#it still doesn't look right to me but whatever... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

barnacles34 · 19 hours ago

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Best Friends & a side of sex

MEOVV Gawon, Sooin X Male Reader

18+ smut 13k words

PART 2 of I Never Meant to Memorize your Smile

‘You’ve got dried cum in your hair.’ Your lips brushed her shoulder blade. Gawon's spine stiffened. ‘What?’

‘Morning, sunshine.’ She twisted, fingers probing her scalp. ‘Tell me you didn’t ejaculate into my hair last night.’ ‘Wouldn’t dream of it. Though… Exhibit A - ’ You tapped a pearlescent streak on her lower back. ‘ - and Exhibit B.’ A glint near her hairline. [1] [1] 'Aim' undersells it. Last night was less a targeted strike and more a Jackson Pollock session across her skin. Stain #1 ended with her pressed against the shower wall as you sprayed load after load over her face. Stain #2: the final piece of the day; Exhausted beyond belief, you came across her back, and the both of you collapsed from exhaustion. It's really a miracle the rest came off relatively easily. She groaned. ‘It’s crystallizing. Like sea salt.’ ‘Adds texture.’ You nuzzled the nape of her neck, inhaling lilac and sex. ‘Stay. Five more minutes.’ ‘Your semen is petrifying on my skin and you want to cuddle?’ ‘Yes.’ Your hand slid down her stomach. ‘It’s proof.’

‘Of what? Your inability to control your own - ’ ‘That we wrecked each other so thoroughly last night.’ Your thumb circled her navel. ‘That’s hot.’ She snorted. ‘You’re disgusting.’ ‘Your disgust sounds suspiciously like pride.’ ‘Fine. But if this gluey patch near my ear isn’t coconut oil, I’m bleaching your favorite jeans.’ 'Of course.' 'Lay back,' she said, still facing away from you, legs curled and slotted against your knees. 'I wanna see something.' You gently rolled onto your back, sinking into the pillow. She turned, entering your periphery with sleep-gleamed eyes and pink lips. 'Try swallowing,' she said, moving closer. You swallowed. Her lips found your neck right in the midst: a wet kiss to your Adam's apple. The sensation lingered. 'Why'd you do that?' 'Why not?'

Why not. Those two words contained everything: why not when you're curled against her like this, why not when you're deep inside her, why not when you're breathing in the sweet scent of her skin. She shifted back, still within the circle of your arms, her hair tickling your forehead. 'I'm all sore. No thanks to you.' 'I was adjusting to your needs. And your needs... are an acquired taste.' You snuggled upward, her hair now feathering across your chest, almost ticklish. She had no defense. 'The champagne was a nice touch.' 'Which bottle?' She tilted her face up, eyes still heavy but alert. 'Don't pretend there weren't multiple bottles. I counted at least three.' 'Two and a half. The third was already open.'

'Because you opened it.' Gawon turned over completely, facing you now. Goddess. Goddess. You didn't say it aloud, but she probably knew what you invoked with each gulp, each strained touch, each unfettered breath. [1]

[1] The thing about thinking "goddess" repeatedly during sex is that it's simultaneously the most embarrassing and most accurate thought possible. Like yes, technically we all know about oxytocin and dopamine and whatever chemical cocktail makes you temporarily insane, but that doesn't explain why her particular face makes your brain short-circuit into worship mode. Modern therapy would probably have words for this - "idealization" or "projection" or some other term that completely misses the point that sometimes a person just is that magnificent and your brain is simply reporting facts.

A comfortable pause; No awkwardness anymore, just the luxury of looking.

'Details.' You brushed a strand of hair from her face and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. 'How's your head?'

'Fine. I switched to water after the first few toasts. Unlike someone.'

'You're a lightweight.'

'I know. But you didn't fare much better.' She laughed properly then, burying her face in your chest. 'Certified Chair Tester.'

The memory clicked into place. 'Ah. I made you rate the chairs.'

'Yup. And I rated them all tens because I was tipsy.'

'A flimsy critic in my bed. How appalling.'

She poked your chest. 'You were swaying. It was way too funny to focus on furniture evaluation.'

'It's important information. What if we need to know which one's most comfortable?' 'At two in the morning?' 'Especially at two in the morning. That's prime chair-testing time.' 'You're ridiculous.' 'You helped.' 'Someone had to make sure you didn't fall off the balcony furniture.' 'I was perfectly stable.' 'You tried to serenade a potted plant.' 'It looked lonely.' She propped herself up on an elbow to study your face. 'What did you even sing to it?' 'I don't remember.' She blew at your face. You blinked. 'Liar. You remember everything.' 'Only the important things.' 'So what's important about last night?' You pretended to consider. 'Well, first, the sex - ' 'Hey.' Her hand found your shoulder in mock protest. 'Alright, but… come on.' You made the face that said you know it was, and she buried her face in your chest again, giggling. 'Fine. It was…' 'The best.' Another gentle smack. 'Then champagne in blankets. Plant serenading - ' 'You serenaded the plant.'

