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ggukivrse · 2 days ago

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THIRD TIME'S THE CHARM | JJK

summary. when you complain to jungkook about your lack of action in the past year, you're not really asking for a solution. but when he casually offers to help, you just can't seem to bring yourself to say no.

after all, what's the worst that could happen in hooking up just this once?

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre: friends to lovers, smut, fluff, slight angst

word count: 7.7k

warnings: swearing, they actually talk about their feelings :0, explicit sexual content, kissing, making out, hickeys, dry humping, oral (f. receiving), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (be smarter than them pls), a bit of banter, petnames (baby), they're really fucking cute in the end it makes me sick, let me know if i missed anything!

notes: idk if this counts as my first completed series buttt... i'm gonna act like it does. thank you so so much to all the love and support you guys have given me for the past two parts, i'm genuinely so beyond grateful for it all :<< hopefully, you guys enjoy this part too!!

ps. READ PART ONE HERE & PART TWO HERE!!

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You open his chat window again like it’s muscle memory. Like your thumb don't know how to not betray you.

It’s not even about sending something. You’ve got no intention of doing that. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. But the screen is always open, staring back at you with that last unread message you sent almost a week ago — a throwaway meme you found on your lunch break. No reply. Not even a reaction.

And it hadn’t felt like a big deal in the moment. You sent it like always, light and dumb and nothing. But then the nothing kept going. No little gray typing bubble. No 'lol.' No double text. No late night 'you up?' Just this wall of silence.

You would’ve rather gotten a dry reply. Hell, even a thumbs up. Anything to prove that he saw you.

But now it’s been long enough that sending something new would feel desperate. Like you’re chasing him. Like you’re asking for something you’re not even supposed to want.

You lock your phone and throw it face down on your bed.

Then pick it back up five seconds later.

Then toss it again, harder, as if that’ll prove something.

You wish you were mad. You think you are mad — at least a little. But it’s a tangled kind of anger. One that knots itself up with embarrassment and sharp, bitter shame. You want to scream at him, yeah. But also at yourself.

Why did you let this happen?

Why did you let him blur the lines and kiss you like that and touch you like he meant it?

You were supposed to be smarter than this.

You lie back across your bed with one arm flung over your eyes. It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid. It was just sex. Just two nights. Two insanely good, dangerously close, way-too-connected nights. But still — technically just sex.

Except it wasn’t.

Not when he remembered your favourite sauce order without asking. Not when he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear while you ranted about work.

And especially not when he went cold the second things felt too good.

That’s what keeps twisting the knife. That shift in him. Like someone flipped a switch and rewrote the script. One minute, he was holding you like you mattered. The next, you were stepping out of his bathroom and into a stranger’s apartment.

You haven’t heard his voice since.

You bite the inside of your cheek and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to push down that lump of feeling before it rises too high.

It’s fine. You’re fine. You’re overthinking it.

Maybe he’s just going through something. Maybe he didn’t mean to shut you out. Maybe he thought you didn’t want to hear from him. Or maybe he’s just a fucking coward who got scared when the stakes changed.

But then, why didn’t you reach out?

Why didn’t you ask if he was okay, or tell him he was being weird, or demand an explanation like you’re owed one?

Because you’re afraid.

Because you don’t want the truth if the truth is that he regrets all of it.

Because deep down, you know this isn’t just a friendship anymore, and pretending it is would break you worse than silence.

Your phone buzzes once on the comforter beside you.

You freeze. Then sit up fast, breath catching halfway in your throat.

Your eyes are already scanning the screen before your brain can fully catch up.

Kook 🍜: hi

One word. Just hi. Like the last seven days didn’t happen. Like your stomach hasn’t been in knots trying to make sense of his silence. Like he didn’t vanish without warning after folding you into his sheets and leaving you to figure out what the hell it meant.

Your breath leaves you in one uneven exhale.

You blink at the message, your body locked in this strange stillness. Your thumb hovers, frozen. Part of you is tempted to stare at it until it disappears. Ignore it. Let him feel what it’s like to be the one left hanging. But your hands betray you again — just like they always do with him.

You: Radio silence for a week and all I get is a fucking hi? Wtf Jungkook

It’s not even what you really want to say, but it’s the closest thing you can manage that doesn’t sound like I missed you so much it made me sick or please don’t do this again.

Three dots appear.

Your heart squeezes like it’s caught in someone’s fist. And then the dots vanish.

Then come back.

Then vanish again.

You mutter, “Fucking say something,” to no one. It comes out too small, too desperate. You shut your eyes tight for a second like you can wring the feeling out of yourself by force.

A minute or so passes before his reply finally sends.

Kook 🍜: sorry. can i talk to you today?

You reread it so many times the text starts to lose meaning. Can I talk to you today?

You feel sick.

There’s no way you don’t know what this is. The phrasing. The tone. He wants to talk? What the fuck else could that mean, if not that he’s about to cut things off? That he’s going to hand you some polite little speech about how you’re great, but this can’t happen again. That he wants to stay friends and he doesn’t want to confuse things any more than he already has.

Or worse — he thinks you guys are better off cutting contact all together.

You bite down hard on your thumb, suddenly on the verge of tears and furious at yourself for it. You should’ve never let it get here. You should’ve drawn the line before the second time. Before the car. Before the party.

You should’ve been more careful with your heart.

But you’re here now. So far past the line you can’t even see it anymore.

You open your keyboard, then close it again. You want to ask what he wants to talk about. You want to demand answers over text so you don’t have to see his face when he says the words. But you know you won’t get anything that way.

You: Where?

Kook 🍜: i can come to yours

You sit there for a second, just breathing. You feel like you’re bracing for a crash that’s already midair.

You: What time?

Kook 🍜: i can be there in an hour?

You don’t answer. Not right away. You’re too busy staring at your reflection in the dark screen, wondering why your face looks so calm when your body feels like it’s trying to collapse in on itself.

You: Okay

You put the phone down carefully, like it might go off again, or explode, and turn your gaze to the ceiling. Every minute after this is going to stretch like it’s mocking you.

You don’t know if you’re getting closure or clarity. You don’t even know which one would hurt more.

But you know you won't cancel.

Because if this is going to end — if he’s going to say it — it has to be to your face. You need to see it.

You need to know for sure.

Jungkook is fucked.

Like, actually, cosmically, irreversibly fucked.

He stares at the elevator doors like they’re the gates to hell, and his own reflection in the brushed metal does him no favours. He looks tense. Jaw tight, shoulders hunched up high like he’s trying to fold himself into a more manageable version. Someone chill. Someone who isn’t about to shit himself over the thought of seeing you.

He rolls his shoulders back, shakes out his hands. Useless. He’s already sweating through his hoodie.

Every nerve in his body feels like it’s tuned an octave too high. Like if someone so much as breathes in his direction right now, he’ll either snap or confess something humiliating.

He wipes his palms on his jeans again. That’s the fourth time since the lobby.

The worst part is, he knows how he got here. He knows exactly when it happened, too — the moment the line moved.

It was your laugh. The tired kind, all cracked at the edges after that hellish Friday you had. You were curled up in his passenger seat, half out of it, feet tucked under you, and you’d looked over at him with that soft, worn-down smile.

And it just… hit him.

The weight of it. Of you.

He wanted to reach over and touch your face. Not to tease. Not to start something. Just to feel your skin under his fingers like it was allowed now.

And the second that thought formed — clear and blinding and way too tender — it was over. Game fucking over.

Because it wasn’t supposed to feel like that.

You’re his best friend. Have been for years. He knows how you take your coffee, how you organise your playlists by mood, how you chew on the inside of your cheek when you're anxious. You’re not just some girl he hooked up with at a party. You’re you.

And now, he’s standing in an elevator on the way to your apartment, trying not to think about how badly he messed it all up.

He hadn��t meant to ghost you. Not really. It was just — after that night, after the way you looked at him, all warm and trusting — he panicked. Full-body, brain-scrambling, total system failure. He couldn’t even look at you without feeling like he was seconds from saying something stupid like "Don’t sleep with anyone else, please," or "I think I’m in love with you."

So instead, he shut down. Did the one thing he always swore he wouldn’t do with you — he pulled away. Got weird. Avoided it. Avoided you.

And now you’re pissed.

Rightfully so.

He deserved that text you sent. Probably worse. You could’ve ignored him completely and he wouldn’t have blamed you. But you didn’t. You texted back and he’s clinging onto that like a lifeline. Because it means there’s still time. Still a chance to fix it — if he doesn’t blow it again.

He presses the heel of his hand to his chest like that might steady the erratic rhythm of his heart.

What the fuck is he even going to say?

Sorry for being an emotionally constipated idiot?

Sorry I ghosted you because I realised I’m in love with you and it short-circuited my whole fucking personality?

Sorry I thought I could fuck you and still keep pretending like you don’t mean more to me than anyone else?

The elevator dings.

Jungkook flinches like it slapped him, then scrubs a hand through his hair, lets out a tight breath, and steps through the doors before he can change his mind.

He’s here.

Fuck. He’s actually here.

Jungkook looks like he didn’t sleep last night. Hair messy, clothes a little wrinkled, eyes flicking up to meet yours for a second before they dart away again. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his jacket like he’s afraid of what they’ll do if left unsupervised.

You tell yourself not to feel relieved. Not to let it show. He didn’t cancel. He showed up. That shouldn’t mean as much as it does. It really, really shouldn’t.

But still — there’s something in your chest that unclenches when you see him standing there, real and present. Even if he does look like he’s about to apologise for burning down your house or something.

“Hey,” he says, voice quiet.

You step back from the door to let him in. Dry. Wordless. The move is automatic, but your body feels stiff with it, like your own muscles are annoyed on your behalf.

He hesitates before stepping inside, like he thinks the floor might swallow him up. You don't offer a smile. Don't even look at him once the door’s closed behind him.

You cross your arms and lean back against the edge of the kitchen counter, watching him with a blank expression that’s only half-real. The other half is tightly coiled under your skin — anger, sure, but under that, all the feelings you’ve been pretending not to have.

He does a slow, uncertain glance around your apartment like something might’ve changed since the last time he was here. But it hasn’t. It’s still your place. Same plants, same overhead light humming softly, same faint scent of laundry detergent that clings to the air.

He stands there awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. It’s like he doesn’t know where to put his body.

You’ve never seen him like this before. Not around you. Jungkook’s always been comfortable here. The kind of comfortable that leaves shoes by the door without asking. The kind that opens your fridge like he owns a shelf. But right now, he looks like a stranger in someone else’s house.

You let the silence stretch out. You’re waiting for him to just speak, but he doesn’t

He doesn’t even try.

Eventually, your voice cuts through the air, a little too sharp. “Jungkook, you said you wanted to talk.”

His head snaps up like he forgot that was part of the deal. Like the fact that he came here at all already cost him everything he had in reserve.

“Yeah,” he says. His throat moves when he swallows. “I do.”

You raise your eyebrows, waiting.

He opens his mouth like he’s about to start, then closes it again. Shifts his stance. Rubs the back of his neck with one hand. You catch the way his eyes flick to the floor, then back to you, then away again.

You narrow your eyes. “Well?”

He breathes out a weak, almost bitter laugh and runs both hands down his thighs, like he’s physically trying to ground himself. “I don’t know how to do this,” he mutters.

You frown, arms still crossed tight across your chest. “What? Talk?”

You hate being like this towards him — you feel like a bitch. But it’s the only way that you can stop yourself from just spilling all of your thoughts and feelings to him.

“No, I—” He breaks off, jaw flexing. “No. I mean… say the right thing. Say any of it without sounding like an idiot.”

You blink, unimpressed. “So you came here without knowing what you were gonna say.”

He looks at you then. Fully. And for the first time since he walked in, you see the real wreckage behind his eyes. There’s nothing cool or casual about it. He’s unravelling in slow motion. Everything about him is quiet desperation wrapped in someone trying really hard not to fall apart.

“I didn’t know what to say because I didn’t know what I wanted,” he says finally. “And then I figured it out, and that somehow made it worse.”

You stay silent.

He shifts closer, not by much — just a few inches. “I fucked up,” he adds, voice barely above a whisper. “I know I did. I know I disappeared. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t care. I was just—” he stops, jaw tightening again. “I got scared.”

You scoff under your breath and look away.

“I’m serious,” he says, softer now. “It freaked me out. How fast it happened. How much it changed.”

You look back at him, jaw set. “What changed?”

He swallows again. Stiff. His voice cracks a little when he speaks next.

“You,” he says again. “How I feel about you. That changed.”

Your chest tightens.

You don’t react, not visibly. You keep your face still, unreadable, even though your brain is suddenly scrambling. You’ve been yanked in too many directions this past week. You’re not going to lean into hope just because he finally decided to speak.

So you say nothing. You just hold his gaze and wait.

Jungkook takes a breath, his shoulders rising with it, then falling in a slow, deliberate exhale. The nervousness is still there — but it’s settled into something quieter now.

“I kept trying to tell myself it didn’t mean anything,” he says. “That it was just— whatever. Two friends, getting carried away. We were drunk the first time, right? It was easy to lie to myself about that. Easy to say it didn’t have to go anywhere.”

His voice is calm, but there's tension underneath it.

“But the second time?” He pauses, tongue running along the inside of his cheek, eyes still locked on yours. “That wasn’t drunk. That wasn’t casual. That was me driving us across town just to make you feel better, because I can’t stand it when you’re not okay.”

You flinch — barely — but he sees it. You know he does.

“And then it was me kissing you like I’d lose my mind if I didn’t. You think I didn’t notice how different that felt? I’ve never kissed you like that before. And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air between you.

You’re still standing by the counter, arms crossed, but now your grip has loosened. You hate how much this is getting to you, how badly you want to give in, how your chest aches just hearing him say the things you’d only let yourself think when the lights were off and your phone screen was dark.

Jungkook takes another step toward you.

“When I brought you back to mine that night… when you came out of the shower, and I saw you just standing there in my space, looking at me like I was safe…” His voice catches, but not in a way that makes him crumble — just enough to show the truth of it. “I freaked the fuck out.”

You blink at him, finally speaking. “Yeah. I noticed.”

He huffs out a breath that's almost a laugh, but not quite. “I didn’t mean to shut down. I didn’t even know what I was doing in the moment. I just— everything in me wanted to pull you close, and that’s when I realised I couldn’t keep doing this the way we were doing it. Not without losing my shit every time you left.”

Your throat feels tight, but you still ask, “So you decided to ghost me instead?”

That lands. His jaw flexes, and he nods once. “Yeah. I did. I thought if I gave it space, I could go back to being normal. Go back to just being your friend. But I couldn’t. I can’t.

“I don’t want to be just your friend anymore. Not because of the sex, not because it was good— which it was, but that’s not the point. It’s you. It’s always been you. I didn’t realise how much until I almost lost it completely.”

You swallow hard. Your arms are uncrossed now. Not folded in, not defensive — just hanging at your sides like you’re too stunned to remember what to do with them.

Jungkook steps in closer. Not touching you yet. But near enough that you can smell him — faint cologne, his laundry detergent, the scent you associate with your car windows fogging up.

“I missed you,” he says, and his voice turns softer. “Every day. And it scared the shit out of me, how badly I wanted to talk to you. Touch you. Just be around you. I wasn’t ready to admit it last week, and I was a coward for that. But I’m not running anymore.”

Silence again.

Except it doesn’t feel like the ones you’ve been drowning in for a week.

“I don’t know what you’re feeling,” he says, lower now, like the words might break if he’s too loud. “And I’m not assuming anything. But if you still want me around— really want me— just say the word. I’ll figure out the rest.”

You inhale slowly, try to even out your breathing, but your chest still feels like it’s barely holding together. Your heart’s doing that thing where it thuds too hard without speeding up.

You hate that you believe him. That you always would’ve. That no matter how angry you were, no matter how cold you tried to be when he walked in — you still wanted him to explain, to prove it wasn’t what your worst thoughts told you it was.

And now he has.

He’s standing in front of you with open hands, with the words you oh so desperately wanted to hear. And for a moment, you’re not sure what to do with that.

“I hate you,” you say quietly.

It’s not true. Not even close. But it’s the first thing that leaves your mouth.

Jungkook huffs out a dry laugh, eyes dropping to the floor. “Yeah,” he murmurs, nodding. “I figured.”

You shake your head once. “No. I mean it. I fucking hate you for this. For—” You break off, because your voice is shaking now. “For making me feel like I was crazy. For not even saying goodnight after… after everything.”

His face tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“You could’ve just told me,” you go on. “You could’ve said it was too much. That it got weird. That you needed time. Anything. But you disappeared. And I had to sit here wondering if I made it all up."

You pause, pressing your lips together.

“And I— I missed you too, you know,” you add, quieter this time.

His mouth opens like he might speak, but no sound comes out at first. Instead, he closes the space between you by half, slow and steady, like he’s afraid of pushing too far.

“God, you’re such an asshole,” you whisper, but your tone isn't mean. Not even close.

He laughs, soft and low. “Yeah. I know.

“You promise me you’re sure? Cause Jungkook, I will fucking cut off your dick if you pull this shit again.”

He smiles but doesn’t hesitate. “I promise. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

You stare at him.

Long enough that the air between you stretches taut, thin as thread.

His hand twitches like he wants to reach for you but still doesn’t know if he’s allowed. His jaw flexes, his chest rising and falling in uneven swells. You can tell he’s waiting — for a sign, for a go-ahead, for you.

And even though part of you still wants to be mad, still wants to make him sweat just a little longer, the rest of you aches. For his mouth. For his hands. For the solid, grounding weight of him.

So you move.

You step into the last inch of space between you and grab the front of his hoodie. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for a year, but you don’t give him a chance to say anything.

You kiss him.

Not out of impulse. Not for show. You kiss him because you need to. Because your chest feels like it’s going to split open if you don’t.

At first, it’s quiet. Just lips pressed to lips — careful, slow. There’s a pause between each pass of your mouth over his, like you’re both trying to remember how this started. How you even got here.

But then he sighs against you — not loud, not dramatic, just a sound full of relief — and it unravels something.

His hands lift, hesitating for only half a second before they settle on your waist, fingers curling tight. You press closer, and his lips part beneath yours. The angle shifts. Your nose bumps his cheek. It’s not perfect, but it’s real, and when your tongue brushes his, everything tilts.

The sweetness melts fast.

He makes a sound low in his throat and drags you in like the distance is unbearable. Your hands slide up into his hair, fingers threading through the strands at the base of his neck, and the way he reacts — the little shiver he tries to swallow — sends heat straight down your spine.

You kiss him harder.

His body crowds yours until your back meets the wall. Not rough, not rushed. Just firm. His chest presses to yours, and you can feel the way his heart races. How your own pulse kicks up to match it.

The kiss deepens, turns messy at the edges. His teeth catch your bottom lip and your breath stutters, but you don’t pull back. You tilt your chin, chasing more, and the next time he kisses you, it’s hungrier. One of his hands slips to the small of your back, palm dragging slow and warm beneath your shirt. The skin-to-skin contact makes your whole body twitch.

You gasp into his mouth, and he swallows the sound, his hands tightening. His other arm slips around your waist completely, pulling you flush against him, and suddenly you’re not thinking anymore. You’re just feeling.

The tension that’s been bottling up between you two — the silence, the week of wondering, the ache of missing him so much it hurt — it all floods to the surface.

You fist your hands in his hoodie, yanking him impossibly closer. Your hips shift forward, just enough to brush him, and the sound he makes is sharp and involuntary, caught between a breath and a groan.

“Fuck,” he mutters, barely pulling back. His forehead presses to yours, breath ragged. “You’re driving me insane.”

You huff, lips brushing his. “That’s fair.”

Then he kisses you again. Rougher this time. Desperate in a way that makes your knees go soft.

He doesn’t stay at your mouth for long. His lips trail down — your jaw, your cheek, the shell of your ear. His breath is hot and uneven, and when he finds your neck, your whole body reacts. Your hands clutch at him, your back arches off the wall, and the soft sound that escapes your throat isn’t one you mean to make.

