#fluff with a hint of melancholy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shaiyasstuff · 4 months ago

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fiction | xavier

synopsis : What happens when your fiancé turns out to be a guy who walked right out of one of the fanfictions you read? Tall, handsome, and surprisingly, not emotionally constipated. Time to find out. content : arranged marriage!au, fluff, comedy

“Wow,” Xavier whispered, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

You blinked, caught off guard. He was staring—no, gazing—like you were something out of a dream.

Or maybe a particularly poetic hallucination.

You instinctively took a small step back, your fingers twitching at your sides as a shy warmth bloomed across your cheeks.

“Is there something on my face?” you asked, voice quieter than usual.

Of course, that snapped him right out of it.

He coughed, his expression smoothing into that carefully polite, vaguely princely calm you assumed was his default setting.

Stoic. Controlled. Maybe a little embarrassed.

You were currently seated across from him at a long, ridiculously ornate dinner table that looked like it belonged in a museum rather than someone’s actual home.

Your parents had brought you here for the grand unveiling—your fiancé. Surprise.

It was an arranged marriage, one you hadn’t really protested.

Mostly because the alternative involved crawling back to school, where existential dread roamed the halls like a vengeful spirit.

So, marriage. Sure. Why not.

You hadn’t seen a picture. Not a single hint of who this man might be. Just your mother’s breezy, “He’s charming, calm, and mature,” like she was describing a limited-edition tea set.

But as you sat there now, staring at the man who would somehow become your husband, you realized charming didn’t quite cover it.

Because Xavier—silver-haired, blue-eyed, and carrying that whole otherworldly melancholy like a tailored suit—looked like he’d stepped off the cover of a novel where people fall in love and die tragically.

Great. Now you had to marry that.

His mother, seated gracefully beside him, clasped her hands together with the kind of delight only aristocratic women and overzealous matchmakers could muster.

“Oh, what a lovely girl your daughter is,” she beamed at your parents, as if you weren’t sitting right there, very much alive and blinking.

You offered a polite smile, the kind you reserved for distant relatives and overpriced waiters, while Xavier glanced your way again—this time with something almost like amusement flickering behind those calm blue eyes.

Apparently, being praised like livestock was the beginning of romance now.

Dinner dragged on, the distinct hum of polite chatter between your future in-laws and your parents filling the air like a background track you hadn’t asked for.

Voices rose and fell in curated excitement over wedding venues, family values, and the excellent weather—as if any of that would help you survive this evening.

You tried to focus on the plate in front of you.

Tried being the keyword.

But cutting through steak while sitting across from your unnervingly beautiful, maddeningly composed fiancé wasn’t exactly conducive to concentration.

Especially not when you could still feel his occasional glances—curious, measured, and far too calm for someone who’d said “wow” like he’d seen a shooting star five minutes ago.

You stabbed at a green bean with a little more force than necessary.

Romance was off to a fantastic start.

—•

After dinner, you were gently—read, forcibly—escorted onto the terrace by none other than your future husband. The orchestration, of course, courtesy of four overly enthusiastic parents and their favorite phrase of the night.

“Go spend some time together, dear. It’s important to foster relationships.”

You could practically hear the wedding bells in their eyes.

Xavier walked beside you in silence, his steps unhurried, posture perfectly straight like he’d been trained for these situations.

He didn’t seem flustered at all.

Meanwhile, you were trying to remember how breathing worked.

The air outside was cooler, quieter.

The terrace opened out to a garden bathed in moonlight, which would’ve been romantic if it didn’t feel so much like the set-up to an arranged marriage-themed reality show.

You stopped near the railing, resting your hands lightly on the cold stone.

“So,” you started, “should we awkwardly pretend this isn’t weird, or lean into it?”

Xavier looked at you, a slow flicker of amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. “I vote for leaning in.”

You felt the heat creep up your neck, crawling right into your cheeks like it owned the place.

You looked away quickly, pretending to be incredibly invested in the night sky, only to nearly choke on your own spit.

Smooth.

Then, as if the moment hadn’t already thrown you off balance, Xavier spoke again—calmly, casually, like he wasn’t currently dismantling your ability to function.

“You’re nothing like I imagined.”

That time, you actually choked.

You coughed, spluttered, and did your best to recover whatever shred of dignity you had left, eyes wide as you turned toward him. “I—what?”

He tilted his head slightly, watching you with that unreadable expression of his. “In a good way,” he added, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re… unexpected.”

You weren’t sure if that was a compliment or a polite warning.

Either way, your heart decided to skip a beat just to be dramatic.

“Unexpected… how?” you asked, narrowing your eyes just slightly, curiosity now outweighing your embarrassment.

Xavier didn’t answer right away.

He turned his gaze toward the garden below, thoughtful, like he was sorting through a mental checklist he hadn’t realized he’d made.

“I thought you’d be quiet,” he said finally, “shy, maybe. The kind of person who keeps their head down and says yes to everything.”

You raised a brow at that. “Wow. Romantic and flattering.”

He glanced at you, lips twitching. “I meant that as a compliment.”

“Oh, sure. Everyone dreams of being described as ‘meek and agreeable.’”

That earned you a proper smile—small, rare, and slow to form, like he wasn’t used to sharing it. “But you’re not,” he said. “You’re… sharp. Funny. A little defensive.”

You blinked. “Again, not really selling it.”

“And honest,” he added, eyes lingering on you now, softer somehow. “Very honest.”

The way he said it made something flutter in your chest—annoyingly poetic and completely inconvenient.

You smiled—just a little—as you turned your gaze to the moonlit garden below. The flowers were in bloom, the air carried that faint, earthy scent of late spring, and for a moment, the world felt quieter than it had been all night.

“What did you think of this arrangement?” you asked gently, not quite looking at him.

There was a pause.

Long enough that you began to wonder if he’d heard you, or if he was calculating the safest answer.

“I didn’t think much of it at first,” he admitted finally, voice low and steady. “Just another political tie. Something expected of me.”

You nodded. Fair. You’d thought the same.

“But…” he continued, and you glanced at him from the corner of your eye, “then you walked in. And suddenly, it didn’t feel so transactional anymore.”

Your heart gave a traitorous little lurch. You told it to calm down. It didn’t listen.

“…Right,” you said, managing a soft laugh. “Well, thank you for not calling me a tax write-off. That’s reassuring.”

Xavier’s lips quirked again, eyes warm despite his usual calm. “I’ll do my best to exceed expectations.”

You both fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need to be filled. The soft rustle of leaves in the breeze, the distant chirp of crickets—it all felt oddly soothing.

For the first time that evening, the weight of obligation on your shoulders began to ease, replaced by something quieter, lighter.

Maybe… this arrangement wasn’t so bad after all.

Xavier shifted slightly beside you, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him glance your way again.

There was something hesitant in his posture—not nervous, exactly, but deliberate. Like someone unused to starting conversations that didn’t involve diplomacy or battle strategy.

“So…” he began, carefully, “what do you like to do when you’re not being ambushed by marriage proposals?”

You turned to look at him, amused. “Oh, you know. The usual. Read. Nap. Avoid emotionally loaded dinners.”

He gave a soft chuckle at that, clearly trying to mask it with a cough. “Sounds like a full-time job.”

“It’s exhausting,” you said with a mock sigh. “But someone’s got to do it.”

He smiled—genuine and easy this time—and leaned his elbow on the railing. “Any books you’d recommend?”

That caught you off guard. “You read?”

“I’m not just a pretty face,” he said dryly.

“Wow. Multitalented and humble.”

He shook his head, but his eyes were fixed on you now, open and interested. “I’d like to know what you like. What makes you laugh. What makes you… you.”

The words weren’t romantic, not in the obvious way. But the sincerity in his voice, the way he said them without trying too hard—it stayed with you.

Just like the quiet warmth growing in your chest.

“I hope things go well then,” you said with a small smile, the kind that lingered even after you looked away.

Xavier was quiet for a beat, watching you like he was memorizing the curve of that expression—soft, a little unsure, but hopeful all the same.

“They will,” he said, not with bravado, but quiet certainty. “I’ll make sure of it.”

It wasn’t a promise wrapped in poetry, but it settled deep in your chest, heavier than you expected.

And for once, you didn’t feel like running from it.

—•

Back at home, the moment the front door clicked shut behind you, all the calm dignity you’d maintained on that terrace evaporated like mist.

You spun toward your mother with wide eyes and a completely undignified squeal. “Oh my god, Mom—”

She barely turned from where she was removing her earrings, already smirking like she’d won some secret bet with the universe. “Let me guess. You like him.”

“Like him?” you repeated, pacing in chaotic little circles.

“He’s—he’s calm and composed and smart and he actually smiled at one of my jokes, and he said I was unexpected in a good way, and—”

“I knew you’d like him,” she interrupted with maddening satisfaction, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow like a smug matchmaking oracle.

You stopped mid-spiral. “You set me up.”

Her smirk only widened. “Technically, you agreed.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands as your mother chuckled softly in the background, utterly pleased with herself.

And okay, maybe you did like him. Just a little. Maybe.

You settled into your room with all the grace of someone experiencing a slow, romantic meltdown.

Your mother’s chuckles echoed down the hallway like the smug laughter of a triumphant mommy duck who’d successfully nudged her chick into the pond of marriage.

You groaned and faceplanted into your bed, limbs sprawled dramatically as you tried to suffocate the feelings spiraling inside you.

Unfortunately, your brain had other plans.

It conjured him again—Xavier, standing on that terrace like he’d been carved from moonlight and good intentions.

You remembered the way his absurdly long lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks, so delicate it was almost unfair. His blond-silver hair had swayed in the breeze like it had been choreographed.

And those pale blue eyes… gods, they were unreal. Like someone had trapped the entire sea inside them just to make your life harder.

You let out a strangled sound and shoved your pillow over your face.

You were engaged. To that.

And worse—you liked it.

—•

The first date was… heartwarming.

Not in the overly romantic, violins-playing kind of way, but in the unexpectedly gentle kind of way—the kind that crept up on you and made your chest ache a little without warning.

Xavier sat across from you at a table set for two in the center of an otherwise empty, dimly lit restaurant. A chandelier hung above, its golden light casting a soft, intimate glow over the polished silverware and the quiet space between you.

It was like stepping into a scene from a movie—one you hadn’t realized you’d auditioned for.

You glanced around, taking in the surreal quiet, the absence of clinking plates or murmured conversations. “Is… is this entire place just for us?”

Xavier rubbed the back of his neck, a hint of color rising to his cheeks.

“My parents insisted I rent out the entire evening,” he admitted with a sheepish smile, looking both apologetic and awkwardly charming.

You raised a brow. “Of course they did.”

“I told them we’d be fine at a café.”

“But why settle for awkward silences over coffee when you can have awkward silences under a chandelier?”

That made him laugh—soft, but real. “Exactly,” he said, and for a second, that serious, guarded façade of his cracked wide open.

And just like that, the nerves in your chest loosened.

“So, what do you do? Like work and the likes,” you asked, casually between bites of steak, trying not to sound too curious or too invested—even if you absolutely were.

Xavier looked up from his plate, pausing for a second like he was deciding how much of the truth to hand over.

“I’m with UNICORNS,” he said simply.

You blinked. “UNICORNS?”

“United Nations Intelligence and Covert Operations Reconnaissance Network Squad,” he recited, completely straight-faced.

You stared at him, fork frozen halfway to your mouth. “…That spells UNICORNS?”

He gave the faintest shrug, as if he wasn’t aware how ridiculous that sounded. “Acronyms aren’t really my department.”

You snorted. “Right. So basically, you’re a space prince turned secret agent.”

He blinked. “That’s… technically accurate.”

You nearly choked on your steak.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

You stared at him for a long moment.

Silver hair. Calm voice. The whole mysterious aura thing.

Of course he was a secret agent. Of course.

“Okay,” you muttered, setting your fork down. “And here I was thinking I’d have to make small talk on this date.”

Xavier smiled into his glass, and you caught the flicker of amusement in his eyes. “You still can. I’m excellent at pretending to be normal.”

“If you’re a secret agent,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him as you leaned forward slightly, “then how is it okay that you reveal yourself to me?”

Xavier lifted his gaze, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was holding back a grin. “Classified,” he replied smoothly, taking a sip of his wine.

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s not an answer.”

He set the glass down with infuriating grace. “Let’s just say… my clearance allows for certain disclosures under specific circumstances.”

You crossed your arms, pretending to be skeptical even as your curiosity prickled. “And this—” you gestured between the two of you, “—is one of those circumstances?”

He nodded once, almost solemn. “You’re my fiancée. It’s only fair you know who you’re marrying.”

You stared at him. “So if I were, say, a barista you had a crush on instead, you wouldn’t be allowed to tell me?”

He hesitated for a split second, then said with mock seriousness, “I’d have to fake my death.”

You burst out laughing, nearly knocking over your water glass.

“Well,” you said once you caught your breath, grinning now, “I’m honored to be cleared for top-secret fiancé-level intel.”

Xavier smiled softly, and this time it wasn’t sheepish or polite—it was warm. “You’re worth the risk.”

You blushed at that—violently, of course—quickly masking it with a cough and an exaggeratedly casual bite of steak, like that would somehow neutralize the weight of his words.

You’re worth the risk.

Nope. Still devastating.

The evening flowed gently after that, the tension between you easing into something quieter, more natural.

You found yourself laughing more than you’d expected—soft bursts of amusement over his dry remarks, while he watched you with that calm, almost amused smile, like he was cataloging every expression you made.

He didn’t talk much, but when he did, it was thoughtful.

Measured.

Like he was actually listening. Really listening.

You told him about your hobbies. How you loved reading, writing, getting lost in stories and then furiously threatening to strangle fictional men for breaking your heart.

“They’re not even real,” you said dramatically, waving your fork in the air, “and yet they ruin my week. My mental stability. My skin.”

Xavier tilted his head, eyes crinkling just slightly. “Sounds like a dangerous habit.”

“It is,” you agreed solemnly. “But I’m too far gone.”

He nodded. “Noted. I’ll try not to become the inspiration for your next emotional breakdown.”

You paused mid-chew. “Wow. That might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

And just like that, he smiled again—slow, rare, and entirely disarming.

Xavier dropped you off at your estate, the sleek car rolling to a gentle stop in front of the stone steps.

The lights from the veranda cast a soft glow across the driveway, and there she was—your mother—waiting with the patience of someone who definitely hadn’t been peeking through the curtains for the past ten minutes.

As you stepped out of the car, she descended the steps with a far-too-innocent smile.

“Oh, please join us for a while!” she called out brightly, clasping her hands together with the enthusiasm of a socialite and the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

You nearly tripped on the gravel. “Mom.”

Xavier blinked, caught slightly off guard. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude—”

“Nonsense,” she beamed. “We have tea. And leftovers. And years of awkward silence to fill.”

You gave Xavier an apologetic look. “She’s not usually this—”

“Yes, I am,” your mother interrupted, already turning on her heel. “Come along, dear!”

Xavier glanced at you, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. “Should I be worried?”

“Terrified,” you muttered under your breath.

But when he followed you up the steps without hesitation, you felt that warm little flutter return—just slightly out of rhythm with your heart.

Once inside, your mom wasted no time nudging the both of you toward the couch with all the subtlety of a seasoned matchmaker on a mission.

“Sit, sit!” she chirped, practically shoving you into place before plopping herself down across from you with a cup of tea and that glint in her eyes—the one that said she was thoroughly enjoying herself.

You landed on the plush cushion with a small huff, Xavier sliding in beside you like this was perfectly normal, like he hadn’t just spent the last two hours slowly dismantling your emotional walls with his quiet charm and devastating smiles.

You gave your mom a weak protest. “This is… not necessary.”

“Nonsense,” she waved off with a grin. “I’m just enjoying the company of my future son-in-law. That’s not illegal.”

You side-eyed her, but honestly, it wasn’t a big deal. You had just had a wonderful dinner. He was polite, thoughtful, and—surprisingly—not emotionally constipated.

Still.

He was sitting very close.

Not touching you, technically.

But the cushion dipped slightly where his thigh rested against yours, and suddenly you were acutely aware of everything—how warm he was, how tall he sat, how his cologne smelled like cedar and rain and danger to your composure.

You folded your hands in your lap, trying to focus on your mom rambling about wedding colors and seating charts, but Xavier’s presence beside you was magnetic.

Steady. Quiet. Very hard to ignore.

You might’ve leaned slightly away from him.

And then just as quickly, leaned back.

No use pretending now. You were officially doomed.

“Mom, the wedding is four weeks away,” you groaned, slumping back into the couch like it could absorb your embarrassment. “You don’t have to talk about it every day.”

Your mother only sipped her tea, entirely unbothered. “And miss the joy of watching you squirm every time I say the word bouquet?”

Xavier chuckled beside you, low and warm, and you immediately regretted everything. Because that sound? That sound was now imprinted on your soul.

You shot him a look. “Don’t encourage her.”

“I’m not,” he said, clearly encouraging her. “But it’s… entertaining.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I thought I was.”

Your mother clapped her hands lightly. “Look at you two. Bantering already. Like an old married couple.”

You sighed into your hands. Xavier smiled again—calm, amused, and entirely too comfortable. And even as you groaned, somewhere deep inside, a tiny part of you liked how it all felt just a little too natural.

—•

“He just smiled, Shaiya. Smiled!” you exclaimed, dramatically flopping onto your bed like you were in a period drama and the world was ending via attractive fiancé.

Shaiya raised an unimpressed brow from where she sat cross-legged on your rug, holding her phone in one hand and wearing the most amused smirk you’d ever seen on her.

“So you’ve got a crush on the guy you’re marrying. Tragic.”

You threw a pillow at her.

She dodged it effortlessly, grinning. “No, seriously. This is the dream. Arranged marriage and you’re catching feelings? You’re living in a slow-burn fanfic.”

You groaned into your blanket. “No, no, this is a problem. A very pretty, well-dressed, emotionally devastating problem. He said I was unexpected. He smiled. He rented an entire restaurant. Who does that?”

“Apparently, your absurdly attractive secret agent fiancé.”

You peeked at her through your fingers. “Shaiya.”

“Yes?”

“I think I’m doomed.”

She tossed the pillow back at you. “No, babe. You’re in love.”

You let out a muffled scream into your blanket.

She just laughed. “I’m giving it two weeks before you start writing ‘Mrs. Xavier’ in the margins of your notebook.”

You groaned, dragging a pillow over your face. “I’m used to writing fanfiction about fictional men, not marrying a guy who seems to have walked out of one.”

Shaiya cackled, absolutely zero sympathy in her voice. “Plot twist—you’ve been isekai’d into your own arranged marriage AU.”

You peeked out from under the pillow with a glare. “This isn’t funny.”

“It’s hilarious. You’re the main character. Brooding husband with mysterious past? Check. Hidden softness? Check. Devastating smile that causes existential crises? Check.”

You groaned again. “He smells like a metaphor and talks like a deleted scene from a historical drama. I was not built for this level of emotional turbulence.”

Shaiya nodded sagely. “No one is. That’s how you know it’s real.”

You flopped back onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. “If I end up writing love poems in the margins of my planner, please stage an intervention.”

“Oh, I won’t stop you,” she said, already pulling out her phone. “I’ll just record it for the wedding slideshow.”

“You’re officially disinvited from my wedding,” you deadpan, sitting up just enough to squint at her with all the fake seriousness you could muster.

Shaiya gasped, clutching her heart like you’d just stabbed her. “How dare you. After I emotionally supported your descent into fiancé-induced madness?”

“You mocked me.”

“I documented history,” she shot back, already typing something suspiciously fast on her phone. “Your children will thank me one day.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Shaiya.”

“Yes, Mrs. Secret Agent?”

You threw the pillow again. She didn’t even try to dodge it this time, just laughed as it hit her square in the face.

“Fine,” you muttered, collapsing dramatically again. “You can come to the wedding.”

“I knew you’d cave.”

“But only if you swear not to make a toast about fanfiction.”

Shaiya looked up from her phone, absolutely glowing with mischief. “No promises.”

You were so in trouble.

Soon after, Shaiya gathered her things, still grinning like she’d won a lifetime’s worth of blackmail material.

As she headed down the hallway, she called over her shoulder, sing-song and far too loud, “Can’t wait to see adorable mini-yous and secret agents running around!”

You groaned from your doorway. “Shaiya, go home.”

She just laughed, turning to wink at you before disappearing down the stairs. “Give my regards to Mr. Tall, Calm, and Tragic!”

You slammed your door shut with a huff, leaning against it as silence settled back into the house.

Mini-yous and secret agents.

You stared blankly at the wall, then promptly screamed into your hands.

This was getting out of hand.

—•

A week before the wedding, Xavier surprised you with a calm, “I’d like to take you to pick out your dress,” like he was asking if you wanted tea—not subtly offering to participate in one of the most emotionally overwhelming rites of passage in existence.

So naturally, you said yes. And then spent the entire morning internally spiraling.

It was awkward at first.

Mostly because you were trying very hard not to be a complete nervous wreck. The boutique was gorgeous—warm lighting, soft music, rows of delicate lace and silk that whispered life-changing decision with every swish.

And there Xavier was, sitting far too calmly in one of the velvet chairs, flipping through a bridal catalog like he did this every Thursday.

Meanwhile, you were trying not to combust.

You peeked at him between gowns. He didn’t look bored or out of place. In fact, he looked… focused. Thoughtful.

Like this mattered to him.

When you stepped out in the first dress, hands fidgeting at your sides, you half-expected a polite nod or something neutral.

Instead, his gaze lifted—and he just looked at you.

Not like you were trying on fabric. Like you were becoming something real.

“You look…” he started, then paused. A rare moment where words seemed to fail him. “…beautiful.”