' - chair testing. When's the next time, anyway?'

'Never happening.' 'Come on.' You caught her hand, interlacing your fingers. Her skin was smooth, like heated marble. 'The way you looked in that dress…' 'Now you're just being smooth.' You traced her hand - the knuckles, the flesh between finger joints, her careful nails. 'Is it working?' 'Maybe.' She leaned in for a soft kiss. 'What else?' 'The way you insisted on ranking every wine from the minibar.' 'Research purposes.' 'On hotel stationary. With ratings out of ten.' 'What do you have against proper documentation?' Her eyes gleaming. Cute. [2]

[2] There's something deeply unhinged about making someone rate wines at 2 AM, but it's also exactly the kind of thing that seems brilliant when you're three drinks in and she's wearing your shirt and everything feels possible. The fact that she went along with it - actually took notes, actually assigned numerical values to '$8 minibar Chardonnay' - is probably why you're doomed. Anyone who matches your weird that precisely is either your soulmate or your downfall, and honestly… what's the difference?

'Nothing. Found it adorable.' You chased her as she dodged your kiss. 'What was the winner again?' 'The Rosé. Obviously.' 'Mm.' Your fingers found their way into her hair. 'We should probably get up soon.' 'Why?' 'Sooin's coming at 11:30.' She reached for her phone, squinting at the screen. 'That's… two hours away.'

'Exactly. Soon.' 'Your concept of time is broken.' The phone dropped back to the nightstand as she curled into you. 'Five more minutes.' 'You said that twenty minutes ago.' 'Did I? Must have been someone else.' 'In this bed?' 'Could be anyone. Very large bed.' 'True. I should check.' You shifted theatrically. 'Excuse me, mysterious person, have you seen my girlfriend?' She pinched your side. 'Stop.' 'About this tall, beautiful - and I mean beautiful - and makes spreadsheets about minibar wine?' 'I hate you.' 'Makes terrible threats?' She kissed you longer this time, a proper good morning. 'Better?' 'Getting there.' 'Impossible.' But she smiled against your mouth. 'What would make it better?' 'Hmm. Maybe if the mysterious bed person knew where my pants went.' 'Bathroom door.'

'How - ' 'You hung them very carefully while explaining the importance of wrinkle prevention. Very drunk. Very serious.' 'I was thoughtful.' 'You were tipsy trying to be responsible. It was cute.' 'Just cute?' 'And amusing.'

'I'll take it.' You caught her hand, kissed her palm. 'Though I notice your dress made it to an actual hanger.'

'I'm efficient even when compromised.'

'Compromised?'

'Slightly… influenced. By alcohol. And you.'

'Me?'

'You kept doing that thing.'

'What thing?'

Pink crept into her cheeks. 'The thing where you look at me like…'

'Like?'

'You know.' She hid her face in your neck. 'Stop making me say nice things. Too early.'

'It's past 9:30.'

'Weekend rules.'

'Since when do you follow weekend rules?'

'I'm adopting them. Selectively.' Her breath warmed your skin. 'Rule one: no embarrassing admissions before coffee.'

'After coffee?'

'We'll see.'

You wrapped both arms around her, content in the absurd luxury of this hotel bed. The room still held last night palpably - an empty glass on the far table, her shoes abandoned by the door, balcony doors cracked to let in cool morning air. Most importantly, her hair: properly mussed, frizzy where you grabbed it, where she moved in rhythm with your body. [3]

The morning stretched ahead, full of nothing but this.

[3] The morning-after hair observation thing is such a cliché it hurts, but: you become a forensic expert in the evidence of your own happiness. Every tangle says "this happened," every misplaced strand means "we were here, we were real, we were absurdly alive at 3 AM." It's pathetic how much meaning you can extract from follicular displacement, but then again, memory needs its anchors, and if yours happen to be keratin-based, so be it.

'It was nice watching you and Sooin together. All the history there.' 'Seven years of questionable decisions,' she murmured. 'Good decisions. Like this hotel room.' 'Mmm. I'll tell Sooin you approve.' She yawned. 'She'll be insufferable.' 'She's already insufferable. That's why we love her.' 'True.' A pause settled between you. 'Do you think she's okay? About the exhibition?' 'She will be. She always is.' 'I know. I just worry.' She shifted to look at you properly. 'Is that silly?' 'No. It's what you do.' You tucked her hair behind her ear. 'It's nice.' 'Nice?' 'Adorable. The kind where you pretend you're not soft but you actually are.' 'I'm not soft.' 'You made her a good luck playlist.' 'That's just being supportive.' 'With color-coded sections.' '…Organizational efficiency.' 'And little notes for each song.'