He feels it. Hears it. Answers it with a low, reverent sound that seems to vibrate straight through you.

His tongue traces the spot beneath your ear, slow and deliberate, and your eyes flutter shut.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, your breath catching sharp in your throat. You pull back for a second before lowering your mouth to his neck, right where the collar of his hoodie dips. He lets out a small sound, hands flexing on your waist, when your lips press there.

You start slow. You can feel his pulse under your tongue, the way his chest rises against yours, unsteady and warm. Then you part your lips and suck gently at the spot just below his jaw. His whole body stutters, hips jerking against yours before he can stop it.

Your fingers trail down his chest, tugging his hoodie collar aside for better access. His head tips back, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted.

You do it again, this time with enough pressure to leave a mark, and the sound of your mouth working against his skin is lewd.

He groans. It’s low and rough and barely held back, and the sound shoots straight between your legs. You feel him hardening now, undeniable through the fabric where he’s pressed against you.

“All mine?” you whisper, your lips brushing over the new mark you’ve left.

He doesn’t even hesitate. “All yours.”

His voice is breathless. Wrecked. And so damn certain it knocks something loose in your chest.

You pull back just enough to look at him — really look. His pupils are blown, his lips swollen, a flush climbing high on his cheeks. He looks at you like he wants to devour you. Like he would if you let him.

“I missed that mouth,” he mutters, hands gliding under your shirt again, palms broad and warm. “Missed everything.”

You kiss his throat in reply and drag your teeth across it until he swears under his breath.

His hips grind against you again, harder this time. You both feel it — the friction, the heat building between your bodies.

His arms shift beneath you and he lifts you clean off the ground in one smooth motion, hands strong under your thighs. A startled sound escapes your throat as your legs wrap around his waist on instinct, gripping him tight.

“Fuck,” he mutters again, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “I want you so bad it’s actually stupid.”

You smile, drunk on the feel of him.

“Bedroom?” you murmur, tracing your lips over the new mark blooming against his skin.

He hums lowly, and shifts his grip on your thighs.

He carries you through the hallway and your lips never leave his skin for more than a second.

When he reaches your bedroom, he doesn’t hesitate. He steps inside and drops you onto the mattress in one fluid movement.

You barely get your bearings before he’s crawling over you, slotting his body between your legs, His mouth finds yours again, and you moan into it before you can stop yourself when his knee presses between your legs.

Your hips twitch, grinding down against the pressure, and he groans in response, the sound vibrating through your chest as his mouth moves with yours. His hand slips under your shirt again, this time bolder, fingers spanning across your ribs and inching higher until his knuckles brush the curve of your breast.

You gasp softly, and he pulls back just enough to murmur, “Off.”

You sit up just enough to grab the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head in one smooth pull, your hair mussed from the friction. He watches the fabric fall to the floor, then looks at you.

“You’re so fucking pretty," he breathes.

You roll your eyes automatically, even though your face is already burning. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious,” he says, and his voice drops low. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His lips part and he kisses along your sternum — slow, wet presses of his mouth that trail up and then out, over the swell of one breast, then the other.

You inhale sharply when his mouth grazes the sensitive skin beside your nipple, and his eyes flick up at the sound, pupils blown. He kisses lower, then higher again, murmuring against your skin, “Can’t believe I went a week without this.”

The vibration of his voice right against your skin makes you arch, and he meets you halfway, grinding down slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly what you’re chasing and wants to stretch it out just to watch you squirm.

Your hands curl into his shoulders, nails biting down just enough to make him grunt softly into your skin. He rolls his hips again, slow and heavy, and the pressure against your core has your breath catching in your throat.

“Koo,” you whine out.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, lips pink and wet, hair falling into his eyes. He grins, crooked and hot and deeply pleased with himself.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, and his voice is pure sin.

You glare, but your thighs shift open under him anyway.

“Please.”

He hums, satisfied, and starts working his way lower. Every kiss is wet and unhurried. Down your chest, across your stomach. His hands follow, smoothing over your ribs, down to your hips, dragging the waistband of your pants just slightly with them. His thumbs hook in the fabric, pausing right above your pelvis.

He looks up at you, smug and dark-eyed.

“Gonna let me take these off?”

He's so annoying you're gonna kill him. “Do I look like I’m stopping you?”

“No,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss just below your navel, “but I like hearing you say it.”

You huff, fingers threading into his hair again. “Take them off, Kook.”

He eases them down slowly — too slowly — dragging the fabric down your legs while his mouth follows in a path of heat and pressure. He kisses your hipbone, your inner thigh, every patch of skin he uncovers like it’s something sacred. When your panties go next, he makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat — more reverent than smug this time.

You’re already wet, already aching, and from the way his eyes flicker as he takes you in, he fucking knows it.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re soaked. You missed me that much?”

You exhale hard, cheeks hot. “Shut up and do something about it.”

He grins again, slower this time. “Anything you want.”

His hands grip your thighs and spread them further apart, and before you can say another word, his mouth is on you.

The first swipe of his tongue is long, and delibirate. You jerk at the contact, a broken sound slipping from your lips, and he groans like he’s the one falling apart. His hands tighten on your hips, holding you in place, and does it again.

Every movement of his tongue is practiced and precise. He starts slow, almost gentle, licking through your folds with a kind of focus that makes your head spin. Your thighs threaten to close around his head, but he pushes them apart with ease, never breaking rhythm.

Your hands move to the back of his head, gripping tight. His tongue circles your clit once, then again, and the third time he sucks it between his lips. You try to stifle a moan, but it slips from your lips anyway.

He pulls back just enough to speak, breath hot on your skin.

“Keep making those sounds, baby,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “Wanna hear every fucking thing I do to you.”

He movements turn faster, his mouth messy and hot and relentless. You’re already close, the build-up sharp and climbing, and he can feel it. One of his hands slips lower, spreading you open further with his thumb, and his tongue drags in tighter circles.

You’re writhing, panting, toes curling into the sheets. Your fingers tug at his hair, your spine arching off the bed.

“Fuck— Kook—” you gasp, head thrown back.

He groans again, the sound vibrating straight through your pussy. He doubles down, mouth moving faster, and when your hips start to stutter, erratic and desperate, he presses his hand over your stomach, grounding you.

“You’re gonna come for me?” he murmurs against you, mouth slick with you. “Gonna let me taste it?”

You nod frantically, unable to speak, your whole body wound tight and ready to snap.

He presses his mouth against you again, lips sucking against your clit, and the feeling has you squirming with pleasure.

“Kook—” your voice breaks open as you come hard against his mouth.

He moans, but his movements don't stop.

Your body arches helplessly, heels digging into the bed, one hand fisted in the sheets, the other still tangled in his hair as you ride out the wave. You’re gasping, blinking hard, your heart trying to punch through your ribs.

Only when your legs start to tremble uncontrollably does he finally pull back.

His lips are slick and swollen, jaw damp, hair messy from where you’ve been gripping it. And he looks wrecked — eyes heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide, like just being between your thighs has undone something in him.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then drags his lips slowly up your inner thigh, leaving lazy kisses in his wake.

You’re still catching your breath, staring at the ceiling like your soul just left your body, when he plants a final kiss on the inside of your knee and murmurs, “Yeah. I’m never ghosting you again.”

You let out a breathless laugh, too blissed out to be mad. “You better not.”

“After that?” he says, crawling back up your body, slow and unhurried. “I’d be clinically insane.”

He settles over you again, pressing a warm, open-mouthed kiss to your stomach, then another between your breasts, then finally your mouth. You taste yourself on his tongue, and when he groans against your lips, it sends a fresh jolt of heat straight through you.

His body is flush against yours, his clothed cock thick and heavy where it presses against your thigh. You let your hands trail down his chest slowly to tug at the denim loops of his jeans.

"Want these off," you mumble against his lips.

He smiles and presses one last kiss to your mouth before he leans back onto his knees. His hands go to his belt, and you watch the way his fingers fumble for just a second.

He gets the buckle undone, then the zipper, the sound louder than it should be in your quiet bedroom. You watch as he shucks them down, boxers and all, and your breath catches slightly at the sight of him — flushed and hard and achingly ready.

“Better?” he asks, voice low.

You nod, breath shallow, and he’s already crawling back over you. The heat of him sinks into your skin as his body settles between your thighs, bare now.

Your legs part without hesitation.

His weight, the press of his chest to yours, the familiar scent of him wrapped in something raw and new — it all hits at once, and your whole body shivers.

He’s warm everywhere. The kind of warmth that soaks into your bones and makes you ache for more.

His hands slide along your arms until they find yours where they’re resting above your head. He threads his fingers through yours and presses them gently into the pillow, pinning you there. His eyes search yours, and you feel the first brush of him between your legs, just the tip, teasing the edge of you.

He doesn’t move yet. Just rests there, eyes locked on yours.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice low and thick, like he’s hanging on by a thread.

You don’t answer — not with words. You just tilt your hips up, welcoming him in with nothing but a look.

He pushes in slow — painfully slow — each inch dragging fire across your nerves as your body stretches to take him. Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp, your fingers clenching around his. When he’s fully buried inside you, he stills completely.

“Fuck,” he breathes, forehead dropping to yours. “You feel… unreal.”

You can’t speak — your body’s too full, too wrecked already — so you kiss him instead. Slow and sweet and a little desperate. Your hips rock up, seeking more.

He groans into your mouth, finally starting to move, and every thrust is so fucking deep. It’s not rushed or frantic. It’s him savouring you, like he wants to remember how this feels with every part of himself.

His hands stay tight around yours, anchoring you both to the bed, to each other.

The rhythm builds, a slow burn that spreads everywhere, and between kisses you catch the way he looks at you — like he’s seeing something he’s afraid to lose. Like there’s something he wants to say but can’t yet.

“You were supposed to beg,” you manage to murmur against his mouth, breathless. “Grovel a little.”

That crooked smile curls against your lips. “My bad, baby,” he murmurs. “You can make me beg next time.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re gonna regret that.”

He shifts his hips, thrusting deeper, and your breath leaves you in a ragged gasp.

“You promise?”

The challenge in his voice is smug, but his eyes are dark and glassy, his control hanging by a thread. You whimper in response, thighs tightening around his waist, and he dips his head to your throat, dragging his lips along your pulse like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth.

He starts to move with more purpose now, making you feel every second of it. His cock grinds into that spot that makes your vision blur, and your whole body tenses, fingers squeezing his like a lifeline.

The moan you let out is shameless, high and wrecked, when he tilts his hips just right — again and again, like he’s carving his name into your body from the inside.

“Right there?” he murmurs, already knowing. His hand slips between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with the kind of confidence that only comes from knowing you — every reaction, every sound. “God, you’re so fucking wet. You always get like this for me?”

“Koo—” His name slips out broken, a warning and a plea wrapped in one.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, voice ragged, forehead pressed to yours. His thrusts get rougher now, faster, the rhythm losing polish but gaining intensity. “Let me have you, baby. Come again for me.”

The words send a bolt of heat straight to your core, your whole body winding tight. His mouth crashes against yours before you can respond, tongue tangling with yours, greedy and open and honest in all the ways his words still aren’t.

When he pulls back, he’s panting, “You feel like heaven, fuck.”

You can’t even process it — not now, not when his rhythm stutters and his hips slam harder, each thrust jolting a cry from your throat. Your legs are trembling, your grip bruising where it clings to him, and you can feel the knot in your stomach tighening.

“That’s it,” he groans, watching your face like it’s the only thing that matters. “Let go for me. Let me feel you.”

You bury your face in his shoulder, teeth catching on his skin as your orgasm crashes over you. Your body locks up, thighs clenching, and you cry out his name. His hand squeezes yours back, holding you through it.

Your walls grip him tight, and he groans loud against your skin, hips faltering. “Fuck— shit—”

He thrusts once more before spilling into you with a broken sound, voice rasping your name like a prayer.

His whole body shudders as he comes, arms locked tight around you like he needs you to stay exactly where you are — here, under him, around him, real. His forehead drops to your shoulder, damp curls brushing your skin as he exhales, long and shaky.

Neither of you move right away. The air between you is thick with heat and breath and a comforting silence.

Eventually though, he shifts just enough to press a kiss to your collarbone. Then another, softer.

His hand slides along your waist, fingertips brushing lazy patterns into your skin. You hum under your breath — not a word, just a sound — and he responds by kissing your shoulder again.

Your legs are still tangled together. His body still half-draped over yours. There’s a mess between your thighs and sweat clinging to your skin, and you should probably say something, anything — but there’s something sweet about the silence now. It’s soft. Unspoken. Peaceful, in a weirdly intimate way.

He shifts again, easing out of you with a quiet groan, and you wince a little at the loss.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, running a hand gently over your thigh like an apology.

“It’s fine,” you breathe, eyes closed, chest still rising and falling too fast.

He doesn’t go far. Just rolls to the side, still close enough that his leg stays pressed against yours, and reaches for the blanket to pull it up over you both. He tugs you into his chest like second nature, burying his nose in your hair, his hand stroking absently up and down your arm.

“You good?” he asks softly, lips brushing your temple.

“Yeah,” you say, quieter now. “You?”

He pauses. Then he nods against your skin. “Yeah. More than.”

You lay there like that for a while, heartbeats evening out. He’s still drawing shapes on your skin — fingertips slow, mindless — and you smile to yourself, warmth blooming low in your stomach.

“So,” you murmur eventually, voice still hoarse. “What now? We high-five and call it a night?”

He huffs a laugh into your hair. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no to a high-five.”

You laugh, nudging him with your shoulder. “Cocky.”

“Confident,” he corrects, grinning. “But really—” He shifts a little so he can see your face, one hand reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “If we’re doing this, I wanna do it right.”

You blink, caught off-guard by the sudden sincerity in his voice. “Do what right?”

He raises an eyebrow, like it should be obvious. “Us.”

There’s a pause. You look at him, and he looks at you, and it’s terrifying and sweet all at once.

“I really like you,” he says, quieter this time. “And I’m not just saying that because I just got laid.” He cracks a small smile. “Though, to be fair, that was mind-blowing.”

You snort. “So humble.”

“I’m serious,” he says, nudging your nose with his. “I’ll take you out. I’ll plan dumb dates. I’ll be obnoxiously charming and show up with flowers. I’ll be— like— a gentleman, or whatever.”

You give him a look. “You should’ve done all that before you fucked me.”

His grin spreads. “Yeah, well. Guess I got the order wrong. You gonna hold that against me?”

“Maybe,” you say, lips twitching.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says, fingers brushing your cheek. “You’ll see. I’ll be so romantic it’ll make you want to punch me.”

“I already want to punch you.”

“And yet,” he says smugly, pulling you closer, “you’re still in my bed.”

“This is my bed, dumbass.”

He pauses. “Okay, fair. But I am naked in it. With you.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face won’t go away. His arm tightens around your waist, and you let yourself relax into it — into him. For once, it doesn’t feel like something to second-guess.

He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth.

You tuck your face into his neck and sigh. “You better bring the good flowers. Like the ones that don’t die in two days.”

“Oh, so now you’re picky?”

“You said dates and flowers. I’m holding you to it.”

“Noted,” he says, fingers threading into your hair. “I’m gonna be so disgustingly good to you.”

You laugh softly into his skin.

And he just holds you tighter.

⌗ masterlist. ⌗ taglist. ⌗ feedback

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fragranticareviewers · 15 hours ago

Note

As someone who doesn't know a thing about perfumes, reading what you have to say about them is so unbelievably cool!

If I may ask something, what would a magical girl use, but not the pink main one, maybe the orange/yellow one?

ive been sitting with this for a little bit rotating it in my head... this will be a long one

so im putting my answers into two different categories:

one is for the Orange Magical Girl Archetype, which is how i was thinking of the first one. in my head, the orange ones are usually sporty, energetic, and have a sun or fire theme going on, while still maintaining a lot of that youthful sparkly fun vibe. (i also personally associate them with citrus, because, well, orange) so i was thinking of that. this will be my first category of answers.

olympea solar by rabanne - yummy! white florals and mandarin orange.

h&m sunray - golden warmth by h&m - straight up smells like summer. sunscreen, coconut, slightly floral?

orange ice cream by colornoise - i have no idea if this one is good or not to be honest. but it looks like it should fit. i trust it. i believe in it.

dr. botica poção da criatividade by o boticário - ok pause. i have never seen this mentioned before by anyone and found it by accident. what is this. this is ridiculously cute. how do i get my hands on it? the bottle is so cute! it has a star for god's sake

sundrunk by imaginary authors - "oh noo it's so linear" "it doesn't smell like a city on fire or bull's blood" i don't care. smells like artificial orange flavoring followed by neroli. yummy

...so this was my first thought.

then i started thinking: what about the actual orange magical girls from things i've watched? what do i associate with them?

and then i realized: WHERE ARE ALL THE ORANGE MAGICAL GIRLS?? i can think of, like, 5 total! all of them have completely different personalities! everyone's always like "ohh toei hates making green magical girls, we're starving, please feed us more green magical girls please" as if there is not currently a CRISIS of MAGICAL GIRLS WHO WEAR ORANGE in their series even greater than this...

with that said: the 5 magical girls i can think of who are primarily orange all have completely different associations for me, so i figured it'd be fun to pick a perfume or two for each of them.

cure soleil from star twinkle precure - i think they technically classify her as yellow so she might not even count. that's stupid. she's orange. being blonde does not change the color of her outfit.

for her, i pick aqua allegoria nettare di sole by guerlain. it has solar notes, which are critical for her IMO, along with beautiful white florals, which i think matches with her association with flowers.

hazuki from ojamajo doremi - ah, i'm struggling with this a bit.. she's very shy, naive, and studious, with an interest in things like violin and ballet. i was hoping i could find something with maybe a light varnish accord, but no luck. instead, i looked for things with an old book/paper smell without being overly dark or old, and i'm stuck between these 2...

gion by fantome - powdery rose tea with honey and books. light and cute.

morning room by solstice scents - you thought i was gonna do a recommendation post without mentioning solstice scents huh? huh?? *beats you up* this is another powdery and light floral, this time mostly based on violet instead of rose. and, of course, there's a paper note in here.

cure sunny from smile precure - i'm realizing that, in my head, she is the prototypical orange magical girl. i may be biased because she's also my favorite. i want to find something that evokes fire without being overly smoky or autumnal.

beach bonfire by alchemic muse - a firey gourmand with a little bit of nice sandalwood and amber, nice!

fire opal (orange 2; natural) by dsh perfumes - planning on getting a sample of this. bitter orange that people are complaining is "too masculine"

sailor venus from sailor moon - oh god. is she orange? anyways, i think i'd associate her with like, makeup accords, like the way lipstick smells. but fun and silly. it'd be cool if i could find a light and fun fragrance with a hot iron accord because she has a chain attack and all that, but no such thing seems to exist

iris crush by jimmy choo - powdery floral lipstick. yay!

nagisa momoe from puella magi madoka magica - is this even a question?

cheesecake by arcana wildcraft.

anyways, to be transparent, a lot of the time i don't answer fandom/character requests because it's always things i've never watched/read/played/etc. before. but mahou shoujo... well i've heard of it

#asks #recommendations

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lalacliffthorne · 2 days ago

Text

🖤 the fake dating scheme 🖤

Azriel x Reader

part I part II

summary: a scheme needs rules.

notes: didn't think so many people would be into this concept tbh. hope you keep enjoying it 🖤 ______________________________________________________________

The lock clicks, and I push open the door, waving my hand.

Fae lights flicker to life. Their warm glow spills through the small living room, soft and familiar, and I hesitate before looking over my shoulder.

The floorboards creak gently. Then shadows bleed over the threshold, whispering quietly, and my breath catches.

Azriel slowly steps through the doorway. His wings brush against the frame, and the warm golden light turns his eyes into liquid amber as they slide over the worn leather couch, the shelves spilling over with books and the dining table covered in documents.