Your brain short-circuited. Your stylist cooed.

And you?

You forgot how to breathe for about seven seconds.

This wedding might just kill you.

You bit the inside of your cheek, willing your pulse to calm down as you smoothed your hands over the fabric, trying to act like you weren’t melting under his gaze.

“Do you like it?” you asked, your voice more steady than you expected—only slightly breathless.

Xavier tilted his head, his eyes not leaving you. “I do,” he said, softly but certain. “But the question is—do you?”

You blinked, thrown for a moment.

“I mean…” You turned toward the mirror, taking yourself in again. The dress hugged you gently, not flashy, not overly grand—just enough detail to feel like you belonged in a dream. “I think I do.”

Xavier stood, walking over with unhurried steps. He stopped just behind you, enough distance to be respectful but close enough that you could feel the quiet weight of his presence.

His reflection met yours in the mirror, eyes still warm. “Then that’s the one.”

Your heart betrayed you again with an uneven thump.

“O—On second thought, I’ll try a few more,” you blurted, the words tripping over each other as your blush bloomed faster than your dignity could recover.

Xavier blinked, clearly amused, but—mercifully—didn’t say a word.

You turned so quickly you nearly tripped on the hem of the dress, fumbling your way back into the dressing room with all the grace of a flustered Victorian heroine trying not to swoon.

Once inside, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, pressing a hand to your burning cheek.

Pull yourself together, you told your reflection. It’s just a compliment. From your devastatingly attractive, quietly intense, secret-agent fiancé who might actually be perfect husband material… oh no.

Outside, you could hear Xavier flipping pages in the catalog again, his calm voice murmuring something to the stylist.

No teasing. No smug follow-up.

Just… waiting. Patiently. Like he’d wait all day if you needed.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, then let out a very quiet, very overwhelmed laugh.

Yep. You were so doomed.

You stepped out in the second dress, holding your breath without meaning to. This one—this one felt different.

It wasn’t over-the-top, but it shimmered just enough under the soft boutique lights, with delicate embroidery trailing down the bodice and a skirt that moved like you were floating.

Like a fairytale—but not the soft, gentle kind. More like Cinderella on crack, if she ditched the glass slipper for a knife in her garter and a comeback locked and loaded.

You felt powerful. Gorgeous. Slightly dangerous.

Xavier looked up the moment you stepped out, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything at all.

Which, frankly, was worse than a compliment. Because he stared.

You shifted on your feet. “Too much?”

He stood slowly, eyes never leaving you. “No,” he said, quietly. “It’s perfect.”

You felt your breath catch again—because somehow, he didn’t say it like he was talking about the dress.

And suddenly, you weren’t sure if you were ready to marry him… or fall headfirst in love with him.

Either way, you were spiraling.

Elegantly, of course. Like a fairytale heroine in heels.

Afterward, with the kind of effortless grace that should not be legal, Xavier handled everything—his posture composed, voice low as he spoke with the staff, arranging every last detail with calm precision.

You stood behind him, half-hidden near a rack of veils, watching the scene like you were in a slow-motion movie montage you hadn’t signed up for.

He moved like someone born to command attention but never demanded it—unassuming, composed, elegant in the way only someone dangerous could be when they weren’t trying.

And there he was, calmly signing forms and coordinating where to send your wedding dress, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your wedding dress.

You, meanwhile, were standing there with your heart doing somersaults in your chest like it had zero survival instincts.

It wasn’t just the way he looked doing it. It was the way he didn’t look at you while doing it—as if this wasn’t some grand gesture, but simply what he did.

Quietly take care of things. Gently, but without asking.

You pressed your hand over your chest as it fluttered again—annoyingly dramatic.

Yep.

This man was going to ruin you in the most inconveniently romantic way possible.

—•

The night before the wedding, the world felt hushed. The air was thick with anticipation, the kind that settled in your lungs and refused to leave.

Everyone else had retreated—family fluttering with last-minute details, planners running over final checklists.

But you found yourself out on the balcony of the estate, the moon casting silver across the garden, soft and endless.

And Xavier—of course—found you there.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just walked up quietly and stood beside you, his presence grounding in that calm, ever-steady way.

For a while, the silence felt enough. The good kind.

The kind that didn’t need to be filled with nervous laughter or pointless words.

And then, you exhaled. “You nervous?”

He glanced at you, then shook his head. “Not really.”

You smiled, eyes drifting down to your hands resting on the stone railing. “I thought I’d be. But I’m not.”

He tilted his head. “Why not?”

You paused, biting your lip, unsure how to say it without sounding like a complete idiot.

“I think…” You hesitated, then braved a glance at him. “I think I might actually like you. Like… really.”

Xavier looked at you, his expression unreadable at first—but then something shifted in his eyes. Softened.

He didn’t speak right away, and for a split second, your heart lodged somewhere in your throat.

But then—quietly, gently—he said, “Good.”

You blinked. “Good? That’s it?”

He turned fully toward you, his voice lower now.

“Because I think I’ve been liking you for a while now. I just didn’t know how to say it without making it sound… heavier than it is.”

You stared at him, a warmth blooming deep in your chest.

“It is kind of heavy,” you whispered.

“I know.” He reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face with a tenderness that made you still. “But I don’t mind carrying it.”

And under the silver night, with barely inches between you, that almost-confession settled between your hearts like a promise—unspoken, quiet, but real.

The day of the wedding arrived with a kind of dreamlike haze—everything moving just a little too fast, yet not fast enough.

People buzzed around with clipped voices and half-screamed checklists, but all you could hear was the thud of your heartbeat as you stood behind the grand double doors, clutching your bouquet like it was the only thing tethering you to the earth.

Your dad stood beside you, his hand steady on your arm. “You okay?”

You gave a weak nod. “Yep. Totally fine. Just, you know… about to get married to a gorgeous secret agent I’m pretty sure I’m falling for. No big deal.”

He chuckled softly. “You’ve got this.”

You didn’t answer—not because you didn’t believe him, but because you were too busy trying not to throw up out of sheer romantic terror.

On the other side of the doors, Xavier stood at the altar.

Poised. Steady.

He wore a pale suit tailored within an inch of its life, silver hair catching the soft light from the stained glass above. And yet, despite the opulence around him, he looked only forward—toward the doors.

Toward you.

He wasn’t smiling—not quite.

But his expression held that familiar softness, that calm warmth that only you seemed to bring out in him.

Like the world could be on fire and he’d still be there, waiting.

The music began.

Your hands tightened on the bouquet.

You met your father’s eyes, took a deep breath—

And the doors slowly opened.

Warm golden light spilled into the chapel, catching on the soft fabric of your dress, the shimmer of the veil, the slight tremble in your hands.

Every pair of eyes turned toward you—but you only looked at one.

Xavier.

The moment your gaze met his, the world seemed to still. The music faded to a low hum.

The pressure in your chest eased, just slightly.

He didn’t look shocked or overwhelmed, didn’t do anything dramatic.

He just breathed, like seeing you walk toward him was the most natural thing in the world.

But his eyes—his eyes said everything.

There was awe there, yes, but also something gentler.

A quiet certainty.

Like he’d been waiting for you not just today, not just these past weeks, but his whole life—and only now realized it.

Your feet carried you forward, one step at a time, your father guiding you down the aisle, grounding you in each heartbeat.

You were aware of the petals scattered along the path, the subtle scent of white lilies in the air, the soft rustle of guests shifting in their seats—but none of it compared to the weight of Xavier’s gaze.

You finally reached him, hands trembling slightly as your father placed yours into Xavier’s.

Xavier’s fingers closed around yours—warm, steady, reverent.

“You look…” he whispered, leaning just slightly toward you, enough for only you to hear, “like you stepped right out of one of your stories.”

You smiled, despite the tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

“And you,” you whispered back, voice shaking, “look like the ending I didn’t dare write.”

He didn’t smile—he softened. Completely.

And as the ceremony began, as vows waited on the other side of breath and silence, you realized something profound.

You weren’t nervous anymore.

You were exactly where you were meant to be.

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youwerenevermeanttofeelalone · 5 months ago

Text

If You Need Me, Dear, I’m the Same as I Was | Damian Wayne

✦ pairing — older!Damian Wayne x female!Chubby Reader

✦ word count — 8.5k

✦ request — may I request Ex Older Damian Wayne x Chubby Reader! Where the reader goes to a charity ball that her friend wanted her to go with since her friend and their family are rich and do this every year. And right when the host of the ball were thanking everyone for coming and stuff they mentioned the top person who donated the most and that being Damian. With Damian going up the stage to make a small speech, his gaze caught the reader. Making him stammer before he continued. I guess somewhere along the lines of him finishing a girl comes up and hugs him or something which send the reader running to the change room (cuz they super fancy lol) and unaware to the reader, Damian came after her. Locking the door behind him and resolving old issue they might have and maybe couldn’t have in the past. Maybe it being Robins leaving to a long mission and him not telling her about that yet. And then making up. It could be them coming out of the dressing room and being under the mistletoe or if you are allowing spicy scenes then that.

✦ warnings — nsfw, exes to lovers, angst, melancholy, hints of jealousy, hints of possessiveness, smut, hand job, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, protected sex, mentions of food, fluff.

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Hearing his name stung. He was the top donor of the night, on behalf of the Wayne family. Damian thanked the host and stood at the podium, scanning the room as he made a speech. Since when did he make speeches?

Your eyes met for a moment. He hesitated, borderline stumbling through his words, but he recovered quickly. He finished his speech with his gaze upward, on the chandelier.

You couldn’t help but follow him with your eyes as he walked down the podium, and immediately wished you hadn’t. A woman threw her arms around his shoulders. He rested a hand on her upper back. You wanted to vomit.

Making your way through the crowd, you followed the path to the changing room. Away from the noise, you heard your elaborate breath just before your ears started ringing.

You took deep breaths. You couldn’t ruin Nova’s perfect job with your makeup for a man who didn’t know what he wanted. Besides, you vowed not to cry over him anymore; the mourning phase was supposed to be over. Clearly.

You stood in front of the full-body, ornate, gold mirror to the right of the vanity. Your reflection assured you that you hadn’t somehow ruined your brand-new velvet dress. Leaning onto the vanity where small ornate mirrors matched, you confirmed your makeup hadn’t moved an inch.

Bringing a hand up to your head, you rearranged your hair a little bit, fiddling with it to fully calm yourself.

“You look stunning.”

Your head whirled to the left upon hearing Damian’s voice. His eyes were on you, but yours were on the closed door behind him.

“What do you want?” The question came out clear, smoothly. You were proud of yourself.

“You.”

How dare he say such a thing months after not fighting for you? On a night he brought someone else as a date to the charity ball he must have known you would attend because Nova’s family always did.

“Hard to believe.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“You are so considerate, aren’t you?”

Damian sighed; gaze unwavering. “This is my attempt at making things right.”

“Five months later.”

“You didn’t want to hear me out before.”

“I don’t think I want to hear you out right now either,” you admitted. You hated the way your voice softened, the fact that he still had some power over the way you felt. “There’s not much you can say that will make it right, Damian. I thought you were smart enough to realize that.”

He stood there for a moment, only gazing at you in silence. You wished he would just turn around and leave, but deep down, you knew it wasn’t his style. Everything that happened, the way the relationship ended, hurt more precisely because you knew him well. He was stubborn, somewhat entitled, and he always got what he wanted one way or another; he wasn’t one for giving up on something at the first hurdle. And yet you hadn’t seen him in five months.

Begging might not have been part of his vocabulary, but you never wanted him to beg. You had wanted him to be honest, to stop hiding things from you. And he couldn’t, he didn’t have it in him to fight for you.

The silence between you stretched, shrinking the room as you stood mere feet away from each other. The chasm between you expanded. You were almost certain he would leave at any moment, perhaps find some sick satisfaction in ruining your night.

Damian’s body twitched forward, as if he were to take a step. He didn’t. Instead, he broke the silence, voice steady, “There’s something I never told you.”

You gazed at him. Fully this time, past the cold demeanor you were trying to feign and past his tense shoulders. “Do I even want to know?”

You needed him to look at you in the eyes and tell you this wouldn’t break your heart all over again.

As if he knew that, and perhaps he did, he added, “It’s not what you are thinking.”

“Okay,” you breathed out. “Talk.”

This time, he stepped forward and walked toward the beige sofa behind the vanity. You watched him through the mirror as he unbuttoned his blazer and sat down. Damian beckoned you to sit with him, patting the empty space beside him.

Despite yourself and all the things you had promised your friends —that you didn’t care anymore, and that you wouldn’t hear him out even if he begged—, you approached. You sat flush against the arm of the camelback sofa, leaving enough space between you. He seemed to take offense yet didn’t dare complain.

“When Alfred told you I was out of the country…” he began, palms flat against his thighs as he looked at you, “he assumed you were aware beforehand. I discussed telling you what I am about to tell you with the family, and they all agreed it would be for the best. My father even suggested it might strengthen our relationship.”

He didn’t let you ask any questions as he continued, “I didn’t have time to tell you. Something came up, I had to leave quickly, and it didn’t occur to me that I wouldn’t be able to contact you once I had taken care of…” he hesitated for a moment, eyes searching your face for any sign of open-mindedness. “It wasn’t supposed to take me a week, and you weren’t supposed to be upset.”

“So you had it all planned? Including how I would feel?” You shook your head in disbelief. He was supposed to make it right, not remind you why you cried for a week straight. “You haven’t even told me why.”

“You know who Batman is.”

You almost laughed at the change of topic. It took guts to derail a conversation he had insisted on starting. “Sure.”

“And Nightwing…”

“Everybody knows we have vigilantes around,” you impatiently reminded him.

He nodded, lifting a hand from his thigh. For a second, as he flexed his fingers, you thought he might place it on your shoulder. His hand stayed in the air, and in any other instance, you would have grabbed it. Damian knew that too. “But no one knows who they are behind the cowl,” he said solemnly.

Your eyes lingered on his hand. “And you do?”

“Yes,” he admitted quietly.

In a way, it made sense. His ancestors basically founded the city, his family probably knew every secret Gotham had ever harbored. Not only that, but Bruce seemed to hold a reverence for Gotham that you had never truly understood but utterly admired.

“That’s cool,” you said, and you meant it. “I just don’t see how—”

Before you could express that vigilantes had nothing to do with your past relationship, Damian blurted, “I’ve been Robin since I met my father.”

“Out of all the things…” His words took a moment to fully register in your brain. You thought you heard him wrong for a split second. “You could be lying right now.”

“Why would I ever lie about this?” he asked. Indignation and hurt laced his voice as he added, “Why would I lie to you?”

“I don’t know.” You turned your head to fully look at him. “It sounds absurd.”

He nodded. He seemed so innocent, looking at you through his long lashes. “I can prove it. I can go as far as to prove where I was that week.”

His words tugged at something inside you, something you liked to pretend wasn’t there anymore. You couldn’t express that, though, you could only stare at him, hoping you would find anything to say. You didn’t.

“I should have told you sooner.”

Yes, he should have. He should have spared you the grief and the countless tears.

And yet you felt like an idiot. How detestable must you have been in his eyes, breaking up with him because he was too busy saving people. “Yes, you should have. I thought…” you trailed off. It wasn’t common for you to not speak your mind around him, to tip-toe around subjects as if he was just any other person. In a whisper, you admitted, “I thought I had done something wrong.”

Damian finally rested his hand on your shoulder, dragging it along your shoulder blades until his arm was around you. “You didn’t do anything wrong, habibti.”

This was cruel. He was so close and so warm. After what you could only describe as an eternal winter that wasn’t even close to being over, after the torturous entirety of what should have been the perfect autumn.

“Were you really going to tell me?”

“I was. And I am not just saying it to appease you.” He knew you so well. Damian drew in a deep breath. His voice became airy, tone lower, “I thought I would never see you again.”

Oh, how much you had missed his voice. “So did I.”

You were supposed to forget about him, to only see him again on TV solely by mistake on a rainy afternoon while visiting your parents.

“You thought? Or were you hoping?”

“I… I don’t know.”

He grumbled.

Shifting to look at him properly, you found yourself at a loss for words. You understood he didn’t want to hear that; you would hate it if it came from him. You just didn’t know if you should apologize for being honest.

“I suppose I would feel the same if the roles were reversed,” he mumbled.

“I wish you had told me,” you admitted in a whisper. It would have saved you many tearful nights and bitter days. And maybe heartbreak as a whole too.

“I was going to.”

“I believe you.”

He cupped your face in his free hand, making you look into his eyes. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

“I have missed you,” he said gently.

“I’ve missed you too.” For a moment, you debated whether to add anything else, but you couldn’t help yourself and elaborated, “It took a lot not to return your calls.”

You hadn’t even dared to block him, pretending you were being the bigger person by simply ignoring his messages and calls, when in reality your heart skipped a beat every single time his name appeared on your screen.

“I wish you had.”

“Would you have told me?”

“Not on the phone.”

You were busy the first few times he called, packing stuff and eventually moving. It had been a good excuse at first, a genuine distraction. Eventually, you had to talk yourself into ignoring his calls, ashamed to admit you wanted him to chase after you, to show that he cared.

In those moments, you had wanted him to feel like you did when he didn’t answer, when you found out he was in another continent because his butler-grandfather figure let it slip when you called in panic.

Now you wondered if Alfred told him how worried you had been, or how quickly you ended the call once his whereabouts were revealed. You cried so much that day. It had already been awful, and you needed Damian. You had wanted nothing more than his soothing voice to tell you everything would be ‘fine’ as he often remarked.

Perhaps you still did.

“I can almost hear you think.”

You huffed half a laugh. He and his need to know everything. “It’s what people do when they are quiet.”

“Is it?” He kinked an eyebrow. “What was I thinking about, then?”

“Knowing you, nothing easy to understand.”

He laughed, shaking his head. You had almost forgotten the melody of that sound. “Wrong.”

“Really?” Your voice carried amusement. It felt like a conversation from simpler times. “Care to share?”

You hated that your eyes zeroed on his lips the moment he started talking, not processing his words; in fact, barely registering he was speaking. You would have embarrassed yourself by only staring if his voice hadn’t once been your favorite sound.

He smiled as he continued speaking. Whatever he was talking about, was as irrelevant to him as it was to you.

His thumb caressed your skin. You hummed, almost like a spoiled cat, and felt yourself lean into his touch before you could realize what you were doing.

“May I kiss you?”

You should have said no, maybe make him work for it a little. But you didn’t want to. His lips were so pink, still so pouty and inviting.

Through a breath intake, you said, “Yes.”

He softly pressed his lips to yours, bringing his arm upward to curl around your neck so he could pull you closer. He kissed you slowly at first, gave you a chance to back out; you could change your mind at any second, it was safe to do so around him. It made you want to kiss him even harder.

Your bottom lip got caught between his pillowy ones, and things clicked like they always had with Damian. You rested your hand on the back of his head, mindful of not ruining his hair.

Damian’s tongue broke through your lips in no time. He removed his arm from your shoulders and snaked it around your middle, bringing his other hand down to your thick waist to guide you into a better position. He hummed on your mouth, kissing you deeper as he held you tight.

You briefly wondered why you had even tried to find somebody else. Not only had they been inadequate at an emotional level, but they couldn’t make you feel like floating with just a kiss like Damian did.

He dragged his lips away from yours, to your jaw first. His hand traveled upward to hold your chin up, and he attached his lips to your neck. You slipped your fingers into his hair, sighing. He smiled against your skin — he had you where he wanted.

In an act of mercy, he didn’t comment on it. He busied himself with covering your neck in kisses. He trailed down, mouth slightly open when it reached the uncovered portion of your cleavage.

You gently pushed him off you. His elaborated breath matched yours. “Not here,” you panted.

“Yeah,” he rasped, “you’re right.”

You stared at each other for a prolonged moment. He kissed you again, briefly, sweetly.

Finding yourself at the vanity once more, you fixed your makeup and re-applied lipstick. Damian stood behind you, hands on your waist, chin on your shoulder.

He ran his palms up and down your velvet gown, reaching your hips before going back up to your waist, and starting over once more.

“What are you doing?”

“Touching you.” His breath tickled your cheek.

“Maybe you should stop.”

“Maybe?” he repeated, incapable of not teasing you.

“Definitely.”

He pressed his body flush to yours, curling an arm around you. The strength of his grip and the weight of his body on your back were oh so familiar.

“Most people must be gone by now,” he said, as if he knew you only needed a little push to be persuaded.

But you couldn’t do that to Nova. “Even worse. What will the few left think when I leave this room with you?”

“That I won tonight. Without competition.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere right now.”

“As long as you don't run away again.”

“Oh, my.” You didn’t think he would notice; much less assume you had run away. “And what will your date think?”

“Emiko isn't my date. Only a friend.” His lips grazed your neck. “She’s Wally’s girlfriend. Remember him?”

You hummed. You remembered sweet and funny Wally. “Well, my date might be looking for me.”

He tensed, taking handfuls of you. “Don't call her that.”

“Why not?”

“You know the implication.” The pout was evident in his voice.

You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing. Damian didn't find it as amusing as you did.

“Go tell her I'm taking you home.”

You hesitated, wondering if Nova would be angry at you for this. Yet, it was what you wanted, so you decided to face the music either way.

You found your dear friend outside the changing room, sat on a leather loveseat —beige and with gold accents, as everything in the venue was— with Damian's friend. They both stared at you intently.

Damian squeezed your plush hip. “I’ll get your jacket.”

Nova pursed her lips. Emiko lifted both eyebrows. You inhaled, about to explain yourself, when Nova interrupted you, “I knew it would happen sooner or later.”

You felt bad that it had been so obvious to everybody but yourself, that your best friend had to put up with your crying and complaining, with your meaningless vows, just for you to fold so easily.

