your health, baby.” Your words were filled with saccharine sweetness that made his eyes narrow at you.

Underneath the table, you kicked off your heels and slid one foot up his thigh until your toes brushed against the rigid outline of his cock straining against his trousers.

Harry lightly shuddered. “Christ—”

“Under here, baby.” You tell him, tapping the tip of your finger, pointed down against the table. “Your dinner's waiting.”

Harry let out another grumble, but he obeyed. Briefly looking around the empty restaurant with the staff busy cleaning up and restoring tools in the kitchen and behind the bar. Then he slid down under the table without a word.

You bit on your lip as a grin spread across, spreading your thighs apart and moving your hips forward. Pushing the skirt of your dress up to your hips, he hooked both your legs over his shoulders and pressed himself closer. Looking up at you like a vicious hungry salivating disciplinaryd dog waiting for his master's orders and also a promising look that he will devour the absolute fuck out of you.

“Lick.” You ordered.

Harry obeyed. A gasp escaping your mouth as he leaned in, his groomed beard scratching your soft skin. His tongue dragging through your wet folds with a growl. His mouth was hot as he ate you hungrily. Starved for the taste of you.

You resume eating and slicing yourself a piece of your bloody steak, moaning both at the warm molten pleasurable sensation from getting your pussy eaten under the table and the orgasmic goodness from your taste buds. The best of both worlds.

“Mmmm…good dog,” you praised him. Smiling self-indulgently at him whilst you leaned against the back support of the sofa like a Queen.

Harry hooked his arms around your thighs, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. The metal strap of his watch also making an imprint on your thigh. “You fuckin' tease,” he muttered against your plump slick cunt then went back in, his tongue working you open. Like he was trying to carve his name into your flesh. His mouth suckling you. Making loud, messy, wet, obscene noises.

Your basal temperature rose up to almost a fever pitch. “Fucking glutton,” you gasped. Grinding against his face. “Clean up your mess, dog.” You taunted as you reached one hand down to fist his hair.

Harry snarled, the vibration shooting straight to your clit. His fingers digging into your thighs, holding you open, yanking you harder against his mouth. Eating you harder like he was starving. His nose crinkling and his eyes sharp and fierce. Lips sealed tight, sucking, like he was trying to steal your soul. The host awkwardly scurried past, eyes averted, but you didn’t give a shit. Let them watch. Let them see what happens when Harry Da Souza was put on a leash.

“Slap it. Slap my pussy.”

“Fuckin’ hell, woman.” Harry pulls back just enough to glare at you. His lips glistening with your slick and his neatly trimmed beard soaked generously like a semi-unblended moisturiser.

There was a squishy wet smack from under the table as Harry slapped your sopping wet cunny, earning a hiss from you and a pleasurable tingle from your clit. The waiter who served your table and was lingering by the pass, flinched at the sound like he'd just been shot. Guiltily watching in astonishment from behind the bar across the room.

A broken laugh escaped your mouth. Smug and taunting. Harry answers with a rapid-fire volley of slaps, each one a wet rhythmic lewd punishment. It sounded of a drowned applause and a fish slapped against marble. Your hips stuttering as your pussy desperately audibly clenches to nothing until—pffftt—a long shameless bubbling queef puffing out in retaliation. Bubbles of air escaping out of you in rude bursts. As if your cunt herself was laughing at Harry this time.

Harry pauses. “Oh there's my girl.” Leaning down, his breath hit against your twitching hole.

“Talkin' shit, huh?” he spits directly onto your pulsing slit, the glob landing with a lewd splat, mixing in with your own slick. “Let’s hear it properly then.”

His tongue was back on you. Broad and ruthless, licking into as if he were carving his name on your flesh.

It felt like your soul was about to take off. Your back arching off the couch, toes curling as your vision flashed white—eyes rolled back to the heavens and core gushing. Harry's tongue swipes slow and filthy over your clit, lapping at the mess he's made. Every suck pulls another shameful queef from your cunt, the air escaping in tiny, humiliating puffs against his tongue.

"Look at you. You're a disgrace," he mutters. His cock straining against his trousers. His cockhead weeping and his balls aching to be emptied inside you.

"Orderin' me 'bout like a fuckin' dog, starvin me. But this?" He flicks his tongue hard over your hole, making you squeal. "This is my fuckin' supper."

You drip like molten honey, thighs trembling as your orgasm bites up your spine. "Oh, you fuck!!”

It hits you like being defibrillated back to life. Your pussy walls clenching, pushing out a warm robust squirt straight into Harry's stupid smirking mouth as your queefs turn into helpless, wet sputters. He groans low and satisfied, holding your hips down as you thrash, his tongue working you through it, drinking every drop. When he finally pulls back, his chin glistening, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and shoots you a look of pure masculine arrogance.

"Next time," he says, tapping your swollen clit like it's a misbehaving pet, "ask nicer.”

You pouted petulantly at him as you slumped, wanton and a humming electricity in your warm skin. Popping a lukewarm slice of steak in your mouth. “We're not done, buddy.”

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After the exclusive and explosive special dinner at Charlie's–paying another band of cash for the cleanup. You rushed out of the restaurant with Harry. Tugging him by the semi-open collar of his blouse. Having him unlock the car then pushing him into the backseat and crawling in after him. Immediately pouncing on him whilst you shook off your feet free from your high heels. Harry also undid his belt buckle and then his jeans zipper. The sound of the metallic clang of his belt and his zipper unzipping sending tingles to your clit.

Being Harry's tormentor, you didn't waste any more second straddling him. Thighs bracketing his hips. Grabbing onto his gold chain necklace and wrapping it around your fist like a leash.

Harry hissed and growled at you. Knocking the wind out your lungs as he slid his cock home into you. His chest reverberating a deep purr of satisfaction and pleasure. His big hands securely holding onto your hips as you rode him. Enjoying the smooth sensation of your hips undulating.

You crane your neck back as you let out a weak moan and a sigh of relief too from finally having him inside you after a long ass night. Your pussy hungrily suckling his stiff pulsating cock into it like a selfish starved animal. The leather seats creaked under your excitable bodies heavy with desire. Fogged windows sealing both of you in your own filthy little world. Your hips grinding down on his cock, slow and sadistic.

Warm, slick walls fluttering around him like you were already winning. And fuck, it hurt.

Not the stretch. You were dripping and warmed enough to perfectly mould on his delicious veiny ridges. Always fucking dripping and malleable for him.

It was the denial. He could be easily plowing into you like a mindless horny animal, but no. You had to get your way, punish him and get back to him in a way that wouldn't involve biting each other's head off and screaming at him and getting screamed at that made your head throb.

You just made sure to pay attention to the way you rolled your hips sharply just to watch his jaw clench, the way your fingers twisted in his gold chain like a leash. Tugging him to submission. He was absolutely getting his money’s worth on his neck jewellery and more.

"You don't get to cum tonight, baby," you softly told him almost apologetically. It wouldn't kill him. And this wouldn't pull the two of you even further apart from each other.

You watched as a vein in his neck pulsated, his body radiating searing sensual heat. His golden chain smoothly grating against his sweat-slicked skin. You felt him up with your other free hand. Damp hairy chest with scars underneath that's visually covered by several tattoos. His heart pounding in his scorching hot chest.

Would it still be worth it staying one more month, one more year with him? Your heart itself is currently alight. Your innards warm and glowing. There are worse men out there.

Harry noticed you getting inside your head. Your eyes looking past his. He could always tell. Your hips slowed just a fraction, your grip on his chain going slack like you were about to let go entirely. And Harry hated that.So he dug his fingers into the meat of her thighs, nails biting just shy of pain, and smirked up at her.

"You love this, don't you, you spiteful little slag? Getting off on my fucking suffering.”

You barely had time to retort before he snapped his hips up, fucking into you with a brutal rhythm. The gold chain still wrapped around your fist jerked taut, biting into his throat as he laughed.

"Go on, then," he taunted, eyes glinting in a challenge. "Leash me proper. Show me what a good fucking mutt I am.”

Your pussy walls clenched around him, nails digging into his shoulders as you rode the edge of fury and desire, but Harry wasn't done.

"You know all those late-night 'clinic calls?'" His thumb swiped over your clit cruelly light, as he drove up into you again.'"The blood I scrub off before crawling into bed with you?" A sharp grin. "Fuck's sake, darling—you really think the NHS pays for this car?"

Your breath hitched. What? Was he joking? His cock twitched inside you in delight as he watched you unravel. What the fuck was he talking about? Your mind was deep into the sexual haze to even start processing shit. Or any thought at all.

"Harry—”

“Ah-ah." He flipped you onto your back leather seats sticking to your skin as he loomed over you. His golden chain dangling over your face and his glorious huge semi-naked body caging you in.

You reached a hand up, yanked his chain, and pulled him down into a biting kiss. He groaned into your mouth, letting you roll him back upright onto the seat, his hands sliding to your arse to guide your movements.

"Fuck yourself on me," he ordered, voice wrecked. "Make that greedy cunt sing. I wanna hear it.”

The heady scent mixture of musk, sweat, faint rose, your perfume, and sex—paired with the concentrated sound of your wet squelching sex filling the car. Your loud panting as you were back on your saddle, riding the hell out of your idiot. Harry Da Souza was your heaven on earth.

"Tell me-tell me who this cock belongs to."

"Mine!" You arched, nails raking down his back.

"Fuck yea." His teeth grazed your pulse point. "Keep fucking acting like it, Mrs. Da Souza.”

…

“You still don't get to cum.”

Harry lets out a laugh, causing you to laugh too as it felt ticklish with his cock fluttering inside you.

"Darling, last I checked, this cock belongs to you. So by that logic—”

You yanked his chain, cutting him off with a sharp tug of the strong metal gold against his throat. His smirk deepened in wicked amusement.

"Suck my tit," you ordered, voice rough with lust, "and shut the hell up while I ride you.”

Harry's grin was pure sin as he dipped his head, tongue flicking over your nipple before drawing it into his mouth with a filthy, deliberate suck. His eyes-dark, gleaming, mocking-locked onto yours as you rolled your hips, taking him deeper, harder.

You clench around him, relishing the way his breath stuttered. "Eyes on me, mutt."

His groan vibrated against your breast, his cock twitching inside you as your cunt clenched-then let out a shameless, wet queef, the sound obscene in the tight space.

Harry's hips jerked, his breath hitching against your skin. "Fuck!"

You smirked. "Problem, Da Souza?"

His grip on your arse turned bruising "Only that your pussy's got a fucking mouth on it," he growled, dragging you down onto him with a slap of skin. His hands trembling as he clung onto the sliver of effort in fighting against his body's nature to blow his load into you. "And it's begging me to fill it."

Your (author could no longer count how many times you've orgasmed in this storyxx) orgasm came in a flash, capturing your soul and then flooding your mind and nervous system like the cool spring water in the mountains. A cry of pleasure ripping out your throat as your body shook. Harry's control snapped too (he decided as much as he loved you making him your bitch or he will have brain haemorrhage) as his release hit him like a bullet, letting out a roar and then sinking his teeth into your shoulder to muffle his groan. Holding and squeezing your body tightly as his load flooded your walls.

As you winced from the perfect mixture of pain and pleasure and as the stormy seas of heady lust subsides, it was clear that Harry Da Souza was a knife pressed against your throat and, my god, you would rather bleed than to let go.

My head is soooo fucked but I hope u enjoyed all that. Thank you so much for reading my stuff xx

#harry da souza #mobland #mobland fanfiction #harry da souza x you #harry da souza x reader #harry da souza fanfic #feveredvisions ovulation fic #ovulation fic #harry da souza imagines #harry da souza smut #mobland fanfic #fanfiction smut #tom hardy

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nan-not-found · 2 months ago

Text

Sólo Tú, Mi Amor - pt. 1

I'm on a roll with these. This one is gonna be longer, though.

Latino!Sero x fem!Reader (use of she/her pronouns)

This one is a bit more mature, so 18+ please. MDNI. Timeskip!Sero, Aged Up, ProHero!Sero

Word Count: 3,156 * I did not expect to write this much, omg. * I also didn't re-read to check for grammar so I apologize for typos.

Enjoy!

** Part 2 is now out!

You yawn, muscles aching and begging for rest as you make your way up to your apartment. The day had been long—nonstop patrols and villains who just couldn’t seem to behave. Honestly, today’s noise was worse than any other day this week. Maybe you should see if you can take a day off tomorrow.

Inside your apartment, you shrug off your boots and start peeling off your hero gear. It wasn’t much—thankfully, you kept your costume simple. Who needs flashy when practical works just as well? It made it easy to get out of in minutes, and you happily pull on some comfy pajamas.

You’re almost in the kitchen to grab a snack when your phone buzzes. You eye it, debating whether to answer. Surely if it was the agency, there were other heroes who could handle whatever urgent business they had. Then again... you sigh and pick up your phone to check the notification. Your eyes widen.

🧻 Cellophane Open your window.

You spin around to look at the only window your apartment has. And sure enough, crouched against the glass like some cryptid Spider-Man, is your best friend—Hanta.

Crossing your arms, you approach the window. His helmet is lifted, and he grins cheekily at you, one arm stretched upward to hold the tape he's hanging down on. His lips start moving, but you can barely hear a word through the thick pane. You lean forward, cupping your ear. He pouts and taps the window, pointing upward.

You shrug, pretending you don’t get what he wants. He rolls his eyes dramatically, then lifts his phone and swipes his thumb over the screen. Seconds later, another text pops up.

🧻 Cellophane Let me in. Please? 🥺

You hum thoughtfully, tapping your chin as you stare at the screen. You make him wait—just a little—fighting the twitch in your lips threatening to give away your amusement.

👾 Me Why should I?

You glance up just in time to see him reading the text. His eyebrows draw together, lips pressing into a mock frown.

🧻 Cellophane Because I brought you a gift. ...But if you don’t want it~

You roll your eyes, but your curiosity wins. With a dramatic sigh, you unlatch the window and lean forward. “What gift?”

"Who said I had a gift?" he grins, kicking off the wall and swinging effortlessly through the window. You shuffle back as he lands with a soft thud, boots hitting your floor.

You gape at him, betrayed, as you raise your phone like it’s damning evidence. "You said you had a gift! That’s textual proof, Sero. Liar."

He just laughs, turning around to slide your window shut behind him. "Relax, pollita. I’m just teasing."

You blink at the nickname but let it slide as he removes his helmet, running a hand through his hair. It’s damp with sweat, strands sticking slightly to his forehead—clearly from patrol. You watch him without meaning to, eyes drifting from the curve of his jaw down to where his collarbone dips beneath his suit. Spandex really doesn’t breathe, you think absently.

His voice cuts through your thoughts. "See something you like?"

You jolt, heart stuttering as you snap your eyes back to his. "Looking for my gift, Mr. Liar."

"In due time," he says, strolling further into your living room like he owns the place. He drops onto your couch with a heavy sigh, boots propped up on the coffee table. If it were anyone else, you’d have smacked them and raised hell—but this was Hanta.

You two had been best friends for years now—crashing at each other's places, pulling late-night patrols, getting way too comfortable in each other's space. Seeing him make himself at home like that wasn’t unusual. It felt... natural.

You step over his legs and settle beside him. "How was patrol?" you ask.

He lets his head fall back against the cushions with a groan. "Exhausting, but fun. I got paired with Denks today—haven’t seen him in a while."

"Denki? That’s shocking."

Hanta’s lips twitch into a smirk. "Wow. Even I felt that one."

You grin. "I’ve been hanging out with you too long."

He stretches his arms behind his head, muscles flexing lazily under the fabric of his suit. "Apparently his agency’s been short on heroes. Since we’ve got history, they asked me to lend a hand. I didn’t mind."

You nod along, but his voice starts to fade as your eyes drift—again.

Seriously, did his suit have to be that tight? It clung to every line of his body like it was tailored for thirst traps, outlining the lean muscle he'd built over time. Back in school, Hanta had been lanky, all limbs and grins. But now? Somewhere along the way, he’d filled out. Toned. Broad-shouldered. Strong.

You blame the increased hero work. After all, you both had been busier since going pro. But this level of glow-up? It wasn’t just functional—it was criminal.