Shadows coil gently around his wings, whispering where they meet the light.

He's never been here before. Maybe because I am too protective of my own space.

Now, he looks so out of place looming in the doorway that a giggle nearly bubbles in my throat.

Cauldron. This really is absolutely and entirely mad.

For a moment, I hesitate, my heart pounding firmly against my ribs. Then I turn quickly.

"I think we need to set some ground rules."

Azriel's eyes move away from the daggers on the coffee table, and something leaps softly into my throat when they meet mine.

Suddenly, I'm aware of how small the room is. How wide his shoulders are, how much space his towering body takes up. How the shadows curling around him are whispering, and how his amber eyes seem to track my every move.

My breath hitches softly.

Absolutely and entirely mad.

Azriel's gaze flickers over my face. Then he moves.

Shadows whisper gently over my skin, his scent washes over me, and for a second, the feeling of his hands wrapped around my ribs and his lashes fluttering against my cheeks washes over me.

The shadowsinger pushes past me and his rough skin brushes my wrist; my heart leaps into my throat, and I forcefully drag myself away from the memory.

Azriel leans against the dining table, stretching out his long legs and fixing his eyes on me. Then he dips his head lightly. "Go on."

Something swells a little in my chest, and I let out a slow breath.

Alright.

So far, so good.

Now I just need to manage this conversation without accidentally saying something that makes him want to murder me after all.

"Well." I slowly lean back against the arm of the sofa, my gaze flickering over the Spymaster's face. "How long do we plan on doing this?"

Azriel's eyes pierce mine. Then one of his brows rises lightly.

"I don't know. What was your plan after kissing the first male in sight?"

I blink.

I knew it.

This is a terrible idea. A harebrained, stupid idea that has cost me my last bit of remaining dignity, and now he's going to use every second of this insane charade to torment me for the single most ridiculous thing I have ever done in my whole life -

The corner of Azriel's lips curves, just barely.

My heart leaps high against my ribs. Then my shoulders sag.

"Oh, hilarious." I huff and cross my arms.

The ghost of a crease forms in Azriel's cheek.

"Just a little." His deep voice sounds dry, and something lodges gently in my throat when I stare back at him.

In the warm light, his eyes look strangely amused.

I blink. Then I quickly look away.

"Well. It should at least be long enough that it seems serious enough to count. To convince Mor that I really am alright." I crunch my brows softly. "But also not serious or long enough that - when we eventually break up, she won't believe me that I'm not heartbroken."

Azriel nods lightly.

"It has to last until Solstice. That's three months from now." His deep voice tinges with something that sounds very close to irritation when he adds in a low mumble: "That should prove to Cass and Rhys I'm not incapable of lasting connection."

Something dips gently in my chest in surprise, and my gaze darts up and flickers over his face.

I can't help but wonder if he's irritated by their assumption - or if maybe, they're right.

"Have you never had a relationship?"

The question is out before I can stop it. Then my heart drops, and my eyes widen.

Azriel's dark gaze rises and settles on mine, and I nearly shrink.

Oh Mother.

I'm busted.

Quickly, I blurt: "I just - well, Cass and Rhys have known you for basically your whole life, and if you say they don't think you're capable of lasting connection, that implies that they've never seen you in one before, which in turn means you never had a relationship."

One of Azriel's brows quirks.

I blink.

I'm also dead.

For a second, we stare at each other over the coffee table. Then Azriel's voice vibrates through me, deep and slow and unbelievably dry.

"You do realise that just because they have never seen me in a relationship does not mean that I have never been in one."

I blink.

Right.

"Anyway." Feeling my cheeks heat and tearing my eyes away hastily, I clear my throat. "What else?"

Just for a second, Azriel's eyes flash with that same strangely amused twinkle.

"I need you to be there for as many social occasions as possible." He straightens lightly, voice slow and steady. "Whether it's family dinner, a formal gathering or something else. That way Rhys and Cass stay off my back, and it keeps - unwanted attention away from both of us." His gaze pierces mine, and my heart leaps gently.

"Alright." I hesitate for a second, my eyes flickering over his face.

I've been thinking about the next point since I've brought up ground rules.

It's the one I'm most certain will cause him to change his mind and decide that ripping me to shreds might actually be a joyful compensation for the situation I have dragged him into.

But I know that without it, this whole scheme will blow up in our faces.

So I breathe in and and out, blurting the dreaded words with the exhale.

"We need to spend time together apart from everyone else."

Azriel's eyes sharpen in the warm light.

Just for a second, a muscle in his jaw tightens.

My heart leaps against my ribs, and I shrug softly, offering him a hesitant smile. "They're going to get suspicious if we only make a point of showing up together when people are watching."

Azriel's gaze pierces mine. It's dark, and unwavering, and I stare back, bracing myself for the inevitable.

The shadowsinger blinks slowly. Then his voice brushes over my skin, low and steady.

"Any ideas?"

Something catches softly in my throat.

Azriel just watches me. Calm, waiting.

I blink and somehow manage to pull myself together.

"I don't know, say - sleep five nights a week together?" My heart leaps high, and my eyes widen a little as I add hastily: "I- I mean act like we do. Sleep - together." I blink. "Not actually sleep together — I mean, just sleep in the same room."

Somehow, I manage to shut myself up because I can make it worse. Something is thrumming against my ribs.

Azriel's eyes are fixed on mine.

This is a terrible idea.

Truly, awful, terrible idea -

"Four nights."

My thoughts of impending doom screech to an abrupt halt, and my gaze flies up.

Azriel crosses his arms, his gaze steady and calm. He sounds strangely unbothered given what he's currently agreeing to.

"We'll have to see how our assignments line up. It'll probably be easiest if we spend most nights here, because there's nobody around to be nosy." His brow quirks lightly. But he looks only mildly irritated; maybe even a little amused when he adds: "We are going to have to spend at least a few nights at the Townhouse now and then though, so nobody gets suspicious." His eyes pierce mine, glowing in the light. Then the corner of his lips curves, just barely. "I'll take the couch."

Something under my ribs swells.

Maybe we will actually be fine.

Well. Don't push it.

"Alright." Exhaling, I nod.

For a moment, I hesitate and chew on my lip. Then I blurt softly: "How far are we going?"

The shadowsinger lightly quirks an eyebrow. His eyes are swirling amber in the warm light.

"I mean -" My gaze flickers over his face, and my throat closes gently. "I just -"

Don't know how much I can handle without bursting.

Azriel's gaze shifts and narrows in. Something closes gently around my chest when it deepens until it seems to burn through my skin. Then his low voice brushes over my skin, slow and firm.

"I don't care what you think anybody expects." His eyes pierce mine, brows drawing together gently almost like he's willing me to listen very closely. "You decide how far you are willing to go."

Suddenly, there's a small, gentle lump in my throat.

"What about you?" My voice is soft when my eyes dart over his.

The planes of Azriel's face looks like carved from marble. But his eyes are calm and steady when he returns my gaze.

"I'll just follow your lead."

I exhale, and something swells harshly under my ribs when my shoulders sink.

"Alright." I nod slowly.

Azriel's eyes glide over my face like he's making sure I mean it. Then he nods back lightly.

"Well." I breathe in and raise my brows. "We are going to have to create some kind of - illusion of intimacy. I mean, I think we can agree on the fact that we won't have to be as bold as Cassian would be, I mean, neither of us is the type for that, so it would actually be more suspicious if we were too obvious -" I exhale again and raise my head. "How about we just agree to follow what feels - natural. In the moment."

Azriel's eyes pierce mine. Then he nods once, steady and calm.

"Alright." I nod back. "I guess we will figure the rest out along the way." My lips twitch as suddenly, something is fluttering against my ribs. It feels strangely giddy.

I raise my brows. "This feels secretive enough to warrant an oath to hold us to our agreement."

I'm almost sure I can see Azriel's lips twitch. Then he rises, and my breath catches gently when, amber eyes burning into mine, he holds out his hand.

Staring up at him, I swallow softly. Then I slowly push myself to my feet and reach out.

Warm, rough skin glides against mine when I slip my palm into Azriel's. Long, calloused fingers wrap around my hand, their grip firm but strangely gentle, and my heart leaps into my throat when Azriel shakes my hand, his eyes piercing mine.

I blink. Then I slowly slip my hand out of his and grin, softly and cheekily.

"Well, now that we've settled this - I'm calling it a night." I hesitate, my eyes flickering over his face. "Are you…"

Shadows curl around Azriel's wings when he returns my stare steadily. Then he nods lightly. "I'm staying."

My heart leaps gently against my ribs.

Azriel blinks, and one of his dark eyebrows twitches. "Mor would get suspicious if I slept at the Townhouse." His gaze pierces mine, and his deep voice is slow when he adds: "Besides. To make this believable, I have to smell like you."

Something catches gently in my throat.

For a moment, we stare at each other. The spots in Azriel's eyes are shifting like stars through the sky. His shadows whisper gently against the floorboards. Then I blink and send him a soft, cheeky smile and turn around.

When I reach the doorway to the bedroom, I hesitate. Then I exhale and look over my shoulder, grinning softly even as something plucks at my heart.

“You must think I’m an idiot.”

Azriel's eyes rise to meet mine.

For a second, we stare at each other. His iris is glowing softly in the warm light. Then he blinks, and his slow, rough voice brushes down my spine. “I don’t.”

Something swells gently against my ribs.

Azriel raises a brow.

“I mean, I do. Sometimes." His eyes pierce mine. Then the corner of his lips curves, just barely. "When you decide to just kiss somebody without actually looking at them and then rope them into pretending you’re seeing each other for example –“

My heart leaps into my throat, and my lips part incredulously.

“You offered that!”

Azriel stares at me, and slowly, the ghost of a smirk forms on his lips.

Something swells in my throat until it feels hard to breathe.

“I hate you.” My mumble is soft and grouchy. But the thrum of my heart betrays me.

Azriel's eyes are twinkling in the light as they pierce mine. Then he blinks and bows his head lightly. "Goodnight."

My breath hitches gently. Then I nod back gently.

"Goodnight."

♡

It takes me hours to fall asleep.

The knowledge that Azriel is in my flat, my small, chaotic home, makes what happened tonight real.

But somewhere between the slow, strange realisation that I don't feel half as nervous as I probably should and the sky slowly turning a lighter shade of blue, I finally drift away.

When I wake up, the sun tickles my face and the flat is quiet.

For a moment, I just bury deeper into my blanket, blinking tiredly. I can hear the gentle buzz of the city from outside my window, soft voices streaming up from the cafe in the cobblestone alley below. A gentle breeze shifts the thin curtains, brushing over my skin.

I lay still for a while longer, feeling the drowsy feeling of sleep slowly leaving my limbs and the soft weight of the sheets wrapped around my body. Then, rubbing my eyes, I slowly sit up and slide off the mattress.

My bare feet are almost soundless on the wooden floorboards when I pad over to the door, stretching lightly.

Opening it, I raise my head, and my breath catches.

Azriel is leaning against the counter. Sunlight is streaming through the window, turning his eyes into liquid gold and shining through the thin membranes of his wings. His brows are crunched lightly against the gentle glow.

He's not wearing a shirt.

Suddenly, something is thrumming under my ribs.

Azriel turns his head, and shadows whisper softly against his wings.

I didn't think he would stay.

For a quiet moment, we look at each other from across the room, like the last bits of night are slowly washing away and what we are left with is the deal we struck in the middle of the night over the coffee table.

It feels less tense than I imagined. Calmer. More steady.

I blink. Then I smile, soft and careful.

"Hey."

Azriel's eyes pierce mine. Then he slowly slides a steaming cup over the counter.

His iris looks like amber from this angle.

A slow exhale leaves me, and I feel my shoulders sink when I send him a soft, cheeky grin.

"The service."

The ghost of a crease forms in Azriel's cheek, and his eyes drag over my face.

Rubbing my eyes, I start to make my way over into the kitchen. Azriel watches me get closer. His shoulders shift, tattoos rippling gently. He looks calm, relaxed.

Like somehow, he fits into the small embrace of my home, in with the worn floorboards and the old couch and the little corner of a kitchen.

I decide not to mull on that last thought.

With a sigh, I pull myself up onto the smooth wooden counter, rubbing my eyes softly before picking up the cup. The scent of herbs rises into my nose, and my lids flutter gently when I breathe it in softly.

Silence settles over the kitchen. I don't know if I'm simply still too tired to care, but it feels warm and comfortable, like the sunlight falling onto the floorboards.

Azriel is blinking into the warm rays. The golden sheen causes his skin to glow and dips his eyes into amber. A dark strand of hair is curving over his forehead.

Fighting the strange sudden urge to brush it back, I wrap my fingers around the warm cup and blink sleepily. Shadows whisper, soft and gentle, lapping at the floorboards.

After a few sips of tea, my body starts to wake.

Leaning my temple against the cabinet, I hesitate, my eyes on the side of Azriel's face. Then I start softly: "Are you still -"

His head turns, and I lose my thread of thought for a breath when his golden eyes meet mine. There are dark spots dancing in his iris.

I blink before mumbling gently: "Are we still doing this?"

Azriel's gaze pierces mine, steady and unreadable. Then his deep voice brushes over my skin, low and calm.

"Have you changed your mind?"

I shake my head softly from side to side.

The shadowsinger dips his head lightly, and one of his brows rises. "Then we're doing this."

I exhale and nod, my shoulders straightening gently.

"Alright."

Azriel's gaze pierces mine, and the dark spots in his iris shift, strangely akin to a twinkle.

A rapid, loud knock against the front door makes me jump, nearly spilling my tea.

"What the -"

The door flies open before I can even finish my sentence, and a tall blonde figure sweeps over the threshold.

"I cannot believe you -"

My heart leaps high.

Mor's gaze finds mine. She stops abruptly, and my breath gets stuck in my throat.

For a second, the Blonde looks stunned. Her lips are parted lightly, brows raised. Her gaze slowly drags back and forth between me and the male beside me.

Azriel's eyebrows quirks.

Quickly, I slide off the counter. My feet hit the ground, and Mor slowly blinks.

"Alright… Finding both of you here is admittedly not what I expected, though, looking back, an obvious assumption… but at least this way I don't have to have this conversation twice." She clears her throat and straightens, raising her brows. "What do you two have to say for yourselves?"

I blink and swallow. Then I smile sheepishly. "Tea?"

Mor narrows her eyes.

"Nice try. I might come back to that in a second. Now spill it. What is this, why don't I know about it, how long has this been going on?!"

My heart leaps against my throat, and my mind blanks.

Brilliant.

All this talk yesterday and we really forgot the simple point of coming up with a story.

Bollocks.

Somewhere behind me, Azriel huffs.

"It's none of your business." His deep voice sounds lazy and a little dry.

Mor crunches her brows like he's just made the most preposterous statement and snorts.

"I'm both of your best friend. Of course it is my business!"

My shoulders stiffen.

We really should have thought about this. This is bad. This is really, really -

There's a shift in the air behind me. Then something brushes against my shoulder.

Shadows whisper against my ankles, and my breath catches when a rough palm presses against my lower back in a featherlight, steadying touch for nothing but a second.

Mor's eyes narrow in. I feel myself sink back almost instinctively, into the towering presence behind me, trying to suppress the urge to wince as I wait for her to call our bluff -

I don't know what Mor sees. But the Blonde exhales and rolls her eyes dramatically.

"Fine... Just tell me how it happened!" Her eyes find mine again, starting to twinkle, and my heart tumbles against my ribs.

"I don't know." I lightly raise my shoulders, smiling weakly. "It just - did."

Well, at least that's not a lie.

Mor huffs and crosses her arms. But her lips curve slowly, and I risk a quick glance over my shoulder.

My heart leaps into my throat.

Azriel is so close that his chest lightly brushes against my shoulder. His wings are looming, relaxed against his back, his hand resting on the counter behind me, just close enough I can feel the tips of his fingers graze my hip.

It's not flashy. No show of closeness.

He's just there. Towering over me, quiet, calm. Steadying. Like it's natural for him to be right where he is now, close enough that I can feel his breath against my hair and his presence in my back.

It feels real.

Blinking, I tear my eyes away again and meet Mor's. She's still staring at us, her eyes narrowed. But that strange twinkle is slowly spreading through her iris. Then she huffs.

"Fine. Be secretive." Her voice sounds almost grudgingly amused when she adds in a mumble: "It suits you."

Azriel's lips twitch.

Exhaling dramatically, Mor raises her hands. "Alright, I won't ask." Her eyes are twinkling with mischief when they meet mine. "But you owe me breakfast for not telling me."

Something like relief swells under my ribs, and I exhale. "Fair."

Mor beams.

"Well, then; get dressed, I'm not taking you out like this!" She raises her brows at Azriel. "I'd say you're welcome to join, but knowing you, you've got somewhere to be."

I look up over my shoulder, and Azriel looks down at me. His eyes are piercing, steady.

My heart leaps gently at the silent question in his gaze, and I send him a soft nod.

Azriel's lips curve just the slightest bit. Then he says, gaze never leaving mine: "Rhys is waiting for me."

I blink, feeling my brows crunch gently when my gaze flickers over his face.

Somewhere at the back of my mind, I wonder if it's the truth. And if it is - why he stuck around instead of leaving.

Mor pointedly clears her throat.

My heart leaps against my ribs, and quickly, I tear my eyes away from Azriel's.

The Blonde grins, then she raises her brows at the Spymaster. "Alright, well, off you go then."

The shadowsinger huffs, then he pushes off the counter, and my breath catches when his chest presses lightly against my shoulder.

"I'll see you later." His deep voice brushes over my skin, low and quiet like the words are meant to seem only for me. My eyes rise to meet his, and Azriel's gaze pierces mine, calm and steady.

Something swells gently against my ribs, and I nod lightly.

Rough skin brushes my hand. My breath catches in my throat, and for just a heartbeat, Azriel's scarred fingers slide between mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. Then his hand slips away, and he is swallowed by shadows.

part I part II

@azrielshadows1nger @waytoomanyteenagefeels @secretlyhers

@icey--stars @ailyr92 @xadenswhore

@sttvrdustt @thalia-as-blog @navyblue-eternity

@florencemtrash @kksbookstuff @messageforthesmallestman

@myfatbottomedgirls @laurenslover864 @xinsonyax

@fxckmiup @bestlessonslearnt @balufy

@sheblogs @i-am-infinite @wickedshadowsinger

@gretavankleep37 @extro2603 @thelov3lybookworm

@brekkershadowsinger @hoeforthefictional @historygeekqueen

@a-court-of-milkandhoney @lilah-asteria

#the fake dating scheme #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel series #azriel imagine #azriel fic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x f!reader #azriel x female!reader #az x reader #az imagine #az/reader #acotar x reader #acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction #acowar #acomaf #lalacliffthorne

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nicromancytarot · 2 days ago

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WHAT WILL YOU LOOK LIKE IN 5 YEARS?

This is a general reading based on a collective of people. Take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. If you don’t feel the pile resonates with you, don’t be scared to try another, if it still doesn’t feel right, that’s ok! Maybe our energies aren’t as connected and my readings are not for you.

I do these strictly for fun and educational purposes. I do not charge for these readings, and I do not fake readings. I would tell you the cards I get for the readings, but I pull like 15-20 cards each reading and that is just slightly a strenuous task to write them all down lmao.

PICK A CARD READING

I asked my spirit guides what you will look like in 5 years time, pick a picture to find out what they had to say!

PILE 1

Golly gosh, my sweet pile number 1’s, I must tell you the cards I got for this.

2 of pentacles, 8 of cups, 4 of cups, Moon, Page of cups, Tower, 10 of swords, High priestess, 2 of wands, Queen of swords, 5 of pentacles, Lovers.

We’re a little bit hectic over here if you can’t already tell. I wouldn’t say this is anything to worry about however.