“As long as you're happy… I’m cool with it,” she assured you.

Emiko hadn't taken her eyes off you, as if analyzing you. Her blueish hair was down, contrary to the intricate updo she had donned when Damian made his speech.

“Everyone knew you would give in,” Nova admitted.

“That doesn't make me feel any better.”

“But it’ll make everybody else feel better,” Emiko said in almost an assuring tone. Her voice was sharp, but not devoid of warmth. “He’ll finally shut up about you and let us live.”

Nova giggled and gave you a look that told you it would be the same for your friend group. Somewhat unfair when you didn’t talk that much about him anymore, only when you were in a bad mood, but you understood her point of view.

Damian already had his coat on as he re-joined you, holding your jacket so you would slip your arms in. You did so, avoiding Nova’s and Emiko’s eyes.

“Ready to leave?” he asked.

You nodded. “But Emiko…”

“She can get home by herself,” he said softly, in more of a show of trust in his friend than in attempts to avoid taking her anywhere.

“I can,” Emiko said firmly, “don’t worry about me.”

“She can leave with me,” Nova suggested. “Night’s still young.”

“Don’t get yourselves into too much trouble,” Damian warned. You didn’t know if he was joking or worried. Maybe both.

Nova glared at him jokingly. “You get her home safely, or I swear to God…”

“Yeah, I’ll kick your a—"

“I get it!” Damian interrupted Emiko, then told her, “And you are supposed to be on my side.”

Emiko rolled her eyes. “Just go.”

Damian rested his hand on your lower back, gently nudging you toward the exit. Cold air hit your face, as if you needed any reminder of just how long winter was running. He fully wrapped his arm around you, physically shielding you from the cold.

Once in his car, he did a double take to make sure you had your seatbelt on and handed you his phone in case you wanted to play some music. Just like he always had done.

Those were the things you missed the most about him, the way he took care of you as if out of instinct, how easily he made you part of his life and imprinted every single aspect of yours. You second-guessed everything when you broke up with him, convinced yourself not a single thing about your relationship had been real.

It now sounded unfair, not only because you knew the truth, but mostly because you had been friends once. Or as close to friends as two people with romantic tension could come to be.

Damian used to take you home when you still lived with your parents, and your only relation to him was a friendship held together by his refusal to get romantically involved with anyone and your hesitance to say anything in case it would make you look uncool.

Your parents loved him. Your mom told you the breakup could only have been your fault, blaming your career choice and the way you dressed. According to your father, you scared Damian off with your eagerness to eat the world, so much so that he claimed you should slow down so it wouldn't happen again with somebody else.

Although you didn't pay their words any mind, you couldn't shake the feeling that they were more a reflection of how they saw their own relationship. They would probably divorce soon or simply grow to hate each other. They didn’t seem to have much in common apart from having raised you and your sister.

Your sister agreed they weren’t good for each other anymore, but the fallout wouldn’t touch her. She moved to Colorado because of her partner, and her love for them was stronger than her hatred of the dry climate.

"I moved," you blurted out, suddenly scared he would take the old way, the short one, the one that led to a house that was never a home.

"I heard." A couple seconds later, he clarified, "I saw the photos on social media. The ones Melissa posted."

You held a decorating get-together when you moved. Friends had come and gone throughout the day, helping with different things. You ended up changing most of those things eventually, but you weren’t alone that day, and that was all that mattered.

Neither of you said it, but both of you knew it should have been Damian hanging artwork in your living room and talking you out of hot pink wallpaper for the bedroom.

You gave him the address, and when he pulled into the parking area designated for visitors, you expected him to wish you a good night. It didn't make sense, you knew his intentions, and Damian wasn't the type to simply drop you off. Still, you braced yourself for a goodbye that didn't come. Not in the elevator, not in the middle of the hallway, not as you reached apartment 37.

His breath was on your neck, your hand in his. The cold light in the hallway didn’t have time to bother you, and the carpet-less porcelain floor was a mere afterthought as Damian stood flush to your side while you unlocked the door.

His strong cologne filled the living room, masking the air freshener you took so long to pick at the grocery store.

Damian looked around, taking note of the lack of photos as decoration and the empty space near the window. It didn't take him long to set his eyes on you. Extending an arm, you offered to take his coat.

The empty closet welcomed the coat in, and if anybody asked you, it looked full now. You hated thinking such things, hated that he was what your life had been missing. But things clicked, living by yourself wouldn't be so lonely if he stayed the night from time to time, going out with friends would be more fun if you could call him drunk to tell him you love him without worrying that you'd sound pathetic, and the boring job you accepted to shut your parents up would be oh so bearable if you knew you would get to see him at the end of the day even if it was just through a video call.

You grabbed Damian by the face and kissed him, jacket halfway down your arms. His hands immediately settled on your waist; he used his grip as leverage to lean in, slotting his nose against yours.

Contrary to his eagerness from earlier, he kissed you tenderly. Everything slowed down — well, everything but your heartbeat.

You didn't think you would ever get to kiss him again. You had mourned this, his warmth, the sighs he let out every time you played with the short hairs on his nape… being this intimate with him.

“I missed you,” he said against your lips. You didn't get to tell him, again, that you had missed him too; he kissed you harder, squeezing your pliant body as a reminder that he could, that you were there.

Your arms were tight around his neck. It was such a familiar kind of kiss —one of those you would share in your childhood bedroom while your parents were out, or in the tiny kitchen of the apartment you used to share with the roommate you had a fallout with in college—, not too heated, but not chaste enough to be considered innocent.

“Wanna move to the couch?” you asked.

He hummed, slowly moving away from you. Damian sat on the blue couch as if he had done so many times before, watching you take your jacket off and hang it with his coat. You walked toward him, debating whether you should take your heels off already or not.

His hands reached over for you, grabbing you by the hips and pulling you between his legs. You shook your head, trying not to laugh. Lifting his eyebrows, he asked, “What?”

“Nothing.” You ran your fingers along the silky lapels of his suit jacket. “You’re as forward as ever.”

“And you look incredible tonight.”

“It’s a very nice dress.”

“I do have an inclination for the model.”

You let out a tiny laugh, face warm — you were more flattered than abashed, and either way, Damian got the satisfaction of so quickly finding out not much had changed.

Kissing him again, before he could gloat about his —and only his— ability to make you feel special, you felt him slowly trace your sides up and down. His lips moved with yours in sync. You missed kissing him like this, like the world would end if you stopped for whatever reason.

There were many things you would have liked to convey in the kiss. None of them would come close to simply kissing him, though — there would, hopefully, be time to talk things out. You slipped your hands between his suit jacket and his shirt, smoothing the shirt with your palms as Damian slipped his tongue past your lips.

You removed his suit jacket; sure he wouldn't care if it got a crease or two. He was warm, even though you just now realized you hadn’t adjusted the thermostat. Not that you needed to make the room warmer, his hands all over you were enough.

Whichever spell he cast to make the apartment his own by simply stepping inside only intensified as you moved to your bedroom. Lust overpowered his curiosity, and instead of looking around, perhaps making a comment about the floral bedding, he coaxed you onto the bed.

You pulled him on top of you, kissing him once more. Damian didn’t deny you, but his hands didn’t stay put. He couldn’t help but seek some kind of control, touch heavier and rougher as he explored your body. His warm mouth almost swallowed yours, reminding you exactly why you hadn’t been able to replace him.

Softly, you pushed him off, chest heaving up and down as you breathlessly explained, “It’s getting toasty in here.”

Damian dazedly nodded.

You sat up, prompting him to crawl backward and stand up. He insisted on being the one to take your dress off, careful not to ruin it in his eagerness.

With the velvet garment aside, he made a motion to push you back onto the bed, but you reached over to grab the collar of his shirt before he could.

He kept his hands busy by tracing your figure, slowly, eyes up to watch your face as you unbuttoned his shirt.

A scar on his shoulder caught your eye, darker than his skin. It ran from the top of his shoulder to his pec, fading out mere millimeters above his nipple.

His touch faltered as you stared. You opened your mouth, stuttering as you found yourself torn between assuring him there was nothing wrong with it and the desire to ask what had happened.

“Later,” he said, withdrawing his hands from your body so he could fully discard the shirt.

You found more scars as your hands and eyes wandered, and now his preference for semi-clothed sex and dimmed lights made sense.

“Will you tell me about these too?” you dared to ask softly.

He didn’t hesitate to say, “Yes.” He even sounded relieved.

His touch resumed, and soon, the kissing did too. You dragged your hands down his torso where you found tiny scars and fading marks; you followed the pattern of some with the tips of your fingers, just by feel as you kissed.

Damian’s hand traveled up to your chest. He traced the decorative lace of your strapless bra and looked up at you. Something muddied his gaze, but he didn’t utter a single word. He pulled your bra down, freeing your breasts from the black cloth, and settled his hands on them.

You played with the waistband of his trousers, hooking your fingers In one of the loops holding his belt. The air got knocked out of you as Damian’s hot mouth made contact with your breast, derailing your attempts at teasing.

He sucked on your breasts, taking his time with each one, until he took one of your nipples into his mouth. You didn’t get to remind him not to leave marks, and you only had half a mind to thank the universe that winter was in full swing, and you had no reason to show that much skin in general.

Gripping his thigh, you shifted so you could reach properly without pushing him off you. But you still struggled to unbuckle his belt.

“Do you need help?” he asked, adopting a teasing tone.

“You think so?”

Damian huffed a small laugh, then went back to peppering kisses all over your breasts for a moment, just to see your impatient reaction. When you purposefully whined in frustration, he suppressed a smile and stood at the end of your bed to unbuckle his belt and undo his pants.

As he kneeled back on the bed, coming up briefly to kiss your lips once more, he dropped his hands onto your breasts and gently groped them while he peppered kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

Reaching over for his thighs, you found yourself frustrated as you struggled to focus on what you wanted because of his touch and kisses. If he knew he was making things harder for you, and therefore for himself, by not letting you focus on touching him, he didn’t have it in him to complain.

You twisted your body on the bed, trying to find a better angle. Damian stopped for a moment at that, allowing you room to get more comfortable.

Your gazes crossed as you grabbed a pillow to prop your head up. He gazed at you with such intensity that you had to fight a shiver as his blown-wide pupils followed your movements.

Damian held your gaze as your hands found their way to his thighs, fingers brushing the hem of his briefs. It wasn’t your intention to tease him now, or to do anything other than touch him for that matter.

“Can I?” you asked.

He nodded. “You can do whatever you want.”

Your pulse quickened at his words, blood pumping and rushing as you processed the implications of what he said. Hooking your fingers into the waistband of his briefs, you pushed them as further down as they would go.

Tracing the insides of his thighs, you fought the urge to move too quickly. His eyes never left yours, not as your fingers ghosted the base of his cock, and definitely not when you dared run your thumb along the head.

You gently wrapped your hand around his shaft, grip loose and fingers barely moving as you felt the weight and girth in your grasp. You started stroking him slowly, not once looking away from him. In some ways, it felt like it was the first time you were truly intimate, with the lights on, skin against skin.

He leaned into you, subtly driving his hips forward to get more contact. You tightened your grip around his shaft at that, still stroking him slowly but more firmly now.

His hands trailed down to your torso, stopping momentarily to tenderly pinch your belly. You let out a breathy laugh, prompting him to squeeze you more firmly.

“Keep it slow,” he gently instructed whilst he began to pull down your tights. “I’m going to get you ready.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” you admitted, voice coming out thick.

He pulled down your tights, moving away from your touch to tug on them and slip them off your feet. Throwing the tights onto the floor, Damian kneeled beside you on the bed, resting his hands on your thick thighs, squeezing as much of their flesh as his hands could take.

Your strokes on his cock resumed while he kneaded at your hips. He discarded your panties too. His eyes raked up and down your body, drinking you in as his hands rested on your hips for a moment, fingers digging into different spots on your lower belly, hips, and thighs, hands traveling lower.

He sighed softly as your hand moved a little faster. His own fingers reached your slit, parting your lips and gathering the slick evidence of your arousal. He hummed to himself as his fingers caressed every crevice of your pussy, as if he had never touched you before.

Damian didn’t comment on the fact that you had been right and getting you wet wasn’t needed, and instead pushed your legs further apart with his forearm, fingers still roaming your folds. He looked down, almost entranced, index grazing your clit.

Your breath hitched, your fist closing tighter around his cock by mere reflex. He let out a groan, dragging his fingers down to tease your entrance as you slowly pumped his cock in your fist.

His eyes didn’t leave your pussy as his middle finger entered you slowly, gently exploring, caressing, with no intentions to truly finger you.

Damian used his thumb to trace your inner labia, careful not to approach your clit. He looked almost relaxed, sighing under your touch as your fist massaged his cock, keeping it hard as it started to throb.

And yet he moved away from your grasp.

You watched as he kneeled on the soft rug that framed your bed. He just followed the movement of his fingers with his eyes for a couple seconds, making you sigh partly in arousal and mostly in utter desperation.

He withdrew his hand and leaned forward to lick a long stripe through your folds, bringing his hands to rest on your thighs and keep you from closing your legs. Your breath got caught in your throat, stuttering between a moan and a gasp.

You wanted to remind him that he didn’t have to eat you out, or finger you, that you were more than ready for him to take you. But you didn’t dare, not when doing so would entail admitting out loud that you had yearned for this, that you were perhaps a little desperate to have him inside you again.

Damian moaned as his tongue traced your folds in the same way his fingers had, teasing your clit with only the tip of his tongue until he himself grew impatient and started sucking on it.

“Slow down or I’m gonna—"

He interrupted you by grazing your clit with his teeth, extracting a moan from deep within you. Lifting his head so you could hear him, he explained, “I don’t have condoms on me.”

“There are some on the nightstand if you want.”

His grip on the flesh of your thighs tightened as he rose, staring at you with dark and sharp eyes. He made no other comment, no gesture, as his hands left your thighs and he moved toward the nightstand to open the drawer.

He took the open box of condoms out and dropped it next to your reading lamp once he had taken a foil packet out.

You watched as he tore the foil with his teeth, eyes following the path of his hands as he grasped his cock with one hand and unraveled the condom down his length with the other.

Damian kneeled between your legs. “What do you want?”

“You,” you answered simply. It was obvious.

“Be more specific,” he commanded.

You didn’t know where it was coming from, what made him switch to being more dominant. It was a side of him you had only seen glimpses of, but you weren’t about to complain. At all.

“I want you inside me, Damian.”

One of those, you didn’t know which one, seemed to be the magic word.

He pushed into you, looking up at your face for signs of discomfort. Slowly, he pushed his hips forward, giving you time to adjust to every inch. Once he was fully seated inside you, he came up to hover over you with his forearms at each side of your head.

“Ready?”

“Yes.” You sounded a little too eager for your liking.

He drove his hips backward, then forward, tentative for the first few thrusts. You tried to breathe through your nose, much like he was doing, but you had never learned to control your breathing nor your eagerness.

“I missed this.” His voice came out broken, strained, as he found a suitable rhythm for his thrusts.

“Uh-huh,” you hummed in agreement, eyes lidding closed as pleasure overcame you.

“Look at me, angel.”

He rested his hand on your throat, not applying any pressure nor closing around it at all, merely a reminder that you were to look up at him. This was the closest you would ever come to getting choked by him, you knew it very well, and you reveled in it, in the claim he was staking on you.

Looking at him was harder than it sounded. You just wanted to close your eyes and get lost into him, how well he filled you up, the pleasant stretch of his cock as he pressed into you. Damian stayed still, bringing his hand up to caress your face, encouraging you.

Your eyes finally focused on his handsome face, on his furrowed brow as he concentrated in fucking you deeper. His eyes bore into yours and his thrusts became harsher, quicker, making you gasp and whine.

He pushed himself up, slowing down as he grabbed at your hips. “Don’t close your eyes,” he commanded, “keep looking at me.”

You nodded, not able to speak as the rocking of his hips picked up pace once more. He brought you closer, prompting you to open your legs even more as your ass lifted off the bed. Damian ground against you as he thrust into you, filling your bedroom with the sound of skin against skin, of his groans and your whimpers as each thrust made you clench tighter around his cock, as the lewd sounds of your growing wetness mingled with everything else.

He continued with that pace, kept your eyes locked as a thin layer of sweat coated his unblemished face. His grip on your hips, vice-like, as if holding onto you was the only thing tethering him to Earth, didn’t falter for anything. But he didn’t have everything under control; his jaw was clenched, eyes wild as they stared into yours. Sounds of pleasure inevitably escaped him, groans and sighs — he had never been one for dirty talk, and in all honesty, the sight before you was enough to get you closer and closer.

One of his hands let go of your hip, traveling inward to your mound. He touched you gently, in contrast to his thrusts, until his fingers grazed your engorged clit. You moaned, and he smiled, making a sound through his nose. Slowly, Damian started to rub your clit, focused on your pleasure in an almost sobering way.

His eyes left yours for a moment, dropping to your form as he pleasured you, watching the gentle bounce of your breasts and the jiggle of your soft curves.

“Don’t stop,” you told him, almost scared he would somehow change his mind.

He didn’t stop, but for a moment, his touch became gentler. The pressure of his fingers against your clit bordered on reverential and the pointed thrust of his hips, earlier methodical, turned into another way of caressing you.

It wasn’t just sex, and you briefly wondered if he felt like this was the first time too, if in some way, he wanted it to be special. You didn’t dare to ask, and he didn’t let you either, leaning his body forward as he watched, as he touched, as he fucked you.

“Like that?” His voice, strained and deep, gave you goosebumps.

You hummed, knowing you would blurt something silly if you opened your mouth. He seemed to know, perhaps he even knew what you would say if you let yourself use your words. Once again, he had mercy on you and instead of commenting on it, on letting it taint the moment, he focused on giving you pleasure, on getting himself closer until his cock pulsated against your tightening muscles, until your gazes found each other out of instinct as your stomachs turned into knots.

He came first, stilling for a moment as he dropped his forehead onto your chest, fingers limp against your clit. He gasped, a shudder ran through him, and he briefly closed his eyes. When he opened them and looked up at you, chin resting on the valley of your breasts, he resumed rubbing your clit, watching your reactions intently, trying to gauge if he should do anything differently.

You found it in yourself to grind against his fingers, making him hiss. His softening cock, still inside you, throbbed at the movement. He pulled out and removed the condom, tying it up before delving into your pussy without warning.

His lips captured your clit, hands coming up to grope your breasts and play with your nipples as he ran his tongue through your folds, drinking you up instead of tasting you. You clenched around nothing, so close already that you grabbed his head and ground against his pretty face, doing your best not to clamp your legs shut as to not asphyxiate him.

Damian sucked on your clit, flickering his tongue against it every time you ground onto his mouth. He didn’t stop until you came, not when your body tensed up, not even when your whimpers turned into moans as your legs started trembling.

His mouth stayed there, attached to your clit, for as long as you came and then some. He ran his tongue through your folds to clean you up, then left a trail of kisses all over your labia.

You breathlessly looked at him as he laid on his side next to you, hands lingering on your chest.

He leaned in and kissed you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, still catching your breath.

You turned on your side to fully face him. His hand moved up to rest tenderly on your neck, giving you enough space to breathe. You couldn’t help but give him a small smile.

“I’m gonna clean up, okay?” you said gently, trying to somehow assure him you weren’t kicking him out.

He nodded, watching your every move as you rolled on the bed to sit up.

By the time you were done cleaning yourself up and had slipped one of the pairs of cotton panties you kept in the bathroom, Damian had already picked up the scattered clothes off the floor. He stood at the foot of your bed, briefs back on, as he typed something on his phone.

Feeling your presence, he locked his phone and dropped it onto the bed. “I brought you a glass of water,” he said, pointing at a glass on the bedside table.

You walked toward a dresser and pulled out a t-shirt. “Thank you.”

He sat on the bed, watching you put the t-shirt on. As you sipped on the glass of water, he leaned back, resting his weight on his arms.

Your eyes fell on his chest, once again on the long dark scar. You set the glass back down onto the bedside table and nodded upward. “Did it hurt?”

Damian blinked rapidly, then nodded. “It did.”

Frowning, you reached over, caressing the portion of the scar on his shoulder. You were at a loss for words. What does one say when the person they love admits having been in pain? And what does one do when the evidence of said pain is so tantalizingly fascinating?

“Does it bother you?” he asked quietly.

“The scar?”

“That I might get hurt at any given moment,” he clarified.

Your eyes searched for his at that. What did he want to hear? And what were you willing to put up with for him? “I find it worrying,” you said apprehensively. “It shouldn’t be your responsibility.”

“But it is.”

“But it is,” you echoed, somewhat resigned. There was no way you would change his mind, and a part of you didn’t want to. This was the real Damian you were seeing, perhaps for the first time in your life.

“Can you deal with that?” His voice carried genuine curiosity. And something more, something vulnerable and rooted deep. “If we…”

You huffed a laugh, not trying to make fun of him of course, but almost incredulous that Damian from all people would doubt himself like this. “If we get back together?” you finished his sentence.

He nodded. “I want you,” he said, as forward and direct as ever, “but I cannot abandon that part of my life for you.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

He stared at you, analyzing you, as if seeing through you. Straightening up, he reached over to grab your hand. “I know. But you might later.”

Even though he knew better than you for the simple reason that he wasn’t new to this, you frowned, almost pouting. Your curiosity got the best of you, and you asked, “What makes you say that?”

“I’ve seen it happen.”

“Well, I wasn’t there.”

Intertwining his fingers with yours, he pleaded, “Don’t get defensive.”

You squeezed his fingers. “All I’m trying to say is that it’s unfair to assume things about me when the parts that might affect me didn’t bother me before.” Perhaps you were getting a little defensive, but you had never done well compared to other people, much less to people you didn’t know. “I’m not saying it was easy,” you added, “but I dealt with it when I didn’t know why you disappeared, or why you didn’t answer my calls, or why you cancelled plans almost every time.”