"And then he ate the trash," Hanta says, completely deadpan. "I was seriously impressed."

You blink. "Wait—what?"

He chuckles, catching you red-handed. One brow arches playfully. "Knew you weren’t listening. Where do you keep disappearing to, huh?"

"N-Nowhere," you stammer, clearing your throat and willing the heat in your cheeks to chill out. "I keep wondering when you’re gonna give me this so-called mystery gift."

You try to play it off, casual and breezy, but the question bubbles beneath the surface: What is wrong with me tonight? You've seen him in that suit a hundred times. Crashed on this couch with him dozens more. So why now—why tonight—does it feel different?

You shift slightly, as if the movement will dislodge the spiraling thoughts.

Get a grip.

Hanta finally relents and stands up, brushing imaginary dust off his thighs. "Alright, alright. I’ll get your gift out. It’s, uh... kinda tucked away."

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. "What do you mean tucked away?"

He doesn’t answer. Just shoots you a mischievous grin as his hands reach up—fingers catching on the zipper at the back of his suit. You freeze.

"Hanta—wait—what the hell are you doing?" you squeak, whipping your head to the side the second he starts peeling the suit down his shoulders.

"What?" he says, all mock innocence. "I’m getting your gift. You’ve been impatient all night."

You groan into your hands. "Do you seriously have to strip to do it?"

"It’s not like this thing has pockets," he shoots back, the smugness radiating off him. You can hear the fabric rustling and it makes your heart pound. How much of it has he taken off? You don’t dare look. Nope. No. Absolutely not.

This is Hanta. Your best friend. Your ride-or-die. You have literally eaten instant noodles on this very couch while he snored like a chainsaw.

So why the hell does your brain suddenly want to short-circuit?

You really need to get laid, you think, mildly horrified at yourself. It’s been too long. Clearly. Way too long if you’re about to start thirsting over—

"Alright, got it," Hanta says, voice casual.

You let out a breath and turn around.

Your heart stops.

Instead of zipping back up, Hanta is just standing there—in the middle of your living room—with his suit bunched around his hips. Dangerously low on his hips.

"Tada!" he announces cheerfully, holding out a thin packet like he's not casually half-naked in your apartment. You don't move. You brain has completely frozen over. When you continue to stare, he wiggles it in front of your face. "Hello? You want it or not?"

"Yes," you blurt out—way too quickly. you don't even want to think about what you're answering yes to.

You snatch the packet with a shaky hand, eyes laser-focused on it like it's the holy grail. Anything to not look at the man with no shame.

Thankfully, the distraction words. you blink down at the gift, curiosity slowly overriding your panic. the packet is light, paper-thin, and rattles faintly when you shake it.

"What is it?"

"Open it and find out."

You lift the tab and peek inside. When you don’t immediately see anything, you tip the packet upside down into your palm, giving it a couple of gentle shakes.

Something small drops into your hand—metal clinking softly against your skin. You blink. It’s a keychain. Not just any keychain. A limited edition keychain… of your favorite pro hero.

Your eyes fly wide. "Oh my god!!"

You’re on your feet without even realizing it, the empty packet fluttering to the floor as you cradle the keychain in both hands like it’s fragile. "Where did you find this?"

Not only had it sold out the day of release, but production had stopped months ago. You’d scoured every corner of the internet, but anyone willing to part with it was asking a price way out of reach—even for something you loved this much.

“I have my ways,” Hanta says, wearing that trademark smug smile.

You shake your head, grinning. You don’t care how he got it. All that matters is that it’s yours now.

“Thank you so much!” you gush, surging forward and throwing your arms around his shoulders.

The move catches him off guard—you feel his body stiffen just slightly—but he recovers fast, arms wrapping instinctively around your waist as he pulls you in closer without hesitation.

“Glad you like it, querida.”

You giggle, warmth blooming in your chest as you rest against him. For a moment, all you feel is happiness—the kind that glows soft and golden. You’re still clutching the keychain in one hand when a sudden realization crashes into you like a freight train.

The Hanta you're hugging is the same Hanta who had nothing covering his torso. His very bare torso. The very bare torso that is now pressed firm against you.

You freeze. "Um," you breathe out, voice tight, almost laughing to mask the nerves as you try to step back. "Hanta—?"

But his arms tighten just a little around your waist, grounding you. Holding you there.

You barely have time to process the way his grip lingers before you feel it—his breath. Warm. Soft. Ghosting along the curve of your neck. It sends a chill right down your spine.

"Just a little longer," he murmurs, voice low, almost a whisper.

"Okay." You lean back into the hug, letting your eyes fall shut for just a second, your body relaxing into his warmth.

"When I saw the keychain," he says, chin settling on your shoulder, "I thought of you instantly. Got lucky too—the guy who had it turned out to be a villain we picked up on patrol."

You huff a soft laugh, shaking your head. "You’re kidding."

"I wish. Denki and I found it in his stash. Would you be upset if I told you I had to fight Denki for it?"

"Fight him?"

"Well... more like rock, paper, scissors for it. But it was still a battle for the ages. I almost lost."

You laugh, but when you try to pull back again, his arms don’t budge. His hold is firm, gentle, but possessive in a way that sends static to the base of your spine. You don’t know where to put your hands anymore. Or your thoughts. Every muscle in you seems to remember that you’re pressed against him—skin to skin, practically. His chest is solid and warm, and you can feel the way it rises and falls with each breath.

You’re warm. A little too warm. And it’s not just from embarrassment.

Then, his voice drops a little.

"Would it creep you out," he says slowly, "if I told you that as soon as I had that keychain, I had to come give it to you? Needed to?"

Your heart skips. He finally pulls back, just enough to look at you—really look at you. His smile is soft, but there’s something deeper in it. Something that catches in your throat.

"No," you say quietly. "Why would that creep me out?"

His smile grows, just a little lopsided. "Because I only brought it so I could see that cute smile of yours."

Your breath hitches. "W-What?"

You take a step back, finally out of his embrace, needing space to breathe—but now you miss the warmth immediately. And the way he’s looking at you? It’s like he already knows.

He steps closer as you take a step back. "Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed, mi cielo." You raise an eyebrow, and he presses on, "The extra attention? The increased hangouts?" You shake your head.

"Nothing’s been different than usual?"

"No?" Suddenly, your back hits the wall. He takes one more step forward and stops. "Because I’ve noticed. Noticed how your breath catches when I get too close, how your eyes drift away when you think I’m not looking, how your cheeks flush red whenever I’m near." To prove his point, he leans in, lowering his face closer to yours. Your cheeks instantly heat up, blooming a bright red. "See?"

"I—I don’t know what you mean."

Hanta shakes his head slowly. "I think you do. I think you know exactly what I mean." His arms lift, hands coming to rest on the wall just beside your head, effectively caging you in. You fight the urge to stare at the flexed muscles of his forearms, the veins standing out sharply beneath his skin. Your mouth waters and you swallow loudly.

His smirk softens just slightly as he watches you wrestle with yourself, his voice dropping into something low and sure. "I've been patient. Been waiting. Giving you time. Figured maybe you just weren't ready yet. But the way you look at me sometimes?" He tilts his head, eyes glinting with something dark and dangerous. You blink up at him, throat dry. "Hanta..." He leans in, nose almost brushing yours. "Just say the word, and I'll back off. Say you don't feel the same way, and I'll go back to being your annoying best friend." There's a pause. You could laugh. You could dodge. You could tease him back like always. But instead, you do the one thing that feels completely terrifying and completely right at the same time. You whisper, barely audible, "And if I feel the same way?" His hands lifts, knuckles brushing your cheek so gently it sends sparks down your spine. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting," he breathes. "Can I kiss you?" Your heart thunders in your chest. But your answer's already formed on your lips. "Yes."

In a flash, his lips are on yours—urgent, hungry, like he’s been holding back for far too long. You gasp, instinctively wrapping your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in the hair at the nape. His hands grip your waist with purpose, dragging you in until your bodies are flush.

You tilt your head, chasing more, and he groans into your mouth, the sound low and strained.

"Fuck," he breathes out as he pulls back for just a moment—only a heartbeat—before crashing back in like he never left. His teeth catch your bottom lip, and you gasp again, lips parting for him without hesitation.

He doesn’t waste a second. His tongue slides in, claiming you with a heat that makes your knees weak. He doesn’t ask—he takes—and you let him, melting against him as your moan echoes into the space between you.

"C'mere," he murmurs, voice rough with want, hands sliding to the back of your thighs. Before you can react, he lifts you with ease, drawing a surprised squeak from you as your legs instinctively wrap around his waist.

He grins up at you—cocky, warm, wanting—and carries you to your room like he’s done it a hundred times in his head. When he reaches the bed, he tosses you down gently but with intent. You bounce once, maybe twice, breath caught in your throat, heart pounding in your chest.

Then he’s on you, crawling over your body with purpose, capturing your lips again in a kiss that leaves no room for second guesses. His mouth trails from yours to your jaw, down to the curve of your neck, where he lingers. He suckles just below your ear, pulling a breathy moan from your lips as your head tilts back for him.

"Fuck," he exhales, pulling back just enough to look at you.—hair a mess across the pillow, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen and parted. "Look at you."

He sits back on his haunches, dark eyes drinking you in like a man starved. His hands trail a slow, deliberate path down your sides, stopping to squeeze the flesh of your thighs as his thumbs rub soothing, tempting circles against your skin.

"I've dreamt of you," he confesses, voice husky. "Nearly every night." His words send a tremble rippling through your body. "Dreamt of the way you'd look beneath me... the way you'd sound when I touched you. Dreamt of holding you close until you melted in my arms."

Your breath hitches, pulse fluttering in your neck. The heat in his eyes is enough to set you alight, and the gentle way his hands roam is in direct contrast to the intensity behind his gaze.

"Hanta..." you breathe out, your voice fragile with emotion—equal parts overwhelmed and wanting.

He leans down, pressing his forehead gently to yours, his breath warm and steady. "Say the word, princesa,” he murmurs, his voice low, coaxing. “Just one word, and I’m all yours."

Your heart twists, aching in the best way—because even now, with all the heat between you, he waits. For you. You nod without thinking, but he gives a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

"Nuh-uh," he says softly, his lips brushing yours. "I wanna hear you say it, pretty thing."

You swallow, your voice barely more than a whisper. "Yes… please."

The smile he gives you then is slow, wicked, and impossibly tender.

"Good girl," he murmurs, the praise rolling off his tongue like velvet, sending a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly.

Then he’s kissing you again—slower this time, deeper. Less like he’s claiming and more like he’s savoring. His hands roam more boldly now, skimming up under your shirt, fingertips tracing the dips and curves of your skin like he’s committing every inch to memory.

"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," he says between kisses. "Wanted you."

Your fingers grip at his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him like he's the only solid thing in the room. "Why didn’t you say something?" you whisper, dazed.

He pauses, forehead resting against yours again. "Because I didn’t want to risk losing what we already had… but tonight, when you looked at me like that—I had to try."

His honesty leaves you breathless, vulnerable in the best kind of way. You run your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly, and he grins against your skin as he kisses a trail down your collarbone.

"Then don’t hold back," you murmur, voice low.

___ ok, I'm pausing there cause 1) it's 6:30AM and I still haven't slept and 2) I don't have much experience writing smut BUT I'm gonna try to write the next part which will be the smut scene So if you made it this far, thank you for reading. I'm so sorry to cliffhang you but once I'm well rested I shall return to finish this.

Masterlist

#mha #bnha #hanta sero #sero hanta x reader #latino!sero #sero hanta smut #smut #nannotfound

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hazeysmile · 2 months ago

Text

001 𝑭𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒆 -

𝙥𝙖𝙯𝙯𝙞

| Parings: paige bueckers x fem!oc x azzi fudd

| Synopsis: valeria de martel, a rookie foreign basketball player, scores a sponsorship that lands her at UConn, home of the Huskies. She meets star player Paige Bueckers, who’s not too happy about her joining, while Azzi Fudd is super excited to have Valeria on the team. As Valeria settles in, she vibes really well with Azzi, and their connection feels natural. But things are tense with Paige, who sees her as competition. Over time, though, they go from rivals to friends. With her strict parents far away and the pressure of big games, Valeria feels overwhelmed, especially when an old flame shows up at school. Meanwhile, both Paige and Azzi starts falling for her.

| word count: 11.6k

| authors note: I want to apologize for the delay in getting Chapter 1 to you. I've been balancing learning to ride a dirtbike with work, and honestly, my motivation dipped for a bit. Anyway, it's attached. Just a heads-up: I'm still a novice writer, so I'm open to constructive criticism. Also, I didn't get a chance to proofread, so apologies in advance for any typos or grammar mistakes. I'll get Chapter 2 to you ASAP!

જ⁀➴ 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗪𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗢𝗡 𝗔 𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗘𝗘-𝗪𝗔𝗬 𝗙𝗔𝗖𝗘𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘 𝗖𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗡𝗜𝗞𝗔 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗞𝗞 𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗧 𝗡𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧, 𝗥𝗔𝗠𝗕𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗔𝗕𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗚𝗘─

You were deep in your thoughts about Paige and her sudden coldness, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. Nika and KK were lounging nearby, clearly enjoying the show. KK was practically in stitches, howling with laughter as you dramatically declared, "It’s like she’s holding a grudge against me for stealing her favorite Barbie doll!" Your voice hit that hilariously high pitch, adding to the absurdity of the moment.

As you vented your frustrations, the ridiculousness of it all washed over you, and you couldn’t help but chuckle along with them. Their laughter was infectious, wrapping around you like a warm blanket, pulling you out of your spiral of confusion. You then thought of Lou, the girl who you gave your number to had texted you with her playful mix of Spanish, French, and English.

As the night wore on, the laughter between the three of you faded into a comfortable hum, replaced by the kind of easy conversation that stretches seamlessly into the early hours. The glow of the phone screens illuminated your faces, casting a soft light on the shared smiles and sleepy eyes. Eventually, the three of you drifted off, falling asleep on FaceTime, the connection lingering like a warm embrace, even as dreams took over.

Fast forward to the university, and you found yourself navigating the labyrinthine campus, your sense of direction notoriously terrible. It took a solid thirty minutes of circling around before you finally spotted the entrance, but you made it just in time, revving up your motorcycle with a grin.

Back in France, you had a couple of bikes that your parents gifted you—gifts that felt more like a way to sidestep their shortcomings as parents than genuine affection. They never quite owned up to their mistakes, opting instead to shower you with material things. You wrestled with the moral implications of accepting their gifts, knowing deep down that it was wrong to let their attempts at guilt-assuagement affect you. But the allure of those bikes was hard to resist; they were your passion, a reminder of the joy that came from the open road. The only reason you were awake, and alert today was because of KK, her infectious energy pulling you from the depths of sleep when all you wanted was to stay cocooned in your dreams.

KK was on one, banging those pans like a percussionist in a chaotic symphony, her voice cutting through the air like a knife. “I didn’t get no sleep 'cuz of yall! Yall not gone get no sleep 'cuz of me!” The words blasted through the phone, and you and the Croatian woman couldn’t help but groan in unison, the annoyance spilling over even as KK's laughter bubbled up like soda fizzing over. It was impossible to stay mad when her joy was so infectious, and soon enough, you found yourselves caught up in the laughter.

Rolling into the sprawling parking lot, you took in the scene: students milling about, some huddled in groups, their laughter ringing out like music, while others dashed off with purpose, backpacks bouncing against their sides. You slid your 2022 Yamaha MT-10 into a spot, the bike’s sleek, muscular frame glistening under the sun, a true beast of engineering. It was like a magnet, drawing eyes as you parked, a few students stopping mid-conversation to admire the beauty of your ride.

Your 2022 Yamaha MT-10 stands out with its bold black and dark red design, exuding an aggressive vibe that catches the eye. The matte black finish gives it a stealthy look, while the dark red accents. Up front, the sharp LED headlight shines brightly, surrounded by dark red details that contrast beautifully against the black, highlighting the bike’s muscular build and sporty feel.

The wide fuel tank flows smoothly into the exposed trellis frame, showcasing its impressive engineering while enhancing its strong appearance. The ergonomic low-profile seat is designed for comfort and control, inviting you to take on the open road. The sporty black wheels, accented with dark red, not only amplify the fierce look but also improve handling. The high-mounted exhaust system features a sleek design that fits perfectly with the bike's overall aesthetic, while the rear tapers off sharply for a streamlined finish.