Starting off! I feel that your physical appearance is going to change a lot during this era of your life, whether that be you go through a bunch of phases, try new things, receive procedures etc. I feel that a lot of you may feel stagnant in how you look during this time, you may find that you’re right on the cusp of looking how you want, but are struggling to get there. Some of you may begin to notice features of your own mother poking through, others may start to look more mature and possibly take on a more maternal appearance — this could be seen in having a little more maturity to your body perhaps after childbirth, or even just beginning to put your appearance on the back burner if you have kids that must take the forefront of your mind.

I have a feeling that a lot of you will go through a major glow up around this time, which is great, however! The motivation will arise around some sort of betrayal or major shake up like heartbreak, whatever it is will instantly get you feeling like you need to take more care of yourself, and becoming much brighter and just looking happier because of it.

The change in your appearance during this time will certainly mark a new beginning and major change in your life, it will really be that first step to a fresh start.

You may begin taking more care of your body, and specially your skin, perhaps spending more money on the highest review products, or just even investing in some long term serums that you know work wonders for your skin. (Please be careful with how much you spend on this stuff lol, you can definitely find cheaper stuff with amazing properties if you look hard enough) This could also imply that many of you will begin working out and eating healthier around this time as well, ensuring that your self care is the top of your priorities.

And finally, our lovers. Now I would say this will bring a new love opportunity to you, but when I first thought this card was present, it was actually the king of wands that caught my eye in the middle of the deck. You’re going to love yourself a lot more, love looking at yourself in the mirror, and just overall feeling more like yourself. You will love who you have become. Good luck my lovelies, get that beauty on!

Physical features: Intense eyes/eye makeup, wearing lots of black and mysterious colours, becoming skinnier or leaner, muscle building could be applicable, stubborn features you can’t quite get rid of (perhaps a bit of flab on your thighs, something that just makes you look more mature, still hot as hell by the way), some of you may stop shaving for a period of time, black hair, spiky jewellery, silver jewellery, cold toned makeup, clothes, gems etc.

PILE 2

Hello my pile number 2’s, how’s it going? Starting off strong we already have the two of cups, so I’m sure this appearance will be highly negated by the status of your relationships, specially those that we deem romantic. I’m seeing that during this time you are trying different things and may even be getting advice from family and friends about what to wear or what things to CONSCIOUSLY consume — I cannot stress it enough that money is big talk here, I need you to be very aware on what you’re spending your coins for, I wouldn’t recommend any expensive surgeries that could end up going wrong, specially lip injections/filler.

Anywho! You could be being very intentional about the way you appear, perhaps with ensuring you do enough research into new products before purchasing them, or even investing in a personal dermatologist, colour coordinator, personal trainer etc — it’s all very well thought out.

Your glow up, if there is one, may be motivated by some sort of competition, so perhaps just ensure you don’t get too deep into all of that. Knight of pentacles appears twice here, so I’m definitely getting the message that you will be investing a lot of time and effort into your appearance, liking the way you look could be a long time coming.

You’ll have a lot of tips to share with people around this time for sure.

God damn it, I flipped the deck for more info and we got the tower. Ok! Dramatic changes. PLEASE BE CAREFUL WITH PROCEDURES!!! I really feel like this is something I need to say with all seriousness. You go for lip filler, you’re coming out with sausages glued to the absence of your lips, also heavy chance you can get scammed when trying to get something done. I would absolutely not recommend any plastic surgery of that kind — however you can get away with waxing (I’m specially getting your bikini line lmao), eyebrows threaded, hair done professionally, professional makeup, nails etc — that’s all fine, but I’m getting a really big feeling to tell you to avoid any plastic surgery, specially if you’re from the UK.

I’m being told you need to embrace your natural features, things that you’ve hidden before can be very alluring when you learn how to harness them. A lot of you may look young for you age, honestly embrace it, you’re going to look twenty at fifty, and the rest of the world will sag, so good on you!

Physical features: doe eyes/very loving expressions, unconventional features that make people look twice (perhaps drawing on moles, or not covering up already existing ones), you could thrift most of your clothes (and get really good at it), may lean into more blues for colours, spending a fair bit money on accessories or hair/makeup etc, whimsical clothes, wearing reds/red lipstick, leaning more into the traditional looks from your culture.

PILE 3

Hello my wonderful pile number 3’s! Ok firstly, this is YOUR time for real, if you grew up without being conventionally attractive, this is your justice coming straight in and giving you that unthinkable glow up. Now this won’t be entirely easy, you will have to put in a fair amount of effort to receive this effortless look, which is fairly ironic given the name. Anyways, I’m seeing the need to take control and allow yourself to focus on your own appearance, people may tell you “looks aren’t everything” or “personality matters the most,” and while they are not far off, it’s not hard to assume they grew up with the privilege you yourself may have not been lucky enough to hold badge of. As it always goes, money is of the essence here, and you may need to spend a fair amount to get that look you desire — obviously do it with a conscious consumer mindset, and don’t go overboard.

I’m seeing that you may join a community of sorts, like a subreddit with the best tips, or perhaps confide in a super cool witch that makes bank off people requesting beauty spells — something of the sort anyways. The people you meet through this community, whatever it is, will help guide you to harnessing your best potential. Now I will say that you may meet some that are a little misguided or too deep into it all, so be aware of what you consume and who you listen to, ensure it’s all ethical and worth your while.

Some of you may actually have to have a glow up for work, like it could be something so minute like having to do something nice with your hair, or having to wear a specific uniform that will just make it all pop and you will receive an abundance of compliments and attention. I’m also getting the message that you could have a new job with/or new uniform that like lowkey makes your eyes pop and you have that moment of realisation to what colours work the best for you.

My main message however is to make sure you don’t lose yourself in echo chambers that end up spewing shit about lookmaxxing or some weird ass phrenology. Like please be aware lol, I’m sure you’ll be fine.

Physical features: Looking intimidating or unapproachable, looking more expensive, glow up that will 100% make people wonder how the hell you did it, appearance change through work (new uniform, hair, makeup), wise appearance, type of person someone sees once and never again but always thinks of, wearing warm palettes (yellow, orange, red, brown), tired/experienced eyes, thrifting clothes/making something old look new

#tarot #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #tarot witch #tarot reading #pick a card #pick a pile #tarotreading #pick a card readings #tarot blog

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p1astr81 · 2 days ago

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pretty please could you write about Ollie and virgin reader, but he doesn't know she's a virgin and gets confused and frustrated when even months in they haven't had sex. Maybe he goes to some of the other drivers (like Lando or something) for advice cuz he doesn't know what to do or why she won't sleep with him. I absolutely love your writing, keep up the incredible work 👏🏻🫶🏻♥️

Things were getting heated in his flat. He’d pulled you into his lap mid makeout as he was trying to devour your lips with his. His hands were all over you. In your hair, on your hips, under your shirt and roaming over your back.

But he wanted more than another heated make-out session. He rolled his hips into yours, creating friction.

You gasped, which he thought was a good thing.

Until you jumped off his lap and practically bolted to the kitchen. “I’m kind of hungry. Should we order or cook?” You covered quickly, opening the fridge like you were actually searching for a meal.

Ollie sighed at how you’d ran from him again. In truth, he was getting skeptical of your constant avoidance to move past kissing.

You’d never allowed him to kiss you below your collarbones, always pushed him away when he tried. Whenever his hand snuck up your thigh, you’d shift or move it. And that one time he’d squeezed your ass as a joke, and you blushed like crazy, got really quiet and avoidant.

He asked you if you were okay on multiple occasions. You always had some excuse. He was only willing to let it slide for so long.

The following week, as he was sat with Charles at lunch, he asked him about it.

“Does Alex ever… like… reject you?” He knew it was a highly personal question, but being constantly rejected was eating away at him. He had to know what was up.

Charles raised a brow, smirking a bit. A dimple carved into his cheek. “How do you mean?” He knew exactly how he meant it. He just wanted to hear him say it.

Ollie scoffed. “Like…” he scoffed again, frustrated. “Whenever I try to initiate anything, y/n just- she runs away.” He confessed, a quiet voice.

It was getting harder for Charles to not laugh. “Runs away?”

“Not actually but,” he sighed. “yeah.”

“Well, did you ask her about it?”

Ollie paused. “Not directly.”

This time, Charles did laugh. Not loudly or making a scene out of it. Just a quiet chuckle. “So you don’t know if she’s waiting for marriage?”

Another pause from the younger. Then quietly, slightly embarrassed, “I didn’t even consider that.”

Charles only laughed and shook his head at the younger driver.

It wasn’t until two weeks later that he worked up the courage to actually ask you.

Sat on the couch, watching a movie. Your head rested on his shoulder, arms hugging one of his. His hand placed on your mid-thigh.

You were dozing off, so relaxed curled into his side. He thought there was no better time.

“Hey baby?” He called and squeezed your thigh. You hummed, a very sleepy sound. Still, your tired eyes looked up at him through your lashes. “Are you waiting til marriage?” He found it difficult to look into your eyes as he spoke.

Brows tilted, you tip your head back to see him easier. “You mean like… to have sex?”

Ollie swallowed. “Yeah.” He breathed. “And- and I know it’s kind of invasive I guess but I just want to know because, well, because I keep trying to- uh- you know. And-“

“I figured you’d ask about it eventually.” You sat up, letting go of his arm. He missed your touch instantly. “I’m not exactly… saving. I mean, yes I’m still a virgin but that’s not why.” You reached for the remote and paused the movie in the middle of an action scene. You kept the remote in your hands, thumbing the buttons. “It’s stupid.” You muttered.

Ollie bumped your knee with his. “It’s not stupid. If it’s about you, I want to know.”

Too conflicted to answer, you left him with a pause. Your thumbs paused on the remote buttons. “I guess I’m just scared.”

The smile came before the laugh. You looked to him, face twisted in hurt. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you.” He clarified and your expression softened. “I just- I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.” He laughed again, a small chuckle.

“So, you’re not upset?”

“Upset? No, why would I be? That’s normal, and we can get there whenever you’re comfortable. I just didn’t know.”

A weight was lifted off the both of your shoulders. Lighter now, you leaned into him again. Curled into his side.

“I love you.” You whispered, a hand on his chest, over his heart.

Ollie smiled, feeling all soft inside. “I love you, too.” He kissed the top of your head. “Even if you’re lacking a little in the communication department.” He joked.

You shoved his chest, earning a laugh. “Not like you tried to either.”

“I just did!”

“Yeah, after how many weeks?”

You had him there. He raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, I guess we are both guilty.”

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 blurb #f1 fluff #f1 x you #f1 angst #ollie bearman oneshot #ollie bearman imagine #ollie bearman x you #ollie bearman x reader #ollie bearman #oliver bearman x reader #oliver bearman #Ollie bearman angst

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arcanetrivia · 1 day ago

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The thing about Discord is that just finding a server that has the conversations you're interested in can be difficult. Privately hosted email lists had this kind of problem too, that you sometimes could only even find out they existed by word of mouth, never mind join them. Sometimes you have to know a guy who knows a guy to get a hold of an invite code that hasn't expired by the time you come across it. (I get why they made the change that you couldn't make permanent ones if you weren't a Community server, but it can be frustrating sometimes.) Official servers for $THING may be listed publicly on $THING's website, but that's not the same as a by-fans-for-fans space that will probably have a much different culture and tone. There's Disboard, but not everything is on it. The central directory of a place like Yahoo Groups (whatever their other faults), being able to find communities and people that list certain interests on LiveJournal, the generally public or at least semi-public nature of a forum that can be found by a search engine... all of these supported discoverability. (And in my current primary fandom, besides the figurative "private group chat" that a Discord server is, I know there's some significant activity in literal private group chat. So unless you can somehow get admitted to a pre-existing group of friends, welp.)

IRC as a synchronous chat platform/protocol was there for a long time alongside (and is still in some cases, even with the ascendancy of Discord), and a lot of that ephemeral stuff has been lost unless people kept logs. But we're in a situation now where pretty much all there is, is the ephemeral, be it Discord, Twitter/Bluesky/Mastodon, Facebook (seems to actively work against finding and keeping up on what you want), Instagram (somehow even worse; my beloathed). DeviantArt worked decently well for a while, but every time they messed up site changes and policies in a way that angered artists, there was an exodus (similar to the waves of exodus from LiveJournal until now it's a ghost town unless you're Russian). Pillowfort... exists... but I am skeptical it's ever going to gain critical mass, even if Tumblr does completely go under one of these days.

And Tumblr itself... is better than nothing, but of course we all know how hard it can be to find things on because a lot of the older stuff isn't even indexed; and its structure really doesn't support coherent threaded conversation; and it's a bit too-little-too-late on their introduction of LJ/DW-style communities, which people here now don't seem to want.

(Semi-aside, not to be a Fandom Old, but re: reblogging/reposting, I see how such a thing can be a boon for those who really don't want to participate even on the level of an occasional comment here and there, but fandom was doing fine without such a feature on email lists, forums, LiveJournal. People actually were pretty annoyed when LJ tried to introduce a reposting-style feature, which was pretty clunky. The site hadn't been conceived with that sort of ecosystem in mind and it was rather grafted on. Think how people keep rejecting Tumblr's attempts at a short-form video feature: "Stop trying to be X other site and just be what you are! We're here because we want what is unique about this place!")

....sorry, I think I went on a bit of a pointless ramble there 😅

imo a discord server should be like a breakout room for fandom. like the place to run your wips by your besties or discuss your otp in more detail with a few people who were insane about it on your post or organise events with a handful of trusted mutuals etc etc. if it’s where ALL the fandom activity is going to happen it will inevitably foster a cliquey environment where the fandom is divided into “those in the server” and “those who aren’t”, lurking is disincentivised if not made outright impossible, people who feel uncomfortable joining in conversations and would rather interact with fandom through reblogging etc are largely excluded because there’s no repost mechanism, and the fandom itself becomes an enclosed space so new fans are limited in how much content and meta they can access without having to make the plunge into Joining The In Group, there’s limited scope for interaction between different communities within the same fandom, god it’s just an altogether dogshit stupid idea. what if we moved all fandom activity to really massive private groupchats. STUPID

#preach it #fandom #you kids get off my lawn

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powderpuff-divines · 2 days ago

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pick a pile: what makes people's hearts flutter around you

thank you so much for the love on the previous reading!! i was so happy to see that so many of you enjoyed it. i hope that this one resonates too. once again, it is a general reading. only take what applies, leave the rest and please forgive any grammatical or spelling errors xx

pile 1 ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

(judgement, ace of pentacles, queen of pentacles, page of pentacles, page of wands)

there's just something intimidating about you pile one (you may or may not have a resting b-face) but there's also something about you that makes people want to impress you. whatever way you express your dissatisfaction- whether it's the way you curl your lips in distaste or scrunch your eyebrows- it sets people on edge. it makes them nervous but also very eager to please you.

you could come from a well to do family, like a long line or surgeons, etc. (if not, that's the vibes you give) or even if it's not wealth, it feels like you come from a very reputed family.

but regardless of your family, you have built have a very good reputation for yourself amongst your peers. your work ethic is also very good- you put your head down and get to work, and even that makes people's hearts flutter sometimes. you elicit awe and admiration quite easily.

capable. that's the energy i'm getting from this pile. someone capable who wants to work hard, who wants money, who wants status, who wants recognition. majority of the people from this pile are the go-getters, the type to want to work in student body councils or win a lot of trophies (i'm getting more academic/corporate achievement than sporty though).

there's also another section of people who picked this pile who wouldn't necessarily call themselves hard-working, they'd prefer to call themselves lazy even but regardless of how you label yourself, you just breeze through your work anyway. in the eyes of others, it looks effortless. the people around you take one look at you and just know you're going to achieve great things with your career

regardless of all this admiration, i don't think you're friends with many people. there may only be a few in your inner circle. there's something about other people wanting to be a part of your personal life so bad. i'm seeing this image someone who randomly posts a Instagram story of them surfing and the people viewing it are so shocked ("pile two surfs? i never knew that about them. that's so cool!") they're intrigued by you and want to know you better but you don't let people that close easily. you might just have really strict work-life boundaries and are very particular about who in your life gets to see how much about you.

and because of who you are, what you've accomplished and how you carry yourself, your approval means something to the people around you, especially if it's something you don't dole out to just anyone.

your approval; that's what gets their heart fluttering-- a nod from you when they show you what they've done, a pat on the back, a smile on your lips as you give praise, even if it's off-handed, it gives them something to feel good about for the rest of the day.

pile 2 ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

(chariot, 8 of pentacles , ace of cups, seven of swords, ten of pentacles) (oh my god 😭 who are you peopleeee. i would not be surprised if multiple people were crushing on this pile.)

pile 2, you're popular and you definitely know it to some extent too. this pile is a bit similar to pile 1 in some ways but still vastly different you could have lot of admirers and people who want to get close to you and i do see you engaging with these people, because you do enjoy the attention (nothing wrong with that), but i also get the feeling you're very controlling and picky over your image and how you come off to people. even while trying to channel the messages for this pile, the energy feels a bit reserved and doesn't want to give me too much.

there's one particular thing you could be known for, some sort of craft you've worked hard at or you're really talented at. this could be something like dance or music but that's where most of your popularity comes from. you have a good network of friends and people who you can pass time with.

i'm ngl, lowkey getting some player energy from this pile but not necessarily in the bad way. it's just some of you are aware of effect you have, and you have fun teasing people, toying with them, making them blush. oh, pile 2 you like making people's hearts flutter, you do it on purpose. you like knowing that you have the power to make people flustered.

what makes people's heart flutter is the rush they get when your eyes meet, the flirtatious lilt in your voice, maybe a smirk on your lips as you tease them in a very nonchalant manner, when you say something and playfully tell them that it's a secret only the two of you will know, when you make them feel like they are the sole focus of your attention. heart are fluttering left and right because of you.

i don't know if this pile will resonate with a lot of people or if the things mentioned here are too specific, but bottom line is that there's a very flirtatious and seductive vibe to your energy. you guys might be bored the majority of the time but man, when you're interested in someone, you tease and play with them until you get a reaction. even if you're not like this currently, you have great potential at charming people my pile twos.

pile 3 ˚ . ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

( 6 of cups, the empress, nine of pentacles, eight of pentacles, temperance rev)

pile 3, are you really uncomfortable with being perceived by any chance? i had the most difficult time channeling the energy of the people who chose this pile out of all three piles. i think you keep to yourself for most of the time but there's also this adorable energy around you, like that of a cat that just puts its head down and sleeps whenever it gets the chance to.

you could not like attention and maybe most of your days, you put your head down and focus on getting through. that's not to say you have a sad life. maybe you're not where you want to be yet, but you do have hobbies, things you enjoy and to pass the time with.

there's something casually cool about you. i cannot say what it is exactly since it's different for each of the people who pick this pile, but something about the way someone gets their drink from the vending machine? for someone, it's the way they hop over a gate. you have these tiny particular habits and methods of doing things that catch some people's attention without even knowing it.

i think it's your affection that makes people's hearts flutter.

this is giving me the energy of that one type of male lead/character (i'm just talking about the vibe, this could apply to you regardless of your gender) in anime that slacks off all the time but will randomly say something observant or serious that will have your heart skipping a beat. it's very endearing, i feel like you're very laid-back but still very straightforward and blunt with your affection. you'll say something simple but it'll be so earnest and the most romantic thing ever in the moment; it would exactly the thing the other person would happen to need to hear.

and it's not even intentional for most of you, it just comes naturally.