His gaze softened. “You thought it was your fault.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, somewhat ashamed now that you knew the full truth. “It’s nice to know I was wrong, I guess.”

He huffed. “You guess.”

“Well it’s not nice to be wrong, but in this case… not that bad.” A sudden shiver ran through you. “I’ll adjust the thermostat. Do you want some tea?”

Damian nodded, reaching over for his button-up.

You paused. “If you want something warmer, there are sweatshirts in the closet.”

He dropped his shirt and in two strides reached your closet. You let him be as you padded your way to the thermostat.

With the temperature adjusted and the kettle on, you came back into your room in search of some socks. Damian was laying on your bed, wearing a black sweatshirt too big for him, as he looked up at the ceiling.

Sitting on the bed, you slipped the fuzzy socks on and asked, “Tired?”

“Thinking.”

“Wanna share with the class?”

He rested his hand on your bare thigh, fingers running circles over your skin. “I never considered you might have assumed it was your fault, or that I wasn’t as invested as you, or…” Damian trailed off, not daring to finish his sentence.

“I guess you were just focused on your stuff.” You leaned over to look at him better. “It doesn’t matter anymore, Damian.”

He met your eyes. “It does to me.”

Grabbing his hand, you squeezed his fingers. “Come, let’s have some tea. Maybe a snack.”

He sighed. “Fine.” Shimmying closer to the edge of the bed, he waited for you to stand up before doing the same.

“Want a pair of fuzzy socks?” Before he could answer your question, you handed the socks to him and dropped his hand.

He was quick to put the socks on. “These feel nice,” he said as he stood.

“Right?” You grabbed his fingers and led him into the living area. “I found them by mistake looking for a sweater.”

“Did you find the sweater?”

You made a face and shook your head. “Too small for me.”

As the tea steeped, you went through your pantry and pulled out some snacks you found. Damian read the ingredients in each package.

“I never thought I would see the day you’d buy oatmeal cookies.”

You put the packages he had discarded back in place. “I’m trying to eat more fiber. And failing.”

“Odd strategy to get your fiber from cookies,” he lightheartedly mocked you, opening the package and taking a whiff of the cookies.

You playfully glared at him, but he was too busy pulling cookies out to see you.

“There’s a gala I have to attend in two weeks.” His tone was casual as he brought a cookie close to his mouth.

“Are you making another speech?”

He lowered his hand, along with the cookie, for a moment. He then gave you a confident smile. “Only if I can show you off throughout the evening first.”

You tilted your head, studying him. A part of you wanted to make a sardonic comment, maybe tease him a little bit, but the flutter in your stomach didn’t allow you to be anything but earnest. “Don’t you think it’s too soon?”

“I see no point in waiting.”

“Not even a little bit?” you pressed. When he lifted his eyebrows at your question, you hastily added, “I mean, what if things go wrong like two days later?”

“Nothing will go wrong.” He took a bite off the cookie, watching you, as if waiting for you to disagree.

“If you’re so sure…” You took a sip of tea, letting the hot liquid linger in your mouth before swallowing. Putting the mug down, you added, “I need to know the dress code, though, I donated most of my fancy stuff.”

“It’s black tie,” he answered simply, eyes on you even as he took a gulp of tea. “Why don’t we go shopping this week?”

You could only stare at him. Your hesitance was irrational, you knew as much, but you were more scared than you were willing to admit.

“Shopping,” you repeated, trying to fill the silence. “Yeah, sounds good.”

Damian put his mug down onto the counter and reached for you, resting his hands on your shoulders, thumbs grazing the base of your neck. Leaning in, he pressed his forehead against yours.

You could see in his eyes that he wanted to say something. Words seemed to fail. He inhaled deeply. Slowly, your hands came up to rest on his waist. Damian closed his eyes, grip tightening on your shoulders until he decided it was better to wrap his arms around you.

Nothing would go wrong.

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x plus size reader #damian wayne x chubby reader #damian wayne smut #plus size smut

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trinitygirlfailuresantos · 8 months ago

Text

a long long time

jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader

pictures from pinterest!!

word count: 2.8k

summary: childhood best friends, who always felt a bit more about each other, finally see each other after 12 years. will all their wishes come true at the Seresin holiday party?

warnings: childhood best friends to lovers! fluff!! cheesy goodness!! no use of y/n but reader does uses she/her pronouns! pet names: sweets, sweetheart, darlin, tiny dancer. no looks are given besides an outfit!

an: this is heavily inspired by ‘Its been a long long time’ by harry james! definitely recommend listening to it while reading! can you guys tell i love when people dance together as a form of intimacy? thank you to my friends who have no clue who jake is, who proofread this. & thank you guys for all the love on my other two fics! this is incredibly new to me so to see that people like the stories is really amazing. thank you. likes, comments, and reblogs are deeply appreciated!!

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Growing up, Jake Seresin was always by your side. Jake’s mom and your mom were best friends, meaning the two of you were destined to be in each other’s lives. Of course, you two went through the phases of disgust when one of you thought the other had cooties, but they never deterred your friendship. When you would fall off your bike and cry because you scraped your knee, Jake would immediately be by your side. Jake’s PeeWee football games never had a silent crowd, of course not. Little you would be right there next to his parents, screaming the loudest for him. A dance recital, nervous about your performances? Don’t worry, Jake would be right there in the front row next to both of your families, with a bouquet of your favorite flowers.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

High school hit, and Jake became the star football player who girls and guys alike pined after. You on the other hand were a quiet theater kid, dancing still, and leading the school newspaper. Despite running in different social circles, you two were still attached at the hip. The sharp stares you received from girls who wanted Jake would burn into your head, but you never let that affect your friendship. The free time you two had was spent with each other, taking long drives when you needed to clear your head, watching new episodes of TV shows you both enjoyed, and studying together. There has always been a hint of something more between you two, but out of fear of ruining things, you never made a move. Although, there was a time during your senior year when the possibility of being something more didn’t seem as distant. You two had just taken a long drive to a field in the middle of Texas to watch the sunset. It was then that you two shared your first kiss, and then it was over, and neither of you brought it back up. You knew you had feelings for him. That wasn’t even a question. But those feelings would not outweigh your friendship, you’d rather have him in this way, than in no way at all.

When Jake got into the Naval Academy, you were ecstatic for him. He had been dreaming about getting out of here since you were little tots, and now he had his out. You got into a school an hour away for Broadcast Journalism, and he was just as excited for you. When you told him, he picked you up and spun you around, both of you reminiscing on the days when he would play with his model planes and you would pretend to report every little thing that was happening around you two. Graduation day came and went, and soon you were getting ready to send Jake on his way to Maryland.

“Don’t forget me when you become a hot shot pilot mister.” You said to him with tears in your eyes. He looked back at you with something that could only be described as melancholy and kissed your forehead, “I could never forget you tiny dancer. Plus we can still keep up with each other, and I’ll see you over the holidays!”

You two kept up with each other for the first two years of your college time, but communication became scarce. He didn’t come home for the holidays, you couldn’t blame him though. He finally got out of there, he was doing what he always wanted to do. Communication between the two of you completely went away during your junior year. You’ve kept up with him through your parents and his, and to say you were proud was an understatement.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It’s been 12 years since you last saw Jake Seresin. You would be lying if you said you didn’t think about him a lot of the time. After you graduated from UT at Austin, you moved back home and started to work at the local news station as an Anchor. Your free time is spent with friends, going out to bars, or just brunch together. They always hound you about finding a guy, “Come on!! You’re single, hot, and an amazing person!” “You can’t just sit here all night, come meet Tyler, I promise you’ll like him! Please?” You knew they had good intentions, with their bright smiles and kind words. So you tried. You would go out with who they wanted you to, but every time, it felt as though something was missing. You knew what was missing, you just didn’t want to admit it. Seasons change but you don’t think your feelings for those

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The holiday season is always your favorite time of year. From October to January, you feel lighter. Walking around to see decorations everywhere, families laughing together, and hot apple cider to warm the now-cold Texas air. Work is busy, but you can’t complain, you love your job. Recently you covered a story about a baker and her husband who had just celebrated the 30th anniversary of their bakery by having the cutest reindeer cookies and a huge cake for everyone who may want a slice.

Tonight is the annual Seresin family Christmas party, and just like every other year, you hold on to hope that Jake will be there. You know it’s a stretch, but you can’t help but be hopeful.

You bought a new outfit just for tonight, a red cable knit sweater, a black mini-skirt with black transparent tights, and black leather boots that went up to your calves. After adding some touch-ups to your makeup, you decided you were ready to go, grabbed your purse, and headed towards the Seresin’s house. It was about a 5-minute walk from your new place, which is quite convenient, and you spent the entire walk with your head in the clouds, daydreaming about the pilot who stole your heart all those years ago.

Walking into the house you spent so much time at as a child, a sense of warmth feels you. The entire house smells like freshly baked cookies, Christmas lights twinkle along the hallway, and the sounds of laughter and soft Christmas music fills your ears. Mama Seresin sees you and you are immediately engulfed in a hug that could probably fix anybody who is on the receiving side of it. “Oh my goodness look at you!!! You get more beautiful each time I see you.” You felt your face heat up instantly, shying away a bit from her kind words. “Thank you mama Seresin. I’m happy to be here again, happy holidays.” She pulled back and had an incredulous look on her face.

“Thank me?? Sweetheart, you are welcome at this house any day, any time. Make yourself at home, tonight should be a wonderful night.” She winked at you and left you standing there in the entryway.

After making your rounds, you grabbed yourself a drink and sat on the couch watching “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation” with one of Jake’s sisters. She kept looking over at you with a sly smirk on her face so you snapped, “What is going on with y’all tonight? First your mama winks at me, Elizabeth said she was ‘So excited’ for me tonight, and now you can’t stop looking at me like the cat who caught the canary! So what is going on?” With an exasperated look on your face, you fully turn to look at her. Charlotte just slides off the couch and smiles, “We’re just happy to see you and we are hoping you have a great time tonight.” With the cryptic answer said, she walks away leaving you to sit there in your skepticism.

After an hour or so, everyone has made it and dinner is about to be served. At least you thought everyone had made it, that is until you hear a knock on the door. Mama Seresin rushes to open it, and you lean over the arm of the couch to see who it is. You can’t tell if it's the winter air or who you see standing there, but a chill runs down your spine. In all his glory, Jake Seresin is standing there with several suitcases and a bright smile on his face. Taking him in, you notice he’s grown into himself in the last 12 years, His sandy blonde hair isn’t as long, he’s filling in the brown button-up shirt very nicely, and he’s grown at least 3 inches since you last saw him. He’s still got his cowboy boots on and a smile that could light up a room, so not everything has changed. Finally, you look back up to his face, and you lock eyes with the man who has never left your mind.

You stand, mouth agape, and the two of you finally make your way to each other. You meet in the middle of the entryway, and as soon as his arms are around you it’s like everybody and everything fades away. You stay there in the comfort of each other’s arms for a few more seconds and when you finally pull away, the sounds from the rest of the house fade back in. Looking at each other, you feel a warmth creeping up your neck, the chill from earlier has fully disappeared. “Hi,” you said with a shy smile as you fiddle with the cuff of his sleeve. “Hi sweetheart,” he replies with the kindest smile you’ve ever seen. The moment is broken when someone clears their throat behind you, “Dinner is ready.” You turn and see the Seresin women standing there with smirks across all of their faces. Looking back at Jake you realize he’s got a scowl on his face, and you just giggle a bit. At the sound of your giggle, he looks back at you, the scowl being replaced with a shy smile, “We can talk after dinner?” You nod your head and make your way toward the dining room.

Dinner is the most delicious thing, but you would never expect anything less from Mama Seresin. She always cooks things with love, which makes things 10,000 times better. Once you get turned away from helping with dishes, you make your way outside to get some air. It’s a bit chilly, the backyard is decorated with lights strung across the way, the music from inside the house carries softly across the yard although it’s muffled, and stars are shining so bright in the night sky. You see a plane fly across the sky and you huff out a laugh, realizing your dreams of seeing Jake again, came true tonight. At least you know why the family acted so odd tonight. You take a seat in one of the cushy chairs sat up in the backyard, and stare up at the sky.

Surely Jake didn’t know you were gonna be here tonight, Has he changed a lot? Did he miss you as much as you missed him? Was your pining so obvious to everyone that they sat this up? Your mind starts spiraling with thoughts, and a bit of nervous tension sets in as you sit out there. The music gets less muffled for a second, meaning someone has just opened the back door, but it’s quickly snuffed back out. You don’t bother to turn your head, your mind is busy with so many questions. In your peripheral, you see the man on your mind take a seat next to you. He looks up at the sky and you can feel the nervousness roll off of you both as you sit there.

You turn to look at him, right as he turns to look at you, and you both sit there taking each other in for a second. “So-” “It was-” You both start trying to talk simultaneously and once you realize, you both start giggling. You nod your head to tell him he can go first, and with a shy smile he rubs the back of his neck and says, “It was nice to see you again sweetheart, I was really hoping you’d be here.” That warmth from earlier creeps back up your neck, and you smile softly at him. “I was hoping you’d be here too cowboy.” You both just sit there with smiles, and after a few beats of silence you add quietly, “I missed you.” What you could only call longing, flashes in his eyes, before he smiles at you, “I missed you too tiny dancer.”

The two of you fall into easy conversation. He tells you all about the Naval Academy, and how he is the “best of the best,” which you don’t doubt. Once he sets his mind on something, he doesn’t give up. You learn he’s living out in San Diego, but he constantly misses the Texas skyline. You tell him all about your experience at UT at Austin, and how your job at the local news station is going. You both continue just telling each other what you’ve both missed out on.

At some point, the conversation shifts to relationships. You take a deep breath and ask, “So do you have anyone special waiting for you back in California?” He takes a minute to just look at you before responding, “No sweetheart, I don’t. Do you have anyone missing you tonight?” You let out your breath at the word “no,” and chuckle. “The only person missing me tonight is my fish, Mr. Speckle.” He throws back his head and barks out a laugh at that, before looking back at you with a wide smile. It shifts to a bit of an apprehensive smile before he asks, “Is there any reason? You’re a gorgeous girl who is amazing sweetheart, I’m sure guys are lining up for a date with you.”

You knew you could try and lie to him, but he knows you too well. He would immediately figure you out, so you shake your head and respond truthfully. “I’ve tried over the years. But every single time, it didn’t feel right. Something was always missing. It took me a while to realize what that was.”

“And what was that?” His face is a bit more hopeful now, or maybe you’re just going crazy. After a moment of just looking into his eyes, you turn to fidget with your sweater and finally speak. “They weren’t you Jake.” It came out softer than you thought it would. The silence surrounds you like a suffocating room, and panic starts to claw its way up your throat.

You’re about to apologize profusely when Jake finally speaks. “That’s why I don’t have anyone waiting for me sweets. They weren’t you. The gorgeous girl I’ve known since diapers, who has always been so caring. Who put others before herself. The girl who knows me and my family, and still chooses to be around us.” You stare at him with wide eyes, trying to absorb everything that was just said. Softly, you reply, “I will always choose you, Jake. The boy who didn’t let me go to bed upset. The boy who constantly cheered me on in everything I did. The boy who set his sights on something and chased it. ” Your chest feels lighter, while your heart beats at a lightspeed rate.

Looking at Jake, he has a boyish grin on his face, rubbing the back of his neck again. In the blink of an eye, he is in front of you with his hand held out. You look at him like you’re considering your options for a second, just to make him sweat a bit, but ultimately you take his hand with an affectionate smile. He pulls you close and wraps his arms around your waist, your arms going around his neck, playing with the collar of his shirt. The two of you dance to the muffled music coming from inside, under the twinkling lights of the backyard you’ve spent so much time in over the years. You look up at him to find him already staring at you. He’s got a look of love in his eyes, and you’re sure he sees the same look in yours.

“So can I take you out tomorrow sweetheart? I should’ve asked you that years ago.” He asks with a smirk across his lips. You mirror his smirk as you respond, “You sure can cowboy. We have a lot of time to make up for.” You both slowly lean in, and your lips meet in a short kiss that makes fireworks go off in your stomach. You both pull away, but that one kiss isn’t enough. The two of you share another short kiss, before breaking out into a long deep kiss. He dips you a bit with this one. Everything you’ve ever dreamed of has come true under the twinkling lights. You’ll have to make sure to send the Seresin women some cookies and flowers for planning this.

From inside the house, the Seresin family is silently cheering. They’ve watched both of you pine after each other for so long, they knew y’all just needed a bit of a push in the right direction.

#jake hangman fic #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman imagine #jake seresin #top gun hangman #top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin #hangman x reader #hangman imagine #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin x you #jake seresin fanfiction #tgm #tgm fic

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targaryenfelikayt · 2 months ago

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Little wedding stories. |Boys from horror|

wc: 5, 049 summary: short one-shots about touching, chaotic and sometimes imperfect wedding moments, where love still wins. tags/warnings: hurt/comfort, established relationship, brideandgroom, soft, domestic fluff, lots of horror romance. Notes: ten days and nights was written especially for you💋

Bo Sinclair.

You were flipping through an old magazine with a hint of melancholy. Today was your last day as a free woman, not because Bo Sinclair had decided to lock you in the garage basement again, but because tomorrow, at the altar, you'd say the cherished "I do." Your friends and family had suggested throwing a bachelorette party with a stripper jumping out of a cake, but you had chosen to spend the night quietly, setting your mind on the right track.

The wedding dress stood in the corner on a mannequin from a nearby tailor's shop Bo had long planned to repurpose. Your shoes and jewelry lay on the vanity, and the lingerie, fit for a real princess (or her sinful version, as your best friend had said), peeked out from a paper bag. You checked everything again, as if physical objects could suddenly vanish, and then crawled back under the crumpled covers.

For obvious reasons, you couldn’t have the wedding in Ambrose with guests present, so New Orleans became the only viable option for both of you. The city was the place of your first date: romantic kisses with jazz music and alcohol in your veins. As you played the memories of your life together, the good and the bad, you almost didn’t hear the soft ping of your phone under the pillow.

“I thought you changed your mind about marrying me, gorgeous.” The familiar rough baritone made you smile like a fool as you rolled over to check the time.

“Bit late for backing out, don’t you think?” Laughter followed on the other end, mixed with the distant wail of a police siren.

“That’s not for you, is it?”

“Nah, babe...” he chuckled again, cursing someone in the background. “Wanna come downstairs for a minute?”

Ah, so that’s what this was about: Bo was afraid you’d vanish from his life, running off in a swirl of white fabric. He wasn’t afraid of the electric chair for what he’d done, but the idea that the one person he loved could leave him like everyone else in his life, except his family, that terrified him. Maybe that’s why he proposed so quickly, not wanting you to become part of the sad statistics.

“No, it’s time to sleep. I don’t want a single bruise or blemish on my skin tomorrow, and for that, I need rest. I’m sure my bed here is just as comfy as yours.”

He breathed heavily into the phone for a long moment, long enough to make you anxious. But just as you were about to say something, movement in the corner of your eye made you turn toward the window and there he was.

You almost screamed at the sight of your man at the window. Rushing over on trembling legs, your fingers fumbled with the old latch, trying to open it.

“What the hell are you doing? The last thing I need is for you to break something the night before the wedding!” you scolded him like a misbehaving child.

“I can’t sleep in a bed you’re not in. Check under my jacket.”

“Only after I pull you inside, you idiot.”

Taking in a deep breath of cool air, you started dragging Bo’s heavy form into the room. He wasn’t drunk enough to resist, but you couldn’t expect much help either. Eventually, you managed to get him onto the bed. Your attention was then drawn to his two brothers down below.

“Sorry, we couldn’t stop him. After his second beer, he just started whining about how miserable he was, and your relatives wouldn’t have let him in,” Lester said, waving up to you. Vincent only shrugged, silently apologizing for their brother's behavior.

“It’s fine, just get some rest, and promise me you’ll enjoy the wedding tomorrow.”

You turned back to your fiancé, torn between disappointment and pride that, even in his state, he’d climbed to the second floor like a lovesick hero. Bo pulled out a slightly crumpled bouquet from inside his jacket, offering it to you as a peace gesture.

“Sinclair… You’ll go to any lengths to sleep with a beautiful woman.”

“With the woman I love,” he corrected you. “The only one I love.”

Vincent Sinclair.

This morning, the house greeted you with acrid silence that wrapped the whole town. Crickets and dragonflies occasionally broke the strange atmosphere of detachment: you were still part of society, still watched the news, voted in elections, and occasionally went shopping. But as soon as you return to Ambrose, life froze.

The alarm clock on the nightstand reads 10:40. At this hour, you were usually already at work, having washed the breakfast dishes and cleaning somewhere in town. Many buildings lacked care: clean windows, cosmetic repairs, or vibrant flowers on the lawn. By contributing to the town’s upkeep, you could avoid thinking about the creepy wax figures, distance yourself from the feeling that through their sclera, Death itself was watching you (or worms slowly devouring flesh). One place that was unbearable to stay in was the cinema and the church. One visit had been enough to make you tremble for a week afterward.

Vincent noticed. He always noticed. After you break down crying in bed from another nightmare where all the figures decayed into rot, he banned you from going there. The longer you stayed here, the more your psyche changed, became flexible to everything happening around you. But it could still break you, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Maybe this and a hundred other situations made him consider holding the wedding somewhere else. Far from Ambrose and its surroundings. Closer to the ocean. Vincent thought about the honeymoon more often than the ceremony itself, if only because it was a valid excuse to get you out of here. After countless arguments with Bo, who kept saying his brother was signing his own death warrant by letting you roam free, you stopped even getting offended. Who in their right mind would choose to live here? Apparently, only you.