As you turn off the engine, the bike lets out a satisfying rumble. You take your key from the ignition, the sound echoing softly. Slipping off your leather gloves, you kick up the stand and unstrap your helmet. As you lift it away, your hair catches the wind, capturing that perfect moment of freedom after a ride.

Your hair was charmingly messy, a look you loved for its natural vibe, though you kept it from being too wild. You wore a gray plaid flannel shirt from Bershka over a plain black T-shirt, paired with black-wash slim flare jeans that fit just right. On your feet were the cool grey Jordan 4 Retro sneakers, and a small sling bag hung casually from your shoulder.

Silver rings adorned your left hand, making your tattoo stand out beautifully, while a stainless-steel butterfly pendant necklace added a touch of elegance. And let’s not forget your iconic white Calvin Klein corten stretch boxers—an obsession you developed the moment you spotted them.

You set your helmet on the gas tank along with your leather gloves, then gracefully stepped off your bike. Pulling out your phone, you queued up your playlist, balancing the volume perfectly. As Bad Bunny's "Vuelve Candy B" began to play, you shoved your keys into your pocket and quickly pulled out your timetable.

As you strolled through the campus, students cast fleeting glances your way, their curiosity evident. Your gaze flicked to the building codes, searching for your class. "Calculus lecture... more like calculus-tastrophe of my patience," you muttered, frustration creeping into your voice as you glared at your schedule.

Around you, students lounged on the grass, engaged in lively conversations and laughter, while others tossed an American football back and forth, boasting about their skills.

School had never been your favorite place; it felt like a drain on your time and energy. Sure, everyone knew you—thanks to your parents, who were quite the celebrities in France with their multi-million-dollar businesses. But that fame came with its own burdens. Playing the role of the perfect daughter weighed heavily on your mental health, especially when you knew you were far too clever for the straight-laced image everyone expected.

Despite being a straight A-B student, you found ways to express your true self—occasional fights, tardiness, and even skipping classes to tag abandoned buildings with your friends. But then came the day your parents discovered your report card. You remembered it vividly, the disappointment in their eyes hitting harder than any punishment could.

"What the hell are these grades?" Your mother’s voice cut through the air, laced with her thick accent, her gaze sharp as it fell upon your slender frame. "Te pusimos en la mejor escuela de Francia, ¿y esto es lo que obtenemos? Cuatro B’s, dos A’s y dos C’s, ¿hablas en serio, Valeria?" The weight of her disappointment hung heavily between you, each word a reminder of the high expectations that loomed over your every move. "No entrarás en las mejores universidades con estas calificaciones. ¡Tienes que hacerlo mejor! No gastamos tanto dinero en tu educación para que descuides tus estudios. ¡Y ni siquiera me hagas hablar de tu comportamiento en la escuela!"

Once again, you found yourself ensnared in this familiar cycle of reprimand, your parents’ towering figures casting long shadows over your spirit. Your mother held your report card as if it were a contagious disease, something to be feared and avoided. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, the sting of their words cutting deeper than you cared to admit. You were sensitive to their anger, especially from the two people who meant the world to you.

You despised the scoldings, the punishment that seemed to envelop you like a heavy fog. Most kids would share your aversion, but for you, it felt like an unending quest for perfection, a constant reminder that you had to be their ideal daughter. As their voices rose, so did the prominence of their accents, a clear indication that they were truly furious.

"L-Lo siento, mamá," you murmured, your voice quivering like a fragile leaf caught in a storm. You weren’t even certain why you were apologizing; it never seemed to be enough for them.

Your mother scoffed, a disbelieving chuckle escaping her lips as she flung your report card at you. "Is that all you can say? 'Sorry'? Si estuvieras realmente arrepentido, estarías trayendo a casa mejores calificaciones y tomando tu educación en serio en lugar de pasar el rato con esos amigos delincuentes tuyos, jugando... ¿qué fue? ¡Ah, sí, baloncesto!"

You flinched at the bite in her voice, quickly snatching the report card from the expensive floor, the weight of her words heavy in the air.

"¿Por qué no puedes, por una vez, ser como tu padre o tu hermano? Diablos, ¿por qué ni siquiera te gusto? Todos tenemos éxito, viviendo cómodamente en nuestra riqueza. ¿De verdad quieres que te re repudiamos, que te veamos vagando por las calles por el resto de tu vida?" Her tone was laced with arrogance and coldness, sending a chill down your spine. You looked down, arms instinctively crossing behind your back, hiding the report card from her piercing gaze.

Frustration welled up inside you, a familiar ache that always seemed to surface in these moments. It felt as if they were constantly finding ways to wound your fragile spirit, no matter how hard you tried to meet their expectations. Your fists clenched tightly, nails digging into your palms, a desperate attempt to contain the whirlwind of emotions raging within.

"Siento no ser lo suficientemente inteligente para ti. Sabes que la escuela no es fácil para mí." Your mother let out a laugh, a sound that cut through your words, her expression morphing into one of even deeper annoyance. Just as her lips parted to unleash her thoughts, the grand double wooden doors swung open, and the atmosphere of the room thickened, heavy with unspoken tension.

Then he appeared—your father. The last person you wished to see. Standing tall at 6'2", he had a well-proportioned, athletic frame that commanded attention. His deep chestnut hair was trimmed short on the sides, the top styled back with effortless precision, not a single strand daring to defy him, the peppering of silver adding a distinguished touch.

His facial features were striking, with high cheekbones and a strong jawline that was emphasized by a neatly trimmed beard. His eyes, a deep shade of green, were sharp and piercing, often radiating an intensity that was both alluring and intimidating. Clad in a tailored suit of the finest fabric, a dark charcoal gray that whispered of elegance, he unbuttoned his blazer, as a designer watch peeked from beneath his cuff.

With a practiced grace, he folded his blazer and draped it over the back of his leather chair, the very seat where he often settled with a cigar in hand. "Alors, qu'est-ce qui se passe que tu m'as appelé de mon entreprise, chérie?" he asked, his voice smooth yet laced with authority, ready to delve into the drama that had unfolded in his absence.

He tilted his head, not sparing you a glance, his piercing green eyes locked onto your mother as she spoke. It was evident he was aware of your presence, yet he chose to disregard it, and you felt a strange ambivalence toward his indifference.

Your mother began to voice her concerns, her words flowing in a melodic rhythm of Spanish, while he hummed softly, seemingly unfazed. With a practiced nonchalance, he unbuttoned his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves to his elbows, each movement fluid and confident. A man of many languages, he wielded them as tools in the business world, a skill that had undoubtedly served him well.

Finally, he cast a glance in your direction, an unreadable expression settling on his face as he approached you with deliberate steps. A primal urge to flee surged within you, yet with each step he took, your feet felt as though they were anchored to the ground. You focused on your shoes, your breath coming in shallow gasps, a silent plea for escape.

"Recommençant des problèmes à l'école?" His voice was devoid of warmth, chilling as he towered over you, his gaze piercing through your trembling frame. A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes, a cruel satisfaction at your discomfort. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat, leaving you mute as he tilted his head, clearly displeased by your silence.

He extended his large, calloused hand toward you, grasping your chin with a grip that felt both commanding and unsettling, forcing your gaze upward to meet his. You trembled beneath his hold, the weight of his cold stare pressing down on you—a look your mother adored, a man she would never trade for anything in the world.

"Es-tu insolente, Valeria?" His voice rumbled like distant thunder, low and heavy with authority.

You shook your head sharply, your words trapped in your throat, ensnared by the thick, oppressive air that hung between you like a storm cloud.

"Insouciant?" he pressed, tilting his head with a slight, almost predatory curiosity, his expression unyielding.

Once more, you shook your head, paralyzed by fear, unable to meet his gaze, as if looking away could shield you from his scrutiny.

With an audible click of his tongue, he expressed his annoyance, tightening his grip on your face, and a small whimper escaped your lips, betraying your resolve. "As-tu une langue dans ta tête?"

His voice rose just a notch, the weight of his accent sharpening with each syllable, as you fought back tears, determined not to let him witness your vulnerability. "O-Oui, père." The words finally slipped from your lips, fragile and stammered, tinged with the unmistakable lilt of your own accent, echoing the tension that thrummed in the air around you.

"Dis-moi pourquoi tu choisis d'être paresseux à l'école au lieu d'utiliser ta tête. C'est exaspérant que vous ne puissiez pas voir que nous faisons ce qui est le mieux pour vous. Tu ne m'écoutes jamais, ni à ta mère; c'est toujours une excuse. Chaque jour qui passe, vous trouvez de nouvelles façons de me décevoir. Honnêtement, j'atteins ma limite, Valeria."

Every word he uttered sliced through the air like shards of glass, each syllable deepening the ache that settled in your chest. A tempest of emotions swirled within you, the overwhelming urge to scream or weep clawing at your insides—a desperate plea for understanding. Why did they impose such towering expectations upon you, fully aware of the struggle you faced each day? At just fourteen, the weight of success felt like a heavy shackle, chaining you to a life that felt more like a prison sentence than a journey. All you longed for was a taste of normalcy, a fleeting moment unburdened by their relentless standards. You were utterly exhausted, drained by a reality that seemed to demand perfection while you yearned for freedom. Sleep became your only sanctuary, a refuge from the unyielding demands of a school that viewed you as the perfect daughter, simply because your parents basked in wealth and fame. How tragically misguided they were.

"I'm not lazy! You only see me when it fits your crazy high standards! What’s really best for me—your expectations or hers? You don’t even know your own—!" Your voice was abruptly silenced by a sharp, brutal slap that echoed within the confines of your father’s office. The sting radiated across your cheek, leaving a vivid red handprint as your head turned, the metallic taste of blood pooling at the corner of your bottom lip.

You froze, your head still tilted, the grip of your father’s hand vanished, replaced by his furious glare. Anger radiated from him like heat from a raging fire, nostrils flaring, while tears threatened to spill from your eyes, blurring your vision. The air was thick with tension, a palpable silence that felt suffocating.

"Me répondre, prétendre que nous ne vous connaissons pas ? Nous vous avons donné la vie ! Nous vous avons fourni tout ce que vous auriez pu demander, et c'est ainsi que vous nous remboursez, moi et votre mère!" His voice thundered, thick with a French accent that intensified the fury in his tone. You trembled, rooted to the spot, your bottom lip bleeding, crimson droplets trailing down your chin—a silent testament to the emotional and physical torment you endured.

He continued to shout, his accent becoming increasingly pronounced with each heated word, a torrent of frustration spilling forth. You felt an overwhelming desire for the ground to open up and swallow you whole, to escape the suffocating tension that filled the room. Meanwhile, your mother hovered nearby, her voice a soothing balm, desperately trying to calm him down, and slowly, it seemed to be working.

Your father pinched the bridge of his nose, a futile attempt to ease the evident anger and frustration etched across his face. "Valeria, c'est votre dernière chance de répondre à mes attentes. Je vous rabande de l'école et j'engage un professeur professionnel juste pour vous. Ils vous perceront tout ce qu'un lycéen devrait savoir. Il vous est interdit de vous associer à ces délinquants que vous appelez amis, et plus de basket-ball - cela fait clairement baisser vos notes. Je te surveillerai de près. Si tu te fouts encore en l'air, tu vas à l'internat."

Your heart sank at the utterance of those words: no more basketball. It felt as if you were sprinting through an endless abyss, a doorway looming far ahead, just out of reach, with a basketball tantalizingly waiting for you just beyond it. Yet with every desperate stride, the door seemed to recede further into the shadows.

You stumbled slightly, grappling with the weight of his proclamation, your voice trembling as you stammered out apologies in a futile attempt to negotiate with your father. His icy gaze pierced through you, unyielding. "W-Why anything but that? Please, Father, I will try—!"

But before you could complete your desperate plea, his hand rose sharply, halting your words mid-flight.

"It seems I misspoke." The man with the dark hair turned away, folding his arms across his chest as he perched himself atop his imposing desk. Your mother, ever attentive, cut his cigar just the way he liked it, placing it between his lips as she produced her elegant lighter, igniting it with a flicker. He took a deliberate puff, exhaling a plume of smoke that curled lazily into the air. "Je n'ai pas demandé tes supplications, Valeria, et franchement, je m'en fiche. Ma parole est définitive : vous cesserez de jouer au basket-ball. Cela vous a transformé en rebelle. Maintenant, laisse-moi et ta mère tranquille ; ta présence me rend malade."

Fury and sorrow intertwined within you, a tempest of emotions as you clenched your fists, the weight of his words pressing heavily on your heart. You turned and fled from his office, the smoke lingering behind you like a ghost as he resumed his conversation with your mother about matters unknown. Panic surged in your chest, tears streaming down your cheeks, every sound blurring into a distant hum. You didn’t even notice your older brother calling out to you, a futbol tucked under his arm as he prepared to leave for practice.

A sudden tug on your shoulder yanked you back, pulling you into his chest, where worry etched itself across his features. He had just dropped his futbol, and his firm yet gentle hands cradled your face, lifting it from the damp fabric stained with your blood and tears.

"H-Hé, calme-toi, Val, d'accord?" he urged, his voice a soothing balm as he wrapped his arms around your trembling frame, drawing you closer. He whispered sweet memories and amusing tales, coaxing your breath into a steadier rhythm. When he finally pulled back to meet your gaze, his frown deepened, concern etched in every line of his face.

He tenderly wiped the blood from your chin. "Tu te sens mieux maintenant ? Dis à ton grand frère ce qui s'est passé."

Your voice cracked, tears welling in your eyes once more, but you fought to contain them, clenching your fists tightly. "Je ne peux plus jouer au basket. Je ne peux rien faire. Mon père va me surveiller de près. Je vis en enfer ; j'aimerais ne jamais être—"

Before you could finish that thought, he flicked your forehead, drawing a scowl and a whine from you as he held your gaze steady. "Don't you dare finish that. You're going to be fine. Je demanderai à Lorenzo et Damien de parler au père; ils peuvent négocier avec lui. Vous savez qu'il les écoute généralement." His reassurance cracked a smile from you, and he beamed back, a flicker of hope igniting in the space between you.

"Maintenant, allons dans votre chambre pour que nous puissions plonger dans vos bandes dessinées. What do you say?" He gestured toward your sanctuary, and you nodded eagerly, your excitement bubbling over as he took your hand, rushing you both toward your haven.

"Qu'en est-il de la pratique, grand frère?" you murmured, your voice raspy from the earlier turmoil. He merely waved it off with a casual flick of his wrist, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. "Missing practice to hang out with my baby sister? Allez, cette bande dessinée "Bone" est beaucoup plus amusante que n'importe quelle pratique."

You didn’t even realize you had zoned out, your gaze wandering down to your schedule, the ink blurring as a single tear slipped silently down your cheek. It landed softly on the paper, a tiny reminder of the weight you carried. A nervous chuckle escaped your lips as you hastily wiped your face, your hands trembling, a sheen of sweat forming on your brow. Why had that long-buried memory resurfaced? It haunted you—after winning the international U16 championship, you had stepped away from the court for four long years, a decision that felt like a betrayal to your passion. But last year, the call of the game had pulled you back, reigniting a rush of vitality, that exhilarating sense of freedom that once defined you, rekindling your joy in a way you hadn’t thought possible.

Shaking off the shadows of the past, you resumed your walk, determined to forget the memory that lingered like a specter. A group of college students caught your eye, their stares piercing and invasive, as if they were dissecting your very essence. The leader of the pack exuded a casual confidence, his smile polished and rehearsed, as if he believed it could charm anyone into submission. They were clearly jocks, their self-importance radiating from them like a beacon, suggesting they thought the world revolved around their bravado.

As the four jocks approached, you chose to ignore them, pressing forward with a sense of purpose. But the ringleader was relentless, tapping your shoulder with an insistent touch that sent a jolt through you. You kept your pace, but suddenly, a rough hand clamped down on your shoulder, pulling you back and halting your steps with an unwelcome force.

"Hey, pretty girl, you new here? Haven’t seen a face like yours around," he said, his tone dripping with an overconfident bravado that made your skin crawl, a stark contrast to the delicate warmth of the day.