AHHH pile 3s, i get the feeling most of you don't think very highly about your work or aren't very comfortable with yourself but you should know that you're inherently a very chill and cool person. you aren't nearly as embarrassing as you think you are. be proud of your existence please!! and take up more space!!!

what makes people's hearts flutter around you aren't big gestures or big speeches, but it's just simply you in the rawest form possible. maybe it's you holding a cold soda can to someone's cheek and murmuring something that was just on your mind; a silly joke, a comment about a look on their face. it's your nonchalant affection that arrives so silently yet reassuringly steady every time. it's the way you unknowingly make the weight of the world lighter for others, even if just for a second.

this pile gives me maomao vibes? i haven't seen ad yet, just clips and edits but the way she just puts her head down and dgaf about anything except posion/her own thing and she's just inherently endearing and people adore her??? that's your vibe pile 3!!! also this is the second time anime has been referenced, so maybe that's a sign for some of yall

i love how much you can customise your tumblr post but the gradient text is just too stressful for me to do more than twice in one post lol. do let me know which pile you picked and on how it resonated!! in all honesty, i'm a bit nervous about it since i feel like i went too specific so i hope it still resonates with people.

#pac tarot #pac reading #pac #pick a card #pick a pile #tarot #tarot reading #divination #tarotblr #powdertarot #love reading #free tarot readings #free tarot #pick a photo #tarot pick a card #pick a card reading

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eznin · 3 days ago

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Just imagine 22 years old in-okay-terms-with-the-bats Jason meeting 19 years old murderous-hell-bent-on-revenge Jason

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Teen Jason, absolutely horrified that he not only failed to kill the Joker but he also managed to be re-adopted: How the fuck did this happen?!

Adult Jason, who is also not sure : Idk, Dick just kept inviting me to go get lunch and it all went downhill from there.

Teen Jason: Did we at least kill him?

Adult Jason: Timothy? No, but he fixed our helmet the other day.

Teen Jason: ...you are pathetic.

Adult Jason, still struggling a bit with self esteem issues: And this is why no one likes you.

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Bruce is loosing it with having to find a way to solve this time travel mess while simultaneously keeping Teen Jason from killing someone.

On the other hand Tim is looking at Teen Jason, who is the same age as him and still has a little bit of baby face even after the pit, and wonders at how was he terrified of this dude for so long.

Dick, Steph and Cass just refuse to acknowledge any of Teen Jason's threats and have a lot of fun doing it.

Steph: Baby Jay, do you want pancakes ?

Teen Jason, who just tried to stab Dick with a dinner knife only to have his arm twisted in the most casual and infuriating way possible: I hate all of you.

Cass, already stacking pancakes on his plate: Love you too.

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At one point they consider tying Teen Jason to a chair because he keeps trying to shot Bruce and Tim (and sometimes Dick) in the back.

Bruce, looking at the Batcomputer: So this way we might finally get younger Jason back to his time.

Teen Jason, who was let into the cave after promising to behave: That's an actually good plan, just a sugestion...

Teen Jason suddenly pulls out a revolver and unloads the entire cylinder into Bruce’s chest, who started always wearing bullet proof clothes until the mess is solved and only rubs his temple in response.

Bruce: I told you to keep him away from guns.

Tim: We did, I don't know where he got that from.

-------------

The only ones Teen Jason tolerates are Damian, because he just recently left the League and still has a bit of a protective streak. Duke, because there is no bad blood and he isn't too annoying. And Alfred, because he is Alfred.

Adult Jason can never ever be near Teen Jason or they will fist fight, although the worst part is the psychological damage. They know exactly what to say to make the other flinch.

-------------

Teen Jason does everything in his power to be an absolute nightmare, because if he doesn't he will have to think about how these people somehow don't hate him. And if they don't hate him then there is a chance his Bruce and the bats back home also don't hate him and that's too much for his heart to take.

Teen Jason, nearly crying: How can you not hate me?

Bruce, in the softest voice possible despite Teen Jason having exploded the Batmobile with an home made bomb in an attempt to push Bruce over the edge: I could never hate you, Jaybird.

Teen Jason's eyes go so wide and poisonous glowing green that everyone goes tense waiting for him to spontaneous combust out of rage.

Then there is a sob.

Oh, fuck he is crying.

-------------

Past Bruce is a mix of surprised, suspicious and hopefull when Jason shows up again after being inactive for two weeks and is not only not trying to torture them with shakespearian plots but also accepted one of Dick's lunch invites (Dick is just as surprised, he had been making them as a joke)

#batman #just to make sure when I say Dick made them as jokes is not in a mean way but in a “he will never accept but why not” way #batfam #bruce wayne #tim drake #dick grayson #jason todd #damian wayne #duke thomas #cassandra cain #jason todd headcanon #batfam headcanons

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cloudcountry · 1 day ago

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SUMMARY: when his cat counterpart is hogging your attention.

COMMENTS: are they jealous of the kitty? are they chill? whatever they are, it's ridiculous (affectionate)

TAGLIST: @as1iiiwhaa @astralsocfactory

Jin will not hesitate to push the cat to the side and take his rightful spot on your lap. His cat is just as sassy as him though, and will more likely than not just stretch all over him . Jin may get annoyed at your soft coos, but if you direct some attention to him he might be satisfied. In a way, you’re still paying attention to him anyway...

Tohma often finds himself in a stare down with the cat version of himself. It’s not like he’s against sharing, so long as it’s not with another man, but there’s still some tension in the room. Whether you notice it or not, it would be in your best interest to give your partner a kiss so the cat in your lap doesn’t get too bold and start hogging all your attention.

Luca rather likes his cat counterpart, actually. He entrusts the cat to protect you if he isn’t there to save you, which can lead to some rather hairy situations. Luca Cat will still jump to conclusions! (And jump on people’s faces to scratch them up.) Maybe you should get him a leash...

Kaito is pouting. He’d feel bad if he shooed the cat away, since it’s technically him and he knows all too well what being shoved aside is like. But he wants your attention too, is that so bad? You should notice how quiet he’s being and take that as a sign to rub his head, too. He may be a human but he’s still weak to head pats!

Alan eyes the cat mournfully, but won’t move it. Honestly it’s best if you just snuggle with both of them at once, because Alan isn’t going to disturb you and neither is Alan Cat. Besides, double the Alan, double the extreme body warmth—maybe you should do this in front of a fan!

Sho Cat knows he needs to stay out of the kitchen, but he wants to be in it anyway. It’s a bit sad that you can’t take pity on the poor cat, so you compromise by giving him a bunch of attention outside. Sho gets a bit grumpy about it, but he knows you’ll make it up to him (one way or another.)

Leo and his cat will have a face off for your attention on a regular basis. It’s up to you to compromise between the two, because they’re too stubborn to do it on their own. Also, cuddling them both at the same time won’t work because they’re gonna get all snippy with each other...I am so sorry for your predicament.

Haru will try his best to bond with the cat, but he always makes his way back to you. Haru is devastated that his cat likes you more, but ultimately he can’t blame the little guy. If he could, he’d nap on your lap forever too! Ultimately, the two get along pretty well, so there’s no need for either of them to get jealous over it.

Towa and Towa Cat can go one of two ways. Either they have a stand off for your attention with thunder and lightning booming outside, or they’re both snuggling you. If it’s the second one, you’re being crushed with their whole body weights and likely overheating from how warm they both are! Good luck either way (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧

Ren and Ren Cat are so chill. Like genuinely, just put a screen in front of either of them so they’ll be so engrossed. Ren Cat doesn’t see a problem with sitting himself right on your lap, but Ren’s shifty eyes tell you he does. That’s his spot, after all. You know Ren won’t say anything though, so it's up to you to compromise!

Taiga is more likely than not just going to move Taiga Cat. It doesn’t matter how long he’s been sleeping on your lap, sharing is caring and it’s Taiga’s turn now! Don’t bet on them having a peaceful resolution to this unless both Taiga’s are in a good mood and willing to share. Hell, maybe Taiga Cat will cuddle with Taiga himself!

Romeo and Romeo Cat are both divas who do not want to compete for your attention. Get used to multitasking! One hand will be stroking Romeo Cat’s beautiful mane, while the other holds your boyfriend’s hand as he barks orders to the poor General Students. They can make it work, but Romeo can’t wait to have you to himself again.

Ritsu is rather impressed with Ritsu Cat’s ability to steal your attention away from him during work hours. He politely asks the cat to focus, which snaps Ritsu Cat out of his head scritch trance. Both of them are quite serious actually, but Ritsu is a bit miffed that you chose to sit next to his cat version and not him...

Subaru honestly does not mind that you’re spending a bunch of time with his cat counterpart. If anything, he’s one of the least jealous ones. (After all, it’s still him, kind of. He has no need to view that as competition.) Be prepared to have a cute tea time session with him and his cat, even though neither of them will touch you.

Haku and Haku Cat are menaces when together. It’s almost as though they’re locked in a playful competition for your attention, and won’t give up until you’re an embarrassed mess on the floor. Haku kisses your cheek? Haku Cat is giving you a few licks. Haku takes your hand? Haku Cat settles on your thighs. Haku wraps an arm around your waist? Haku Cat climbs onto your shoulders. It’s never ending.

Zenji and Zenji Cat are the most energetic duo you’ve ever seen. Both float around your head and yap. Zenji will hold conversations with his cat counterpart and even go so far as to play the biwa while Zenji Cat sings. It’s a fun time, being around those two. They’re very wholesome!

Edward doesn’t mind that much. He can share. The most likely scenario to come out of Edward Cat hogging all of your attention is Edward himself teasing you just to watch you squirm. He knows all your possible ticklish spots, gently brushing over them in a way that makes you jostle the poor kitty in your lap. (Edward Cat does not wake up.)

Rui and Rui Cat are complicated. Chances are Rui Cat has dove under some furniture—and since you are familiar with his curse, you understand why. Despite your attempts to coax him out, Rui Cat will not budge. Rui watches you and sighs ruefully—it’s sweet that you’re still worried about him being lonely, even as a cat.

Lyca doesn’t know how to feel. You’re supposed to smell like him so other people know not to mess with you, but now that this cat has taken residence on your lap, you smell like...cat. Lyca grumbles something under his breath before taking the spot beside you, getting as close to you as humanly possible. Don’t mind him! It’s simply necessary.

Yuri doesn’t let his cat counterpart close to the lab, much to the cat’s chagrin. You hold all the power here, though! If you give Yuri Cat enough attention, he’ll stay away from the experiments in favor of you. Just be prepared for a jealous Yuri (who will not admit he’s jealous) when he sees how much attention he missed out on!

Jiro Cat spends a lot of time sleeping. You’re likely fawning over how cute his lil face is when Jiro stumbles upon you. He will agree—I mean, animals like cats have been domesticated and have therefore developed traits such as a shorter muzzle, extended juvenile behavior, smaller brains, and—oh, you probably don’t want a lecture about Domestication Syndrome, do you?

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happyk44 · 18 hours ago

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[ID: 1. Tumblr post from @/ryebreadgf: [all caps] YOU CAN NEVER GO BACK! YOU CAN NEVER GO BACK! YOU CAN BITE AND SCRATCH AND BEG BUT YOU CAN NEVER GO BACK! [end all caps]

2. Tumblr post from @/mothvhs: the fact that time passes and things change and people leave and you can nly go back to a place physically and you will never be 14 15 16 again………….. I don’t understand how we are meant to endure that

3. A letter reading, “Hey, I used to live in your house. I’m drunk in Boston, and it’s the only address I know. Happy holidays. MW.”

4. Tumblr post from @/finelythreadedsky: a lil bit emotional about how “nostalgia” originally meant longing across a displacement in space but in common parlance it refers to longing across a displacement in time… you don’t go away from home and miss it, you stay where you are and times passes and home just disappears

5. Text reading: I want ‘em back, I want ‘em back The minds we had, the minds we had It’s not enough to feel the lack I want ‘em back, I want ‘em back, I

6. Quote from Alida Nugent: “You still crave lemonade, but the taste doesn’t satisfy you as much as it used to. You still crave summer, but sometimes you mean summer, five years ago.”

7. Tumblr post from @/firstfullmoon: I miss everything and will never get any of it back. Whatever

8. An orange and white kitten wearing a pointed pink princess hat and a pink cape. The cap is attached by a string tied beneath their chin in a bow. The cat’s eyes have been edited to look dramatically teary and sad. Black text across the image reads, “We are all going forward. None of us are going back”

9. Tumblr post from @/n1ntendos: [all caps] I AM HAUNTED BY A PAST I CANNOT GO BACK TO !!!!!! [end all caps] anyways

10. Text reading: You don’t have a home until you leave it and then, when you have left it, you can never go back.

11. Text reading: We won’t know what happens next, because it’s all made-up anyway; but really, we won’t know because that’s what life is. Life is the best friend from high school whose last name you can’t remember. Life is the ex-girlfriend who kept a piece of your soul, and it burned until you realized there were so many pieces left you didn’t miss it anymore. Life is the cousin who dies and maybe you saw her at Christmas that one year and maybe you didn’t. Life is the status updates you don’t understand, the phone calls you forget to return, the coffee dates that don’t lead to anything more than a caffeine high. Life is knowing that however hard you try, however wide you open your arms, in the end, you’ll leave everything behind you. Life is always leaving. And always leaving means that every friend you make it just one more goodbye.

It's worth it, though. In the end, little else is. /end ID]

Sources: 1. @/ryebreadgf; 2. @/mothvhs; 3. Unknown; 4. @/finelythreadsky; 5. Ribs sung by Lorde; 6. You Don’t have to Like Me: Essays on Growing Up, Speaking Out, and Finding Feminism by Alida Nugent; 7. Tumblr post from @/firstfullmoon; 8. Unknown; 9. @/n1ntendos; 10. Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin; 11. Zack Handlen’s AV Club review of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine

the ache of nostalgia

#described #pics #nostalgia #quotes #reblogged #web weaving

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applejade · 3 days ago

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Babydoll

Authors note: This is the intro to the Sugar mama!Sevika smut im going to post. I also named the fic after a song by Girlicious so if you want to listen to the song and/or playlist i listened to while making it, you can here. I also put links for the fits (ignore that Sevika’s fit is described as burgundy but the picture isn’t - just pretend it is🙏🏾) Warnings: the second part will be smut but this can be read on its own, reader is a gold girlie

Working a 9-5 for $17 an hour is not where you thought you'd end up. It's not like you're falling behind. You're in your early twenties - many people your age are working minimum wage jobs but it feels like everyone else is better off despite making the same amount of money as you.

All your friends are going out to parties, going to the beach and traveling while you're stuck in your hometown's college working all summer. You work at a small coffee shop not too far from your parent’s house (that you’re still living in). You do your work because you need the money but you know deep down you're destined for better.

Sevika walks in one day - expensive watches and bracelets on her arms and an even more expensive prosthetic hidden under her fancy suit. You feel a subtle pang of envy but an obvious feeling of desire. You can't tell whether it's for the woman or the luxuries she has but you ignore the feeling regardless.

A large black coffee is what she orders and you get to making it. Sevika watches as you rush around the little coffee bar and a pretty face is all she registers. You hand her the coffee with a quiet “Enjoy”.

A pretty face and a sweet voice.

Nevertheless, she has somewhere to be so she thanks you and swiftly walks out the door.

In a hurry to get to her white collar job you suppose.

You watch as she walks out the door and silently hope you’ll see her again.

The next day, the fancy lady comes by again at the same time with a slightly bigger order. This time, once you hand her the coffee and muffin, she speaks to you.

“What's your name, pretty girl?” She asks and you answer as flirtatiously as you can.

She smirks as you eye her shamelessly. Usually her steely gaze makes girls nervous but you show no fear.

She sees potential in you. Despite your simple attire she notices how you dress it up. Cheap gold bangles and beauty supply hoops. You make do with what you have and you do it well.

So she decides to keep coming. She wants to give you better. Real gold and brand-name clothes. She becomes a regular very quick and you develop a crush on her just as fast.

This isn't her first rodeo. She knows how to woo a woman and she knows how to spoil one too. The only problem she has is the lack of women her type.

She's been on many dates and been in many relationships but none of the girls were what she truly desired. All coy smiles and sweetened words. None bold enough to say what they truly want.

But she knows you could be what she's looking for. She's so tired of the fake shyness and childish act. She wants someone to be upfront with her.

After a good week or two of coming to the shop and subtle flirting, she asks you out. Of course you say yes and she asks for your address to pick you up from. Yall exchange numbers and you go to sleep with a smile on your face that night.

The day of the date comes and you text her and ask what you should wear.

“Just put on something pretty for me” She texts back so you take that as a sign to dress a little bit fancier than usual.

You suspect she's taking you somewhere high-end since her style is so luxe so you dress in a long brown backless dress that hangs low in the front.

You try to keep it simple but you end up going a bit overboard with the gold jewelry. For an outfit made on a budget, it doesnt look cheap at all and when sevika pulls up to your house you feel very satisfied with your choices.

Your jewelry jingles and your heels clack as you sashay to her car. She steps out of a sleek black bugatti. Neat hair and a tight burgundy suit opened just enough to show a peak of her cleavage and a thin gold chain.

You grin and look her up and down “Hey, big mama”

“Hey, baby” She takes your hand and spins you around to see your whole fit. “You look beautiful, dear.” Her words are surprisingly devoid of lust.

She looks at you with an air of adoration and you thank her with a soft smile.

“You do too.” You say and she lets out a quiet scoff. “I don't know if beautiful is the right word for me, doll.”

“You are!” you protest “What? You think you're too big and bad to be pretty?”

She chuckled bashfully, averting her gaze and opening the passenger door. “Just get in.” She says and you giggle as you step into the car.

You ask where exactly she's taking you once both of you settle into the car and start rolling.

“You'll see” is all she says.

She pulls up to an opulent looking bar. Sensual jazz and warm dim lighting creates a romantic atmosphere as yall walk up to the hostess. The lady leads yall to a secluded table with menus.

“I dont think ive ever been in a place so fancy.” You say once the hostess leaves.

Sevika smirks “That's unfortunate. A girl like you belongs in a place like this."

You wipe pretend tears from your face “I know, right. It's devastating.” You sniffle playfully.

The two of you laugh softly and look at the menu to decide what to get. The place is so rich the menus don't even have prices- it's just a given that whatever you get will be insanely expensive.

You realize that all of the dishes are in french and get a bit worried. Not even the chicken tenders are pronounceable for you.

“Have you decided?” She asks. She knows you're confused, she just needs an opening to take over.

“Umm. Not yet.” you say, not yet wanting to admit that you have no idea what anything is.

“How about I just choose for you?”

“That would be great!” You sigh happily, closing your menu and letting her make the decision.

When the waiter comes, sevika orders some kind of french pasta for you and a bottle of expensive wine.

The two of you talk about everything. About your struggle, about her work, about your inclination to luxury and her search for the right person to provide for.

Towards the end of the dinner she gently takes your hand and gets to the point. “You know I like you, doll and I hate to see you not living the life you deserve. I want to give you better - if you'll let me.”

Your face contorts into a frown. You do know she likes you and you like her too. You just thought this could turn into a simple relationship but now it doesn't seem like y'all are on the same page.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I could make things like this a regular occurrence for you. Buy you whatever you want, whenever you want-“

“For what in return?” You cut her off with a firm voice “I know how this sugar baby stuff works, Sevika. I'm not about to be your personal prostitute, if that's what you're asking.”

“Of course not. That's not what I'm asking. I expect nothing from you in return, only that we continue to see eachother like this.”

You sit in contemplative silence for a moment. Brows still furrowed.

“So you'll just- give me money and I don't have to do anything?”

She huffed out a small chuckle “Exactly. You can quit that little job of yours and be mine.”

You stare at her in disbelief. This sounds almost too good to be true. A beautiful, rich woman wants to throw her money at you for nothing but some dates and a relationship?

There has to be some kind of catch.

“You don't have to decide right now.” She pulls her hand back - noticing the mental acrobatics you're having to do in order to process everything.

She calls for the check while you stare into the void. She then stands and puts her hand out for you to take. The two of you leave and walk to her car.

The journey back to your place is quiet save for the soft tune playing on the radio.

By the time Sevika pulls up to your house, you've made your decision.

You're tired of being broke. An opportunity like this could change your life. You know it might be dangerous to depend on another person like this and it is a bit suspicious that she chose you when she could really pull any girl in the world. You've seen the true crime documentaries - you know how badly this could turn.