You rolled onto your other side, brushing your hand over the empty but still warm spot. So, he had gotten up recently and was probably downstairs already, maybe packing the last of the things or making breakfast.

An excited anticipation took over you, urging you to finally begin the first day of your trip. First stop: the bathroom. Toilet, quick shower, brushing your teeth, and makeup. The man had dug up an old Polaroid and tons of film, promising to collect every precious shot, ones where you’d want to look beautiful. Besides, when else would you feel like putting on makeup while living in an abandoned town?

When you packed the last bag with random little things and headed downstairs, the first thing you saw were the open doors, through which Bo's grumbling voice could be heard. Judging by the coherent conversation, Vincent was nearby, scribbling answers in his notebook with disappearing ink, one of the modern world’s novelties you had introduced, which stuck around, unlike the child’s magnetic drawing board.

Not wanting to interrupt the brothers, you went into the kitchen where their usual breakfast was already laid out: loads of bacon and eggs with fried bread. Breakfast passed in silence. Finally, you washed your plate and stepped outside, mentally saying goodbye to the shelter you were leaving for an indefinite time. You still hadn’t decided how long the trip would last: a week, a month, half a year. It didn’t matter, if you had each other.

Vincent saw you first, hurried to take your bag, and greeted you with a soft kiss on the cheek, before putting on his mask. Bo, on the other hand, looked grumpier than usual.

"Good morning. Looks like everything’s ready for departure." You addressed them both, but your chosen one couldn’t stop smiling, reaching for your hand again and again.

His older brother snorted at that, slamming the hood shut. To him, all this was nauseating romantic nonsense, likely to trigger either vomiting or rage.

"Be careful with the car. I spent a month fixing it while you two whispered sweet nothings in bed about romantic getaways." he said, tossing the keys straight into your hands and stepping aside.

"Is the only thing you care about is the car?"

Bo adjusted his cap, clenching his jaw. He wanted to say a lot more, but Vincent patted him on the shoulder. The two exchanged a look, an invisible bond between them that no one else could feel or understand.

"Grab the tool kit from the garage too, just in case."

Vincent nodded but first led you to the driver’s seat, patting your thigh. Bo clearly just needed an excuse to send him off. As soon as he was out of sight, Bo turned to you and said.

"If I find out you ran off or hurt him, don’t doubt I’ll find you before the cops even know you’re gone."

Your face twisted. Of course. Only he was allowed to hurt his brother.

"If I wanted to do that, I wouldn’t have waited this long. You need to accept the fact that I want to be with him. I want to try and be happy, however much that’s possible. Is that so hard?"

"You think I believe some city girl would trade a better life for this?" He gestured around. "No way in hell."

"Then you don’t have a choice."

You were silent the whole drive. Hands clenched on the wheel, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes on the window, on the gray fields and sparse trees stretching into the fog like they were disappearing. Vincent watched your profile from the corner of his eye, saw your cheeks still red from the recent fight, betraying more than you wanted to show.

When the car turned off the main road, you stopped at a small gas station, not for fuel, just… to breathe. To give you both space. Vincent circled the car and opened the door, not out of anger, just unsure what to say to keep it from getting worse. He reached out, a hesitant hand, as if afraid his love would push him away. But you didn’t. Finally, he pulled out the notebook.

"Forgive him. He doesn’t know how to be different. I… I didn’t want you to feel unwanted. Especially today."

"It’s not about him," you finally said. "It’s about us. I just… I don’t want you to have to choose between me and your family. It’s not supposed to be like this."

He stepped closer. Cautiously, like he was approaching a wild animal that might bolt. His arms wrapped around your waist, gently, uncertainly. His forehead pressed to your temple, when Vincent felt that if he didn’t hold you now, tears might fall from a face made for museum paintings, not for pain or disappointment. With one hand, he scribbled clumsily:

"I’m not choosing. You’re part of me. Just like he is."

You trembled but embraced him back, holding on tightly, as if only now letting yourself exhale.

"I just… don’t want to be a stranger."

And so, you remained on the roadside, in the dust and wind: two figures hiding in each other, at the beginning of a journey meant to become a new life.

Michael Myers.

The wind swayed the trees beyond the window, sending a colorful swirl of leaves right through the open pane. October had never been your favorite month; it marked the true arrival of cold and endless nights. As usual in the evening, you sat at the table on the first floor, writing a letter.

At first, it seemed like a silly suggestion from your therapist: if you couldn’t speak your thoughts out loud, let the paper do it for you. A small ritual with a strict sequence. Sit down, focus, write, and drop it into the old mailbox, long unused for its original purpose. Thankfully, your house was far enough from the neighbors that you didn’t have to deal with their curious stares.

For a couple of weeks, everything went as usual, the envelopes piled up in their designated spot, and every Sunday, you collected them and stored them in a box. Until they started disappearing the next day. It could have been a group of nosy kids passing by or the old woman on the corner who always peeked out her window when your car drove past. So, you decided to change the timing, hoping to catch the thief and give them a piece of your mind.

Days passed, but you never caught anyone.

One Sunday, while all the neighbors were at church, you threw on a knitted cardigan and walked to the mailbox. Instead of your usual white envelope, there was a new one, slightly yellow around the edges. It made you so nervous and excited that you had no choice but to open it on the spot, forgetting that the person who sent it might be watching from the trees. Inside, there was only a clipped article about national suicide rates. Hilarious.

You never intended to leave this world, you just wanted to let go of the emotional weight. Sitting down to respond, you addressed the stranger directly, explaining that reading someone’s personal diary, even in this form, was unethical at best, and demanded that they stop.

Of course, they didn’t listen. The newspaper clippings were replaced with sketches, cutouts of dresses from women’s magazines (eerily like what you wore that day), and even short letters made from torn-out words. The peak of your strange correspondence came in the form of a ticket to a late-night screening of some old horror movie.

There weren’t just many people that day, there was a huge crowd. It turned out the event was the closing night of a timeless horror film festival, and your seatmates were a college student and a couple of goths. No one approached you before or after the film. You came home disappointed, until the next morning, when you found a brief note in your mailbox thanking you… and a keychain shaped like a blood bag. Very original.

You thought about ending the strange communication, pretending none of it had happened, but… the stranger with the simple signature “M.” read every line you wrote multiple times, always responding with precise questions in return letters. He arranged dates, if they could even be called that, and increasingly sent you small gifts.

A stronger gust hit the window, pulling you from your pleasant memories. Exactly one year ago, on Halloween Eve, Michael revealed himself in the amusement park. Since then, the holiday became not just a symbol of monsters and masks, but the beginning of something far more beautiful.

You were just about to lock the front door when you saw Michael’s figure moving between the tree toward the house. He never made you wait, always arriving at the same time for dinner (one of the hardest human habits to teach him). You opened the door, and he slipped inside quickly, avoiding the attention of any potential passersby, especially since you had made it clear that no one in the neighborhood should be harmed because of him.

“Hi, Mikey, the spaghetti’s still boiling.”

Your lips brushed his cool cheek as you pulled him into the living room, guiding him toward the couch.

“Sorry, I ran out of envelopes. I’ll stop by the post office tomorrow and grab a few for later.”

He nodded, expressionless. After all, this was your personal little ritual, a tribute to the past.

“I wrote down some ideas for our anniversary. You know… a date, and all that. If you want, of course.”

He nodded again, but this time handed you a letter. You felt something inside — could it be that Michael had come up with a place you could go for such an important day? Excited, your fingers tore open at the bottom of the envelope, and everything fell onto the table: a gold ring and three cut-out words:

“Will you marry me?”

Thomas Hewitt.

"Lord Almighty, I look like an unshorn sheep!"

You stared at your reflection in the mirror in horror, as if it were nothing more than a terrible dream. The hairstyle that was supposed to be the epitome of softness and romance had turned into a nest and all because you decided not to waste the morning curling your hair with hot irons and went with countless braids instead.

You and Thomas slept separately the night before the wedding. He was in the basement, due to lack of space, and you were in the familiar double bed. In a place where no one could see the lengths you had to go to just to look beautiful on your own wedding day.

"This can all be fixed. Let's just take a deep breath and calm down."

Your friend, who had taken on the roles of bridesmaid, hairstylist, and makeup artist, received your heaviest glare, one that could either silence or send her fleeing.

"I mean it, honey. The volume will settle down, we’ll take the rest with hairspray, and we’ll pull a few strands back from the front..." She gently led you away from the mirror and settled you onto a wooden chair.

An event meant to be light and joyful was anything but relaxing. First, the thoughts about how to explain to your family the man whose looks and behavior were far from ordinary; then the venue and guest list, which made your eye twitch nervously; and now, the wedding day itself, where nothing was going right. The morning wind had knocked down the arch Thomas built, and Luda Mae decorated, and now your appearance made you question whether becoming a wife was even the right thing.

You were desperately trying not to cry. Where was Thomas? Why wasn't he here? His presence had become so familiar that without it now, you felt even more lost.

"You’re doing great. Want some water?"

Your friend glanced sideways at you as she continued working on your hair.

"I want Tommy."

All she could do was let out a soft sigh. She wasn’t sure how to break it to you gently that your future mother-in-law, despite allowing you two to sleep together under her roof (as she was very eager for grandchildren), had strict old-fashioned views and had forbidden him from seeing you before the ceremony.

"If... if I bring him to you, would that help?"

You nodded quickly, and she had no choice but to give in. She rushed out of the room, and no sooner had the tears begun to sneak back to your beautiful face than a tall, familiar figure appeared in the doorway.

"Tommy!"

Your legs carried you to him the second the door closed. Hewitt wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his lap, sitting awkwardly on a chair far too small for him. His hand gently stroked your wavy hair as he quietly listened to every doubt and anxious word pouring from your lips.

By the end, when you have run out of things to say, you simply hiccup from nerves while fiddling with a button on his black jacket. He reached over, grabbed a pen and a piece of paper from the table, and wrote:

"Just say the word and I’ll call off the wedding."

You frowned.

"But that means we wouldn’t be husband and wife. I’m not saying anything like that. Not in this life or the next."

He nodded and added a small line beneath the first:

"That’s my brave girl."

Even if the words were far from the truth, to him, you were always the best girl in the entire universe.

Jason Voorhees.

He did not want you to stay with him. Did not want you and yet craved you more than anything in the world. What could he give you, being a man… a revenant… a what?

He was not a fairytale monster. He breathed, walked, bled, and suffered like any man. Only silently. Only with a machete in hand. His heartbeat, but inside it, there was only his mother: her voice, will.

Until you came along. Originally, your mortal body was supposed to become fertilizer for the local forest. But something changed in him the moment he realized you were not afraid, you pitied him. And you did not break the sacred rules of Crystal Lake.

“Jason? You are so deep in thought again you missed my story.”

The man blinked, coming back to himself: there you sat in the clearing before him, weaving a flower crown and looking at him with loyal eyes.

“Sometimes I think that mask is just there so I will not know whether you’re listening. Are you bored?”

He quickly shook his head, wishing your voice would keep flowing endlessly. Talk about anything, the weather, the butterflies, maybe even the absurdities of the modern world. He had a lot of gaps to fill.

“Great, because I was just suggesting you get fake documents. A friend of mine’s connected to the whole system, so if you ever wanted to leave this place, or… I don’t know, try something new — a passport could come in handy.”

Voorhees tilted his head, still watching you through the slits of his mask.

“Oh, right. Sorry. It’s a… piece of paper. It proves that you are who you say you are. That you have a name, a photo, a place of birth. With a passport, you can travel the country. Or get married. Or just stop hiding.” You laughed softly, setting the half-finished crown aside. “Well, in your case, it’s more of a cover. Not real — fake. But with it, you could be someone.”

He turned his head. Not sharply, just a little, like an animal not entirely understanding what was being asked of it. Too much new information at once. You had already overwhelmed him with a flood of unfamiliar terms; Jason did not always grasp them.

You looked into his eyes or where they would be, and added, gently, as if afraid to scare him off:

“For example… my husband.”

Suddenly, the world fell quiet: birds scattered from distant branches, the wind stilled, the sun slipped behind a cloud.

And then Voorhees looked away, pulled a container of sandwiches from a woman’s backpack, opened it, and held one out to you. A silent cue to drop the topic, at least for a few minutes.

There was nothing left to do but press your lips together and nod in agreement.

If you were to become his wife, you’d forever bind yourself to this place. The last thing Jason wanted was to keep you here, in isolation, in danger. Crystal Lake was his hunting ground. He had always done his duty here. But people could be just as dangerous as he was. And if they found you… well, he knew too well how that story ended.

“We’ll sit down and figure it out,” you offered. “It’ll feel real, even if it’s… pretend. Only if you want it. If not, we’ll act like this conversation never happened.”

Your fingers clenched the bread, as if it was the only thing keeping you grounded. You lowered your head, not out of fear, but from the quiet anxiety that you might’ve broken the trust of the man you loved with a single phrase.

And then he reached out, and with the pad of his pinky finger, gently touched your bare knee for just a moment.

Maybe.

Voorhees, for the first time, didn’t feel like fleeing back into the shadows. He wanted to stay. Just a little longer. As long as he could.

Art the clown.

A quiet rustling pulls you out of sleep.

Rustle, rustle, rustle.

You crack one eye open, pushing the edge of the blanket off your face: white and black balloons, garlands made of old newspaper clippings with cut-out hearts, dark roses placed in coffins instead of vases. Somewhere, carousel music is playing, like from Silent Hill 3, before suddenly breaking into a screech.

It all feels like one of those strange, feverish dreams.

Art appears, as always, without warning. In a tuxedo, but with an enormous black bowtie… and bloodstains on the collar. Blood has become such a regular feature in your relationship that you’ve stopped asking where it comes from.

He jumps onto your bed, scattering confetti across the unmade sheets.

"Art, you really know how to surprise someone," you say, falling back onto the pillows and rubbing your face.

The temptation to sleep a little longer is strong, but Art is completely against that, he starts tickling you. You twist and turn, bumping your forehead against his chest: solid, cool, with a faint creak of fabric. He doesn’t breathe, but you know he’s far too lively for this early in the morning.

He’s watching you. As always. But this time, it’s not frightening.

"Alright, alright, I’m getting up. What’s the occasion?"

Art suddenly jumps up and points at one of the big balloons floating under the ceiling. Drawn with a black marker are two people: one with a tiny hat, the other in a long dress and veil, both have heart-shaped eyes with little Xs.

"So, it’s a date?" you chuckle quietly, his smile fades instantly.

The clown stares at you, frozen in place. The longer he does, the more unsettling it becomes.

"I was joking, Art, stop."

But he doesn’t move.

"You want to marry me, so you prepared a surprise."

Finally, the clown comes to life again, nodding like a bobblehead. He doesn’t need your consent, just like that day he decided to become a part of your life.

You couldn’t get rid of him, couldn’t say "no", couldn’t hide behind locks or even in a church. Only accept.

The ceremony takes place later in an abandoned amusement park. A clown arch with a sign reading "HAPPILY NEVER AFTER" glows in red neon, smeared —God, let it be ketchup. He leads you to a stage, where the priest is a doll dressed in a vicar’s suit, and the witnesses are mannequins in party hats and outfits made of guts.

It’s all absurd, but you can’t help smiling, he really did try. Maybe his idea of beauty exists in both murder and affection.

When you "exchange vows", he pulls out a notebook and flips through it, finally showing you a single phrase, scrawled in crooked, childlike letters:

"You're art now too."

Pennywise.

You stand in front of the circus tent, pulled straight out of dark literary novels. Robert Grey had a knack not only for dazzling children with his unusual tricks but also for charming women, showering them with so much attention and compliments that they lost their heads, providing the whole troupe with expensive backstage passes just for a few moments of conversation with the owner. You, on the other hand, had always tried to stay far away from this place and everything associated with it, until invitations arrived at your workplace bearing his name: a dark envelope, silky paper, and ink that smelled of caramel popcorn.

History repeats itself.

After that time, Robert unexpectedly slipped into your life, inviting you on numerous dates, lunches, or simple walks, anything to make you happy. The circus was supposed to leave by early autumn, but now it’s October, and he hasn’t even mentioned packing up. Today, there were no calls, only brief messages saying he was busy and would talk later. Then came the familiar letter.

And now, here you are, standing on dry grass, unsure why you're hesitating.

Pulling the fabric aside, you finally take a step into the dimness. The air inside contrasts sharply with what’s outside: dusty, sweet, and stuffy. The half-empty circus, as if pulled from your dreams, is lit by hundreds of candles. Their flames flicker, reflected in old mirrors, where you don't always see just yourself. On the stage stands Robert himself. His hair is slicked back, his black suit perfectly tailored. He stands among red velvet curtains and looks straight at you. There's a calm smile on his face, too wide to be truly human. It's unsettling.

You’ve seen him angry, happy, excited, but never wearing a smile like this.

"Welcome, my dear. Usually, the hall is full of thrilled spectators but tonight is an exception to every rule. Just for you, of course."

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice more members of the troupe emerging from the shadows, watching, perhaps even participating in their director's performance.

"I don't quite understand what's going on, Bob."

He jumps off the stage and approaches you.

"Shhh..." His finger gently presses against your lips, as if that’s completely normal. "Just an unusual date, my style. Now go. We can’t let the star of the evening appear without the right attire, can we?"

The gymnast sisters lead you to a distant dressing room, answering all your questions with a smile, saying that it might ruin the surprise their master had been planning for so long. They work quickly: applying makeup, curling your hair, and dressing you in a silk gown. It clings to your skin like a second layer—dark, with iridescent shades like the inside of a seashell; a sheer cape rests lightly on your shoulders. The moment the delicate fabric touches you, Robert appears behind you, dismissing the girls.

"Aren’t you a wonder?"

Man pins your hair himself, leaving a few strands loose, so he can twirl them around his finger when you're alone later. A ridiculous habit you could never get him to drop.

"I’d love to keep admiring you, but everyone’s waiting. It’s not proper to keep guests waiting too long."

His hand grips your waist slowly but firmly, guiding you out of the room.

"This is a very strange date, Bob. If you wanted to have dinner, you could’ve just said so. I feel like a fool or worse, like a doll that has no say in anything."

He chuckles softly, looking at you as though you’re the only important thing in the universe.

As the red curtain opens before you, you see an arch, the troupe standing with lit candles in hand, and a gentle melody played by a pianist.

This isn’t just a celebration — it’s a performance written just for you.

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littlelovelunette · 4 months ago

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hii you know since first time i read ur works i fell in love with it, darlin

can i request sevika x runway model!reader but make it fluff? Since reader are busy on fashion week, sevika and reader are barely met. One day, when fashion week is over sevika decide to take reader a culinary date because she knows on fashion week reader must maintain her weight, thank you <33

Culinary Date

Contains mentions of starving, dieting and meal skipping, model!r, girlfriend!Sevika.

You had been extra busy with work lately. All the dieting and everything often made you lightheaded because you really needed to watch your weight. Working in the modelling industry definitely wasn't for the weak. Your girlfriend, Sevika, noticed this. She always noticed even the slightest little change in you.

A perfume swap, a new earring or even just new shoes— she'd point it out and chances were high she'd compliment you on it. "Baby, when can we meet again?" Sevika asked, her voice bordering on melancholy. It almost broke your heart knowing you were so busy you couldn't provide enough time to your girlfriend and now she was there asking you when you could meet her again in that puppy tone of voice.

You caved, "Tomorrow my fashion week finally ends, soooo, we could grab lunch together!" You said a little more excitedly than you wanted to let on.

"You sound really happy for someone who tells me she's totally not starving herself." Sevika mumbled on the other side of the phone.

"I am eating properly. Just need to watch my weight is all." You said with a shake of your head. "I'll be fine. You be there on time, pick the location, okay? I have to get going. Bye, I love you." You blew kisses to her before giggling— "Love you too, doll."— and hanging up.

The hurried conversation that day left Sevika to do some deep thinking, and after a while of contemplating she decided she'd take you out a food marathon. A little culinary date to improve your weight after the fashion week. She'd hate to have you blown away by the wind.

The reason why Sevika needed such a long time to come to the conclusion was because she wasn't the time to coddle you and you knew it. Sevika never love bombed. Of course, she bought you the most expensive shits ever, be it perfume, bag or jewelry. Sevika ensured whatever you wore was worth being on your skin. Sevika marked all the restaurants and cafés she planned she'd take you to, spending the night going through their reviews and whatnot.

The next morning, she took more time than usual getting ready and dressing up for you. You deserved the best and you both hadn't been on a date for so long. She missed spending time with you and today she wanted to give you the whole world. She got inside her car, revving the engine and pulled out of the driveway.

“You look stunning.” Sevika smirked seeing you walking out of the runway studio.

You were dressed in a white mini dress with cherry prints paired with a red cardigan. You look absolutely gorgeous, you click-clacked upto Sevika with your red Mary Jane heels that were a gift from her.

“You also look like you lost a lot of weight.” Sevika said, wrapping one arm around your waist and pulling you close.

“Yeah, a little.” You shifted. “Hey, can we talk later and get in your car? I'm feeling awfully heady.” Sevika's eyes filled with concern and she didn't let you argue her on it, picking you up bridal style immediately. She placed you down into the passenger seat of her car, closing the door and getting seated herself at the driver's seat.

“Are you okay?” She asked.

“Yeah, I'm fine. Just… I guess, this fashion week really took it out of me.” You chuckled nervously hoping Sevika didn't get the hint that you'd been skipping meals every now and then to stay in shape.

“Well, that is why I'm asking you out on a culinary date.” Sevika said, reversing the car and pulling out of the parking lot.

“A culinary date? Well, aren't you fancy?” You teased.