You let out an inward sigh, fully aware that they wouldn’t cease their antics until you acknowledged them. “That’s right. Would you mind? I’m trying to find my class,” you replied, your tone a delicate balance of annoyance and polite firmness, enriched by your thick accent.

The ringleader, a young man with bleached blonde hair and a T-shirt that clung uncomfortably to his frame, remained undeterred by your rejection. “So, uh, what brings a pretty girl like you to UConn?” he asked, attempting a wink that might have held a trace of charm if it hadn’t felt so forced and contrived.

“Basketball,” you replied curtly, your eyes drifting to your timetable as if it held the key to your escape. “And if you’ll excuse me…”

"W-Wait just a moment," he interjected, stepping closer, a flicker of desperation igniting in his gaze. "I’m Daniel. These are my boys—Mark, Leo, and Jack." He gestured to his trio of companions, who waved at you with a blend of amusement and curiosity. "Maybe we could show you around; you seem a bit lost, babygirl."

You felt a cringe ripple through you at the word "babygirl" slipping from his lips. It was already grating enough when he called you "pretty girl." Those words never felt right coming from a guy unless he possessed genuine charm and knew how to engage with women. It wasn't that you disliked men; you simply chose not to label yourself. But you absolutely despised those who missed the glaringly obvious rejections that hung in the air like an unwelcome scent.

"I believe I will manage. Merci, mais non merci. And don't touch me again," you declared, yanking your shoulder away from his firm grasp with a resolute flick. Your natural charm typically drew people in—both women and men—but this man's overconfidence grated on your nerves, as if he believed he could charm anyone in sight. You were accustomed to receiving admiration for your attractiveness, both in friendly and desirable contexts, yet his advances felt dull and discomforting.

His friends erupted into laughter, clearly entertained by Daniel's failed attempt at wooing you. "No need to be rude; I was just trying to help a pretty girl like you out. Hmm, you said you transferred to play basketball—is that all the balls you can handle? I have two in mind that you might like to play with."

A snort slipped from your lips, quickly evolving into a cascade of laughter that bubbled up as you tilted your head back, reveling in the sheer absurdity of his brazen remark. The sound was infectious, a melody of mirth that filled the air around you. As the laughter subsided, you dropped your head forward, resting your chin on your hand, your eyes glimmering with a mix of amusement and distaste. "Let’s get real for a second: your breath reeks like merde, and your pick-up lines are just as shitty. Do yourself a favor and find someone else to annoy, imbécile."

You watched as Daniel’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson, his expression a portrait of wounded pride as you turned to walk away. It was as if your words had pierced his heart, but deep down, you knew it was his ego that had taken the real hit. As you moved on, he hurried ahead, sauntering backward in a desperate attempt to keep your gaze locked on him, a comical scene that made you wish he would trip over his own bravado and land flat on his face.

“Ouch, that stung! C'mon, babygirl, don’t be like that. I can show you a real good time,” he declared, flashing a grin that was equal parts audacity and desperation, his hand making an absurd gesture at his crotch. You rolled your eyes, annoyance flaring up inside you as you continued to ignore him, striding past with purpose, his three friends trailing behind like lost puppies.

“Hey, I’m talking to you…” Daniel called out, his fingers stretching toward your arm in a misguided attempt at connection, just as a stranger intervened with impeccable timing. With a fluid motion that spoke of practiced confidence, the newcomer seized Daniel’s wrist, twisting it behind his back while applying just the right amount of pressure to send a clear message.

"Ow, ow, ow! What the hell?! Crazy bastard, let go of me!" Daniel's voice rang out, a desperate mix of pain and incredulity, slicing through the charged atmosphere. His friends stood frozen, their eyes wide, caught in a tableau of shock and indecision, unwilling to intervene in this unfolding drama.

The newcomer, radiating an unsettling calm, wore a knowing smirk that suggested he relished the moment. His grip was unyielding, a silent testament to his resolve. "Can't you take a hint, Danny boy? She's clearly not interested. It’s time for you to back off from my new friend."

With each futile twist and turn, Daniel struggled to break free from the iron grip that held his wrist captive, a mix of anger and embarrassment flooding his senses. "Okay, okay! I'll leave her alone! Just let go of me, for fuck sake!"

The newcomer’s smile widened, a lazy amusement dancing in his eyes as he shoved Daniel back toward his friends. Mark, unable to suppress his delight, chimed in with a teasing lilt, "Haha! You've just had your ass handed to you by Elias and been publicly humiliated by the new pretty girl! I can’t wait to spread this around campus!" His words dripped with a blend of mockery and triumph, each syllable a sharp reminder of Daniel's defeat.

Leo and Jack joined the chorus of laughter, their chuckles ringing out like a soundtrack to Daniel's humiliation as they turned to walk away. Left alone, he rubbed his sore wrist, a mixture of frustration and embarrassment swirling within him, silently pleading for this moment to vanish into the ether, hoping against hope that his friends would keep this little spectacle under wraps.

You finally caught a glimpse of the new guy who had swooped in to help, even though you could've easily handled yourself. He stood tall and confident, his short black hair falling in curtain-like waves around thick, slightly arched eyebrows that framed his warm brown eyes. Those eyes, glimmering with a gentle light, seemed to hold a universe of stories, perfectly complementing the straight, defined nose and full lips that hinted at a playful smile, one that promised both mischief and warmth. His fair skin bore a light tan, while his sharp jawline, accentuated by light stubble and a neatly trimmed goatee. Small silver hoop earrings dangled from both ears, paired with a delicate silver stud that caught the light just right. He wore a snug gray hoodie over a crisp white shirt, light blue jeans that hung casually, and fresh white Nike Air Forces.

"Sorry about that; some guys these days don’t know how to take a hint, so I thought you could use some help. I’m Elias Taylor." His voice was deep but not overly so—just the right amount of resonance that made you lean in closer, as if drawn by an invisible thread. He stretched out his hand toward you, and you hesitated for a moment, taking in the warmth of his smile before clasping your hand in his. The connection was electric, a moment suspended in time, as you felt the strength of his grip and the unspoken acknowledgment of your own resilience.

Elias regarded you with a smirk before saying, "Valeria De Martel! Nice to meet you!"

The way he pronounced your name was almost lyrical, each syllable dripping with admiration and curiosity. You tilted your head, blinking in surprise, momentarily lost in the depths of his gaze. You hadn’t remembered giving him your name, and he chuckled at your bewildered expression, the sound like music in the air. "You've heard of me?" you asked, a mix of curiosity and disbelief threading through your tone, your heart racing at the unexpected recognition.

"Of course! Most people on this campus know who the hell Valeria De Martel is! You're the new UConn rookie for the Huskies, and your victory in France winning the international U16 championship trophy? You're pretty badass Frenchie!" His laughter was infectious, a bright spark that illuminated the lingering shadows of the moment.

"Oh... well it's a pleasure meeting you, Elias," you said, your voice laced with a thick French accent, a soft and charming smile illuminating your face as a delicate blush crept across your cheeks at his flattering words. It was a moment of delightful surprise; you had never expected anyone to pay such attention to your highlights or to know about your accomplishments. As he released your hand, a gentle warmth lingered in the air between you.

Elias circled you with an air of playful curiosity, his hand resting thoughtfully on his chin, before exclaiming, "You have a pretty badass bike as well—damn, this is awesome! I'm a huge fan of the Huskies, but now that we're friends, you definitely have to get me a seat for your games." His words danced between jest and sincerity, prompting you to roll your eyes in a playful manner, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"Yeah, as if! Why can't you just buy tickets like a normal person?" you muttered, your accent wrapping around the words with a delightful flourish. His laughter rang out, rich and infectious, as he slung his arm around your shoulder. Surprisingly, you felt an easy comfort in his embrace, an unspoken connection that you couldn’t quite articulate.

"Damn, Frenchie! You must not know how things work here in Connecticut," he chuckled, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "You see, whenever the Huskies have home games, they sell out in the snap of a finger because the fans absolutely love seeing them play."

"So, what brings you all the way from France, Frenchie? Besides basketball, that can't be the only reason," he teased, his voice a playful lilt as you both meandered down the sun-dappled path, the gentle rustle of leaves harmonizing with the soft cadence of your footsteps.

"Just to travel," you replied, your words slipping from your lips with the lilting cadence of your French accent, a melodic veil over the half-truth that concealed the deeper yearning within. Beneath the surface lay the heavy burden of expectations, the relentless pressure from your parents that loomed like an ominous shadow, casting doubt upon your every step.

"Naw, that can't be the reason..." His tone shifted, a conspiratorial whisper threading through the air, the gravity of his gaze piercing through the lighthearted banter. "Definitely to get away from high expectations and your parents, right?" The casual nature of his words struck a chord deep within, and you met his probing gaze with a blend of surprise and reluctant intrigue.

His laughter erupted, bright and effervescent, shattering the fragile tension that had enveloped you both. "I'm just fuckin' with you, Frenchie! Jeez, you look like you wanted to punch me in my shit," he exclaimed, amusement dancing in his eyes as he cast a glance at the crinkled schedule clutched tightly in your hand, a testament to your nervous grip.

"Let me at least show you your classes and give you a tour. It’s the least I can do for those basketball game tickets. What do you say? Deal?" His sincerity wrapped around you like a warm embrace, coaxing a reluctant smile to your lips as you rolled your eyes in playful resignation.

With a nod of agreement, he patted your shoulder affectionately before releasing you from his grasp. As he began to lead the way toward your class, you trailed behind him like a lost puppy.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

As you sprinted across the sun-drenched expanse of the football fields, the echoes of laughter and music lingered in your mind, remnants of a lazy afternoon spent with Elias and his eclectic crew of friends. They had formed a small band just a couple of weeks ago, aptly named Hamartia, a title that hinted at both their youthful exuberance and the inevitable flaws that came with it. Elias, the charismatic guitarist and de facto leader, had a magnetic presence that drew you in, while Dallas, with his rhythmic intensity on the drums, and Daniela, whose bass lines pulsed like a heartbeat, created a sound that was surprisingly cohesive. In your honest opinion, they were pretty good—raw and unrefined but brimming with potential.

Elias had casually suggested that you join the band, a proposition that sent a jolt of anxiety through your veins. Elias had invited you to join the band, a proposition that both thrilled and terrified you.

You had always dabbled with instruments, but the thought of performing in front of an audience made your heart race for all the wrong reasons. Your parents had sent you away to boarding school at fifteen, a decision that had shattered your sense of belonging and left you grappling with their expectations.

The boarding school they sent you to wasn't so terrible, really. Within its ivy-clad walls, you discovered a world of music, learning to play various instruments that filled your days with melody and rhythm. It was there, amid the structured chaos of academia and faith, that you met her—the bright spark that illuminated some of the best moments of your life.

The school, a strict Christian institution, didn’t particularly bother you; rather, it offered a sense of order that you found comforting. For three years, you navigated its corridors, and in your final year, you even embraced the thrill of basketball, the court becoming a sanctuary where you could channel your energy.

You thrived within those walls, achieving straight A's and B's, your behavior transforming over time. This newfound success led your parents to become increasingly lenient, their attention drifting as they believed you had finally met their expectations. Yet, in an unexpected twist, you chose to leave without a word, vanishing into the unknown, leaving them to ponder the silence of your absence.

You weren't even ready, still wearing the clothes you'd thrown on for school that morning. Your long legs carried you across campus, a full-on sprint that blurred the edges of your vision. A trail of mumbled apologies followed in your wake as you navigated the throng of students. Punctuality was usually your mantra, but today, basketball beckoned with an irresistible allure. You'd managed to slip away, savoring this new sense of freedom, the absence of your parents' watchful eyes a heady elixir.

Despite your best efforts, you were still thirty minutes late, a fact that gnawed at your nerves. You could only hope your new coach wouldn't unleash a torrent of reprimands as you burst through the facility doors. The sound was like a gunshot in the otherwise silent gym. Every girl mid-practice snapped their heads in your direction, their focus momentarily shattered. The rhythmic cadence of bouncing basketballs dissolved into an echoing silence; all eyes now fixed on you.

Each step you took, the sound of your shoes clicked against the polished floor, each click amplified by the sudden quiet, as you hurried towards your new coach. But fate, it seemed, had other plans. Your foot caught, and you stumbled, gravity seizing control as you crashed onto the unforgiving hardwood. The thud reverberated through the gym. Unbeknownst to you, Paige snorted, her hand flying to her mouth in a futile attempt to stifle her laughter. Lou, ever the compassionate soul, jogged over to help you up, while KK winced, a shared empathy for your misfortune etched on her face.

Your cheeks burned with the fiery blush of embarrassment, a sensation that intensified with each passing second. A groan escaped your lips as you felt a hand gently grasp your arm, lifting you back to your feet. You quickly retrieved your bag from the floor, your fingers brushing against the cool leather. It was Lou, her soft smile a comforting beacon in the sea of judging eyes. "Esto es vergonzoso," you muttered, your voice thick with a French accent laced with a Spanish lilt. "I wish the floor would swallow me whole. Hopefully, Coach isn't too mad about me being late." The words tumbled out in a hurried rush, earning a low chuckle from the Mexican woman beside you.

Lou simply patted your shoulder, her touch offering a silent reassurance as she guided you towards your new coach. "Aye, todos tenemos días malos, a pesar de que ese otoño fue quite an entrance," she teased gently. "Solo tal vez un poco de regaño, nada que no puedas manejar. Además, esta es tu primera vez en Estados Unidos, así que relájate, chica."

You offered a nod, your face etched with an apologetic expression, hoping to smooth over the situation. Lou gently nudged you towards the coach, then discreetly stepped back, leaving you to face the music. "Finally, you've decided to grace us with your presence, newcomer. You're officially thirty minutes late," the older man pointed out, his finger tapping impatiently on his silver wristwatch. The gesture was precise, each movement deliberate, like the ticking of time itself counting against you.

"L-Lo siento, Coach," you stammered, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I lost track of time, and this campus is very huge. I think I got lost more times than I can count. It won't happen again." Your thick accent. You couldn't miss Paige's derisive snort from a few feet away, a clear indication that she found your predicament amusing. You chose to ignore it, focusing instead on the man before you.

"Well, now that you know your way here, don't let it happen again. Otherwise, you'll find yourself running until you drop." Geno's tone was a complex blend of seriousness and lightheartedness, leaving you uncertain whether he was joking or delivering a grave warning.

His hand, a warm anchor, settled on your shoulder, the unexpected gentleness of his voice cutting through the ambient noise of the court. "Alright now," he announced, his tone carrying a subtle command, "since our newcomer has finally arrived, gather 'round."

The girls, all coordinated grace, moved as one toward their coach, you, and Lou. Only Paige trailed behind, her face carefully blank. "From this day forward, Valeria," Geno declared, turning his head to meet your gaze directly, his eyes holding a wealth of unspoken expectations, "I will be your new coach. My name is Geno Auriemma, but you will call me Geno. Understand?" You nodded, absorbing the quiet authority that radiated from him. He continued, his voice gaining a sharper edge, "Listen up! As some of you may know, we have a new foreign player joining our ranks, and a few of you might've already met her. But for those who haven't, this is Valeria De Martel. Let me make this crystal clear: you will show her the same respect and courtesy you expect for yourselves. From this moment on, she is part of this team; she is a Husky." Geno's declaration hung in the air, his eyes locking with Paige's, a silent challenge passing between them. Paige lowered her gaze, a flicker of defiance momentarily subdued.

Geno stood 6'1", a figure of quiet authority that commanded attention without uttering a word. His short, gray hair, threaded with strands of white, framed a visage that balanced strength with a surprising gentleness, the lines etched around his eyes. Dressed in casual sports attire, the modern uniform of his trade, he wore glasses.

Lou's enthusiastic clapping sparked a chain reaction, a wave of applause rippling through the team, a warm welcome washing over you. Lou, ever the effusive one, launched into a rapid-fire stream of praise in Spanish, punctuating her words with a friendly pat on your back. "Now then, Valeria," Geno interjected, his voice a calm counterpoint to Lou's exuberance, "get changed into your uniform. We're going to run a drill on the court." He gestured towards the locker room with a nod, his eyes conveying a silent expectation.