But Sevikas not a man and despite only knowing her for about a month, you really trust her.

And you need her money - badly.

Sevika gets out the car to open the door for you and yall walk up to your door. Before she can say anything you blurt out your decision.

“I wanna be your sugar baby” And Sevika smirks like she knew you couldn't deny her.

#Nini's fics'✿､#sevika x reader #sevika x you #black!reader #black reader #sevika x black reader #sevika x y/n #sevika

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oscpstri · 1 day ago

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abu dhabi | verstappen

verstappen x rbr driver!reader,

in the final race of the season, the championship comes down to two drivers: max verstappen— desperate to prove he earned every bit of success, and you — the first woman to ever fight for a formula 1 world title.

INCLUDES: mentions of abu dhabi 2021 (don't be mean), use of y/n, angst woops, brocedes-type lore (its glaringly obvious)

NOTE: a retelling of abu dhabi 2021 bcs i just re-watched an hour-long video of the f1 controversial races lore and reflected on how their reactions were so different. no one better start bitching about it again alright, we've all moved on. also brocedes teehee!

The grid is alive with noise. Journalists, engines, anthem static. But everything feels distant.

You stand by your car, fireproofs against your skin, gloves already on. Your hands are steady, but your heart is anything but.

This is it. The final race. Equal points. One of you leaves tonight as a world champion. The other leaves with a broken heart and a highlight reel that will haunt them for decades.

You feel eyes on you. You already know who they belong to.

Max stands across the grid. He doesn’t wave. Doesn’t smile. When your eyes meet, he looks away.

It was never supposed to be like this.

Karting kids with crooked smiles and scraped knees. You two would split ice creams and trophies on the same weekends. Your names would be written side-by-side on junior podiums then eventually on the same contract with the same team logo stitched near your heart.

This is what you two had always dreamed about— winning together, racing together, being in the same damn team together.

Friends. Teammates. Childhood buddies. Rivals. Champions in the making. Everything but a lover.

But then the title fight came. You were both fast enough to matter. The team stopped saying us and started saying one of you.

And now the both of you were on opposite sides of the garage, matching suits and silence. You haven't spoken in months— not since the 5th race of the season, when you touched wheels and you didn't check up on each other afterwards.

You can't remember the last time you laughed with him, but you remember the look on his face the day you outqualified him in his home race. You remember the day you sprayed champagne on everyone but him. You remember the day you two couldn't even look each other in the eye despite a good race result. You remember the last time he hugged you— Abu Dhabi, the year before. The year before everything.

Today is the final race of the season. Equal points. Winner takes it all.

Max raced for his father's recognition, for the childhood he lost for a stupid prize. You raced for the women in motorsport, for the journey in a sport that never expected you.

You stand on the grid, eyes forward. Max stands across from you, jaw tight. There was no nod today, no eye contact, no small smile from across the room. No pre-race banter, no fighting talk, no quiet reach for your hand.

Just tension. Just thunder.

You want to say something, he does too, but you don't. Because he made his choice. And you made yours.

You lead most of the race. He gets you on the final lap. The world explodes.

P2. Again.

You sit in your car, helmet still on, throat dry. The grandstands were loud, but all you could hear was the buzz of disappointment that rang in your ears.

"If we're ever fighting for a title, I'd rather lose to you than anyone else."

Max was 10 when he said that. You guess that promise expired once the trophy got closer.

The paddock is electric— champagne in the air, camera shutters going off, fireworks painting the night sky. Max Verstappen is the World Champion.

You walk alone. No cameras chase you, no microphones in your face. You would be the story if he wasn't the headline.

You keep your head down until the crowd starts to thin. Until the noise fades into the distance. Until it's just you. And him.

Max is leaning against the Red Bull hospitality wall, still in his suit, still wearing the championship cap, still cradling his trophy. He doesn't look victorious— he looks tired.

You stop a few feet away. Neither of you speak.

The silence stretches— thick with everything you two never said. With everything you used to be.

His eyes meet yours and for a moment, it feels like standing on that karting podium in Italy again. Fourteen years old, grinning through sweat, bumping shoulders as you raised your trophies.

But all of that is gone now.

The Max in front of you isn't your best friend. He's your rival. Your history. The reason your name isn't etched into the record books tonight.

You look at each other and for the first time in months, you see it.

Not victory. Not regret. Just recognition. That you had something once, and now it's gone.

You give him the smallest nod. He doesn't return it, just watches as you walk away.

He doesn't call your name. You don't look back.

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barnesonly · 1 day ago

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── ⊹ ࣪ ˖ Lust ˖ ࣪ ⊹ ──

professor!bucky barnes x reader

summary: You’re a literature student. He’s your English professor — brilliant, composed, and entirely off-limits. But the more you write, the more he notices you. And what begins as admiration quietly unravels into something far more dangerous.

word count: about 13k

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. curse words, mutual desperation, age gap, dirty talk, praising kink, semi-public sex, fingering, PiV, unprotected sex.

Part 6 | Previous Part

The morning light slanted warm and golden through your dorm window, stretching across the floor like a sleepy cat. You were at your desk, hands brushing a light layer of powder across your face in the small mirror propped up against the textbooks you still hadn’t quite tackled over the weekend.

Your hair was mostly dry after your quick shower, and you ran your fingers absently through it while you stared at yourself, making sure you didn’t look as tired as you felt. Despite spending most of the weekend tangled up with James—doing everything but sleeping—there was that pleasant sort of ache lingering in your body and the tired-but-happy hum that had followed you right into Monday morning.

Behind you, Sarah was in full chatter mode, her voice like a familiar, upbeat soundtrack you’d learned to listen to and tune out at the same time.

“…so then Maddie texts me at like two a.m.,” she was saying, already rummaging through her bag, her phone lighting up her hands every few seconds with new notifications. “And I’m like, girl, you cannot come over now—I have class at eight. Get your shit together.”

“Mm-hmm,” you murmured distractedly as you capped your lip balm, then grabbed your hoodie off the back of your chair.

Sarah paused mid-rant to look up at you. “You okay? You’re quiet this morning. Did you even sleep?”

Your heart skipped—for a split second you wondered if you looked as lovesick as you felt. “I’m fine,” you assured her, slipping the hoodie on and checking your reflection one last time. “Just… had a long weekend.”

That was the understatement of the century.

Sarah grinned, clearly satisfied with your answer as she went back to typing on her phone. “Well, you better wake up. Professor Carter is a nightmare on Mondays. Remember that time she threatened to give a pop quiz just because nobody answered her?”

You laughed under your breath and started packing your bag—laptop, notebook, pen, water bottle—making sure you had everything you needed. The room felt comfortably familiar as you moved around it, Sarah humming to herself and the light outside shifting slowly into full morning.

“You know,” Sarah added offhandedly, “I feel like you’ve been… I dunno, a bit happier lately.”

You froze for a second before tugging the zipper on your backpack closed. “Really?”

“Mm-hmm,” she teased, her grin mischievous as she finally glanced up at you. “Your guy must have been nicer lately…”

Your face warmed and you rolled your eyes, swinging your bag onto your shoulder as you headed for the door. “You have no idea,” you muttered, mostly to yourself—a little smile pulling at your lips despite your best effort to hide it.

“See!” Sarah laughed, breezing past you into the hall. “That’s exactly what I mean. C’mon, we’re gonna be late.”

And as you followed her, your heart thudded just a little faster—already knowing this Monday was going to be very, very different.

You and Sarah fell into step together as you crossed the campus, the morning air crisp and bright. Students were already crisscrossing the pathways like hurried birds, backpacks bouncing and phones glued to hands.

“You sure you don’t want to come with me for coffee after class?” Sarah asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I’d love to,” you said, adjusting your bag on your shoulder, “but I have that lecture right after. Next time?”

“Next time,” she agreed easily, already spotting one of her friends up ahead. “Alright, gotta run—see you later!”

“Bye!” you called after her as she broke away into the crowd.

You slowed your pace, enjoying the brief pocket of solitude before your next class—until a familiar voice called out your name.

“Hey!”

You glanced over your shoulder and spotted Theo jogging up to you, hands stuffed casually into the pockets of his jacket, a boyish grin on his face. “Hey,” you greeted him back.

“Going to Barnes’ lecture?” he asked, falling into stride with you.

You nodded, hoping the heat you felt in your cheeks wasn’t obvious. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Theo replied. “Figured I might as well go with someone who knows where they’re going.” He chuckled, and you couldn’t help but smile at his easygoing energy.

“You act like you haven’t been on this campus long enough,” you teased.

He just shrugged. “I may or may not have a bad sense of direction.”

You laughed softly as you followed the familiar path toward the arts and humanities building together, making light conversation. But under the surface, you couldn’t help feeling a flicker of anticipation—knowing exactly who was going to be waiting at the front of that lecture hall.

Theo pushed the door open for you when you arrived, and you murmured a quick “thanks” as you slipped inside.

Your heart gave a small, involuntary thump as you scanned the mostly empty rows, the professor’s desk already neatly arranged with papers.

And sure enough, there he was—James—leaning against the podium, looking up just as you walked in.

The tiny, fleeting smile that crossed his face when his gaze found yours was enough to make your stomach flip—right before it faded into something more neutral as his eyes briefly shifted toward Theo.

You felt James’ gaze follow you as you and Theo moved further into the room. Students were slowly trickling in, voices murmuring, chairs squeaking.

You chose your usual seat and Theo—still chatting as he pulled out his laptop—slid into the chair right beside you.

The second you glanced up toward the front again, you caught that subtle shift in James’ expression. His brow tightened, gaze fixed on Theo just long enough for you to feel a flicker of guilt, even though you hadn’t done a thing.

“Looks like Barnes is in a mood,” Theo whispered, leaning closer.

Your lips twitched. “You shouldn’t be complaining. Especially after last week.”

Theo grinned at that, but you felt the heat creep up your neck anyway.

„I’m not,” he huffed.

You busied yourself setting your notebook on the desk, all too aware of the professor’s stare. And sure enough, as the last few students took their seats and the room quieted, James pushed off the podium with that measured grace you’d come to recognize—hands tucked into his pockets as he began pacing slowly at the front.

“Alright,” he started, his voice warm and smooth and unmistakable. “Let’s pick up where we left off last time.”

As he spoke, that dark blue gaze kept drifting toward you. You could feel it like a physical touch, stirring a familiar ache low in your belly.

You shifted in your seat, telling yourself to focus—but that was easier said than done.

James kept lecturing—smooth voice spilling across the room as he flipped slides and scrawled points on the board—yet every so often, his gaze would drift back to you. It was subtle, practiced, like he knew exactly what he was doing without even thinking about it.

And god, every glance had your heart skipping in your chest.

By the time the lecture was winding down, you were already gathering your things slowly, hands unhurried as you tucked your pen into your pencil case and stacked your notebook neatly.

Beside you, Theo was shoving his laptop into his backpack.

“You ready?” he asked, casual.

You paused. “Um—you can go ahead,” you said quickly, trying to sound breezy. “I’ve gotta talk to Professor Barnes about something.”

“Oh,” Theo blinked, shrugging a strap onto his shoulder. “That’s cool. I’ll wait for you.”

Your stomach dropped.

Of course he’d say that.

You forced a smile. “No, seriously—you don’t have to wait for me.”

But Theo was already shrugging again, leaning back against the seat. “Nah, it’s fine. I don’t mind.”

Your gaze flicked toward the front of the room just as James dismissed the class.

Students shuffled past him toward the doors, voices loud and chairs scraping—but his eyes were already on you, sharp and knowing.

And just as Theo was texting something on his phone, James pushed off the desk and crossed the room toward you, hands tucked into his pockets, gaze burning a path straight to you.

“Hey,” he greeted smoothly as he stopped at your row, his voice lower now, carrying that unmistakable edge. “Can I talk to you for a second? About your grade—the B- one?”

Your breath caught.

Your eyes slid to Theo, then back to James.

He held your gaze, but a second later, his eyes shifted—pinning Theo with a look so blank and unimpressed that Theo straightened up a little.

“Oh,” Theo said, like he’d finally gotten the message. “I’ll—I’ll wait outside then.”

James inclined his head in a curt nod, and only after Theo grabbed his stuff and slipped past him into the hall did James finally look at you again—a muscle flexing in his jaw as he spoke.

“God,” you breathed out, a soft, relieved laugh slipping past your lips. “I thought he was never going to leave.”

James’s gaze softened, just a little, as one brow arched. “Persistent guy,” he murmured, voice quiet but laced with amusement.

You chuckled, tucking your notebook into your bag and swinging it onto your shoulder. “He means well, I guess,” you said, then glanced up at him properly, your lips twitching into a smile. “But I’d much rather be here with you.”

That pulled the corner of his mouth up into a subtle smile—that one only you ever seemed to see. “That’s good,” he replied, hands slipping into his pockets as he shifted his weight comfortably. “I was starting to wonder if you’d ever get rid of him.”

Your heart did a little flip at the faint possessiveness in his tone, and you tilted your head at him, feeling that same flutter you always felt around him.

“You didn’t need to worry,” you said softly.

James held your gaze for a lingering moment, his eyes warm despite the professor mask he always wore. “I’m not,” he answered, then let out a breath that was almost a quiet laugh. “Not really.”

You smiled, fingers brushing the strap of your bag as you stood there together, the quiet hum of the emptying hallway around you like its own little world.

James’ gaze stayed fixed on you, his voice dropping a shade lower as he spoke. “You know…” he began, eyes searching yours, “my last lecture today got canceled. You can come by my office if you want.”

Your breath caught, a familiar thrill sparking in your chest at the invitation. “Is that so?” you teased lightly, brow arching as you bit back a grin.

He shifted a little closer, hands still tucked casually in his pockets but his tone warm, intimate in a way that was meant only for you. “Mm,” he murmured. “Figured we could use the time. Unless,” his mouth tilted in that way that made you weak, “you’d rather spend it with Theo.”

You let out a quiet laugh at that, stepping closer yourself so there was hardly any space left between you. “That’s not even a question,” you replied, voice soft. “Your office sounds a lot better.”

James held your gaze for a long, charged moment, that little satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “Good,” he said, voice a low hum. “I’ll be waiting.”

And god, the way he looked at you—warm and possessive all at once—had your heart racing as you nodded and followed him down the hall.

Your cheeks heated just a little, and you had to look away before you gave too much away in the middle of an empty classroom. “See you later, Professor,” you murmured, savoring the title like an inside joke.

“See you,” he replied, gaze lingering on you as you finally turned toward the door.

The quiet of the hallway greeted you as you stepped outside, the usual buzz of students a few doors down. And of course, there was Theo—hands tucked into his pockets, one shoulder against the wall like he had nowhere better to be. The moment he saw you, his face brightened.

“There you are,” he said casually, straightening up and brushing a stray lock of hair from his eyes. “So, are you gonna fix that grade or what?”

Your lips twitched into a smirk before you could stop yourself, all too aware of what you’d really been up to over the weekend. “I already did,” you replied breezily.

Theo’s brow arched, his easygoing grin making a brief appearance. “Oh, is that so?”

“Mm-hm,” you said, shifting your books in your arms and tugging your bag higher on your shoulder as you started to walk toward the stairs. The sound of your heels clicked softly against the tiled floor. “Wrote up some extra credit. Took care of it over the weekend.”

He fell into step next to you, hands still in his pockets. “Huh,” he muttered, sounding half-impressed and half-curious. “That was fast.”

“Yeah,” you agreed simply, your smile impossible to hide as you kept your gaze trained ahead, savoring the unspoken secret that still made your pulse race.

“Good,” he replied at last, a touch of amusement in his voice as you rounded the corner toward your next lecture together—him completely oblivious to what “extra credit” had really involved.

———

A few lectures later you were free.

You took your time packing up—sliding your notebooks into your bag one by one, lingering over each tiny task as your heart thudded with anticipation. It wasn’t like you had anywhere else to be. Except, of course, back with him.

The familiar thrill rushed through you as you wove your way across campus. The afternoon light glinted across the windows as you cut through the halls, feet carrying you almost automatically toward his classroom. Every step felt like a secret, every corner you turned making your pulse jump a little faster.

When you reached his door, you paused for a breath, fingers toying with the strap of your bag like you weren’t dying to just go in already.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you eased the door open and slipped into the empty classroom. The door clicked softly behind you, sealing the world outside, and there he was.

He glanced up the second you stepped inside, his gaze locking onto you like you were the only thing that mattered. The tension in his shoulders eased instantly—a look you’d come to recognize—and a slow, knowing smile spread across his lips.

“There you are,” he greeted, voice rich and low as he set his pen down and leaned back in his chair.

“Here I am,” you echoed, your lips curving as you locked the door.

For a heartbeat, you just stood there, drinking him in—sleeves pushed up to his elbows, collar undone just enough to hint at warm skin, dark eyes fixed on you like you were all he could see.

And then you moved.

You crossed the room slowly, savoring the way his gaze followed you, and with a deliberate softness you hopped up onto the edge of his desk. Paper rustled under you, but neither of you cared.

James was already pushing back his chair, unfolding to his full height as he closed the small distance between you.

“God, I missed you,” he murmured as he came to stand between your knees.

His hands were gentle at first—one cupping your cheek, thumb brushing along your cheekbone like you were something fragile—and you couldn’t help leaning into his touch.

“Missed you too,” you whispered, eyes fluttering as you felt his breath warm against your lips.

He bent his head and kissed you—slow and unhurried, like he was savoring every second, mouth melting into yours with a possessive sweetness that made your heart stutter.

Your hands fisted in his shirt, tugging him closer until there was no space left, only the quiet sound of your breaths catching and the delicious pressure of his mouth against yours.

“I thought about you all day,” he murmured between kisses, his hands sliding up into your hair, tilting your face just the way he liked so he could deepen the kiss.

“I couldn’t concentrate,” you admitted breathlessly against him, legs locking loosely around his waist, feeling him hum low in his chest.

“That’s my girl,” he growled softly, lips dragging down your jaw as one broad palm flattened against the small of your back, pulling you flush against him.

“You drive me crazy,” he murmured into the curve of your neck, and you let out a shivery little sigh, arching into him as his mouth pressed a trail of warm, deliberate kisses along your throat.

Your hands slid up to cradle his face, tugging him back up so you could kiss him again—deeper this time, a kiss that told him you’d thought of nothing but this since you left his class earlier.

He broke the kiss slowly, lips brushing yours one last time before leaning back just enough to look into your eyes—gaze dark and full of heat.

“God, I missed having you like this,” he murmured, hands still possessive on your hips. Then his gaze dropped, roaming down your body with a hunger that made your breath catch.

“Let me see you,” he coaxed, voice low and rough as his hands slipped lower, fingers brushing the hem of your skirt.

Your lips parted in a shaky breath as he began to ease the fabric upward, slow and deliberate. “That’s it,” he murmured, thumbs stroking circles into your thighs as more of your skin was revealed inch by inch.

You gripped the edge of the desk, pulse fluttering as he finally bunched your skirt up around your waist, dark eyes fixed between your legs.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he told you, voice edged with something deliciously raw as one hand drifted up your inner thigh. “Look at you… already trembling.”

A quiet whimper slipped past your lips as his fingertips skimmed higher, teasing up the softness of your inner thigh before finally hooking into the waistband of your panties.

“Lift for me, sweetheart,” he urged, eyes locking onto yours as you obeyed, hips tilting up just enough for him to draw your panties down your legs—agonizingly slow, the fabric sliding across your skin like a caress.

“Good girl,” he praised huskily, hands steady and sure as he tugged them all the way off, then tucked them into his pocket like they belonged there.

Your cheeks were burning, breath unsteady as he stepped back just a fraction, gaze drinking you in—skirt pushed up around your waist, legs spread for him, every bit of you aching.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured, hands trailing up your bare legs again—feather-light at first before his palms settled warmly on your knees and began to ease them further apart.