Sevika rolled her eyes. “Mainly because you look like skin on bones right now.”

“That was mean.” You pouted.

“Baby, this looks delicious!” you squeaked seeing the pretty strawberry shortcake. Sevika chuckled and pushed your coffee towards you which you eagerly took a sip of. Sevika watched you with a mix of amusement and concern as you took small bites of the cake.

She could see the hesitation in your movements, the way you seemed almost guilty about indulging in something sweet. It made her frown. “You better finish that,” she said, her tone teasing but firm. “I didn’t bring you here just to watch you pick at your food.”

You sighed dramatically but took another bite, letting the strawberry glaze melt on your tongue. “Happy?”

“Getting there.” Sevika leaned back, sipping her espresso. “You really need to start taking care of yourself, doll.”

You rolled your eyes. “I do take care of myself.” Sevika shot you a look.

“Skipping meals isn’t self-care.” Your lips parted slightly, but you had no response. Instead, you stirred your coffee absentmindedly, avoiding her gaze.

“Hey.” Sevika reached across the table, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet her eyes. “You know you don’t have to do this to yourself, right?” Your breath hitched slightly. The warmth in her voice, the softness in her usually sharp gaze—it made your chest tighten.

“I just…” You exhaled shakily, gripping your spoon. “There’s a lot of pressure, Sev.”

“I know,” she murmured. “But I don’t give a damn about any of that. You’re already perfect to me.” You let out a small laugh.

“That’s cheesy.” “Maybe,” Sevika smirked. “But it’s true.” You hesitated for a moment before taking another bite of cake, a real bite this time. Sevika nodded approvingly and gestured toward your coffee. “Drink up. I’ve got more plans for us after this.”

You raised a brow. “More plans?”

Sevika’s smirk deepened. “Yeah. If I have to, I’ll personally make sure you get three full meals today.”

You huffed but couldn’t fight the small smile forming on your lips. Maybe, just maybe, letting Sevika take care of you wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

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darbonime · 4 months ago

Text

up at night

contains: dad! alex, fluff, smut. he is a munch. also a tiny bit of masturbation and fingering.

word count: 3.9k.

Baby fusses in the crib, her tiny hands messing the blanket that affectionately was put over her hours earlier. Her small face crunched in discomfort and upset. Quiet wailing calls out for the parents. A night lamp on a dresser dimly lit the nursery, guarding little girl from the horrors of the darkness. And yet something put her in babyish melancholy.

You toss and turn, but exhaustion forces you, pins to bed, no matter how baby’s sobs call out for your attention and care. Rustle of the sheets beside you, make your bleary with sleep eyes to open – you guess the vague silhouette in the blankets of gloominess is Alex, letting him to handle the situation you peacefully shut eyelids again, disappearing into beauty sleep with his departing steps and weeps somewhere far away behind.

A minutes after you sit up as if hit with a thunder – it’s unusually silent. Anxiously silent. You look around, but Alex isn’t here. That stirs your concerns even more. Just one indulgence guilt trips you about not getting up yourself to check on Karen. You trust Alex. Absolutely. Yet it’s better to do everything your own hands. That’s how you lived all your life - by yourself. Waning through the tiredness that sticks to you like one of these unpleasant thoughts in the back of the mind, you pull on your cardigan. The stinging feeling in the eyes hardly gives you the ability to part your eyelids. You meander in the dark room, trying not to bump into a dresser on your way to find your family.

Peeking into the room, you crack the door open, it creaks and standing near crib Alex, holding a baby, startlingly jumps. His frame turns to you with wide eyes, caught of a guard, exhausted and yet with a pinch of annoyance. No one likes to be caught off guard, and he never exactly liked to be seen in his vulnerable gentle state.

“Bloody hell, love,” he murmurs, letting his gaze lovingly come back to the baby, rocking her ever so slightly, initially begging for her not to wake up. You are much better with her - little one rarely dozes off quickly with him. Alex conceives about it without a break, not even noticing that those thoughts take him down like a swamp. The possible reasons pop out in his head constantly becoming his migraines.

He still holds her very carefully as back then in the hospital when you just gave a birth to her, “Karen lost her bunny in the crib. Started cryin’.” Not being even, a year old, she is already attached to the stuffed creature as much as to parents. Getting older, she probably will get a name for this one bunny. Being very honest, he might have a few name variants for that poor stuffed animal covered in baby saliva and showered in innocent child love.

“Yeah, I heard… Couldn’t force myself to get up. Sorry, babe.” You nestle against his side, cradling the vulnerable head of your daughter. Hints of hair are smooth and soft against your palm, “Thanks for… y’know.” Your eyes close for a second in helplessness, knowing he understands you without words. You lean your head on his shoulder.

“It’s ‘kay.” His eyes stay on the little frame clenching bunny as if it’s the dearest thing in the world, “You’re knackered.”

You are knackered. Karen can be quite handful. She drops plastic plates spilling all food on the floor, wants to be on the arms all the time and when you or Alex put her down, she throws an immediate tantrum. A loud one. At a very young age she already decided both of you have at her hand. Alex said to you couple of days ago: “I have no idea how we are gonna survive later when she starts walkin’.” Neither do you.

But now she is silent. Karen’s breath is stable, full baby cheeks are pinkish, looking very squeezable as her whole. She is peaceful in her own dimension, not quite here, body curled in the blanket. Alex holds her head, so it didn’t fall – the essential support. You and he look at her, still with curious expressions as if she’s a peculiar little creature. Someone who is from a different planet. A few months after her birth, Karen still didn’t become something “common”. Every day, she has the ability to bring small things that she never misses to surprise with. First smile, first laugh, first “peace” sign with fingers. You are terrified of her growing so fast, and you know he is too. Time slips through your fingers and now a wish of ABBA to freeze the picture to save it from the funny tricks of time feels to the pain familiar. It’s selfish, probably.

Never being against having a child, you still find yourself surprised by the amount of boundless love your heart can create. Alex changed too, when the prepared crib finally found a small habitant to it, he became calmer, at least that’s what he shows. You see the ocean anxiousness waves over him from time to time, especially if Karen goes out of control, but you always have his back. Some things that are natural to you, don’t sit right with him. You had a couple of skirmishes about it, and yet united exhaustion never made these arguments too long. After all, neither of you want to pout on different sides of the couch, or moreover in the bed.

A cold crawls on your skin, a sheer of early spring chillily runs over the floor. Looking up you see a cracked window – letting in a fresh air in the nursery before putting down Karen to sleep, someone of you forgot to close it. The lost sleep steps away, not wishing it, you feel more awake, having a baby ruined your sleep schedule fully and undoubtedly. You wrap your arms around yourself, thin strap top underneath cardigan doesn’t hide the sensitive nipples. Alex notices. Details became crucial to ignore these days. He puts small frame back in the crib delicately – Karen has a sound sleep – gets sure she is wrapped in blankets and her bunny securely clenched in tiny hands.

“Forgot to close it…” He scratches his neck with a yawn, the necklace clinks faintly against his old to-sleep-in t-shirt. His eyes follow your movements as you stride to close the window, too intensely for that late hour – he just wants to catch a glimpse of your chest again. To see it. Alex feels guilty, ashamed. Conscience tells him to leave any impure thoughts. At least keep them for later. At least not in the nursery. The starvation forms in him as a disease, it drives him crazy, urges him to want the closeness he never had to you before – closer than pregnancy. He doesn’t know what it is, how that closeness looks like or what sensations should give, and yet he desires it undeniably and deeply.

You close the window, capturing the family aura away from the other world. A warm island of chaos and love. Street sounds disappear, replacing with a monotony sound of ticking clocks and steady breaths, only flows of a wind still try to break inside. Turning to him, you see his lost-in-himself gaze, the usual one when he is reluctant to ache in the bones.

“I don’t think she gonna get a cold,” you reassure him, knowing his tendency for overthinking, but he shakes his head.

“Not that. I…” His eyes look over your body expectantly.

Your body still hasn’t changed to the form it has been in before, swollen and not entirely healed, but he doesn’t mind. Opposite. You shy away from his touch, scarcely but do, but he just wishes to feel you the way you are now, to know what your body became, to find out what he had done to you. It shouldn’t be perfect. Alex imagined his palms sink in your body, in your skin. Caressing it, examining it with new fondness, adoring it with acquired passion. Making love can’t bring the point of proximity he so violently wants, he needs it much tighter, much nearer. To cry with you, squeeze your body in a hug until you whimper in shock of your ribs being crushed.

“Jus’…” Alex sighs heavily, with his full lungs, “I feel like we aren’t the same.” He brushes back his tousled strands, then runs down his stubble with his palm, an anxious demeanor rests beneath the gestures. Gifting a glance to the crib, he mumbles, “Guess we shouldn’t discuss it ‘ere.”

You follow him out of the room, wondering, yet having guesses, what does he mean. The night lamp is left to defend Karen from dark monsters as you quietly close the door. Rooms ring with silence, you can hear his, with a tinge of heaviness, breath, fatigue slip out in between his exhales. You sit on messed up bedsheets, he lands on the bed beside you.

“Al… We can’t be the same when now… Karen is here,” you softly explain, fully knowing it’s tough to change the way they were living – in a windless atmosphere, that subsided away with the child. Playing a fool you now, too nervous to address elephant in the room you speak only vaguely.

“It’s… I know,” Alex grumbles at your stubborn attempt to not hear him, his palms curl into tight fists. “It’s not that. I feel like I haven’t touched you for an insanely long time. Too long time for me to bear, being completely honest, love.” His voice is raw and attacking, words come out without any hesitation nor stutter.

Your eyes follow his movements and behavior, brows furrowed, his body is tense and clearly the topic is hot, even burning – he was waiting to finally say things out loud, to speak out. The night, the lateness, the dark bedroom, such an inconvenient moment – you both want sleep to death, and yet it feels like a right time to finally explain ourselves. In cold shades of the night. Your delicate fingers entwined with his rough, making him look up at you. Alex’s eyes pierce you; his expression is written with disappointment about how much he probably pressures you right now, and hopefulness to feel you.

Alex bumps his forehead against your neck like a baby deer and you can’t hold back a chuckle. You love his little habits – this one might be your favorite. Nuzzling into your neck, breath lashes over your skin with a warm wave, his lips start peppering you with faint careful kisses, letting you pull away anytime. You close your eyes to let him take what he wants, your fingers find his hair, silky strands melt in between them leaving you in desire to never stop touching his hair. The softest hair you have ever touched. Uncoupling hands, his palm eagerly runs down your thigh to the knee, giving it a light squeeze. The fabric of your pajama pants is tepid, but the body underneath is characteristically hot.

The affection he gives you is silent with words but loud in caresses, you don’t have to question it. Alex is needy, he’s not the type to say be loud about feelings – the words he said a minute ago probably gathered in him for a long time like rainwater in the bucket, until it started to pour out of the rims. His nose huffs over your collarbone, giving a nip to the skin here as a kitten that just endeavors to learn how to bite. Your hand languidly slips from hair to the neck, and the little hunch on his back – his posture far from the best – you massage it, and he immediately straightens a bit. That makes you smile. Trailing your fingers to the nape of his neck once again, you play with short strand of his hair here, you twirl them around your finger, tug it, holding a tuft a hair in between fingertips. He isn’t greedy about reaction, pleasant shiver runs down the back and arms, a small twitch from bliss skips here and there. The moment could be ephemeral, except it feels like a step that should be taken after a newfound life, after pregnancy and with Karen now. There are still plenty of steps to take for both of you, and you are willing to do it as long as Alex is taking them with you.

His face playfully nuzzles into your cleavage clearly knowing you will start giggling. He grins but doesn’t stop just yet, his nose slides away the clinging fabric of your strap too. You feel the satisfaction of familiar scratching of his unkept stubble. Alex could blame everything on exhaustion, but age brings indifference to these things.

“Alex…” you mutter through the quiet laughter.

He leaves one final kiss on your cheek, now looking at you, “Couldn’t help meself.” Just a second touch of his lips on your skin flourishes with the tingling joy inside. Alex’s smile is tired, with remnants of sleep, that already feels far away, his expression is warm to the pain in the chest, skin around eyes is creased in wrinkles but makes him more adorable. His voice is rough, just how you like it, and yet still there’s the tenderness glimmers through the intonation. You can’t hold back yourself from a peck on his lips – a quick one, but both of you close eyes to not waste even that little kiss.

“You want to do it now?” you whisper against his dry lips, you could feel the dry parts he usually bites away.

Alex swallows, “Yes.” His head dips back to your cleavage, his finger hooks another strap of your top to lower it down your delicate shoulder.

You let him have his way.

His body lashes over you like a wave, an intense one, you wrap arms round his neck as you lie down on the bed. The vein on his neck thrums with silent excitement keeping it at bay, as if emotions could wake little one in the next room. Alex caresses you gingerly as for the first time, as if you are the first flower that sees the light after the long chilly winter. He palms your waist under the top, it doesn’t feel the same – something is different, and he feel the urge to get used to the new you. He lifts it glancing at you as a scared animal, in case you want to stop. His lips never cease the kisses, he licks his lips to make kisses softer for you. You softly run over and through his hair, closing eyes you let yourself sail away and only soft sighs indicate your presence here.

Alex leaves a loving kiss on the rear, then makes his way to your sternum and kisses it with an especial sense. Fatigue crawls into eyelids and he decides to not stretch the moment because you are clearly tired too – to his desire to savor and go slowly he feels a tad of burning disappointment. There’s only a wish to catch up on intimacy in the morning. He lifts the top higher, the breasts are perked up just for him and not because of the cold, his lips wrap around the nipple, his eyes closing and he feels buzzing contentment throughout his body. With teeth he teases it and nips – your fingers tighten in his hair, means he does right. It awakens the tremble in his body, and you never could feel more loved than with him.

His face now finds yours again, leaving a fervent peck on your lips, and then another. Alex grinds his lower body against yours, arching into you with a groan as close as possible, his hardness in a satisfying bulge rubs against your pubic bone. You feel the rushed pulse strikes down to your lower body; the whimpering neediness appears right in your center.

“Bloody…” he mumbles out, with tightly shut eyes. He finally feels the closeness that was lacking between you and him all that time, “Fuck.”

The familiar feeling of your pajama trousers being moved down and thighs being spread, you lift on your elbows to watch him. Alex is between your legs, looking up at you as his fingers part your folds teasingly. His eyes are dark, deep, absorbing the wildness of an animal gradually appears. Following the reaction and how your face sculpts by pleasure he gives you, his mouth dives forward to partake you.

You lift your hips with a quiet whimper asking for more, your head bends down not being able to hold your neck for longer, “Please...” you beg shamelessly.

Alex’s another hand finds his cock, keeping his head where it should be, he squeezes himself through the fabric, it sends sparkles to his head – he feels dizzy. Lifting his ass, his hand finds way inside of the sweatpants. Closing his eyes, he touches himself, so openly in front of you, finally not lurking in the shower as previous times. Alex knows it wasn’t right. He should have told you, come to you. That felt dirty back then, treacherously, but when you watch him moving his palm up and down his shaft, relieve splashes through his body to the shiver. He adores being watched, he adores your sultry gaze at him while he reaches the bottom in front of you. Focusing on the tip of his cock, his mouth sucks at your clit, then burrows deeper inside as his curled fingers slide down close to the balls. Your noiseless gasps sound like you are about to lose breath, change with soft, almost innocent sighs in the process.

“Fuck…” he curses one more time. Sensations are overwhelming, a long break made both of you sensitive to ridiculousness.

His arms find the way under your body, sprawling on your lower back. Holding, gripping you tightly, that his wrists start to hurt with tension in them, his nose nudges against your pubic bone as his tongue licking stripes through your core. Your toes curling with a deep moan – never it felt so good like now. He grips your thigh, letting you throw it over his shoulder to let his tongue het deeper into you. Alex’s mouth slurps at you as the sweetest nectar alive, as the cat licking at the milk. Your back arches and lifts from the bed. That will be a vivid memory for you just as for him.

“Al…” you mumble out, losing yourself. Everything around fades away. Just the sensations he gives you. You are sure he knows what you mean again – you are about to finish with fireworks.

“Mhm.” Suddenly his finger pumps into you, giving a break to the mouth, as his cheek is leaned against your thigh watching you closing to the edge, “Let it go. Come, love.” His voice is loving soaked with longing.

Alex doesn’t waste time, stretching you more when he adds the second finger. He curls them inside with a winning smirk.

The sharp gasp sticks to the back of your throat when you are going through the climax. His mouth finds the way between your folds again, enveloping your clit with his lips completely, while you tug his hair to the pain in his scalp. Your legs tremble as Alex’s tongue flicks over you riding out your orgasm. He hums teasingly as if munching the cake.

Alex falls with his head on your stomach, his cock still demands for attention, but he barely can be up anymore. Not tonight, not now. Emotions and sensations take too much energy to bear, he clearly missed out that part. You gasp for breath, railing a hand through his hair, feeling how sweat strips down his forehead.

“Let me help you out too…” you murmur fervently, trying to force yourself to move not minding the pleasing after sex exhaustion.

Alex shakes his head, “In the mornin’, darlin’. Can’t move.” His eyes are already drooping. He is so quick with drifting away to a somnolent condition, usually there is not enough time to snap your fingers as you hear stable sleeping huffs.

You groan, “Alex.” That feels incredibly unfair not to give the passion back.

“Jus’ gimme a sec,” he mumbles with his rough voice that blurs with nearing sleep.

Giving up, you sigh. You untangle his hair, playing with it carelessly waiting a minute for him to reload and be able to function. First time during the intimacy you listen attentively – Karen sleeps. You breathe out, relieved. A small detail caught your attention. Being near Alex always meant enjoying, or not really, the smell of cigarettes on him. The scent gone – almost gone. The thought makes tiny smile raise on your lips; he became very attentive about his smoking addiction since you became pregnant, and he still is. Never smoke around the baby. It’s a rule.

A quiet snore comes out from Alex. Your eyes goes to him with raised brows. He dozed off, sprawled on your warm body using it like a pillow and heater at the same time.

“Al,” you whisper.

No reaction.

“Alex,” you say in the full voice.

“Wha’?” He shuddered at the loudness. What a silly innocent man. You like having him that way, just as only you can have. Tomorrow, he will be grumbling about the coffee machine and complaining about the weather. You call it oldie pattern – every day the same, but no way you would replace him with someone else. Once, you were told that every person contains something unreplaceable when they leave, you considered it with skepticism but if Alex would leave, you know for sure there is no other human being that could match you better. It hurts.

“Baby let’s move to the pillows,” you say. Both of your bodies lose its hotness, and you have a strong desire to slip under a blanket like a cat looking for a place to hide.

He grunts lifting on his elbows to look at you, hair falls on his eyes barricading the view. Barely he can form a thought nor some answer. Alex obediently climbs on pillows after all. God, he only hopes for at least four hours, it will be enough to survive the day. Maybe a nap after lunch. If Karen will be willing, of course.

“Want to sleep for years. Like a bloody volcano,” he murmurs.

You quietly giggle, snuggling close to him. You want absolutely and entirely the same.

Lying with him in bed always has special sense, you could feel the weight of his body near and that always brings you peace – he is there with you and safe. His arms encircle you in a loose hug, curtains are drawn letting in just a straw of light. You tuck your face into his neck sneakily breathing in the familiarity of him – his smell is your favorite, much better than vanilla or gasoline.

Alex started to snore again. He fell asleep, and this time you won’t bother him. You listen to his stable breath, look at his features, still mildly tight but soon he will look relaxed and younger. His back faces you. Your fingers feel his spine, every bone, you trace it up and down and hear a relieved sigh. Wrapping arm around him he unconsciously locks his fingers with yours, and then you let yourself sleep too.

a/n: it's not really good, i guess. i really didn't want to write smut, but thought it might have a place in the end. i write a fic that is much more important for me than this one. yeah. have no clue when i will post it but who cares anyway. bye bye.

masterlist

#alex turner #alex turner x reader #alex turner fanfic #alex turner fic #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x you #alex turner fluff #alex turner smut

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zepskies · 8 months ago

Text

Shades of Him

Pairing: Beau Arlen x Reader

Summary: You make sure Beau isn’t alone this Christmas.

AN: Last little drabble for @justagirlinafandomworld’s Flash Fiction Challenge – Winter/Christmas edition! ❤️💚

Song Inspo: “This Side of Paradise” by Coyote Theory

Word Count: 100~

Tags/Warnings: Hint of angst, but mostly fluff

“Are you lonely?” you asked, mostly teasing from the chilly office doorway.

Beau’s surprise melted into a smile that almost met his eyes.

You knew Emily was visiting her grandparents on Carla’s side this Christmas.

You knew this man gave of himself to everyone in his world, radiating that golden sunshine energy.

Still, there were shades of melancholy in between the brighter rays.

When you went to him, he welcomed you in a familiar, comfortable seat across his lap. When your fingers interlaced with his, Beau’s smile rang true.

And when you pressed your lips to his, you hoped he was glowing warm, just like you were.