"Aye, aye, Coach G," you responded playfully, your accent thick and charming, as you offered a mock salute. The gesture, lighthearted and irreverent, elicited a low chuckle from Geno. The rest of the team joined in the laughter. All, that is, except for Paige. She stood apart, her expression unreadable, her eyes flicking upwards in an eye roll that betrayed her disdain for your voice and, perhaps, your very presence. Undeterred, you jogged towards the locker room, the sound of your sneakers echoing on the polished floor as you disappeared behind the heavy door.

Emerging from the locker room, the official jersey feels foreign against your skin, the assigned number a ghost of past camaraderie. Scanning the court, the girls are already warming up, their energy a stark contrast to your own trepidation. A touch on your shoulder startles you; Lou stands beside you, a knowing grin playing on her lips, her eyebrow arched in silent inquiry.

Adorned in your new UConn jersey, layered over a navy-blue T-shirt, paired with matching shorts. Your feet were encased in Kyire 7 TB Midnight Navy shoes, a subtle nod to modern style. The ensemble served as a canvas, highlighting your sculpted arms, where subtle veins coursed beneath the skin. Your legs, powerful and finely tuned, bore the marks of both athleticism and artistry. Tattoos snaked around your calves, each design a meticulously crafted narrative – a phoenix rising from ashes, symbolizing resilience; a geometric pattern, reflecting your love for precision and order; and a delicate floral motif, a nod to the beauty you find in the world.

Lou stood there, a silent observer, admiring your physique but also puzzled by the unexpected addition of a shirt beneath your jersey. Her confusion hung in the air, a question unspoken yet palpable, as she took in the details of your carefully curated appearance.

"Why the hell are you wearing that, chica? You're going to be a walking sauna out there," she teased, tugging at your navy tee. You held back the real reason—a story for later. For now, a smile would have to do, keeping your secret safe.

A lazy smirk tugged at your lips, prompting her eyebrow to arch in playful curiosity. "Just means you'll have a front-row seat to my sweat and tears," you quipped. Before she could retort, a piercing whistle shattered the air, abruptly ending your tête-à-tête. Both you and Lou turned to see Coach Geno, whistle clenched between his teeth, as he announced, "Alright, listen up! We're running 3-on-3 drills today. Nika, Lou, and Valeria, you're a team. Azzi, Aaliyah, and Paige, you're up against them. Let's get to work!" The challenge was set, the teams were chosen, and the game was about to begin.

His words sent a shiver down your spine, a sudden reminder of the intensity of 3-on-3 drills. It had been years since you'd faced live opponents, your practice sessions since the age of fourteen relegated to solitary endeavors or occasional matches with your uncle. This was different, a true test of skill and mettle. As you blinked, gathering your composure, Lou's radiant smile cut through your thoughts. Her excitement was palpable, eager to finally witness your prowess on the court. With a playful tug, she steered you toward Nika, who stood observing you with a lazy smirk.

"Our uniform was made for you, beba!" she exclaimed, her eyes flickering up and down, taking in the fabric and the number emblazoned upon it. A knowing smirk touched your lips as you retorted, "Any uniform looks good on me; I mean, just look." With a casual gesture, you lifted your jersey and navy shirt, revealing a glimpse of your toned abdomen. Upon it, a tattoo in elegant Chinese characters, medium in size, proclaimed, "Always love yourself first." A phantom troupe tattoo subtly peeked out from the defined waistline.

Nika's eyes rolled, while Lou's whistle cut through the air. "Show off, now see what you're really made of." She gestured towards the court and the beckoning basketball. You nodded, your Adam's apple bobbing with a nervous flutter. What if you don't play well? What if you've lost your touch? What if they aren't impressed? What if you embarrass yourself? The thoughts swirled as you clenched your hands into fists. Yet, one thing remained certain: you were determined to play in the WNBA; that was your unwavering goal.

As you, Lou, Nika, Aaliyah, Azzi, and Paige took your positions, the gym hummed with an anticipatory energy. The ball was tossed into play, and the knot of nervousness tightened.

Nika dribbled the ball up the court, her eyes scanning for an opening. You moved to the corner, seeking space, but Azzi defended you closely. Looking into her eyes, you saw nothing but focused precision gleaming back at you. Her sharp defense made it nearly impossible to break free. This felt different from the international competition where you'd won the U16 championship cup. There, challenges were scarce, but now you were caught between a rock and a hard place.

As Paige orchestrated the game, her voice, sharp and clear, guided Aaliyah and Azzi with the finesse of a maestro. Her eyes danced between you and Lou, weaving a strategy that transformed the court into a beautiful ballet of teamwork.

"Switch if she cuts left!" Paige's command cut through the gymnasium's roar, a precise directive that echoed in the electric air.

Yet, you chose to ignore her call, instead succumbing to the rhythm of your own instincts. With a swift, deliberate cut across the court, you sought to carve out space for a pass. But Paige, ever the astute observer, anticipated your intentions with uncanny precision, reading the unfolding play as if it were a well-worn novel. She slid into position, deftly obstructing the passing lane and forcing Nika to seek out Lou instead.

"C'mon," she muttered, her voice laced with mockery, just audible enough for you to catch as you brushed past her. "Honestly, Frenchie, don't humiliate yourself out here; it's utterly pathetic watching you struggle to keep up."

You puffed out your cheek, frustration simmering beneath your skin, her words a sharp sting. Inhaling deeply, you fought to retain your composure, anchoring your gaze on the ball, determined not to let her taunts divert you from the essence of the game.

Lou effortlessly caught the ball from Nika, a swift move towards the basket. Aaliyah loomed, an imposing figure blocking any chance for a clean shot. With a subtle flick of her wrist, Lou passed the ball to you.

Instinctively, you caught the ball with ease, shifting your weight and executing skillful dribbling moves that carved a small opening from Azzi. Just as you surged forward, the ball was suddenly stripped from your grasp, leaving you stunned and disoriented. You watched as Paige, already positioned beyond the arc, launched a flawless three-pointer. The ball soared gracefully through the air, landing with a satisfying swish.

As she jogged past you, a cocky smirk played on her lips, her eyes glinting with triumph, "Damn, Frenchie! You're not watching your surroundings at all. Better keep your head in the game, or your food's gonna get snatched right out from under you!" She taunted. You clenched your fist, struggling to maintain your composure, but she sought to break your cool, to know that her antics were working, burrowing under your skin.

As the game wore on, your frustration mounted. Lou and Nika noticed, observing as you sweated, muttering curses in French and Spanish, their attempts to ease your agitation proving futile. Paige's relentless mockery and taunts had burrowed deep under your skin. Despite your efforts, every shot seemed to bounce off the rim, save for a few lucky ones that found their mark.

Azzi's reign over the court, an era defined by her incandescent energy as she orchestrated the offense alongside Aaliyah and Paige, each dribble of the ball was a deliberate act, resonating with unspoken intent. You, a sentinel of defense, crouched low, every muscle coiled, ready to unravel her advances in a heartbeat. Then, Azzi surged, a whirlwind of resolve seemingly unbound by earthly constraints.

Pursuing her like a relentless specter, Paige executed a screen with calculated precision, the collision sending you spiraling onto the unforgiving hardwood. The echo of the impact reverberated through the gym, a discordant note amidst the symphony of the game. As you lay there, disoriented, it felt as though you had collided with an unyielding fortress, Paige casting a long shadow over you, her lips curved into that infuriatingly self-assured smirk.

In that fleeting moment, Azzi hesitated, a flicker of pause before she resumed her glide toward the basket, her movements now a study in fluidity and grace. Gathering the ball, she ascended, her eyes locked onto the rim, a beacon in the distance. At the apex of her jump, she released the ball, sending it on a trajectory of exquisite beauty, kissing the backboard before it slipped through the net, eluding Nika's desperate reach.

"We can't keep meeting like this Frenchie. It looks hopeless." Paige called out her voice dripping with cruel mockery as she tilted her head staring down at you. "How's the floor treating you? Tough crowd, huh?" She snorted before laughing at your disoriented form laying on the hardwood floor while Lou and Nika jogging over towards you their faces etched with concern and indignation, directing their reprimands at Paige who nonchalantly shrugged her shoulders.

Her words, laced with a chilling indifference, hung in the charged air of the court: "Basketball's a contact sport. If she can't handle it, she can kick rocks." With that, Paige turned, her exit a study in nonchalant grace, though not entirely escaping the subtle censure of Azzi's shoulder nudge—a silent reprimand for the persistent sting of her taunts.

Then, the warmth of Lou and Nika's hands enveloped yours, a gentle but firm invitation back to your feet. Frustration simmered, each breath coming in ragged pants as your gaze remained fixed on Paige, her cocky smirk a radiant beacon in the periphery as she shared laughter with Aaliyah. It was Lou's delicate touch upon your cheek that finally shattered the trance, pulling you back to the present.

"What the hell is her problem?" you exclaimed, the cadence of your accent thickening with the swell of irritation, your finger a pointed accusation aimed at Paige. Lou merely cast a fleeting glance in her direction, her expression unreadable. "She's just competitive; don't sweat it." Nika's hand settled on your damp jersey, a reassuring weight against the storm brewing within. With a scoff, you ran a hand through your disheveled hair, allowing it to fall where it may, as the coach mercifully called a timeout—a brief reprieve from the aftermath of the collision that still reverberated through your very bones.

"Why does it feel like she's always gunning for me? Like I'm the main character in her hate story?" You blurted it out, totally winded. Your jaw was clenched so tight you could feel it ticking. You were too consumed with Paige to notice Lou, who'd already taken off, her sneakers squeaking on the polished floor as she sprinted to grab a towel and a bottle of ice-cold water. All you could feel was Paige's presence, the way her shoulders were set, the deliberate curve of her neck as she pretended you didn't exist. Lou tossed the towel, the soft cotton a welcome distraction as you swiped it across your forehead, soaking up the sweat. She popped the top off the water bottle, the hiss of escaping pressure a sharp counterpoint to the simmering tension.

"Don't let her crawl into that pretty head of yours, chica." Lou murmured, her Spanish accent a comforting warmth. Her eyes flicked towards Paige, a vision of casual charm as she laughed with Aaliyah and Azzi. Azzi's gaze, however, was subtly different—a fleeting check of your well-being, a silent acknowledgment of Paige's uncharacteristic aggression. You swallowed, the cool water a momentary distraction from the burn of Paige's animosity, each gulp a small act of defiance against the rising tide of frustration.

"You're letting her dictate the rhythm of your game, the very way you play." Nika observed, her voice a soft but firm current. You turned, the water bottle still touching your lips, her words a refreshing splash against your rising anxiety. "This court, this team—they're as much yours as they are hers. You're a Husky; wear that badge with pride. Show her—show them all—that you belong here, without question." Her words were a flint striking steel, igniting a spark of resolve within you. It was time to claim your space, to silence the doubts, and to prove, not just to Paige but to yourself, that you were every inch a Husky.

As Coach Geno blew the whistle your gaze shot towards him as you handed Lou your towel and water which she jogged towards the bench to place the water and towel back as she walked back towards you and Nika, "Alright ladies lets resume our position continue this drill. Valeria are you okay?" Geno turned his gaze towards you his voice was commanding and clear that you nodded your head only prompting Paige let out a snort, small laughs escaping her lips but only get nudge by Azzi who gave her best friend that look which Paige retort with an eyebrow as Azzi rolled her eyes.

As the practice game progressed you getting your groove back, you were so focused that you completely ignored Paige taunts and mockery. You made shots from mid-range or deep range without any hesitation that found their marks splashing through the net even giving assists towards Nika and Lou, blocking shots from Paige who became annoyed by your abilities. You and Paige was going head-to-head not giving neither of you room to breathe trying to outperform one another.

The intensity rose up as the ball swung back to your team. Lou held the ball with a calm confidence before it to you. Without elegant effort caught it naturally while Lou and Nika giving you encouraging head nods that fueled your determination. In that moment your whole body shifted into attention mode your focus sharpening like a laser making world around you fade. A bead of sweat tracing down the bridge of your nose and the rhythmic bounce of the ball echoed like a heartbeat.

With a sense of purpose, you dribbled pretending to drive left but Paige already read you like an open book. With a burst of energy you drove right executing a smooth crossover yet Paige remained close to you like a shadow as you approached the hoop, Azzi eyes on you and Paige hoping you would show Paige that you belong and put her stubbornness in place, your heart raced with adrenaline matching steady thump of the ball against the polished hardwood floor.

Paige stood behind you like a determined shadow her forehead glistening with sweat her blue eyes glistening with focus and resolve. In fast motion you leaped forward your body defying gravity as you soared up flickering your wrist up. The ball seemed to dance in your hand as you were trying to do a reverse layup suspended in mid-air as Paige front was near your back she wore a cocky smirk ready to block your layup.

In heart beat as you were still in midair your hand snapped back behind you and Paige as you gave Nika a snake-eyed pass behind your back the ball slipping effortlessly passed Paige guided by your fingertips as Nika effortlessly caught the perfect snake-eyed pass she was positioned in right corner behind the three-point line, your eyes were sharp finding the open you felt Azzi gaze on your and Paige which created a opening for you as Nika squared her shoulders her gaze determined and leapt into the action as Azzi rushed over intent to on a jump block but the ball was already released gliding through the air in a seamless arc destined for glory. It found its mark with a satisfying swish the net rippling gently as it embraced the ball like a long-lost friend.

When the pass happened, it was more than just a play; it was a statement. The ball arced through the air, a perfect trajectory ending with your teammate’s triumphant score.

A slow, satisfied smirk curled your lips, mirroring the arrogance Paige had displayed just moments before. The taste of retribution was indeed sweet. "Wow, you're really committed to letting me make that pass, aren't you? Thanks for the assist, carino," you purred, the words dripping with a rich accent that underscored the sting. It wasn't just about the points; it was about turning her own game against her, a subtle yet decisive victory in your ongoing battle.

As you jogged back to your defensive position, you caught Paige’s eye roll and scoff. She dismissed it as mere luck, a fluke that wouldn't be repeated. But you knew better. It wasn't luck; it was precision, strategy, and a touch of poetic justice.

"Hell yeah, that's what I'm talking about, Frenchie!" Nika's cheer cut through the air, her hand finding yours in a sharp, satisfying high five. It was a brief, electric connection, followed by the familiar, intricate handshake the two of you had concocted during countless practice sessions. Lou, never one to be left out, rushed over, slinging an arm around your shoulder. "Good shit, chica! Didn't even see that coming—hell, I honestly don't think Paige seen it coming!" Her Spanish accent, usually a low murmur, now vibrated with excitement and praise.

The three of you fell back into formation, ready to seize the game. The wave of approval from Nika and Lou washed over you, bolstering your confidence and determination. The earlier frustration and anger, which had threatened to consume you, began to dissipate like mist under the morning sun. Your gaze drifted towards Paige, who was already staring at you, her eyes narrowed into a piercing glare. It was a look that could kill, a silent promise of retribution that sent a faint shiver down your spine. Yet, you shook it off, unable to resist the impulse to meet her gaze with a taunting smirk.

As the 3v3 scrimmage wound down, the score was deadlocked, and the air crackled with anticipation. The next basket would likely decide the game, and everyone in the gym knew it. Paige had possession of the ball, her eyes locked onto you as she slowly dribbled up the court. Each bounce echoed in the tense silence, a metronome counting down to the inevitable clash.

Paige signaled for a screen from Azzi, but you anticipated the move, fighting through the pick and sticking to Paige like a shadow. Paige dribbled right, then crossed back to her left, a fluid motion designed to create separation, but you mirrored her every step, refusing to yield an inch of space. As she approached the free-throw line, she rose for a mid-range jumper, her form a testament to countless hours of practice. In that fleeting moment, you sprang upwards, your hand outstretched, your fingertips barely grazing the ball as it sailed through the air. It found its mark, hitting the rim with a metallic clang before bouncing away, the sound echoing the intensity of the moment.

"Rebound!" you called out, a cocky grin spreading across your face. The earlier words of Nika and Lou had worked their magic, restoring the confidence that had momentarily deserted you.