“Already so wet for me too,” he added, voice turning darker as his thumb brushed against you, making your whole body jump.

Your hands were trembling against the desk now, breath catching as you nodded, eyes fixed on his face—and the wicked glint in his eye as he bent a little closer.

“That’s it,” he murmured, thumb stroking slow and deliberate. “Just keep those pretty legs open for me, baby. Let me take my time.”

And god, you were going to let him do whatever he wanted.

He held your gaze for a charged moment longer, thumb tracing a slow, tantalizing path up the slick heat between your thighs before he finally pressed just a bit more firmly—enough to make your hips jerk, breath spilling from you in a trembling gasp.

“That’s right,” he growled under his breath, utterly captivated by every tiny reaction. “You’re so sensitive already… can’t hide a thing from me, can you?”

Your fingers dug into the edge of the desk, knuckles going white as he began to circle your clit with that maddeningly deliberate touch. Warmth rushed through you in waves as your legs threatened to close—and he just spread you wider with his hands, gaze locked on where you were most exposed.

“Uh-uh,” he chided, low and dark, one corner of his mouth twitching into a wicked smirk. “Keep them open, sweetheart. Want to see you.”

Your body was trembling now, heat racing up your spine as he kept going—slow, practiced strokes that built the pressure in your belly until it was dizzying.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss along the curve of your jaw as his fingers moved faster, slick and sure. “And I love knowing you’re mine, every inch of you… mine.”

You tilted your chin toward him, lips parting for his kiss even as you squirmed against his hand. The way he kissed you—deep and possessive, all heat and hunger—only added fuel to the fire licking through you.

“You feel that, baby?” he murmured into your mouth as one finger pressed inside you, followed by a second, setting a steady rhythm that had your back arching into him. “That’s it—take me so well, just like you always do.”

A shivering moan broke free from your lips and into his, your hands clutching at his shoulders now for something solid to hold onto as his fingers curved just right, stroking that perfect, aching spot inside you.

“You’re gonna come for me right here,” he ordered—voice so low and sure it sent a thrill straight to your core. “And when you do, I want you looking at me. Got it?”

Your nod was desperate and breathless. “’Mm-hmm, James—please,” you gasped, every nerve burning, every movement of his hand winding you up tighter and tighter.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised with a dark, satisfied murmur, mouth brushing your ear as his fingers drove you higher. “Come on, baby… let go for me. Let me feel you.”

And with a trembling, helpless cry of his name, you shattered around him—his fingers still moving through your release as you clenched around him again and again, his other arm wrapped around your waist to hold you close while you fell apart.

Your trembling hadn’t even fully stopped before you felt him shifting closer, his hands still warm and sure against your skin.

“You did so good,” he murmured into your hair as you clung to him, your breath shaky and your body still humming from the aftershocks.

And then you heard the metallic click of his belt unbuckling—slow and deliberate—as he stepped back just enough to free himself.

Your eyes locked onto his hands for a breathless second as they moved to his zipper, anticipation making your stomach twist with a deeper, needier ache.

“You want it, baby?” he asked, voice dark as his hands slipped around your thighs and pulled you to the edge of the desk, his thumb tracing the inside of your knee.

You could only nod, lips parting on a breath that felt like a prayer.

With a quiet growl, he guided himself to you—hot and hard and so perfectly familiar—and then he was pushing into you inch by slow inch.

Your lips fell open on a soft gasp as you took him, hands flying up to grip his shoulders.

“There you go,” he murmured against your mouth, his hands tightening on your hips to keep you anchored.

He paused when he was fully seated inside you—so deep you could feel every ridge and heat of him—and pressed a kiss to your lips like he couldn’t help himself.

“You feel so fucking good,” he rasped as he began to move, long, deep strokes that had your thighs trembling and your back arching into him.

Every slow thrust pulled a new sound from you, his name whispered into the quiet, dim light of his office.

“You’re mine,” he groaned against your neck, one hand threading into your hair as he rocked into you—unhurried, deliberate, making sure you felt every perfect inch of him.

And you were, god, you were—his low voice in your ear, his hands on you like you belonged nowhere else, the deep, devastating slide of him through you over and over until you were dizzy with it.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, and all you could do was hold on as he fucked you slow and deep—like he had all the time in the world to unravel you completely.

His hands were gripping your waist so tight you were sure you’d wear his fingerprints for days. The two of you moved together like it was the most natural thing in the world—your bodies perfectly in sync, the slick slide of him making you bite back whimpers every time his hips ground into you just right.

You were clinging to him, eyes fluttering, lips parted against the sharp edge of his collar as you fought to keep yourself quiet in the empty classroom. The blinds were pulled, the door locked—the entire campus might as well have disappeared.

“You’re perfect,” he growled under his breath, voice like gravel as he kissed a trail up your throat.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him in closer, moaning into his mouth as he fucked you deeper and slower, every deliberate thrust lighting up your whole body.

“God, James—” you breathed, rocking into him, already trembling on the edge of losing it entirely.

And that was when the knock came.

Both of you froze like you’d been plunged into ice water—your heart jumping into your throat.

Your eyes went wide, breath held as James’s hands instinctively covered your mouth, his gaze pinned to yours.

A sharp voice from the other side of the door followed.

“Professor James? Are you there?”

You couldn’t help the panicked shiver that went through you—feeling him still hard and pulsing inside you, both of you trapped in this perfect, terrible tension.

James stayed perfectly still, his palm firm over your lips as if expecting you to cry out just from the adrenaline. His dark eyes were locked on yours, his brow drawn together in a fierce frown.

Your hands tightened on his shoulders, nails pressing into him, every nerve on fire as you tried not to breathe too loudly.

Another knock—louder this time—and you heard a faint rustle outside like someone was leaning closer to the door.

“Professor?” the voice called again. “Sorry to bother you, just need a quick word.”

Your heart was pounding so hard you felt dizzy, eyes pleading up at him in a mixture of lust and fear, a trembling ache still humming between your legs even as you were scared out of your mind.

James’s thumb brushed your cheekbone gently, his lips ghosting your ear as he whispered so low you could feel the vibration of it through your entire body:

“Not a fucking word.”

And you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to go utterly still—trapped in that dark, dizzying hush together as someone stood just on the other side of the door, so close they could have heard your racing hearts if they listened hard enough.

Your breath was caught halfway up your throat as you stared at him, pulse thundering in your ears, still trembling from the aftermath of what you’d just been doing.

James pulled out of you carefully—his hands still gentle even though there was a sharp edge of panic tightening his movements—and you bit back a sound at the loss, hastily tugging your skirt down over your aching thighs.

The knock came again—sharper this time—and James cursed under his breath before leaning close.

“Window,” he whispered urgently, eyes dark and serious.

Your stomach flipped. “What?!”

“Go out through the window,” he hissed, already reaching to straighten his belt and smooth his hair with a hand.

You stared at him like he’d lost his damn mind. “James—are you serious? What if someone sees me?!”

He grabbed your arm and pulled you toward the window as you tried to fix your shirt. “I don’t know—be careful,” he urged, his voice a fierce whisper as another knock sounded.

“Oh my god,” you whispered back, feeling the adrenaline surge like fire through your veins. “You want me to jump out like a fugitive?!” you squeaked, heart racing, the whole thing so absurd you could hardly believe it.

James shot you a wild look over his shoulder as he moved to intercept whoever was knocking. “That’s exactly what I want,” he muttered. “And don’t break your neck, please.”

You swallowed hard as you crossed the short distance to the window. Thank god this was the ground floor—you only had to swing a leg over the sill and drop a few feet into the grass.

Your hands trembled as you undid the latch, the cool breeze instantly spilling into the room.

“God,” you whispered to yourself, heart thudding as you hitched your skirt up and swung one leg over.

“Careful,” James urged in a rushed whisper.

You slipped outside, crouching as you hit the grass and glanced up at him one last time.

“Don’t get caught,” he mouthed.

Your lips twitched despite the panic as you pulled your jacket tighter around you and hurried along the wall—trying to look as casual as possible—heart pounding, breath shallow, feeling like you’d just pulled off a prison break as you disappeared around the corner.

And up in the classroom, James was finally unlocking the door, already fixing his face into an innocent, professional expression as if nothing at all had just happened.

Your heart was still thudding painfully against your ribs as you hurried across the quad, weaving between scattered groups of students without really seeing any of them. The chilled air didn’t help—your hands were trembling as you dug your keycard out of your pocket and pushed into your dorm building, your face feeling too hot for comfort.

God, that was so fucking close.

Your steps were quicker than usual as you took the stairs two at a time, every sound around you feeling too loud. Every time someone glanced your way in the hallway, your stomach flipped—as if they somehow knew what you’d just been doing, like they’d seen you slip out of that window.

Or worse—like whoever had knocked had heard something before you two had stopped.

Your brain was racing as you reached your door, key sliding into the lock with shaky fingers. What if someone really did see you sneaking out? What if they went back and told someone? What if they connected the dots?

The door clicked open and you stepped into your room, leaning against the wood as you shut it behind you and pressed your palm flat over your pounding heart.

Your thoughts kept circling: who was that outside? Did they wait long enough to hear anything? Could they recognize you if they looked back outside and caught you rounding the corner?

God, you hoped not.

“Are you okay? You look like shit.”

You spun around to see Sarah sitting cross‑legged on her bed with her laptop perched on her knees, eyes narrowed at you like you’d just stumbled in from a war zone.

“Oh—hey,” you managed, breathless as you set your bag down a bit too carefully.

Sarah raised a brow. “Hey? That’s it? You sure you’re okay? You look like you just ran a marathon.”

Your hands went up in a vague shrug as you kicked off your shoes. “Long day,” you offered, hoping your voice didn’t give you away.

“Long day,” she echoed slowly, leaning forward. “And by long day you mean what exactly?”

You avoided her gaze, rubbing at the back of your neck as you tried to keep your face neutral. “Nothing crazy,” you mumbled. “Just… had to deal with some stuff on campus. Took forever.”

“Uh-huh.” Sarah’s suspicion didn’t waver, lips twitching like she wasn’t buying it one bit.

You grabbed your phone and tossed yourself onto your bed, face buried in a pillow to hide the heat creeping up your neck. The ghost of his hands on you still tingled across your skin, and you couldn’t stop replaying the frantic moment over and over again—the knock at the door, the sound of someone calling his name, the two of you freezing like deer in headlights.

Your phone buzzed against the sheets, yanking you back to the present. Heart skipping, you rolled over and grabbed it.

James | 3:21PM

God, that was close.

Your heart gave a painful thud.

You | 3:21PM

Yeah. No shit.

A moment passed before another message came through.

James | 3:21PM

You okay?

You stared at the question for a long second, lips pressed together. Were you okay? Almost getting caught like that had scared the hell out of you—your hands were still a little shaky.

You | 3:22PM

More or less. That scared the crap out of me. Pretty sure I aged ten years.

His reply was almost instant.

James | 3:22PM

Me too.

That one admission hit you hard—especially coming from him. Calm, composed, always so sure of himself. Except this time, he was just as shaken as you.

You | 3:22PM

That was too close, James. Way too close.

There was a long pause this time. You could picture him, brow furrowed, running a hand through his hair the way he always did when he was thinking too much.

Finally:

James | 3:24PM

I know.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as you searched for the right words. The room felt too quiet, your heart thudding loud in your chest.

You | 3:24PM

What if someone heard? What if they saw me leave?

More typing bubbles appeared and disappeared before his next text.

James | 3:25PM

They didn’t. You’re safe. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.

Your stomach twisted—you knew he meant it. But this wasn’t some easy game. One slip, one wrong move, and everything could blow up in both your faces.

You | 3:25PM

That was way too close, though. Too risky.

That message hung in the silence for what felt like forever before his final reply appeared.

James | 3:26PM

I know.

And you could feel the weight behind those two words as if he were right there beside you—knowing that what you had was dangerous and fragile and so damn close to breaking if you weren’t careful.

You let your phone drop onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling, breath shaky, heart still pounding as the reality of what almost happened began to fully sink in.

———

By the next morning, the knot in your stomach still hadn’t disappeared. The entire walk across campus felt surreal—like you were on autopilot, hands tucked into your pockets, your thoughts still spinning wildly around yesterday.

And him.

Theo kept up a steady pace beside you, backpack slung over one shoulder, humming something under his breath. But you barely heard him. Every little detail from yesterday—the rush of hands and lips, the sudden knock at the door—was on repeat in your mind like a song you couldn’t shut off.

“You okay?” Theo’s voice cut in gently, making you blink.

You glanced at him. “Yeah, yeah,” you answered a bit too quickly, forcing a smile that didn’t quite feel real.

He didn’t look convinced but let it slide as you crossed into the lecture hall together. Students were already filing into their seats, the usual hum of conversation filling the room.

And then you felt it—that magnetic pull.

Your eyes drifted up to the front of the classroom where James was leaning against his desk, hands gripping the edges casually, gaze scanning the room as if nothing had happened yesterday. Nothing at all.

But when his eyes found you, the smallest flicker crossed his face—so fast it was barely there.

Your heart thudded in your chest.

Theo followed your gaze without thinking and then glanced back at you, his brow furrowing ever so slightly.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, lower this time.

You swallowed and nodded, breaking eye contact with the professor as you pulled out your chair. “I’m fine. Really.”

Theo watched you for a beat longer before shrugging and slipping into the seat next to yours.

He set his backpack down with a quiet thump and began pulling out his notebook, but his gaze kept straying toward the front of the room.

Every so often, almost like clockwork, you glanced up at James—a quick flicker of your eyes that lasted a heartbeat too long before you made yourself look back at your notes again.

Theo didn’t comment.

He sat there, tapping his pen lightly against the edge of his desk, and you were too busy flipping blankly through your notebook to see the way his brow had creased, or the way his mouth had pressed into a thin, thoughtful line.

Out of the corner of his eye, he kept watching you—the subtle way your shoulders tensed when James spoke, the way you held your breath when those sharp blue eyes scanned the classroom, and how you immediately seemed to exhale when they moved on.

He noticed the tiny things you probably thought you were disguising.

Your hands fidgeting in your lap when the professor walked past your row. The way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear even though it wasn’t in your face. The faint color high on your cheeks that didn’t match the chilly morning outside.

And most of all, that careful, too-casual way you weren’t looking at him.

Theo didn’t say a word—not then, not as the professor started his lecture in that same measured voice that filled the hall, nor as you stared straight ahead like you were giving the class your full attention.

But Theo’s gaze kept returning to you.

The puzzle pieces were starting to fit together in his head, slowly and quietly.

And you had no idea at all.

You were too caught up in the lingering buzz under your skin, in the way yesterday kept playing over and over in your mind—hands and lips and whispered warnings you probably still felt against your neck—to notice the way Theo was studying you like someone trying to read between the lines.

He never broke the silence. Never asked the obvious questions that had started to form at the back of his mind.

He just sat there, listening to the scrape of his pen on his notebook and the professor’s deep voice as it filled the room—and kept his thoughts to himself.

The professor’s voice cut through the din of the crowded lecture hall one last time—“That’ll be all for today”—and just like that, the spell was broken. The usual shuffle of students packing up, murmuring to each other, and dragging their feet toward the door filled the air.

You took your time, hands moving slowly as you tucked your pen into your notebook, feeling strangely detached. The faint scratch of your zipper was louder than you expected as you closed up your bag, pulse a little too fast for such an ordinary moment.

When you finally glanced up, Theo was already watching you—leaning casually against his chair, one brow arched ever so slightly.

“What?” you asked, trying to sound more breezy than you felt.

His mouth curved into a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nothing,” he replied, voice light. Too light.

That one word hung there between you, deceptively simple, and something about his steady gaze made you suddenly feel like you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t have.

Your eyes flicked toward the front of the room before you could stop yourself.

James was leaning against his desk in that effortless way of his, hands braced against the edge as a couple of students clustered around him with questions. Even from this distance you could see the sharp cut of his jaw and the faint smile that tugged at his lips as he spoke.

Your chest tightened just looking at him.

And when you dragged your gaze back to Theo, his brow had twitched—just a tiny shift. He held your gaze for a beat too long then glanced toward James, then back at you. “You wanna go up there and ask him something again?”

Your stomach flipped.

There was nothing accusing in his voice. In fact, if someone overheard, they’d probably just assume he was offering to wait while you clarified an assignment. But under that casual tone, there was an unspoken weight, an observation threaded between every word.

Your lips parted, then pressed together, a faint flush prickling up your neck.

“No,” you answered, forcing a lightness you didn’t feel as you hitched your bag higher onto your shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“Alright,” Theo said simply.

He fell into step beside you as you moved toward the exit, hands in his pockets, gaze straight ahead—unbothered, at least on the surface.

And as the door swung shut behind you, you felt the weight of his quiet scrutiny lingering, sharp and discerning. Whether or not he had you figured out completely, one thing was clear: Theo wasn’t as oblivious as he let on.

The hall was busier now, students spilling out of classrooms, voices bouncing off the high ceilings as everyone shuffled toward their next lectures. Theo matched your pace easily, hands stuffed into his pockets, his stride loose and comfortable like nothing was on his mind.

“You really pay attention in his lectures,” Theo commented casually, his tone light—almost offhand—as if he were making small talk.

Your heart skipped, hands tightening around your bag strap. “I do?” you shot back, forcing a little laugh as you kept your eyes fixed straight ahead.

“Mm-hm,” Theo mused, that easy little hum of his making it impossible to tell what he was thinking. “Every time Barnes looks your way, you seem to straighten up like you’re about to be quizzed.”

Your stomach fluttered nervously. Every time? You glanced at him from the corner of your eye but Theo was just strolling along like this was nothing, like he hadn’t noticed more than he was letting on.

“I mean, he’s a good lecturer,” you replied carefully, trying to sound breezy. “Makes it easier to focus.”

“Easier to focus,” Theo echoed, his lips quirking. “That’s one way to put it.”

You felt heat crawl up the back of your neck and shifted your bag higher onto your shoulder. God, had you been that obvious?

“You seem to like him,” Theo continued, his gaze fixed ahead as the two of you maneuvered around a group of students huddled outside a classroom.

“Don’t most people like him?” you asked, maybe a bit too quickly.

Theo only gave a small shrug. “Some people do. Some people don’t. You, though…” His voice trailed off just long enough to make you look at him.

He was watching you then, one brow raised ever so slightly, eyes thoughtful—not accusing, not teasing. Just… curious.

“You look at him different,” he said finally, voice pitched so low it was almost lost beneath the hum of nearby conversations.

Your heart thudded hard at that, hands curling into fists around the strap of your bag.

“I do?” you replied softly, hating that your voice sounded smaller than you intended.

Theo’s gaze lingered on your face for a breath before the corner of his mouth lifted in a gentle smile. “Hey, I’m just saying,” he added lightly, as if he hadn’t just peeled back a layer you’d been carefully guarding. “He’s kind of… intense. A little hard to read. Makes sense someone might be drawn to him.”

Your eyes flicked up to his, searching for any sign that he knew more than he was letting on—but Theo only smiled a bit wider before pushing open the door to your next classroom.

The familiar hum of conversation and the scrape of chair legs against the floor greeted you as you followed him inside. It felt strangely loud against the nervous energy still buzzing in your chest.

“You grabbing this one?” Theo asked, jerking his chin toward the back row—your usual spot.

“Yeah,” you replied, forcing a smile as you slipped into the seat.

He slid into the chair next to you, casually dropping his backpack at his feet and pulling his laptop free.

Your hands were already reaching into your own bag for your notebook when your phone vibrated in your pocket—just once, sharp and insistent enough to make your heart jump.

You glanced at the screen under the desk.

James | 9:31AM

Hey, I thought you were gonna stay for a moment after the lecture. Everything okay?

Your stomach flipped.

Of course he’d noticed you hadn’t come up to him—usually you’d catch him before leaving, even if just for a quick word.