AN: God, I miss Beau. ❤️

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#Shades of Him #beau arlen x reader #flashfictionchallenge5 #beau arlen x you #beau arlen x female reader #beau arlen #big sky #beau arlen fanfiction #big sky fanfiction #jensen ackles #jackles #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #zepskies writes

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starchants · 1 year ago

Note

hi! i don’t know if you write for spike (btvs) but could you maybe write dating spike hcs? sfw & nsfw?

william ‘spike’ pratt x neutral!reader ; dating headcanons.

word count — 884.

themes + warnings ; some lovely fluff, some hints of angst thrown in because of our beloved troublesome tortured poet and some nsfw content as well!

author’s note — hi my lil starling <3! i do most certainly write for our favorite lil bad boy spike, i hope you enjoy <3! depressingly, i believe, this is shorter than my one with angel but that doesn’t mean that i don’t love him any less! i just literally ran out of headcanons at the moment cause my brain stopped working whoops! i could always expand upon him on a later date like i can with angel.

support mention ; if you feel like supporting, a nice ‘like’ will suffice on my blog, i know some writers love to ask nicely if you could reblog or comment etc. yet on my blog (no hate towards them as everyone likes appreciation in different ways), but if you’d like to reblog or comment feel free after all this is a safe space for any fan-individual to have fun :’)

masterlist

alright let’s state the obvious about our favorite troublesome poet : he will write tons of poems about you. his favorite topic to write about would be about love, at least i headcanon from his former human life, and so when he finds himself enthralled with you, you become his center focus in his beloved artship.

even if you do not like poetry, still please be supportive of him especially when you learn why he doesn't write his poetry as often as he used to when he was human. you see, in my personal headcanon, william (his human self of course) had been seen as too soft for a man as he liked the more feminine oddities such as : poetry, flowers, jewelry, fashion, and baking. mind you, this is all my personal headcanons as to why he was seen as soft.

so this vamp would adore you so so much more if you were to let him be himself and perhaps show interest in the oddities that he likes. obviously he would be the most supportive of you but if he was super supportive of you and didn't receive any back, i feel like he’d be put off of you despite how he feels towards you.

if you are an artistic soul like he is, spike would proudly marvel over your art — no matter how melancholy it might appear to be. he would goat about how his partner is the best at (insert your craft(s) here) and it would get to the point that the whole scooby gang would in-synchronicity claim "we know!" which would turn him into a blushing stuttering mess as he tries to play it off that he doesn't talk about your craft(s) that much. he contradicts himself sometimes as we all know.

he is the definition of a badass with a good soft heart. y'all get stuck out in the rain? he`s sacrificing his good leather and placing it over your head as he moves the pair of you underneath something where you would be dry and then y'all can watch the rain fall down upon sunnydale in a pretty lil art form. anyone happens to look at you in a wrong or potentially harmful way? spike is throwing hands with his vamp face out to scare them halfway to death before he even touches them. he`s a little protective over you, that`s all.

he’s obsessed with your touch. he’s severely touch deprived even if he doesn’t show it — please show him that he is capable of love, one that doesn’t surround around the madness of the woman who he believed to have been his soulmate before you came into his life. the man would be so touchy with you in private, especially if you did any hobbies of his that he loves — meaning baking of course! he would wrap his arms around your middle and use his hands to help you with anything you need for baking. definitely the type of man to put you on his feet and the pair of you penguin waddle together to put the trays in the oven for whatever you’re baking.

speaking of him being obsessed with your touch … time for a lil bit of nsfw 😈

spike is definitely a switch with a bratty sub lean, i mean literally just look at this vampire. he tries to act like a badass who is known for causing trouble over the years and yet if you play your cards just right you can turn him from a brat into your precious boy, but that takes a while. i tend to headcanon that even though drusilla loved him in the way she did, she never got to have him this way, and spike only trusts you to show this side of him. despite the trust, he will indeed make you work for it like i said previously. but you know how to handle your troublesome boy and how to practically turn him into a puddle with your mere touch overtime.

he’s definitely a mean service dom though when he is in a the dominant state of mind. man loves to torture you and deny your orgasms left and right only for a few turns though and then sends you over the edge quite a few times after that. he turns you into a total mess for his own pleasure but the aftercare is spectacular fr!

his version of aftercare is ; cleaning you up with a towel while smothering you with kisses all over as soon as he wipes down each and every spot upon your body, then he goes and gives you a drink (whether water or your favorite soda or alcoholic drink or maybe a blood bag if you’re a vampire like him — y’alls choice!) before he goes off to fill up a bath with the rainbow colored child bubbles that he found at the store the other day, and then he carries you in there once the bath is all filled. then he goes on to wash your body and hair for you while making sure that you’re genuinely alright with whatever occurred during your time together, then he asks you for whatever you want or need — his beloved flower’s wish is his command that he wishes never ends.

#spike btvs x reader #spike x reader #buffyverse x reader #buffy the vampire slayer x reader #buffy the vampire slayer #angel the series x reader #angel x reader #angel the series #buffyverse

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i23kazu · 2 years ago

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GENSHIN MEN & LETTING YOU TRACE THEIR SCARS.

characters. xiao zhongli diluc kaeya childe scara x gn!reader genre. romantic fluff. an. i love them ur honour :3 | please reblog!! im getting back into writing and reblogs with tags and comments will make me want to write more :D

xiao

it's a big deal – don't tease him, please treat him with care. xiao allowing you to see the marks of his past is not something he takes lightly ... you're special. he trusts you. the scars haven't healed yet and the scars will not heal. trace his back lightly and watch as he winces; please, hold him gently. perhaps for the first time in eons, something wet drips down xiao's face.

zhongli

zhongli lets you see his scars – it's not something he hides, but something he trophies as a reminder of his old life. he's not the old geo archon anymore, but he smiles while fondly regaling his tales of old, victorious battles. each scar tells a story – and with each scar you point at, he answers with a soft hint of bittersweetness, melancholy, and regret.

diluc

goes completely silent the minute you touch it. he's not mad – don't worry, but it's such a sacred part of himself that he reels when he realises that he's let someone in so much to this point. it'll take him a while to get used to it; please don't mix his confusion for anger. he loves you, even though it's hard for him to comprehend because your love is blinding.

kaeya

kaeya tries to shrug it off. it's not every day he feels that sour twinge of vulnerability inside – please stay calm, please don't make a big deal out of it – if he freezes, don't be taken aback. touching the fragments of his past is frightening, so treat him with the love and care as you would with a little animal. kaeya certainly feels like one, sometimes.

childe

his breath hitches – it's ticklish, but also... electrifying. no one has ever drawn stars around his scars before. it's exciting, even – to feel his triumphs in a carefully handled light. he's always shown it off loudly and proudly, but for his wounds to be treated delicately ... it's an unfamiliar feeling. but nothing is every truly unfamiliar when it comes to you.

scaramouche

he doesn't enjoy it at first. he grumbles, tching in annoyance – why is this necessary? you've seen it plenty of times. scara is taken aback by how quickly you withdraw your hand – scara's body is a temple, and you don't want to overstay your welcome after finally being let in. perhaps you're different, and perhaps... he likes the warmth of your touch.

taglist: @tiredsleep @loptido @raincxtter @chichikoi @ladyadii @soulsanta @sheiiths @genshinparty @eowinthetraveler @moonbyunniee @legitnoi @lemontum @manager-of-the-pudding-bank @starz222 @ilyuu @cherry-colored-petals @mondaymelon @tartaglia-apologist @soleillunne @m1shapanda @aimynx @smokipoki @adeptuscharm @diorlumx @vennnnn-diagram @ryuryuryuyurboat @yuminako @st0pthatsgay @aqualesha @sixtynintharchon @supernova25 @kunikuda-simp @starglitterz @rin-nyrasti-writes (send ask/comment to be added to taglist)

reblogs w/ tags & comments help me lots !!! if you liked this and would like to support me, please consider dropping me a follow as well :-) they all go a long way!

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aventurineswife · 9 months ago

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Your lips, my lips, apocalypse

Synopsis: How would they kiss you?

Tags: Headcanons, Kisses, Intimate Moments, Emotional Connections, Fluff and Comfort, Affectionate Gestures, Playful Interactions, Vulnerability, Established Relationship.

Blade

Blade’s kisses are intense and deliberate, like he’s trying to etch the moment into his memory forever.

His touch is both soft and firm, a paradox of the broken man he’s become. His lips are warm despite the coldness he often exudes.

He kisses with a sense of finality, as if each kiss could be the last. There’s a lingering sadness, but also deep passion behind it.

He pulls you close, his body shielding you, as if he’s protecting you from the world for just a brief moment.

After kissing you, Blade stays silent, resting his forehead against yours as if words are unnecessary, the moment speaks for itself.

Sampo Koski

Sampo’s kisses are playful and mischievous, often accompanied by a teasing remark or a sly grin just before his lips meet yours.

He likes to catch you off-guard, pulling you into his arms unexpectedly, only to steal a quick, light kiss before pulling back with a wink.

Despite his carefree attitude, there’s a tenderness to his kisses when he’s in a more genuine mood, as if he’s trying to show you a side of him he doesn’t often reveal.

He’s the type to playfully kiss your cheek or forehead before moving to your lips, always making the moment feel fun and exciting.

When he kisses you, it’s often part of a bigger plan—Sampo loves to mix affection with mischief, so a kiss could be followed by some scheme of his.

Gepard Landau

Gepard kisses you with the same sense of honor and care he puts into his duties—slow, intentional, and filled with meaning.

He prefers to cup your face gently in his hands when he kisses you, making sure you know you’re his priority in that moment.

There’s a sweetness to his kisses, and he often hesitates slightly, as if wanting to ensure he’s expressing the depth of his feelings properly.

His kisses can be protective, especially when he feels you’re in danger or stressed—his way of grounding you in his presence and safety.

After a kiss, Gepard often looks into your eyes with a soft, reassuring smile, as if promising that he’ll always be there to protect you.

Aventurine

Aventurine’s kisses are daring and confident, as if he’s placing a high-stakes bet with each one, always certain of the outcome.

He often initiates kisses with a smirk, pulling you close with an air of playful arrogance, fully expecting you to give in to his charms.

There’s a calculated passion in his kisses—he’s always aware of your reactions, adjusting his approach to elicit exactly what he wants from you.

He enjoys the thrill of keeping you on your toes, often teasingly hovering close before sealing the kiss, making you anticipate the moment.

Despite his risk-taker persona, there’s a gentleness hidden beneath the surface, especially when he feels vulnerable, and in those moments, his kisses are slower, more heartfelt.

Sunday

Sunday’s kisses feel almost ethereal, as if you’re sharing something divine. His lips are soft, and he always kisses you with reverence, like you’re someone sacred to him.

He tends to be methodical, brushing his fingers through your hair or caressing your cheek before leaning in, his golden eyes locking onto yours.

His kisses carry a sense of calm and comfort, like he’s taking you away from the harshness of the world and into his serene, idealized dream.

There’s a hint of melancholy in his kisses, as though he’s expressing the part of him that wishes to protect you from life’s suffering, even if it means trapping you in a dream.

After a kiss, he often lingers close, his forehead resting against yours, silently conveying his wish for you to share in his peaceful, perfect world.

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iniquitousyearning · 2 years ago

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MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Twenty Two-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day, during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: very angst. lots of emotions going on here. reader proves herself to the syltherin boys. honestly just a really playful, fun, light chapter.

FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

In the wake of Mattheo's cutting words, three days had passed--three seemingly endless days since he had slammed the door shut on your attempts to help him, his declaration of your connection being nothing more than a futile endeavour, one destined for ruin once the end of the school year rolled around still ringing in your ears like a haunting melody.

The echo of his harsh words reverberated within your mind, an incessant hologram with no escape, seeping into your thoughts during sleepless nights, intruding upon your attempts to focus on anything else. You weren't sure why those words had cut so fucking deep, because in the moment you'd hardly even flinched, but you couldn't ignore the lingering pain they caused.

And during those agonizing days, an uncomfortable tension settled between the two of you, hanging in the air like an unspoken truth. You took the hint, biting back the words that threatened to spill, choosing silence over confrontation. You trailed after him like a shadow in between classes, keenly aware that any attempt at conversation would only ignite another explosive clash, a battle neither of you felt prepared to wage again so soon.

The memory of your last argument lingered, its toxicity staining the air between you, leaving wounds too deep to heal without acknowledgment and remorse; two things neither of you seemed ready to give, quite yet.

But what really made matters worse, was that both of you were unyielding in your convictions--both of you shamelessly stubborn and unapologetic, neither of you feeling as though you were in the wrong. Mattheo barricaded himself behind walls, lashing out as if you were the enemy, despite your unwavering efforts to assist him--which, in turn, resulted in your pushiness. Your refusal to tolerate his aggression without challenge, became your armor, your way of standing your ground.

Maybe you had been too forceful, perhaps too harsh, but in your eyes, it was a response to the aggression he hurled your way. You couldn't simply let his hostility go unchecked; it was against your nature. And so, the standoff continued, a battle of wills and tempers, leaving both of you entrenched in your own convictions, neither of you willing to admit fault.

But today, you decided you weren't going to hide back anymore. You couldn't allow your stubbornness to completely destroy whatever progress you had made with Mattheo thus far. This was about more than just your pitiful feelings, or whatever emotions you had tied into the situation with that complicated boy. This was about being there for him, wether he wants you to be or not. Showing compassion and patience.

And so, summing newfound determination, you shook off the weight of your own melancholy and sought him out after dinner. Today, he and his group of friends had chosen the serene ambiance by the black lake as their study sanctuary, immersing themselves in the preparation for the upcoming charms exam next week.

Over the past three days, you had gradually grown somewhat acquainted with his friends. While you hadn't quite reached the level of camaraderie, there was a palpable shift in their attitudes towards you, a subtle warmth replacing the earlier distance. This change in dynamics became more evident, especially after the unsettling incident involving Berkshire, who still remained confined to the hospital wing, almost a week later.

With determined resolve, you traversed the courtyard and descended the hill toward the lake, drawing in a steadying breath. Each step echoed your silent promise: to honour Mattheo's boundaries, even if it felt like swallowing shards of glass. The crisp air seemed to echo your determination as you neared the group of Slytherin boys, their laughter and banter carried on the breeze.

Among them, Mattheo sat with his usual nonchalant demeanor, his tousled hair framing his intense eyes. A cigarette dangled effortlessly from his fingers, his bag slumped lazily beside him as he rested stoically against a tall tree, lost in conversation with Malfoy. As you veered closer, his gaze met yours briefly, as though he sensed your presence, the darkness within his eyes sending a shiver down your spine. Beside him, Blaise Zabini's face lit up with anticipation, a welcoming smile playing on his lips as he waved you over.

"Well good evening, little raven...always a pleasure," Blaise grinned, his tone teasing as he made room for you to sit down next to him. "Here to keep an eye on Riddle, are you?"

As you settled into the space between Blaise and Mattheo, the group of boys, including Theodore Nott, Draco Malfoy, and Regulus Black, welcomed you with light smiles and eager nods.

"Perhaps." You teased, sneaking a glance at Mattheo, his gaze planted on the cigarette between his fingers as he fiddled with it. "Or perhaps I'm here to make sure you lot don't burn down the entire forest during your little 'study session'..."

"Rest assured, we're Hogwarts' best-behaved troublemakers," Draco chuckled, his eyes glinting with mischief, a cocky smile playing on his lips. "But if you're worried about the forest, maybe you should stick around...your presence might just be the calming influence we need."

Your blush was undeniable as you smirked, meeting Draco's silver eyes across from Mattheo. He leaned back on his palms as his gaze darted over your features, the top buttons of his uniform shirt undone, exuding an air of effortless confidence.

"I know enough about you, Malfoy, to know that's the furthest thing from the truth," you said, your tone teasing. "But either way, I won't be going anywhere anytime soon...unfortunately for him, Riddle here is stuck with me for a few more weeks."

Blaise chuckled, his voice low and smooth. "Ah, the lucky bloke," he replied, his eyes meeting yours with a smouldering intensity. "If I had my way, you'd find yourself stuck with me, instead...and I assure you, it would be a much more enjoyable experience..."

You quirked an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Oh yes," he teased, his voice a playful melody as he shot Mattheo a knowing wink. "I know all too well the misery of enduring Riddle's icy presence all day; he could freeze a bloody dragon with that demeanor...it's almost cute that you think you'll be able to change him."

The timbre of his voice, a melodic dance of amusement, filled the space around you, and Mattheo's demeanor, once steely and composed, seemed to falter slightly under the weight of Blaise's remarks.

His features tightened, as if grappling with invisible chains, and your own smile, once confident, wavered slightly, betraying the impact of Blaise's words. Swallowing hard, you felt the weight of his teasing remarks settle in the pit of your stomach, a heavy reminder of the argument you and Mattheo had just a few days ago. Despite the discomfort, you summoned your courage, your voice soft yet resolute as you spoke.

"I'm not trying to change him, Blaise," your words hung in the air, delicate and firm, like a fragile thread of understanding. "I'm just here to support him...whenever he's ready to let me."

Your words lingered for a moment, underscoring your unwavering dedication to bolster Mattheo without imposing change upon his core. Although you were directing these words at Blaise, you hoped Mattheo had taken heed of them--as this mentorship, you understood now, was not about altering his identity; it was about assisting him in unraveling the internal struggles, urging him to redirect his anger into positive outlets rather than combatting every perceived threat with physical violence.

Blaise's eyes softened, his usual playful demeanor giving way to a more contemplative expression. He leaned in closer, his gaze scanning your features with a profound curiosity, as if searching for hidden depths within your soul. His voice, now tinged with awe and respect, broke the silence.

"Where have you been all this time, hm? He could have used someone like you years ago..." he murmured, his gaze shifting between you and Mattheo, a glint of intrigue shimmering in his dark eyes. "She must truly be something special for you to willingly sacrifice your freedom for her, Riddle."

"A special pain in my ass, yeah," Mattheo said, his voice seemingly devoid of emotion, a subtle hint of sarcasm lacing his words. As he took a draw of his cigarette, a flicker of annoyance flashed in his eyes, the smoke curling around him like a shield. "Nothing about this arrangement was willingly chosen, Zabini..."

Despite the gravity of his words, a rush of warmth surged within you at Mattheo's candid remark. Amusement sparked in your eyes, a glint of playful defiance as you tried to suppress a smirk that threatened to betray your composure.

"Don't let him fool you, he loves it..." your voice, low and teasing, hung in the air, the words daring and provocative as you shamelessly appraised Mattheo's hardened features. "Isn't that right, Riddle? You know you enjoy being kept on your toes for once..."

Mattheo met your gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly, but a flicker of amusement danced in their depths. Your boldness didn't go unnoticed, a silent understanding passing between you amidst the banter. With an air of nonchalance, he raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he brought his cigarette to his mouth once more.

"Yeah, that's what I enjoy," he drawled, his tone dry and drenched in sarcasm. "Being kept on my toes."

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks at Mattheo's sneakily playful words, your attempt to conceal your reaction falling short. Your eyes dropped to your lap, a feeble effort to shield your reddening face from the prying eyes around you. The charged words hung thick in the air, every gaze in the circle keenly aware of the subtle shift in dynamics. Before you could even think to react, Theodore Nott's voice, low and teasing, sliced through the tension, his eyes glinting with a playful gleam that hinted at secrets only he knew.

"Careful, Bella Mia..." he cautioned, his words hanging in the space between you, laden with enigmatic warnings. "You'll only get hurt."

Confusion knit your brows, a perplexed frown marring your features as you tried to decipher his cryptic statement.

"What?" you asked, your voice betraying your bewilderment.

"Your smile..." he replied with a knowing smirk, his tone light but filled with subtle implications, "...you look like you're about to fall in love."

The breath caught in your throat, the world around you momentarily blurring as Theodore's unexpected revelation hit you like a tidal wave. The color drained from your cheeks, leaving your face pale, and your heart thudded against your ribs with a fervent urgency, as if pleading for clarity. Flustered and unprepared, you turned your gaze toward Mattheo, seeking solace in his familiar presence.

Nervousness danced in your eyes, a desperate search for reassurance before you stammered out a denial, the words tumbling from your lips in a rush. "Fall...in love? With Mattheo? Sorry, no...no bloody way."

Your words spilled out in a hurried, almost desperate attempt to dispel the implication, yet there was an undeniable tremor in your voice, a subtle quiver that betrayed the unease settling deep within you. Mattheo's eyes met yours, but they held an emptiness, a haunting void that sent a shiver down your spine, something distant flickering within them, making your stomach twist in uneasy knots.

Around you, the group erupted into sneers and light chuckles, their amusement palpable as they sensed your flustered expression. But your attention remained fixated on Mattheo, his silent gaze carrying the weight of Theodore's words, a looming storm cloud hanging over your heads, heavy with unspoken implications.

In love. The notion seemed absurd, impossible even. No, it couldn't be true. There was no way.

"Nott's right, you'll only get hurt..." Malfoy's sneering voice cut through the air, his words laced with a malicious amusement as he cast a sideways glance at Theodore, who snickered in agreement. "You're far too innocent for Riddle... he'd chew you up and spit you out in a second...any of us would..."

He paused, his cold eyes darting from yours to Mattheo's, and back to yours again, as if sizing up the situation. A sly smirk played on his lips, the cruel glint in his eyes sharpening. "Well, perhaps not Notty boy here; he's a little softer."

A surge of heat coursed through your veins, igniting a fierce determination within you that contrasted sharply with the warm, gentle breeze caressing your skin. Despite the pressure weighing heavily upon you and the palpable weight of their expectations hanging in the air, you refused to succumb to their underestimation. With your pulse quickening, you squared your shoulders, locking eyes with Malfoy's cocky gaze.

"You know...I don't believe I'm as fragile as you all seem to think I am," you retorted, words laced with conviction, challenging their perception of you. "I can handle myself just fine."

"Don't let her appearance fool you," Mattheo's words, unexpectedly slicing through the charged atmosphere, nearly startled your heart out of your chest. His voice, dripping with playful irony, reverberated through your limbs as he spoke without even sparing you a glance, his dark hair framing his face and his whiskey eyes meeting Malfoy's with a challenging glint. "That pretty face hides one hell of a devilish mind."

A collective reaction rippled through the group of boys, their eyebrows shooting up in surprise, their smirks growing wider. The implications of Mattheo's remark hung thick in the air, sparking newfound curiosity and amusement that crackled in the atmosphere like electricity. Malfoy seized the opportunity, his smirk taking on a mischievous edge.