Nika secured the rebound and fired a quick pass up court. You exploded into a sprint, gliding towards the paint, your feet dancing across the smooth hardwood like a seasoned performer on a polished stage. Paige scrambled back on defense, but you were already a step ahead, anticipation fueling your every move. As you reached the paint, Nika lobbed a perfectly timed pass, the ball arcing gracefully through the air towards your outstretched hands.

Paige lunged, desperation etched on her face, but she was a heartbeat too late. You ascended, not merely jumping, but launching yourself into a gravity-defying ballet. It was a breathtaking rise, an arc of defiance against the mundane. Your hand met the rim, and with a primal roar of exertion, you slammed the ball through the net, the sound echoing through the stunned arena.

"Game!" Coach Geno bellowed, the whistle piercing the stunned silence, yet a flicker of admiration danced in his eyes. You landed, a warrior returning from battle, sweat tracing glistening paths on your forehead, your hands finding purchase on your hips as you gulped in air. Nika and Lou converged on you, a jubilant storm of celebration, their voices a chorus of triumph.

High fives rained down, each slap a jolt of pure adrenaline. The exhilaration coursed through your veins, a heady cocktail of victory and exhaustion. It was a rare and exquisite sensation, this challenge, this hard-fought win. You had half-expected to dominate, accustomed as you were to the relative ease of the U16 European championships. But Azzi Fudd and Paige Bueckers were a different breed, a relentless force, their skill a mesmerizing blend of artistry and power. They were relentless on both sides of the ball, they were skilled in both offense and defense, leaving you in awe and breathless and yearning for more.

Nika loops her arm around your shoulder, pulling you into a familiar side hug, yet you can't shake the prickling sensation of a cold stare boring into you from across the court. It's Paige. Her gaze is sharp, unwavering, a silent challenge cutting through the post-game jubilation.

"Damn, damn Frenchie! I thought you were handing them the win for sure?" KK's teasing grin breaks through the tension as she approaches, dapping you up, your practiced handshake a familiar rhythm in the chaos. She praises your performance, a flurry of words that barely register as Azzi approaches, her smile soft and genuine.

Turning your head, you offer a lazy yet charming smile. "Wow, Valerie, you're truly amazing out there. Can't wait to see you play for us in a actual game." Her voice is rich, melodic, drawing you in like a siren's call. Your heart thuds against your chest at her words, your cheeks already flushed from the heat of the game now tinted a deeper pink.

She gently pulls you away from Nika, who doesn't seem to mind, already deep in conversation with Lou about your dunk – a feat they'd never seen a woman your height accomplish. Azzi's hug is warm, close, the sweat and heat from her body seeping into yours. Her hands rest loosely on your waist, but it's the brush of her lips against the shell of your ear that sends a shiver down your spine, a sensual whisper that speaks volumes.

"The way you moved on the court was mesmerizing, like a dance that I couldn't take my eyes off of." Azzi's words hung in the air, a silken thread that tugged at your senses. Your eyes fluttered shut for a fleeting moment, her voice a husky caress that resonated deep within your bones. It was a siren's song, a melody you could drown in without a second thought. "T-Thanks, Azzi," you stammered, the word catching in your throat. "You were truly remarkable. I've never broken a sweat like this. It's exhilarating."

You cursed the betraying stutter, but Azzi seemed to find it endearing, a playful smirk dancing on her lips as she leaned closer, her breath ghosting against your ear. "Maybe we can do 1v1 sometime. I promise to make you sweat even more." The words, innocent on the surface, dripped with a sensual undercurrent that sent a shiver dancing down your spine. Your face flushed crimson, your breath hitching in your chest. Perhaps you were reading too much into her playful banter, but the way she'd purred those words, the tantalizing promise in her voice, left your knees weak and your mind reeling.

Meanwhile, Paige, a storm cloud brewing in her eyes, marched past without so much as a glance, her silence a stinging rebuke. Yet, despite the intoxicating pull of Azzi's presence, a desperate need to bridge the chasm between you and Paige surged within you. "Excuse me for a moment," you murmured to Azzi, her fingers reluctantly leaving your waist, a departure that left a pleasant ache in their wake. You jogged after Paige, reaching out, your fingertips grazing her wrist. The moment she felt your touch, she recoiled as if burned, snatching her arm away with a disdainful flick of her wrist.

She stopped, glancing back to find you trailing behind, a sheen of sweat on your brow and a soft smile playing on your lips. "You are incredible point guard," you blurted out, your accent thick and rich with genuine admiration. "I hope to learn from you, that we can become great teammates in the future!" You extended a hand, half-expecting her to turn away, to dismiss you with a scoff. Instead, she moved closer, her presence towering over you. Her hand clasped yours, a firm yet surprisingly gentle grip that sent a jolt through you. In a swift motion, your head found itself resting against her shoulder, her lips ghosting against the sensitive shell of your ear.

"Frenchie, listen and listen very closely," she murmured, her voice a deep, resonant timbre that sent shivers down your spine. "I don't like you. I can't stand the sight of you. We will never be teammates. Your win today? A fluke. Pure, dumb luck, and it won't happen again. Got it?"

Her words were like shards of ice, each syllable cutting through you with chilling precision. You were left speechless, the air thick with unspoken emotions. She released your hand, the warmth of her body abruptly gone as she turned her back to you. You instinctively reached up to touch your ear, now burning with a flush, your lips parting to form words that caught in your throat. Despite the sting of her rejection, a strange sense of elation bubbled within you. You were shocked, surprised that she had touched you, had spoken to you with such raw intensity. It was a small victory, perhaps, a twisted sort of progress that others might deem insane.

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lazyneonrabbitt · 3 months ago

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Missing pieces

Bucky Barnes x Reader

After settling back into society, Bucky finds himself a new family.

Descriptions of night terrors forced upon Bucky. PTSD struggles. I'm uneducated about the mentioned medications and their effects. Not beta'd I finished this at 1am last night so I apologize for any missed typos.

After Wakanda Bucky had finally started to reinsert himself into society. With help from Sam, annoyingly frequent therapy sessions and his own amend-making he felt like he was doing well enough if he said so himself.

Getting rid of his long hair with help from Sarah took a huge weight off his shoulders as well. The long locks no longer shadowed his face and had him jump in panic at the sight of his own reflection.

He did still hide his arm from view, unsure how people would respond to it. Even though he himself didn't associate the new sleek black and gold arm with his past, he wasn't comfortable enough to have it on display.

Not even now, as he sat at the diningtable with with the woman he now dared to call his partner, or girlfriend, and her three judgemental teenage kids.

Triplets, he had learned. Two girls and a boy.

They all liked him now, all four people he shared the table with, and he felt welcome. Something he had only ever felt in Wakanda and eventually with Sam's family as well. It felt good.

It felt so good, he wanted to stay with her and stay happy forever. Because he did feel genuinely happy.

Until the nightmares came back.

Bucky had blamed them on a variety of things, none of them really making sense on second thought but he ignored those thoughts.

What he couldn't ignore was the clawing at the back of his eyes and the voice in his head trying to talk to him. He could never seem to make out the words.

He sat at the diningtable again, his phome laid out in front of him after having stayed in bed for so long he missed everyone leaving for work or school.

His phone sat ready for the call button to be pressed, Shuri's picture staring back at him as he smiled fondly at the memory for a second before the dread of having to admit to her that something was wrong with him took over once more.

With a deep, grounding breath he pressed call. The line rang as the timer counted the seconds until she answered.

"Barnes, friend, what can I do for you? It's been a while!" She knew Bucky wouldn't call just to see how she was doing. He wasn't that kind of person. Besides, if he did want to, he'd text.

It was best to just rip the bandaid off.

"Something's wrong with me." The line fell quiet for a moment before Shuri spoke up.

"Words, Bucky. I can't read your mind through the phone. Even Wakandan tech isn't that advanced." God, he loved her for always having some smart comment ready to lighten his anxiety.

"You said you freed me from him.. He's trying to talk to me, I keep hearing him in thr back of my mind. It feels like he's clawing at the back of my eyeballs but I can't figure out what he's saying. The nightmares are back, too. Always the same one.."

Shuri listened, giving an occasional hum to let Bucky know she was getting everything he shared.

Bucky told her about the Winter Soldier's tone, what was around him when he'd show up to maybe figure out a trigger. Bucky also shared about his nigntmare aa well as he could without talking himself into a panic attack. He shared how he felt like he was back in the Soldier's body, not his own but still entirely aware. The wires going into his prosthetic and the heavy shock collar that woke him up whenever his dream-self would disobey orders.

He shared how he was forced to watch something. A woman in labor, he never saw her face. She was restrained on a medical bed surrounded by doctors and equipment, straining as she was having her baby. Babies, sometimes. It differed, depening if his body behaved. Whenever he'd do as much as flinch or pull his chains too harsh he'd get shocked and woke up from the torment.

His voice trembled as he recalled the nightmares returning the second he fell asleep whenever he hadn't made it to a certsin part. It felt like his mind needed him to remember, for whatever reason it was.

Bucky was so lost in thought he hadn't even realized he had company.

"I can offer you some meds, for your head."

The sudden third voice coming from behind him almost sent him over the edge of the already impending panic attack.

"H.. how much did you hear?" Bucky sat half turned in the chair, staring wide eyed at Gabriel, your oldest son, who was holding out a strip of pills for the older man.

"Enough to know you will absolutely benefit from those." Gabe could see the lingering shock in Bucky's eyes and decided to not yet drop the other obvious thing in the room and instead keep on rambling to distract him.

"Trust me, these may kick in a bit slow, but at least they help you fall asleep with a quiet mind instead of your brain wondering if snails have feelings the second you lie down." He watched Bucky face scrunch in confusion. "They also make sure you wake up without the urge to stick a fork in the electrical outlet."

"You deal with all of that?" Bucky's initial worry had left the building at how Gabriel described his issues. Gabriel only shrugged, it was all normal for him.

"I can't just take anyone's meds whenever my head acts weird. Besides, I don't think our issues come from the same place." Bucky had turned back to sit in his chair properly while Gabriel rummaged around the kitchen, making coffe for them both, entirely unphazed by the very old man staying in his home.

It was Gabriel's casualness around Bucky's accidental identity reveal though a phonecall and shortsleeved shirt that he decided his own apartment could survive one more day without him in it.

The two spent the whole day talking. Bucky truthfully answered questions, and Gabriel shared the struggles of his family that he believed the older man could relate to.

Struggles like his sister Ava, who barely spoke and once threw a guy agross a room without breaking a sweat after bullying her for months. Or their youngest brother Michael who to everyone else seemed like the most normal of the bunch, a simple, easily bored guy, who was really the smartest of the bunch. No need for books after one quick read and in every advanced placement class the school had to offer. But all of that was came with the worst social life. No friends besides his siblings and the occasional stranger to chat about topics with online.

Gabriel kept some details to himself, in the end there were things not his place to share. Intel he had and kept hidden from his siblings because he was just too curious one day and dug too deep into the wrong end after one too many emotional breakdowns at his mother talking through her night terrors. It wasn't something they should be worrying about either.

Time passed and eventually the two were so deep into conversarion they barely registered the remainder of the household coming home, starting with the two siblings who darted to their rooms in an instant, followed by her.

Mom, girlfriend, who entered wordlessly and strolled into the livingroom expecting to find it empty but instead rounding the corner and seeing Gabriel, and "Bucky?"

Both turned to face her direction. Bucky turning to look over his left shoulder, arm casually slung over the backrest to get a better look at his girlfriend coming home. He was all sweet smiles excited to see her again, until he realized his mistake. The sheer panic in her eyes broke his heart as he quickly retracted his arm, trying to hide it behind the couch but the damage was already done and Gabriel was on his feet and on his way to support his mother.

Except she swatted his hand away without a second thought, backing up into the dining table and almost tripping on her own feet. "Why didn't you text me? Gabe?"

The wide eyed stare did nothing to hide her fear. Fear that faded into emptiness.

It was that same emptiness she fell into sometimes when she just got her new medication and forgot to take it in time.

'Falling back into memories.' was what the doctors had called it when they explained how people with PTSD would sometimes have episodes of reliving traumatic experiences inside their head. That was the clearest description they could give to a bunch of scared kids who had to watch their mom become this shell of a person out of nowhere.

"Gabe, talk to me. What's going on with her? Why does she disappear like that?" Bucky was on his feet, ready to lead her to the couch and sit her down but his moves were quickly shut down.

"Look, I think I know where she is right now, and it's a bad memory. I'll get her back, I used to be the one doing it all the time before until she finally got taking her medication into her routine. Just.. don't look her in the eyes. She's probably gonna be terrified of you."

"Sorry.." Gabriel quicky added before he set into his routine of getting his mother back like clockwork.

In the meantime two curious heads had shown up near the entryway, dead silent as they watched and observed. Neither knew why their mom went quiet after so long of doing fine. They knew to keep quiet so they watched as she slowly came back and started mumbling at their older brother.

Without looking in her direction Bucky focused on her words.

Soft pleas to make it stop, calling out for nurses, pain and tiredness until she went quiet again for a minute.

"Hey mom, what's for dinner?" Gabriel's voice called out not as loud as he usually would but still mimicing the simple tone of the daily annoying question of every teenager ever. The most normal everyday sentence that would always have her snap right back.

And she did, with a deep intake of breath she blinked rapidly and turned to face her son. "Oh! Eh.. Didn't I take food out of the freezer this morning?" She turned to face the kitchen and passed two curious faces in the process that immediately informed her of what had happened. With a sigh she turned back in her seat, catching something in the corner of her eye and settling once more on Bucky. This time without falling into a panic, but she still stiffened in her chair. While he wasn't looking at her, she still saw enough of him. His eyes, that were just a little too blue to be natural.

His hair. It was short and clean but it matched. And the arm. It was no longer silver and missing the red star but it was still there out in the open now instead of hidden under many layers of clothing.

He had succesfully hidden it from her for so long. Not sleeping in bed with her, never taking up the offers to shower.

"Soldier.."

That was Gabriel's que. He nodded over his siblings to come sit with their mom while he scurried off and came back with a blue file folder in his hands. He apologized as he handed it off, letting their mother see things she never knew about herself. Or, more about her children.

The stamps in the corner of the copied and reprinted documents sent a chill down her spine.

"Where did you get this? How, why?" With every word read more questions bubbled up, down to the second she had turned two, three pages over and slammed the whole thing shut. Papers dropped and scattered over the floor as she stared back at the man on her couch with--

Bucky couldn't make out the look on her face. She didn't speak either but at least she was still breathing evenly now.

"Here." A single piece of paper was held in front of Bucky's face. The only one needed to suddenly clear up a whole lot of confusion.

It wasn't that Gabriel knew from the second their mom brought Bucky home, he had no clue either. It wasn't until earlier this morning when he walked in on him and saw his arm that it all clicked and he suddenly understood why this guy was the one she was so sure about.

'I don't know what it is, really. It feels natural, you know? The other guys were all dating apps and forced evenings at the bar. With Bucky it was like a neon sign that screamed YES and he's so sweet he has to like me the same way, I won't believe any other explaination.'

Gabriel kept his eyes on Bucky who read every word on the page out loud with trembling hands and voice.

"Your head's all fucked because of me?" Bucky looked from Gabriel to Ava. "You have traces of my serum. Your strenght and anger issues are mine. And you," Michael crossed his arms, still partially hidden behind his sister. "I guess you got lucky getting the fast learning side effects."

Despite the bomb that was just dropped he smiled, not that his other half could see him. At least he now knew what the Soldier had tried to tell him. He knew the woman but the connection between him and Bucky was so weak these days he couldn't let him know, but it seemed his feelings were strong enough to go through.

Carefully he raised his head to look at the woman he prayed still considered them partners.

"I.. I swear I didn't know it was you they--" She didn't dare to finish her sentence.

"Neither did I. I'm missing a lot of memories. Turns out that, he," Bucky wiggled the fingers of his vibranium hand to make his point. "does remember you and tried to tell me."

Gabriel had by now plucked the paper from Bucky's hand and offered it to Ava and Michael, knowing it was easier for now to have them read it for themselves than to have either parent say the words out loud.