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard as you glanced sideways at Theo. He was already logged into his laptop, eyes fixed on his screen, but there was that subtle, knowing curve at the corner of his mouth that made you feel like he was more present than he seemed.

You lowered the phone into your lap and quickly typed back.

You | 9:32AM

Sorry, wanted to but Theo was waiting for me. Didn’t want him to catch on.

You paused before hitting send, heart thudding as you reread it.

The message disappeared with a tiny whoosh.

You stared at your phone for a long second, nerves tangled up as you waited for the typing bubble to appear.

Beside you, Theo shifted in his seat, rubbing a hand through his hair, his gaze fixed on his laptop like he had no interest at all in what you were doing—but every part of you felt hyper-aware of him.

And just as the professor walked in and started the lecture, your phone vibrated again in your palm.

James | 9:33AM

Figured. Don’t worry. We’ll catch up later. Come to my office when you’re done with your lectures, okay? Wanna talk about yesterday.

You bit your lip, a small smile tugging at your mouth even as guilt pricked at you.

That familiar ache settled into your chest as you tucked your phone away and glanced up at the front of the room, forcing yourself to focus on the professor’s voice—all the while feeling the weight of Theo’s unspoken questions and the lingering, secret heat of James’ message under your skin.

———

By the time the last lecture of the day wrapped up, your head was already somewhere else. The professor’s parting words barely registered as you slid your notebook into your bag, hands moving quickly—more quickly than they needed to.

Your phone felt warm in your pocket, that last message from James still lingering in the back of your thoughts like an invitation you couldn’t wait to answer.

“Hey,” Theo’s voice pulled you back as you stood, shrugging your bag onto your shoulder.

You glanced up to see him already waiting for you at the end of the row, hands tucked into his pockets in that easy, casual way he always had.

“Yeah?” you replied, forcing a light smile as you fell into step with him toward the door.

“You free now, right?” he asked, pushing the door open for you and matching your pace as you moved into the hallway. “I was thinking we could grab some lunch—or maybe coffee? My treat,” he added with a shrug.

You paused just long enough to register the offer. Normally, you’d say yes without a second thought—Theo was easy company, someone who never pressed too hard—but right now your chest felt tight with an entirely different kind of anticipation.

“Oh,” you began, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you kept your gaze trained ahead of you, avoiding his eyes. “That’s really nice of you, but, uh… I actually have to take care of something after this.”

“Something?” he echoed, tone light but laced with curiosity as you descended the staircase together.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, hoping it sounded casual. “Nothing serious, just—stuff for a friend.”

And god, even saying it out loud sent a thrill up your spine—one you hoped he couldn’t hear in your voice.

Theo was quiet for a moment as you wove past a couple of students hurrying the other way. Then he nodded, lips twitching into a small, knowing smile as he glanced at you sidelong.

“Ah. Friend… Got it,” he drawled, like he was letting you off the hook. “Guess I’ll catch you next time then.”

“Next time,” you agreed, breath slipping out in a subtle sigh of relief.

But as you kept walking, you felt the weight of his gaze lingering just a moment too long before he finally peeled off toward the courtyard, hands in his pockets, that easy posture never quite fading.

Your heart thudded faster as you kept going—past the familiar halls, past the windows that let in the bright spill of afternoon light—and all you could think about was him.

James.

By the time you reached his classroom, you paused for a breath and glanced around, making sure no one was lingering nearby. Satisfied, you knocked softly and pushed the door open, stepping inside and easing it shut behind you before turning the lock with a quiet click.

He was already watching you, gaze steady and unreadable as you crossed the room.

“You came,” he murmured, and you felt a tiny, breathless smile tug at your lips.

“Of course,” you replied, hands twisting around the strap of your bag before you set it down on one of the front desks. “We didn’t really talk after… yesterday.”

He nodded slowly, rubbing a palm over the back of his neck as if there was a tension there he hadn’t shaken.

“About that,” he began, voice pitched lower now—serious in a way that made your stomach flip. “That was close. Too close.”

Your mouth went dry as you glanced up at him, remembering the knock on the door, the way his hand had clamped over your mouth…

“God,” you breathed, heart skipping, “I thought we were screwed.”

James’ eyes darkened, hands braced on the edge of his desk as he studied you. “It was one of the other professors,” he explained. “Looking for me. Nothing more—and I don’t think she heard anything.”

That knot in your chest loosened a fraction at his words, but the unease still coiled there.

“You sure?” you asked quietly.

He held your gaze for a moment before answering. “I’m sure,” he said, but then his brow furrowed, and there was a flash of something rawer in his eyes—something like guilt. “Still, it was too fucking close.”

Your fingers traced the smooth grain of the desk as you listened, lips pressing together. “Yeah,” you agreed softly. “Way too close.”

James exhaled, pushing off the desk and stepping toward you until there was hardly a breath between you. His hands rose—gentle this time—to cup your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones like he was grounding himself.

“If something had happened,” he began, his voice a hushed rasp, “if someone had walked in and seen…”

Your heart thudded harder at the thought, breath catching as you looked up into his gaze.

“James,” you whispered, hands lifting to circle his wrists, “nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened,” he echoed, leaning his forehead to yours, his warm breath feathering across your lips. “But if it had—if someone had heard or seen you—I don’t…” His jaw tensed as the words trailed off, leaving the thought hanging between you, thick and unspoken.

Your chest ached with a strange mix of affection and fear, and you swallowed past the lump in your throat. “I know,” you murmured, the tension trembling in your voice. “And I hate that we have to worry about this.”

For a long moment, neither of you moved—he just held you like you were something fragile, like if he let go, the world might come crashing in.

“You don’t deserve this,” he said finally, his hands trembling ever so slightly against your skin. “Any of it. I hate that I put you in this position.”

Your hands slid up his chest to his shoulders, holding him just as tightly. “Hey,” you whispered, voice fierce despite the softness of the moment, “you didn’t put me anywhere. I chose this. I chose you.”

That broke him.

James’ eyes searched yours like he couldn’t quite believe you—like he needed to feel it in his hands, taste it on your lips to make sure it was real. “And I don’t want anything to happen to you,” he breathed, voice strained with honesty. “God, if anything ever did because of me…”

You reached up and threaded your fingers into the short hair at the nape of his neck, tugging him closer until your lips brushed his. “Nothing will,” you murmured, kissing him gently, lingeringly—hoping he felt every bit of the trust you felt for him.

And when he kissed you back—slow and aching and careful—you felt it too. The weight of his fear, his devotion. The fragile, secret thing you were both holding onto with everything you had.

Your hands stayed tangled in his hair as you pulled back just enough to look at him, really look at him—at the faint crease between his brows, the way his mouth was set in that tense, guarded line you’d come to recognize when something was weighing him down.

“James,” you whispered, voice trembling with the weight of everything swirling in your chest. “I love you. Do you hear me? I love you so much. You’re the only thing that matters to me.”

That admission was raw and naked—and you felt it in your ribs, in your bones, like a trembling thread pulling you toward him no matter what.

But instead of melting into your words like you hoped, he closed his eyes and gave the slightest, aching shake of his head.

“Don’t say that,” he breathed, his hands tightening on your face as though he needed the contact to stay upright. “You deserve so much better than this—better than sneaking around, better than worrying every second if someone’s going to walk in.”

Your heart squeezed painfully at the way his voice broke around the edges.

“James,” you urged, hands smoothing down from his neck to cradle his face, thumbs brushing along the sharp curve of his cheekbones. “Stop. Please.”

But he didn’t stop.

“You deserve someone who can kiss you in the middle of the street,” he went on, his gaze flicking away like he couldn’t bear to look at you as he spoke. “Someone who can take you to dinner, who can introduce you without fearing they’ll lose everything—without fearing they’ll drag you into the fire too.”

That was what this was, you realized in that instant—it wasn’t just worry for himself or even the secret you’d been keeping together. It was guilt.

He thought he was ruining you just by loving you.

Your throat tightened, eyes stinging as you watched him wrestle with it—all the quiet, relentless weight he carried just to have you in his life.

“James,” you said again, softer this time, forcing him to look at you as you smoothed your hands along his jaw. “I don’t care about any of that. None of it. None of the things you think I deserve—none of that matters to me if it means I don’t have you.”

His blue eyes searched yours, pain flickering across his face—like part of him still tried to believe you but the other part was too scared to.

“You don’t see what this is,” he murmured, hands trembling faintly as they held you. “What it could do to you if it ever went wrong.”

You did. And you hated it. Hated that this was where you’d ended up—tangled together in the shadows of his empty classroom with fear nipping at your heels, when all you wanted was him.

When all you ever wanted was him.

“I see you,” you told him fiercely, leaning in so close that your lips nearly brushed his. “And I see everything that could go wrong. But I also see you every time you touch me like this—like I’m all that you’ll ever need—and I swear to God, that’s enough for me.”

James’ brow furrowed deeper at your words, his breath hitching as he listened, and you felt his hands flex against your skin like he was holding on by a thread.

“You are enough,” you whispered. “More than enough. And I’d take this—take you—every single time.”

For a long moment, he was utterly still, his eyes locked on yours as though he was looking for any sign of hesitation, any flicker of doubt—and when he didn’t find it, when all he saw was you looking at him like he was the only person in the world, something in him finally gave.

His hands slid back into your hair, tugging you close, his mouth crashing into yours with a low, aching sound you felt all the way to your heart.

And you kissed him back, hands fisting into the fabric of his shirt, holding him like you never wanted to let him go—like you’d take every shadow, every risk, as long as you could keep this one, fleeting thing that mattered most.

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, hands still trembling against his chest as you held his gaze.

“I really mean it, James,” you whispered, voice thick with all the feelings crowding your heart. “I want you. Always and forever. I love you and I don’t care about anything else.”

The way he looked at you then—like he was terrified you’d change your mind—made your chest ache. His hands were still tangled in your hair, thumbs stroking the side of your face so carefully you felt it all the way to your fingertips.

“You have no idea,” you continued, breathless but steady, “I’d do anything to make this easier. God, maybe I could transfer. Or drop this whole thing and just—”

He cut you off before you could even finish, a sharp breath leaving him as he shook his head, eyes dark with something that looked too much like fear.

“God, no,” he murmured fiercely, leaning in so close his forehead brushed yours. “Don’t you dare say that. Don’t you even think it.”

You blinked up at him, heart thudding hard in your chest as you felt his hands tighten against you.

“You’re so fucking talented,” he went on, his voice hushed but so full of intensity that it sent a shiver down your spine. “You’re brilliant. Don’t ever throw that away for me.”

And there it was—all the weight he’d been carrying, every ounce of guilt that kept him up at night. You saw it all in the way his brow furrowed and his mouth pressed into a tense line, like it physically pained him to even imagine you giving up your future for him.

“You’re going to do amazing things,” he whispered, thumb grazing along your cheekbone like he could memorize the feel of you. “And I’m not going to be the reason you lose that.”

Your heart twisted at his words—because god, didn’t he see? Didn’t he know that none of those things mattered if you couldn’t have this too?

“You don’t understand,” you whispered back, hands gripping the front of his shirt as though you were scared he might disappear. “None of that feels real without you in it.”

He held your gaze, something raw and aching flickering in his eyes as he searched your face like he was trying to memorize every detail.

And then, so softly you almost missed it, “That’s exactly why I can’t let you.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment you could only stare at him—feeling that bittersweet swell of love and sadness all tangled together.

“You mean that much to me,” he added, hands trembling just slightly as they framed your face. “More than anything. Even if it means I have to wait. Even if it means I have to watch you chase every dream you ever wanted first.”

Your eyes burned, hands fisting tighter into his shirt like you could will him to understand—but he already did.

And when he bent his head to kiss you again, so gentle and so careful like you were something priceless, you felt it in every inch of your soul.

That no matter what happened—no matter where this all led—James would put you first. Always.

He rested his forehead against yours for a long, aching moment, breath fanning gently over your lips like he was trying to find the right words. When they finally came, his voice was quieter—softer—but trembling with the weight of them.

“Maybe…” he began carefully, hands still cradling your face like you were the most precious thing he’d ever held. “Maybe we need to slow this down.”

Your heart stalled, a strange cold blooming in your chest as you searched his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

James exhaled slowly, thumb brushing your cheek as though he could soothe you with that one small touch. “I mean—we need to take a step back,” he murmured. “Not because I want to, god knows I don’t. But you deserve to focus on your future without worrying about someone finding out. About me ruining this for you.”

The words hit you like a chill. Slowing down was the last thing you wanted. Every time you were apart, it felt like you were holding your breath until you could see him again. Every stolen kiss and whispered conversation had felt like lifelines—not distractions.

You stared up at him, hands trembling at your sides. “James…”

He kissed your temple so gently you almost broke. “I just want to do this the right way,” he continued, voice low, threaded with guilt and fierce, protective care. “And god, I hate the idea of making you feel scared or trapped. You mean too much to me to ever risk that.”

Your eyes burned as you looked at him, heart aching with a kind of impossible softness. The way he was looking at you—as if your happiness mattered more to him than his own—it took all the air from your lungs.

And even though every part of you screamed that you never wanted to slow this down, that you didn’t care about the risk, you could see what this was costing him too.

“You really mean that,” you whispered, more to yourself than anything.

He nodded, pressing his forehead back to yours like it was painful to hold back. “I do.”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like you couldn’t help yourself. “I hate it,” you confessed softly. “I hate the thought of not seeing you as much, of not—”

Your voice broke, and he held you closer, hands rubbing up and down your back like he wished he could take it all away.

“Me too,” he breathed, voice rough. “More than you know.”

And you believed him—you could feel it in the way his arms stayed wrapped around you like he never wanted to let go, in the way he held his breath when you finally whispered:

“Okay.”

That single word felt heavier than anything you’d ever said, but you knew it was what he needed to hear. Even if it shattered a part of you inside.

James’ hands flexed against you, lips brushing your hair like a quiet thank you. “You’re so fucking brave,” he whispered. “And I promise you, sweetheart, this is not forever.”

You closed your eyes and pressed your face into his chest, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat ground you as you nodded.

“Okay,” you breathed again—softer this time, like you were trying to believe it too.

“You should go,” he said again, this time softer, hands slipping reluctantly from your waist as though his touch was already a memory. “Before anyone sees.”

Your stomach dropped at the sound of it—so final, so careful—like a door swinging shut that neither of you wanted to close.

For a moment, you just stared at him, lips parted, a hundred things you wanted to say swirling in your chest. But the knot in your throat was already making it hard to breathe, and his gaze—that gentle, tired sadness in his eyes—told you more than words ever could.

“Fine,” you finally managed, voice trembling as you forced a shaky smile you didn’t feel.

He held your gaze like he might reach for you again, hands flexing at his sides, the muscle in his jaw ticking like this was hurting him too.

And god, it was.

You slipped your bag over your shoulder, every movement slow and aching, like you could stretch this last fragile moment forever if you took your time. But then James gave you a small nod—the kind that left no room for argument—and you knew you had to go.

“See you,” you whispered, stepping backward toward the door, hands trembling against the cold knob as you forced yourself to turn away.

The hallway felt too bright, too loud, like stepping into a different world.

Your fingers dug into your bag’s strap as you moved on autopilot, one foot in front of the other. Every sound around you—the scrape of lockers, distant laughter, someone pushing past—felt muted beneath the dizzy hum of your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

By the time you made it outside into the crisp air, you were trembling—shoulders hunching instinctively as if to hide.

God, you hated this part—hated leaving him, hated how much it already hurt.

Your breath hitched, the ache you’d been holding back burning its way up your throat until it was impossible to breathe around it.

You kept your eyes fixed on the path in front of you as you hurried across campus, head down, vision going glassy with tears.

Every step back toward your dorm felt heavier, your chest tighter, like something fragile and vital had been left behind in that classroom—wrapped up in him and his hands and his voice.

And god, you felt so empty without it.

By the time you reached the dorm building, you couldn’t fight it anymore.

You paused halfway up the staircase, leaning into the wall, palm pressed to your face as a shaky breath broke loose—then another—until a choked sob slipped out before you could stop it.

Tears pricked hotly at your eyes as you pressed your forehead against the cool wall and fought to catch your breath, trembling with every ragged inhale.

And all you could do was stand there for a long, aching moment, hands trembling against your damp cheeks, knowing that walking away hadn’t made anything easier—it had only left you feeling raw and hollow in a way that scared you.

When you finally made it back to your room, your hands were trembling so hard you fumbled with your key in the lock. Every breath felt too short, your chest too tight, and you didn’t even realize there were tears on your face until you caught a glimpse of yourself in the tiny mirror by the door—eyes red-rimmed, lips trembling, shoulders tense.

When you pushed the door open, Sarah was sitting cross-legged on her bed, flipping through some notes, humming under her breath—but the second her gaze lifted and took you in, her expression changed completely.

“Oh my god,” she was on her feet in an instant, crossing the space between you in two quick steps. “Hey—hey, wait—what happened? Are you okay?”

You could barely choke back a breath as she reached for you, her hands gentle but firm on your arms like she was scared you’d collapse. And maybe you would have.

Your lip quivered, chin trembling as you just shook your head, trying to hold it together. But the dam you’d been trying so hard to patch up all the way back was breaking, faster and faster, and you didn’t have the strength left to stop it.

“I…” you managed, voice wrecked and shaky before you broke off entirely.

Sarah pulled you into her arms without another word, wrapping you up so tight you could feel her heartbeat against your cheek. That’s when you really broke—a jagged, aching sob tearing up your throat as you buried your face against her shoulder.

“Hey, shhh,” she murmured into your hair, her hands rubbing slow circles on your back. “I’m here. I’m here. Whatever happened, I’ve got you, okay?”

You clung to her like a lifeline, shoulders trembling with each uneven breath, hands bunched into the back of her shirt as if she were the only solid thing left.

“I’ve fucked up,” you choked out after a few breaths, voice raw and shaky. “Sarah, I’ve fucked up so bad. I got into such a fucking mess.”

“Hey, hey,” she pulled back just enough to look at you, hands cupping your face gently so you had to meet her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

Your lips parted, the words right there—all the tangled, messy feelings you’d been carrying for what felt like forever. The secret. Him. The way you loved him so much it scared you, and the way it had all started to feel like a house of cards just waiting for the smallest breeze to knock it all down.

But you couldn’t say it. You weren’t sure you even could if you tried.

Instead, you just shook your head again, eyes stinging as more tears threatened to spill. “I can’t,” you whispered, the words cracking. “God, I can’t even tell you. It’s just—it’s too much.”

Her brow furrowed, worry etched across her face, but she didn’t push. Didn’t pry. Just gathered you up again without hesitation, one hand smoothing the back of your hair as you clung to her like you might disappear otherwise.

“It’s okay,” Sarah murmured against your temple, voice soft and sure. “I’m here. Whatever it is, you can tell me—I’m here.”

And you felt it in the way she held you—steady and warm, her presence solid enough to lean into when everything else was spinning out of control.

Part 7 soon 💋

tags (tysm for all the love and support, If you asked to be tagged and I didn’t tag you it means I couldn’t for some reason 💔): @iamthatonefangirl @hiraethmae @im-feeling-blue-today @beforemdnight @just4w3irdo @bloodmocha @lovinqbella @its-in-the-woods @muchwita @iyskgd @harrietandcats @shortandb1tchy @luv4kook @grovelingmen @buckybarneswife125 @xamapolax @glitterspark @azrielsgirll @mortallydistinguishedwolf @shaheea @simp4f1 @voidanima @buckytakethewheel @thatsbucknasty @herejustforbuckybarnes @sebastians-love @wntersoidiertk @emcharra @user911224 @stell404 @peanutbutt3rcup @heymydearheart @s-sh-ne

#barnesonly #marvel #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #writing #mcu #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfic #lust #professor!bucky barnes #professor!bucky #au #au fanfic #bucky barnes smut #smut #bucky barnes angst #angst

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