"Now you're calling her pretty, Riddle?" he teased, his tone laced with playful skepticism. "Are you sure there's nothing going on between you two? You have been spending a hell of a lot of time together..."

Simultaneously, you both shot back with lightening speed--your words colliding mid-air, overlapping with the others quick response in a chaotic symphony of denial.

"He wishes," you said, your voice carrying a playful edge--while at the same instant, Mattheo sneered, his tone dripping with sarcasm and wit. "In her bloody dreams," he said.

Your synchronized responses elicited another round of chuckles from the boys, a shared moment of camaraderie at the expense of you and Mattheo. The tension between the two of you remained, but the exchange had shifted into a playful rhythm, now, the unspoken dynamics between you two sparking curiosity among the others. Malfoy's chuckles gradually faded, replaced by a challenging glint in his eyes as he raised an eyebrow, a smirk curling his lips.

"Alright then...little good girl," he drawled, his tone laden with mischief. "Why don't you prove it?"

Your nerves prickled beneath your skin, a rush of anxiety coursing through your veins as you stammered, "Prove...it? Prove what?"

"Prove that you aren't as innocent and fragile as we think you are," he challenged, his words hanging in the air like a dare. "Prove that you're more than just your books and your pushy, smartass attitude."

Nervously, you glanced around the circle at each of the boys, their eyes fixed on you with wide grins of anticipation. The weight of their expectations pressed upon you, and you felt the intensity of the moment, wether you wished to ignore it or not. Mattheo didn't dare to meet your gaze, but you could sense the slight smirk playing on his lips as he casually fiddled with his cigarette. After a long, silent moment, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come.

"Fine, Malfoy," you said, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest. "Challenge excepted."

With determination, you pushed off the ground, turning your attention away from the circle and toward the tranquil expanse of the black lake. The challenge had been accepted, and you were ready to prove that there was more to you than met the eye, ready to do whatever the hell you needed to earn their respect in your own damned way.

The boys surrounding you stared in wide-eyed shock as you swiftly shrugged off your uniform jacket, the soft fabric falling carelessly to the grassy ground. With a quick motion, you kicked off your shoes, the blades of grass tickling your feet beneath the fading sunlight--it was dark enough now that if you moved away from them, toward the edge of the lake, and stripped off your skirt and shirt, they wouldn't be able to see too much. Nevertheless, they'd still catch glimpses, and that was precisely the point.

Mattheo, still seated, shot you a puzzled look, his eyes narrowing with sheer confusion and concern.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he questioned, his voice slicing through the stunned silence. The weight of his gaze bore into you, searching for an explanation that might justify your unexpected actions. A surge of confidence pushed you forward, your resolve unwavering.

"I'm going to prove that I'm more than what you all think," you replied, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins. "And that sometimes, good girls do bad things, too."

Theodore Nott, always one to read the room, glanced between you and Mattheo, a sly smile playing on his lips. "This should be interesting," he murmured, his tone laced with amusement. "Salazar save us..."

With a newfound sense of liberation, you descended toward the tranquil lake, the gentle lapping of water against the shore a soothing melody in the background. The soft rustle of the wind caressed your ears, heightening the anticipation that hung thick in the air. As you began to undo the buttons on your uniform blouse, each delicate movement resonated with the weight of the challenge, setting your heart racing in your chest.

With every button that slipped out, the tension in the atmosphere grew palpable, the burning gazes of the captivated boys etched into your flesh. The fabric of your blouse glided off your shoulders, landing gracefully on the grass like a discarded shield at your feet. Standing there, clad in nothing but your bra and skirt, you felt a heady mix of exhilaration and vulnerability wash over you.

As the cool evening air enveloped your skin, you sensed a presence behind you. Slowly, you peeked over your shoulder to find Mattheo sprinting toward you, his brows furrowed in disbelief and his eyes widened in pure shock. He came to a halt just a few feet away, his voice laden with a mixture of astonishment and genuine concern.

"Have you lost your bloody mind?" he exclaimed, his words a sharp contrast to the stunned silence that had fallen over the group. "You're going to fucking freeze..."

His gaze flickered over you, a kaleidoscope of emotions playing in his eyes, the dominant one undeniably being shock, tinged with a hint of something else--something unspoken and complex. Under the intensity of his stare, you felt a rush of warmth suffuse your skin, a bold defiance kindling within you as your hands moved to the band of your skirt. With deliberate slowness, you teased the length of its waist, holding his eyes captive in a daring challenge.

"What's the matter, Riddle?" you purred, savoring the power in the moment, knowing he couldn't physically intervene in front of his friends without arousing suspicion. "Are you truly worried about me?" Your voice dropped into a low, nearly inaudible whisper as your smirk deepened, relishing the way his eyes tracked your hands. "Or...perhaps...you're just unable to handle other men looking at your property..."

Mattheo's frustration was palpable, his brows furrowing as he struggled to maintain his composure. Yet, beneath the annoyance, there was a glimmer of amusement, a reluctant acknowledgment of your audacity.

"You're playing with fire, again, aren't you?" he muttered, his tone a blend of exasperation and begrudging amusement. A wry smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a hint of admiration for your boldness despite the irritation simmering beneath the surface. "Just be careful you don't get burned."

"Oh, please," you retorted, unable to contain your smirk, the confidence in your voice echoing your daring spirit. "Witches don't burn."

With a swift, decisive motion, you cast your skirt aside, the fabric pooling on the grass as you dashed toward the lake with unbridled determination. Adrenaline coursed through your veins, dulling the edge of the initial shock as you plunged into the cold water. A sharp gasp cut through the night as the icy embrace of the lake stole your breath away, the shock of the temperature quickly giving way to exhilaration. In the background, the boys erupted into cheers and hollers, their admiration for your audacious leap resonating in the crisp evening air like a chorus of approval.

Meanwhile, at the shore, Mattheo stood half-stunned, his eyes widening in surprise before that sly smirk slowly crept back onto his face. He watched you with a mix of amusement and something else, something that look almost like an undeniable respect for your audacity. His fingers absently toyed with his cigarette as he observed your fearless actions, his usual stoic demeanor momentarily shattered by your bold act.

From the water, you observed the boys exchanging glances, their smirks hinting at a shared understanding that transcended words. With an unspoken agreement, they shrugged in unison, a collective "fuck it" echoing through the air. One by one, they rose to their feet, shedding their uniforms with carefree abandon until they stood just as exposed as you were. Their toned bodies glistened under the evening sky, the moonlight filtering through the clouds, casting a silvery glow upon their skin.

With lively laughter echoing through the night air, the boys sprinted toward you, their infectious excitement palpable even from a distance. They effortlessly brushed past Mattheo, who stood frozen in place, his expression a mosaic of shock and amusement, his eyes tracking each of his friends as they leaped into the water alongside you. As the cold water embraced them, the boys couldn't help but groan in unison, their playful complaints filling the air.

"Bloody hell, it's freezing..." Reggie exclaimed, eliciting chuckles from the others. “How the fuck did I think this was a good idea…”

Amidst the banter, they turned their attention to you, their expressions a blend of awe and admiration.

"You've definitely surprised us, little bird," Theodore teased, his tone laced with genuine respect. "Making this look so easy, aren't you?"

Malfoy's voice echoed with a mix of amusement and challenge as he shouted across the water to Mattheo.

"Riddle, don't be a killjoy," he taunted, a playful glint in his eyes. "I know you can't resist a good challenge...you're really going to let little raven here outshine you like this?”

The words hung in the air, a tempting dare that Mattheo couldn't ignore. He stood at the water's edge, his expression a mixture of hesitation and a playful grumbling--clearly debating whether to join the revelry or stay put. You grinned as you watched, his face sporting a resigned yet amused expression, as he finally succumbed, muttering under his breath as he peeled off his uniform with deliberate slowness.

"You guys are bloody mad," he grumbled as he folded his clothes neatly on the shore, his movements deliberate and slightly begrudging. "If we catch hypothermia, Raven, I'm blaming you."

Finally, with a sarcastic salute and a roll of his eyes, he took a deep breath and dove into the water, his entry marked by a splash that mirrored the energy and excitement of the night, everyone erupting into laughter at his little display. Mattheo waded over, his playful irritation evident in the way he shot you a mock glare before unleashing a playful splash, water droplets scattering in all directions.

"Mattheo!" You squealed, wiping the water from your face. "You bloody arse!"

His eyes twinkled with mischief, and he couldn't help but smirk as you retaliated, sending a splash of water right back at him. The tension from earlier had transformed into a playful energy, the group now engaged in a water fight, laughter filling the air as splashes and giggles and squeals intermingled.

Before you knew it, everyone was caught up in the spirited frenzy, water splashing in every direction as the boys chased each other, their playful shouts and laughter blending harmoniously. Mattheo, who had initially been the reluctant participant, seemed to revel in the chaos, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he retaliated with gusto, no longer holding back.

As the water fight intensified, you noticed Mattheo momentarily distracted, his attention diverted by the antics of the other boys. Seizing the opportunity, you discreetly gathered a handful of mud from the lakebed, forming it into a small, compact ball. With careful precision, you approached him from behind, your steps silent in the water, and with a swift motion, you lobbed the mud ball, aiming for Mattheo's shoulder.

The ball hit its mark perfectly, leaving a satisfying splatter of mud on his skin, the boys erupting into laughter, thoroughly entertained by your clever move. However, turning around, Mattheo's eyes widened in exaggerated shock, his voice tinged with playful hurt.

"Did you just fucking ambush me? In front of my own men?" he exclaimed, his tone laced with feigned betrayal as he theatrically wiped the mud off his skin. “You’re real fucking bold, aren’t you, Raven?”

You snickered, grinning at the fact you’d caught him off guard like that. “You know what they say…never drop your guard, Mattheo…”

A mischievous glint sparked in his eyes as he casually glanced over your shoulder, spotting Theodore wading in the water behind you and Malfoy standing just a bit to your side. A subtle shift occurred in Mattheo's demeanor, a silent understanding passing between him, Theodore, and Malfoy. Their eyes exchanged a knowing look, a shared sense of mischief darkening their expressions. Mattheo's voice, once filled with mock hurt, now dripped with wicked amusement as he issued his command.

"Grab her, boys," he ordered, his voice taking on a sinister edge, setting the stage for the impeding revenge. "Time to show the little bird what happens when you mess with a bunch of venomous snakes."

Excitement surged through your veins, a thrilling concoction of adrenaline and laughter, as you attempted to evade their grasp. Your heart raced, the pounding in your chest echoing the playful chaos around you. Despite your best efforts, Theodore's fingers wrapped firmly around your arm, and Malfoy's grip held your other, their strength ensuring your playful struggles were in vain.

“Come on, Mattheo!” You squirmed and giggled, a delightful blend of resistance and amusement, as you found yourself caught in their playful trap. “I’m sorry, please…”

Mattheo, his confidence soaring now that you were being successfully restrained, seized a hefty clump of mud, his fingers sinking into its cool, squishy texture. As he spun back around, his eyes locked onto yours, and with deliberate measured steps, he closed the distance between you, his movements exuding a cocky swagger that only intensified your anxiety.

"Any last words, Raven?" he taunted, his voice dripping with playful malice, the echoes of your impending fate resonating in the air like a looming storm. "If you wish to pathetically apologize for that ignorant display, now is the time to do so."

"Mattheo, please!" Desperation and regret flooded your voice, your pleas tumbling out in a desperate rush, mingling with the tension that hung heavy in the air. "I'm so sorry, please don't--I didn't mean to-"

But Mattheo merely shook his head, a triumphant smirk curving his lips, dismissing your words with a casual flick of his hand.

"Actually, just decided it's too late for ass-kissing now, princess," he sneered, his words cutting through the air like a sharp blade. "Brace yourself."

With a swift motion, he hurled the mud at you, the clump splattering against your chest. Laughter erupted from the boys, their camaraderie deepening in the chaos of the moment. And you, caught in their playful trap, couldn't help but join in the laughter, realizing that the evening had taken an unexpected turn, transforming into a memorable, joyous escapade under the moonlit sky.

As the boys finally released their grip, laughter still lingering in the air, Mattheo met your eyes, his gaze dipping over your mud-splattered form with a mix of amusement and something else you couldn't quite decipher.

Grumbling, you couldn't resist a playful jab, "You're such an ass."

His chuckle transformed into a self-assured grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Guilty as charged," he admitted, his voice teasing. "But you have to admit, it was worth it for that look on your face."

You let out a reluctant chuckle, realizing the absurdity of the situation. "Fine, you win this round," you conceded, unable to suppress a smile. "But don't get too comfortable; next time I'm bringing everything I got."

"I'm counting on it," Mattheo replied with a grin, a spark of anticipation in his eyes, acknowledging the challenge you had just thrown his way. “Wouldn’t be normal for you if you didn’t.”

After a little bit longer, the group of you finally emerged from the water, the stars twinkling overhead like diamonds scattered across the night sky. Laughter and playful groans of annoyance filled the air as you all struggled to peel your clothes back on, the urgency to get back to the castle evident in the chilly breeze that swept through the night.

With clothes clinging damply to your skin, you all made your way back, sharing stories and laughter along the path. The atmosphere was light, the shared escapade having created a bond among you, making the cold night feel a little warmer. As you approached the castle, a sense of accomplishment and newfound friendship enveloped the group, and you couldn't help but feel a thrill at the unexpected turn the night had taken, leaving you with a memory of an exhilarating adventure under the starlit sky.

—————————-

Chapter 23->

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ilovetopgunsstuff · 1 year ago

Text

overdue

joe burrow x reader

prompt: joe cancels last minute on you because he got caught up at work, and he makes sure you know how he feels about you when he gets home.

warnings- smut and fluff

a/n- promise i will be answering some of my requests soon. this is prolly ass because i wrote it kinda fast but i love it thx bye

Joe was a busy guy. It was always something. He had practice, or a meeting, or a conference call, or something. Of course you couldn’t blame him. He was pretty busy during the season, but was practically glued to you when he didn’t have anything to do.

The last few weeks, though, Joe was sooo caught up with work. When he got home for the night, it was so late that you were usually already asleep. If you weren’t, you knew he was too exhausted to do much anyway. He’d give you a kiss, head to the shower, and pass out next to you shortly after. He’d always apologize, but you knew he really couldn’t control it. So despite your frustration and loneliness, you said nothing.

Today would be different, he pulled some strings to get home around 8 so y’all could have dinner, watch something on TV, and enjoy each others company. It had felt so long since you did something like this, so it felt like a special occasion. Tonight, you were cooking his favorite meal. You grilled chicken, made potatoes, and sautéed asparagus. It was about 7:30, and you would be done right when he got home. Your phone rang, and seeing his name on the screen, you perked up.

“Hey!,” you said cheerfully into the phone.

“Hey…” His voice was soft and already apologetic. You knew the news before he even told you.

“You’re not gonna make it home?” you sighed into the phone. Your voice was almost a whisper. You wanted to cry. How was it every day that this happened? Was he doing it on purpose, trying to send a hint? Was something else going on than work? Tears already brimmed in your eyes.

“I’m so sorry. Something came up way last minute. I can’t make it, baby. I’ll be home late.”

“Okay.” Your voice cracked, and you knew he heard it. That’s all you could say. The silence on the line was so loud. What else did you have to say? You sat with your phone to your ear, the excitement in your posture leaving you. Your shoulders slouched and you could hear his breath still on the other line. Self-consciousness swallowed you. Was this a sign that it wasn’t working? Was it only a matter of time? “Well I guess I’ll see you later tonight.” Your voice was quiet.

“Yeah.”

Without any goodbyes or anything, the line disconnected. You weren’t sure who it really was that hung up. You were just in a haze. You finished dinner silently, eating alone standing at the counter. You made sure to still make Joe’s plate, though. You put the perfect amount of everything he liked on his plate, making sure no foods were touching like he liked it.

Maybe it would give him a small surprise when he got home, as he didn’t know you were cooking it. He could eat it when he got home and you were inevitably sleeping. It wouldn’t be as good as eating it with him, but hopefully he’d still like it.

You packed up the food to put on the fridge in a silent, melancholy state. You placed his plate on the oven for him to find when he got home. It was in the shower that you cried, shoulders wracking with heavy sobs of loneliness and fear of losing him. You were so frustrated. You couldn’t blame him, but that didn’t mean you weren’t still upset. You sunk into the soft sheets of the bed after putting on pajamas, slightly cold without his body next to you. Hot tears slid down your face silently as you dozed off.

Joe’s POV:

As silently as I could, I unlocked the door. I dropped my bags on the floor and the clock on the kitchen wall said it was 1 AM. I stretched and rubbed my eyes, exhausted from work and weighed down with guilt. Of course I couldn’t control being busy, but i shouldn’t have promised her that I would’ve been home if I wasn’t completely sure. I did, though, cause hearing her pretty excited voice on the phone after telling her I’d come home brought me to life, but hearing it get quiet after I called it off earlier made my chest hurt. It was dark in the house except for one light on in the kitchen. It was the light on top of the oven. There was something there.

I walked closer to the oven and my heart dropped to my stomach.

Fuck.

There, on top of the oven, was my absolute favorite meal, made by her. You could tell she plated it with care, the food not touching exactly how I liked it. My stomach hurt and so did my chest. Guilt surged through me painfully. There was a note too, and it made me want to quit my job entirely.

I’m sorry you couldn’t make it home. This is for you if you’re hungry. I love you so much. We’ll find the time.

Her pretty cursive carved my heart out with its sweetness. You wished she would just yell at you, tell you off for taking on too much and upsetting her. But she never would, cause she’s an angel, and supports me through whatever I do. How will I ever make this up to her?

Regular POV:

Joe crept up the stairs, trying not to wake you up. You had an ear for him though, and roused when the door creaked open.

“Oh hey,” you mumbled at him. “How was work?”

“Don’t worry about that,” he murmured. He stripped down to his boxers, and crawled into bed. He dragged you under him and engulfed you with his arms. “I’m so so sorry,” he said into your hair.

This sudden intimacy and affection was unexpected, and your eyes immediately watered with tears. “I’m sorry, Joe. I know your so tired and I don’t want you to feel bad.” You voice cracked to a whisper as you started to cry.

“Hey..” he said gently as he flipped you on top of him to look at you. You sat on his lap, tears streaming down your face in the moonlight from the window.

“I just miss you,” you breathed, crumpling onto him as he held you. Your body shook slightly with quiet sobs as he held you.

“I know, angel.” He rubbed your back and whispered on your ear. “I miss you so much. You know I love you more than anything don’t you? Huh?”

He grabbed your face, holding it gently with both hands as he looked at you. Your watery puppy eyes looked up at him, and his heart tugged. He wanted you to know that you really were his priority.

“I have been a very bad boyfriend. I’m so so sorry,” his blue eyes looked earnestly into yours as his blond hair messily fell in his eyes. “I don’t want you to think I’m doing this for no reason. I know we can get through this. I’m working like this because I want you to be able to have whatever the fuck you want every time you want it. You deserve it. I know it’s so hard. I’m really trying for us. And I want you to know it’s all because of you. “

It felt like you were melting into him.

“This is for you, and you only. If for one second I thought I’d lose you over this, I’d leave in a heartbeat. You have been a saint about this whole thing. Please just give me a little more time. Don’t give up on me. I love you so so much.”

Your hiccuping sighs were all that was left as you stared up at him. “I would never give up on you. I love you.” You relaxed fully on to him, cherishing what he feels like to touch and smell and experience.

It didn’t matter where you were, or what time it was, or what was happening around you. He was the only thing you could focus on or care about.

He pulled you in and kissed you gently. Running his hands across your middle, seemingly trying to memorize everything. He went under your shirt and cupped your breasts, lowering his kissing to your neck. He removed his hands from your shirt and placed them on your hips, which he firmly gripped as you lazily grinded on him. Small whimpers escaped his mouth as you did this, encouraging you in your lovesick state.

Joe gently unbuttoned your pajama shirt, the silk material sliding down your body slowly when he undid the last one. He caressed you gently, in no rush to savor you.

“So beautiful,” he whispered into the cool air of your bedroom.

You couldn’t respond as you focused in on his gentle touches. You were so honed in on how lightly he caressed you, afraid that if you didn’t savor it, you’d miss them. Small, quiet moans escaped your lips in ecstasy. You sat up to drag his boxers down his soft skin to where they didn’t limit your contact with him at all. You sat up, shorts still on, and ran your hand across his length, honing in on his tip. You massaged him, and his head lolled back onto the pillows.

“Yes,” he whispered.

The slowness of both of your actions was torturous and incredible at the same time. Endless touches and whispers disappearing into a night that was only your own. You slid down your shorts, anxious to finally have him. Joe looked angelic, soft tan skin glowing in the twilight. The blue of his needy eyes was nearly palpable. His roaming hands never stopped for a second. You lowered your self onto him slowly, a gasp being released by the both of you when you finally reached his hilt.

He pulled you into him, wrapping both arms tightly around you on top of him. He thrusted up into you, allowing you to remember every inch. Neither of you spoke, though you doubted either had the ability at the moment to form words. Your breathy moans filled the room, pleasure mixing together as you clung to him and he clung to you. The air was thick with need. For eachother, for touch, for everything.

Everything seemed to morph together despite the slow pace. It had been so long since Joe could show you how much he loved you, and god were you overdue. Finally, his thorough thrusts quickened slightly as he came. Your nails left trails down his back as you reached your high. All you both could do was cling on to each other, repeated “I love you’s” said into the air.

The work was worth it for him, so worth it.

#joe burrow bengals #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow smut #joe burrow #joe burrow fluff #cincinnati bengals #fanfic

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