With news shared amd hunger on no one's minds the evening faded into night quietly. All kids retreated to their rooms as well as mom while Bucky opted for the couch. He had offered to leave but none of the kids let him. They all believed their mom just needed to sleep on the revelation and she'd be more open to talk in the morning.

Bucky woke up to the sound of her voice the next day. He listened to her calling in sick before waving off the kids leaving for school.

The second the door closed he sat up, carefully looking her way as she gave him the smallest wave of her hand while walking out of view into the kitchen. Against his better judgement Bucky moved and met her by the coffeemaker where, to his surprise, she was preparing two mugs.

"I'm happy, for them." were the first words that she shared with him. "They need a dad, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't still head over heels for you. I needed a moment to think and last night I realized that I didn't care that I never got a choice. I love my kids and I--" She paused right on time to catch the words on her tounge before they slipped out.

She handed her his coffee, her fingers brushing his metal ones. "No I- I love my kids, and I love you, Bucky."

Bucky lowered his drink before he had a chance to take a sip. "Even after all of this?" He held up his prosthetic arm once again and watched her nod in agreement. Excited even, if he had to admit.

It all still felt weird to him. A family and people telling him they loved him in a way that wasn't how his friends said it.

"I love you too. And eh, so does he. He has for a while aparently. Turns out that's where the new nightmares came from." He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, trying to hide his face behind the mug in his hand but failing miserably.

"So, you're moving in now, right?" She started all nonchalant. "And you're officially banned from sleeping on the couch."

He couldn't keep the awkward smile off his face that was now turning darker shades of red at each of her words.

Yeah, there was no way he was going back to his apartment anymore after he went and moved over his minimal amount of possessions.

#sometimes i write #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x you #catfa #catws #cacw #fatws #thunderbolts #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes one shot

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nervouseden · 1 year ago

Text

God Among Men.

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x GN!Reader

Summary: After a stressful mission, your super soldier boyfriend needs you... This is literal trash. I apologize.

Warnings: SMUT. Brief mention of religious stuff. Worshipping. Misuse of religious terms. Collar and leash (it's really only mentioned like once or twice). Gender neutral reader. Blowjob. Face fucking. Finger sucking. Bucky Barnes (he's a warning). Metal arm (kink). A tad bit of hair pulling. Rough blowjob. Reader isn't the best at communicating. Praise. Some brief degradation. Voice kink (because who couldn't love that sweet baritone?). Brief mention of Shuri and Wakanda. Sir kink. Tears. Choking (from bj). Deep throating. Dom Bucky. Sub reader. Bucky's kinda rough. But also super sweet and concerned. Use of safe signal(?) like a safe word but nonverbal. Brief after care. Loosely Implied fingering/penetration afterwards. Like zero plot. Porn without Plot/Plot? What plot? Mildly dubious consent (not really, but I just want to be safe with my warnings!)

Please comment if you think I missed anything!

A/N: This is like my second or third time writing actual smut, please give me grace— Also I had this idea while sleep deprived and I'm currently stuck in artists/writers block so it's probably not my best work. But, I tried. This was written on my phone and not proofread, so I do apologize for any and all mistakes/typos.

A/N #2: I have absolutely nothing against any religions or religious people, and this is not meant to offend or target anybody in any way, shape, or form!

I do not own any characters mentioned in this story or the gif.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

18+!!! MINORS AND PEARL CLUTCHERS PLEASE DNI!!!

You were never a very religious person, having loose beliefs that you didn't necessarily align with anything specific, and you were fine with that, but that all changed one day, and in the way you least expected it. The day you first hooked up with Sgt. James Buchanan Barnes, or, as you knew him, Bucky, your best friend. You swear that night you might've been to Heaven, or Valhalla, or maybe even reached Nirvana, but whatever it was, it was caused by the super soldier Avenger fucking you into oblivion, with a godly body and otherworldly skills. Not only does he look like some mythical god, but he has the skills and the strength of one too. A god among men.

Bucky is a complicated man; He doesn't talk much, but once you get him going, he could talk to you for hours. He is tall and broad, dark and brooding, with a glare that could kill, but also sweet and soft, caring and considerate, with a smile that makes you weak in the knees... So, when your relationship evolved into something sexual, it wasn't a surprise when his prowess matched his godly looks. His quick wit matched by his skilled tongue. Strong hands matched with his (surprisingly) nimble fingers. He's also a kinky mother fucker.

Today, after Bucky got back from a rough, week long mission, apparently most of the team getting their asses kicked, you found yourself on your knees in front of him, naked, wearing nothing back a black leather collar and a silver chainlink leash, your head resting on his lap as he gently pets your cheek with his flesh hand.

"Doll," Bucky's voice is low, lower than usual, and it sends shockwaves of desire coursing through you, shocking your core.

"Yes, sir?" Your voice is soft, quiet, and shaky, a mix of nervousness, arousal, and hours of teasing from this man, this god, making you weak, your voice a minute version of it's usual sound, making Bucky chuckle.

You look up at him through heavy eyelids, your eyes raking up his body hungrily; He's wearing black sweatpants, no shirt, and you're not entirely sure about boxers. His long hair is tousled, the dark locks resting on his broad shoulders, the otherworldly muscles rippling under his skin covered in scars, his normally bright blue eyes darkened to an almost eerie tungsten blue. He's a literal god. The epitome of divinity.

"You've been so good~" Bucky practically purrs, and you already feel your abdomen tightening. "But not good enough."

Well shit.

You're definitely not getting what you want tonight.

"Talk to me, Kätzchen. Tell me what you're thinkin' about." You hesitate, but you know better than to directly disobey.

"I..." You look down, biting your lip. "I was thinking about you... H-How beautiful you are, James..."

Bucky smirks. This wasn't what he was expecting. "Oh?"

You simply nod. "Do elaborate, Kätzchen." Bucky quirks a brow, and you fight the urge to squirm in embarrassment.

"Y-You..." You sigh, deciding to bite the bullet. What's the worst that could happen? He laughs at you and uses it against you? That'd suck... but it would be a lot worse if you didn't speak. Those are always back. You don't want another spanking...and definitely not the crop. Yeah, no, that'd be bad. Better spit it out.

"You're fuckin' beautiful..." You practically whimper, and Bucky smirks.

"I know you've got more than that, sweetness." Bucky teases, and you know he's right. He's always right... It's unfair. How can a man possibly be so attractive and smart? You're starting to think he might actually be a higher power. "C'mon, doll, don't make me hit it outta ya."

Shit. That's a threat. "You're... You're a god among men, Sir... Divinity in itself... Crafted from the finest of marbles known to man... I want to submit everything I have to you."

Bucky simply smirks.

Uh oh.

"Is that so, Kätzchen?" You swallow hard, nodding, watching his eyes stare into yours with an intensity that could burn you to the ground. Yup. Definitely a god.

"Y-Yes, Sir... I... You are my god, James..." Oops. Normally Bucky doesn't take kindly to being called his name during scenes, but for some reason, he just smirks and lets it slide. That's different.

"I want my body to be your altar, your temple, your church... I am your devotee..." You whisper softly, your voice shaky and almost nervous, scared, although you're unsure what you're scared of.

"Darling..." Bucky growls, his pupils dilated so much you can barely see the ring of blue, his vibranium hand clenching on lap, his breathing picking up, that beautiful, chiseled chest rising and falling faster by the second, sweat starting to bead on his skin... You did that?

"You have such pretty lips, yet such nasty words..."

Bucky's Vibranium hand moves to the back of your neck suddenly, grabbing you by the nape of it, pushing your face into his clothed crotch, allowing you to feel the feverish heat, the wet spot on his sweats, and the rock that is his cock. "I'm not gonna last long if you keep sayin' shit like that, doll."

You whimper. Loudly. Pathetically. Lewdly. What the fuck else are you supposed to do? You just mentally brought THE Sargeant James Barnes to his knees from just a few sentences, you don't know whether to be terrified or proud... But, either way, you're not given much time to decipher how you feel, as Bucky starts to rub the side of your cheek against his strained length, the rough cotton of his sweatpants irritating your sweat shined cheeks.

"You're gonna be a good little devotee. You're gonna listen, you're gonna do as told, and you're gonna take what I give you, like a good cock slut."

Bucky's voice is a deep, dangerous growl, the sound rumbling through his chest, rolling down his abdomen and vibrating through him and into you, shooting electricity through your body, your nerves immediately on fire, your thighs quaking, your mind reeling into the abyss of lust.

"Aren't you, Kätzchen?" Bucky says with a groan, looking at you expectantly, a dark smirk on his face.

"Y-Yes, Sir... I will... I'll b-be good..." You whimper out, look up at him with doe eyes, fighting the urge to look down as he slides his sweatpants to his ankles, tossing them aside.

Bucky gently cups your chin with his vibranium hand, the dark metal shining in the dimly lit room as he puts his thumb against your lips, grinning at the feeling. "Open."

You immediately do as told, parting your lips, slowly swirling your warm tongue around his thumb as he slides the cool metal into your mouth, causing Bucky to groan sorry... It's moments like these when Bucky is most grateful to Shuri for creating touch sensors in the arm, allowing him to feel everything you do to his Vibranium arm... Wakandan technology truly is incredible.

"That's a good little whore..." Bucky groans as he uses his thumb in your mouth to tilt your head down, your eyes widening as they meet the sight of Bucky's cock.

Huh. He wasn't wearing any boxers.

"Let this be your first sacrament, devotee." Bucky chuckled.

Long. Impressive. Intimidating. Yet another reason you're starting to think he might actually be a god. No matter how many times you see it, swallow it, and take it, it's always just as intimidating as the first time. His cock is tall, curving slightly as it goes up, getting redder until it gets to the almost purple tip, your hand barely able to wrap around the girth, one large vein going from the shaft to the tip, where creamy pre-cum is beading. You might as well be salivating...and shaking in fear.

"C'mon, doll, I know you can take it." Bucky purred, wrapping his vibranium hand in your hair, guiding your face to rub against his length. It's almost humiliating. But it's also beyond arousing.

"Yes, sir." You mutter softly, licking your lips, raising your head when Bucky loosens his grip on your hair. You spit on the head of Bucky's cock, causing it to twitch where it stands, before gently wrapping your mouth around the tip, your tongue swirling around the tip, teasing the slit, causing Bucky to groan.

"Your god is losing patience, Kätzchen." Bucky growls, before tightening his vibranium hand in your hair, violently pushing your head down his cock, his length forcefully sliding down your velvety throat, only stopping when your nose is flush with his pelvic bone, groaning as he revels in the feeling, hissing as his head falls back in pleasure. "Shiiiit— So warm, Kätzchen...like fuckin' silk, doll..."

To nobody's surprise, you choke, choke hard, coughing around Bucky's member, who simply enjoys the way your throat constricts when you do so. Tears quickly form, as you try to focus on relaxing your throat and taking deep breaths in through your nose, but are quickly cut off as Bucky pulls your hair back, sliding your mouth off his length before pushing your head back down.

"Fuckin' perfect... gorgeous little devotee..." Bucky groans, starting to roll his hips as he continues to roughly guide your head up and down his cock, face fucking you as you cry and choke. Yup. You definitely fucked up calling him James.

Bucky had been tense since he texted you from the Quinjet, so when he starts to throb in your mouth rather than usual, you're not necessarily surprised, that mission really took a toll on him. You hollow your cheeks, and start gently scraping your teeth against Bucky's length as he continues to thrust into your face, his balls slapping against your chin with every snap of his strong hips.

"That's it, Kätzchen, worship me, your fuckin' god-"

Fuck, you were dizzy.

Your eyes start to roll back, head feeling fuzzy, your body seeming heavier, the restricted intake of oxygen starting to get to you, as more tears fall, but being the absolute bitch you are for Bucky, you're determined to make him cum before taking a breather.

"C'mon, babydoll, I'm so close... Lemme cum in your pretty little mouth... Let me desecrate the perfect altar that is you..." He groans, his hips snapping harder, shuddering at your teeth scraping his skin, only to be soothed by your hollowed cheeks and hot throat.

Your vision was starting to get fuzzy around the edges, but you still didn't communicate your need to breathe... Instead, you move your hands up to cup his heavy balls, massaging them roughly as you suck harder at his length.

That was all it took.

"Fuck!"

Bucky growls, the sound dark and primal, sending jolts of pleasure to your deprived body, his flesh hand joining his vibranium one in your hair, holding you uncomfortably flush to his skin as his cock throbs, pulsing rapidly as rope after rope of hot cum spills down your throat, your hands still massaging his balls as they empty into you, your muscles working overtime to swallow it all... Since being with him, you found that super soldiers have loads like damn fire hydrants. Not that you're complaining. Usually.

"Baby... Ughhh—" You had expected Bucky to pull you off his cock once he finished, but he didn't, instead he held you flat to his pelvis, basking in the feeling of your hot, velvet throat surrounding him, groaning and growling in pleasure.

You couldn't do it. Your vision was completely blurred, tears still falling, your feelings like concrete, sweat pouring down you, your mind fogged like shower glass. You take your right hand, tapping your index, middle, and ring finger on his thigh three consecutive times.

He immediately pulls your head off his length, pulling you up to his lap as you cough and suck in heavy breaths.

"Doll? Doll, are you alright? Did I hurt you?" Bucky asks hurriedly, his vibranium hand holding you close to him and rubbing your back, while his flesh hand gently holds your face. "Darling, can you hear me? Are you okay?"

It takes you a few moments to process his words, as they sounded more like mumbles from underwater at first. But, as your vision cleared, your tears stopped, the fogginess left your mind, and your breathing started regulating, you finally registered his words and nodded yes. "Y-Yeah... I- I'm fine..." You murmur with a raspy voice, your throat scratchy from the rough blowjob.

Bucky sighed in relief, brushing away your tears with his flesh hand, peppering kisses on your face. "Alright..." He didn't sound too convinced, worried he hurt you, but decided to focus on cleaning you up and caring for you.

He grabbed the pack of baby wipes from the table next to the chair you two are on, taking one out, gently wiping your flushed face clean of the saliva, sweat, cum, and tears. He then opened a bottle of water, gently holding it to your lips. "Have some water, baby." He murmurs as he helps you take small sips, putting it down after about ¼ of the bottle is gone.

"There you go, Kätzchen...You did so good, I'm so damn proud of you, love." Bucky praised softly, pulling you closer to his chest and rocking side to side gently.

"Th-Thank you..." You murmur quietly, your voice still a little raspy, as you tuck your head in Bucky's neck, your sweat covered bodies moulding together, as Bucky's flesh hand slowly creeps down to your sex. "Time for your reward."

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inkedbydesire · 8 months ago

Text

Jealous (18+)

Jey Uso x Black Fem Reader

Warning: 18+ Content, SMUT, MINORS DO NOT ENTER

Summary: Everybody does it right? But no one ever wants to talk about it. And you damn sure don’t want to be caught doing it. Your boyfriend Joshua Fatu (aka Jey Uso) was supposed to be out of town (like always). His schedule as a Pro Wrestler kept him constantly traveling away from you. You two spent more time away from each other than you did together. But you never complained because to you, he was worth it. But you still had certain ........... needs. Most of the time you fought those needs until you were near him again but on a few other occasions, you allowed yourself to be consumed by them. And tonight was one of those nights. But what happens when Joshua comes home a day earlier than expected and finds you in your bed enjoying yourself...... without him.

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: I felt like showing Jey a little love. I apologize in advance for any grammar errors or typos.

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"I'm a liar sweetie. I cheat on niggas too. (I DO). You probably shouldn't trust me or I'll hurt your feelings boo. I don't wanna be here but my ex won't take me back so my broken ass is here small talking over apps."

You let out an audible laugh even though you'd already seen this scene over 100 times. But no matter how many times you've binged Insecure due to it being one of your comfort shows, Issa's antics never failed to put a smile on your face. You shook your head at her nonsense before averting your eyes to your phone. You picked it up in hopes to have received a message from your boyfriend whom you messaged over 30 minutes ago telling him how much you missed him. But sadly as you looked down at your screen, there was nothing. It was currently 1:05 am so you figured he was most likely sleeping in his hotel room after a long day of press and performing in his wrestling event.

This was a weekly occurrence for you guys so this routine was familiar. But being familiar with something doesn't make it any easier. You still missed him terribly when he was on the road. When you met Joshua over 6 months ago, he was very upfront about his lifestyle before things got serious. His career kept him constantly traveling to different cities almost weekly so it was hard for him to lay down a lasting foundation. This had been a problem for him in previous relationships. He told you that he didn't want to end up hurting anyone else or himself so he had sworn off relationships for a while. You two were only supposed to have had a situationship type of thing. It was just supposed to have been two people enjoying each other's company.

But real feelings always have a way of showing up uninvited. Before you knew it you two had fallen for each other. It took you by surprise the most because you never expected to fall so deeply for a man you met in a Waffle House on a drunken night out with your girls. After a long honest talk, you and Joshua decided to try at a relationship even with all of the obstacles you both knew would be in front of you.

But truthfully, the only real obstacle was time. That was something you were already privy to before going in so you never complained. But that didn't stop you from missing the hell out of him anytime he was away. The longing grew more intense when the sun was down and tonight was no different. You were laying here wide awake rewatching Insecure with nothing but Joshua Fatu on your mind. You craved him tonight in a way that was hard to ignore.

And boy did you try.

Maybe it was because you were ovulating due to your pending time of the month. Or maybe it was just because you loved him. But whatever it was it was unbearable.

Joshua would be back in town tomorrow and would be more than willing to satisfy your needs. You knew that. But tonight...... you just couldn't wait that long. Pushing aside your comforter you got out of bed and walked over to your dresser. You opened the drawer that contained your underwear and rummaged through it for a few seconds. It didn't take long for your fingers to wrap around what you were seeking. With your rose in your hand, you retreated to your bed and quickly climbed in.

God, please close your eyes you thought to yourself before reaching over to your nightstand and grabbing your MacBook. You needed a little help getting in the mood and you knew just what would do it.

You clicked around on your laptop before reaching the private folder you were looking for. You hit play on the file then placed your laptop beside you as you slid down onto your back.

"Why are we recording this" You heard your own voice coming from your laptop followed by the sound of you giggling.

"For fun ... for memories" Joshua's voice answered back.

Now, you weren't crazy enough to let any man get you on camera. That was one of your golden rules. But you did however mutually agree with Joshua to audio record a few of your steamy sessions. You thought it was harmless fun and now you were grateful you had them saved for moments like this since you weren't that into watching porn. You’d rather close your eyes and listen to one of your and Joshua's audios and mentally travel back to that moment.

As you heard the sound of you and Joshua kissing you pulled the oversized shirt, that oddly enough belonged to him, up and slid out of your panties. You kicked them the rest of the way off with your feet as you got more comfortable.

"I been waiting to taste you all damn day baby girl" you heard Joshua's voice say followed by the sound of him lapping up your juices. Your body shuddered at the memory of his talented tongue as you felt an urgent throb build between your inner thighs. You clicked on your rose while you pulled your legs apart. As you reached down to please yourself, for a fleeting moment you wished that Joshua was there.

But unbeknownst to you, he was only a few minutes from your apartment. In a rare turn of events, he was able to travel home a day earlier from his wrestling event than he had in mind. When he arrived back in the city nearly an hour ago, he dropped by his apartment, freshened up, and got right back on the road headed your way. He missed you fiercely and knew you had to be feeling the same way.

He wanted to call and tell you all about it but he thought surprising you with his sudden presence would be better since he rarely got the chance to do so. It pained him to ignore your message about missing him a little while ago but he didn't want to spoil the surprise. But he had a few ways in mind on how he would make it up to you.

Pulling into your apartment complex he quickly found his regular parking spot. He turned his engine off and then grabbed the duffle bag that contained a few day's worth of clothes knowing he would be staying with you for the next couple of days. He damn near jogged up to your apartment powered by his readiness to see you. When he got outside your door he put the code into the lockbox that contained your spare key. He used it to unlock your front door and then returned it to where he found it. He put his hand on your doorknob and quietly eased into your apartment locking the door behind him. He figured you might be asleep right now and only planned on waking you after he slid into your bed and wrapped you in his arms.

He dropped his duffel bag near your sofa and lightly walked towards your bedroom. As he neared your door he heard something that immediately made him stop in his tracks. He leaned his ear towards your slightly cracked door thinking that he was hearing things.

He listened for a few seconds.

No, he wasn't tripping. Those definitely were the sounds of your moans. He knew that like the lyrics of his favorite song.

Beyond curious he cautiously pushed your door open just a little further. Clearly, you were preoccupied and he didn't think you would notice and you didn't. He was able to gain a full view of your bed and what you were doing on it. You were so wrapped up in chasing your climax that the figure looking at you through the slit in your door went unseen. Through the glow of your tv and laptop, he watched your chest heave up and down and your legs shake as you pressed the rose he didn't even know you owned against your clit.

Joshua traveled so much that he figured you had to do something to hold yourself over until he got back but he never thought he'd be witnessing it. He listened to your moans as he watched your body jerk and twitch in a way he thought only he was capable of doing.

Despite the growing bulge in his pants that he had to reach down to adjust, he found that the sight filled him with unwarranted jealousy. Here he was rushing to get back to you and you didn't seem to be missing him at all. In fact, it looked like he was the last thing on your mind. He knew that it was selfish of him to expect you to wait for him to fulfill your sexual needs but part of him wished you did. If anyone or anything was going to make you shake and moan like that he only wanted it to be him. He felt like it was his job and right now you were giving it away.

As he kept his eyes on you he fought extremely hard against the urge to burst into your room to ruin your moment. He knew that you might be agitated or even mad but he would make it up to you by making you cum countless times like he was known to do. And that would set everything straight.

He hesitated for a long while but ultimately with reluctance decided against it.

Taking a step away from your door he waited until he heard the high-pitched moan of you cumming before he walked back towards your front door. Unlocking it again he grabbed the doorknob opening and closing it louder to get your attention. He had plans to bring up what he saw but not just yet.

Your eyes jolted open from your state of bliss at the sound. Still feeling the effects of your climax you sat up as quick as you could manage and reached over and clicked on the lamp beside your nightstand.

"IT'S ME." you surprisingly heard your boyfriend Joshua's voice yell. You were relieved because, for a split second there, you thought it was an intruder. Joshua was not supposed to be showing up to your apartment tonight.

The distance between your front door and bedroom wasn't that far so you had no time to find and put your panties back on. They were somewhere tangled in your comforter and sheets. But you did have time to slide your rose underneath your pillow, throw your comforter across your lap, and close your laptop before Joshua neared your door.

"Hey baby........ how are you here?" you asked him as he entered your room. You knew that he had one more night away from you so you were a little confused. But maybe there was a change in plans that you didn't know anything about.

But the hows became irrelevant as your heart swelled at the sight of the man you loved.

You wanted so badly to jump into his arms but your legs were still weak from what you were doing no longer than 5 minutes ago. You didn't want to risk wobbling or falling. That would definitely tip off to Joshua that you were in here up to no good. And you didn't want him to know that you were just in here masturbating. It seemed immature but you would be so ashamed if he found out.

You thanked God that he didn't show up to your apartment just a few minutes earlier or he would've caught you right in the middle of the act.

You pushed those thoughts aside as you watched him step out of the Nike slides he had on before walking over to your bed and standing there.

"You not happy to see me?" He asked you. The way it came out sounded like he had a little bit of an attitude. You were clueless on why he would have one with you so you ignored it and chalked it up to you over analyzing the situation because of what he almost caught you doing. And you knew he was most likely questioning your happiness to see him because you didn't dive into his arms like usual. On any other day, you would've been out of your bed meeting him in the living room.

"I'm always happy to see you, Josh." You answered him with a reassuring smile. You couldn't physically show him right now so you had to choose the right words.

"Umm ..... what you doing up this late though?" He asked you.

"Couldn't sleep." You responded.

"So what you been doing to pass the time?" He asked squinting his eyes at you a little.

"I've been watching Insecure..... like always" You answered him jokingly as you pointed towards your TV where Issa's crazy life was still playing out on your screen.

"That's all?" Joshua asked while raising his brows at you.

As your eyes remained locked on his you weirdly started to feel like you were under interrogation. You searched your brain but couldn't figure out what for. But it definitely seemed like Joshua was trying to get something out of you.

What though?

The only other thing you were doing before he showed up felt too personal and embarrassing to say out loud so you had no plans on disclosing it to him.

"Yep.... that's pretty much all," you replied to him lying while you shrugged your shoulders. Joshua stared at you for a moment longer before walking over to the side of the bed that you were on.

"That's funny 'cause that's not what I saw." He stated as he sat down near you. His words caused your heart to sink to the pit of your stomach but you had to keep your composure.

"And what did you see?" you asked him already feeling like you knew the answer but needing the confirmation before you started freaking out. Without immediately responding Joshua just looked into your eyes with a smirk and it all started making sense. You felt like you were being interrogated earlier because you were. Joshua already knew the answer to everything he was asking you because he already knew what you had been up to.

You wondered how in the hell did he know though ....

After a few seconds of shuffling things around in your brain, you put two and two together and figured Joshua must've come into your apartment a whole lot earlier than he made known. You were so consumed with pleasuring yourself that your apartment could've been on fire and you wouldn't have moved a muscle. So you damn sure didn't hear him entering your apartment or coming near your door. You noted to yourself that you needed to be more attentive the next time or at least tackle the basics like closing and locking your damn bedroom door. But you weren't expecting Joshua tonight so you didn't think you needed to be that cautious.

"I didn't even know you had one of those things," Joshua said bringing you out of your thoughts as he reached beside you and started running his hand over your comforter. When he didn't find what he was looking for there he then moved towards your pillows.

"Okay." you quickly said while grabbing his hand before it made contact with your rose. It clicked in your mind that that's what he was feeling around for.

"If you already knew what I was doing .... why you come in here like Inspector Gadget?" you asked him.

The thought of him seeing you in that intimate moment was sending waves of crippling embarrassment through you. Joshua was your boyfriend and had seen you in way more compromising positions but this whole ordeal was still awkward as hell to you. Discovering that something you thought you were doing in private wasn’t as hidden as you thought is a deeply embarrassing feeling.

But you still wanted to be mature about everything.

"I just wanted to see what you would say. No wonder you in here acting like you didn't miss me. You got me replaced." he said.

You searched his face for more amusement because he was clearly getting a kick out of all of this but to your surprise, he actually looked rather serious.

"Wait ... you accusing me of replacing you with an object?" You asked him after you two silently stared at each other for a few minutes. This realization overshadowed any embarrassment you felt about the situation. Now you understood why he seemed to have had an attitude with you when he first entered your room. He saw you with your rose and got jealous. It was taking everything in you not to laugh in his face.

"It's okay for you to enjoy yourself when I'm not here. I understand it. But I'm just saying you were enjoying yourself a little too much." He stated still serious as a heart attack which made it a lot harder to contain your laughter.

"Josh you're not being replaced." You chuckled as you placed your hand on his shoulder to reassure him not believing you actually had to do so. You couldn't believe that this was a conversation you two were actually having.

"I only pull it out when I miss you and I can't stand it anymore," you told him.

"I don't think you understand how badly I want you when you're not here Josh" you added with honesty as your eyes locked on each other's. Yeah, there were certain things you could do to try to pacify your desire for Joshua but nothing compared. So for him to feel a way about an object was bonkers to you. But at the same time, you found it kind of cute.

"I'm here now." Joshua responded to you.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" you asked him playfully as the atmosphere in the room shifted.

"Let me show you," he stated as he reached down grabbed your leg, and pulled you closer to him on the bed.

"My bad for coming in here tripping but it was because I missed you, baby girl." He admitted before leaning over and placing a small kiss on your forehead. You smiled at him as he moved down and pecked your nose before moving to your mouth. You two then fell into a kiss that had the passion of two people who hadn't seen each other in years rather than a few days. You relished in the moment knowing you had to make the most of any time you got with him. That was the basics of your relationship. Every single moment counted because he would be on the road again in the blink of an eye.

As Joshua's hands roamed all over your body he tilted his head down and planted soft kisses on your neck. As he tossed your comforter aside he moved back up to slip his tongue into your mouth.

A couple of intoxicating minutes later, Joshua broke the kiss by standing up leaving you needing way more from him. He then posted up on the side of your bed and you giggled as he reached down and pulled you by your ankle to position you in front of him. You then had the pleasure of watching him as he pulled off his hoodie and shirt all in one swift motion. As you took in how absolutely fine he was your inner thighs throbbed needily. Sometimes all it took was just looking at him to leave you soaking.

"Lay back for me Y/N." He requested and you eagerly did as you were told without any hesitation. You scooted up on your bed and laid back in front of him as he positioned himself between your legs. Staring down at you while running his tongue across his lips, he placed one of his hands on your thigh. He slowly trailed his hand up glazing your clit with his thumb which made your legs involuntarily jolt because you were still sensitive from what you were doing earlier. He ran his thumb up and down your clit teasing you for what felt like ages. It made your wetness grow but it also frustrated you. Then he left you feeling desperate and depraved again as he took his attention off of you for a split second to rid himself of his pants and boxers.

He held his dick in one of his hands while he pushed your legs further apart with the other as he repositioned himself. You sucked in a sharp breath as he ran the tip of his dick up and down your entrance coating it in your wetness. Again, he did that for what felt like ages while you laid there desperately needing more.

"Josh" you breathed out his name as he lifted his dick and tapped it down on your swollen clit.

"Please" you urged him as he repeated the same motion with more pressure making you squirm and reach down to grab hold of his wrist.

"Please what?" He asked you while flicking his eyes up to yours. You knew that he knew full well what you wanted but he loved to play this game. He loved to get you a position where you were practically begging for his dick before he gave it to you. And each time you would feed into his ego.

"Fuck me, Josh .... please" you begged with a pout giving him what you knew he was seeking. He smiled down at you and before you could say another word or prepare your self he suddenly gripped you by your hip and sank his full length into you. But you soon found out that Joshua wasn't done with playing with you yet as he pulled out of you and went back to teasing and tapping your clit with the tip of his dick. You laid there beyond frustrated but felt satisfied when he slipped into your wetness again.

"Fuck" you muttered lowly as he eased in and out of you slowly making your body shudder with every stroke.

"Feels good baby?" He asked you as he kept that same deliberate speed while his dick continuously glazed against your g-spot. You nodded at him as you gently bit down on your bottom lip.

"Say it," he told you as he slipped in and out of your wetness.

"It f-feels good Josh. It feels so fucking good." You expressed to him as you felt pleasure filled knots building in the pit of your stomach. Closing your eyes you focused on trying to hold off climaxing as you grew wetter for Joshua as his speed quickened. Your eyes only flew open again when you heard the familiar buzzing of your rose. You looked up at Joshua wondering when and how he managed to reach over and locate it without your knowledge. But you were so drunk on feeling him inside of you that your mind was completely preoccupied.

"W-what are you doing?" you were barely able to ask him as he didn't miss a beat fucking you. His still plunged in and out of your entrance as he held your rose in the hand he wasn't using to hold your legs apart.

"I wanna try something." He responded.

"Try wh-" you began to ask but were completely cut off by Joshua bringing your rose down onto your clit. Now you could handle your rose on its own but combined with Joshua's dick rocking in and out of you, you almost started seeing stars at the sensation.

"J-Josh ... wait ....oooh fuck ..." you moaned out as you reached down and attempted to push his hand away not being able to handle the pleasure. Your attempt failed miserably as Joshua didn't budge. He continued to pound in and out of you as he used your rose on your clit.

"I c-can't J-Josh" you whined out to him as your toes curled and your legs violently shook. You felt tears welling up as your breathing became shallow and your heartbeat accelerated.

"Yes you can ... you got it baby" Joshua encouraged you as he pounded deeper and deeper into your wetness. You tried to take it but the feeling was too powerful for you to comprehend causing your climax to hit you like a tidal wave out of nowhere. All kinds of profanities left your mouth as it felt like you were having an out of body experience.

Joshua was satisfied as he watched you lose yourself as you squirted cum all over his dick. That's when he knew he could use your rose to his advantage.

#jey uso #jey uso x black reader #jey uso x black oc #jey uso x y/n #jey uso x you #jey uso fanfiction #jey uso fic #jey uso smut #black writers

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