She buried her face in the pillow. 'Stop knowing things.'

'Never.' Your hand found her back, rubbing gentle circles. 'Hey. She's going to be brilliant. You know that, right?' 'I know.' Her voice came out muffled. 'I just want good things for her.'⁴ 'They'll happen.' She turned her head to peek at you. 'You really think so?' 'I do. And if not, we'll be there with emergency mimosas and terrible jokes.' 'Your jokes are terrible.'

'That's the point.' She smiled, reaching up to trace your face. She kissed your closed eye. You held her closer. Her eyes, the small mole on the tip of her nose. Palpable, the universe of you two. 'I love you.' She whispered. You kissed her in turn. 'I thought no embarrassing admissions before coffee.' Pink crept up her neck as she hid her face again. You pulled her closer. 'Nowhere else I'd rather be.' 'Even with mysterious bed people?' 'Especially then.'

She laughed, tugging you down for another kiss. 'Okay. Fifteen more minutes, then we really do have to get up.'

'Deal.'

'I mean it this time.'

'Sure you do.'

'I'm setting an alarm.' But she made no move toward her phone, already melting back into your arms.

'Very convincing.'

'Shh. Weekend rules. No calling out contradictions before coffee.'

'I thought that was embarrassing admissions.'

'I'm making new rules as needed.'

'Of course you are.' You kissed the crown of her head. 'Fifteen minutes.'

'Fifteen minutes.'

The promised alarm never materialized. Instead, your mouth found hers again, morning breath be damned. Your hands sprawled across her honey skin, palms pressing against the beginning swell of her breasts, circling slightly, drawing out those perfect little half-groans.

When you shifted to bracket her body with yours, she squealed playfully, pressing her palm against your shoulder. 'Someone's feeling bold.'

'Just thorough. You seemed cold.' The lie was transparent. She knew it, fingers already tracing your shoulder, eyes holding that particular heat from last night. 'Thorough, he says. Is that what we're calling it?' You answered by kissing the corner of her mouth, working your way to that spot below her ear that made her breath catch. She tilted her head automatically, a response coded into muscle memory. 'You're terrible,' she breathed.

'The worst,' you agreed against her skin. 'Absolutely the - oh.' Her words dissolved as you found that perfect junction of jaw and neck. Then, disaster: pins and needles shot down your supporting arm. She noticed immediately. 'Did your arm just fall asleep?' You lied by her side. With a big grin. So beautiful, when she smiles. 'Maybe.' 'Adorable. My strong man, defeated by his own circulation.'[1] Her hands worked your forearm back to life. 'Better?' You flexed your fingers in response. She caught your index finger, pressed a kiss to the tip. 'Competen - '

'Don't even start.' Her eyes blazed with mischief. 'Maybe stick to positions that don't require gymnastic endurance?' You pulled her firmly against you, her waist bending perfectly as she gasped. Your mouth found the flexing tendon of her neck, tongue tracing hollows and dips as she arched into you. Fifteen minutes became thirty. Thirty became an hour. Sooin could wait.

[1] All taut sinew; the next, your nerve stages a coup, flooding your limb with the fizzy static of a thousand dying televisions. The humiliation is exquisite: biology reminding you that you’re essentially a sentient meat puppet piloted by faulty wiring and whimsical blood flow. You try to play it off - Ah, just my corporeal vessel rebelling against transcendence! - but internally, you’re drafting furious letters to Evolution: “RE: Poor Design Choices in Homo Sapiens Model #27B-6. SUGGESTION: Prioritize limb reliability over, say, toe hair or the ability to taste cilantro as soap.” It’s the universe whispering, through pins and needles, that even ecstasy is provisional, subject to maintenance, and probably overdue for an upgrade.

Her breath hitched when your lips found the edge of her jaw. You kissed the hard angle first, then traced the taut cord of muscle down to the soft dip beneath her chin. When your mouth finally covered hers, it wasn’t gentle. ‘How’s that for competent?’ You growl. Into her mouth. Her breathless mouth. Inching for any opportunity to breathe. You sealed her protest with your tongue. Her hands locked behind your nape pulling you closer until her breasts flattened against your chest, nipples hardening directly on your skin. The scent of her skin - salt and gooseberries and lilac - flooded your nostrils as she arched into you. Your palm slid down her outer thigh, fingertips catching on the fabric of her panties. Higher. Over the curve of her ass, gripping the fabric until the muscle tensed under your hand. She moaned into your mouth, grinding against your hip, her bare feet wrapped around you, holding on for dear life. Then her hand was on you - fingers curling around the thick outline of your cock through your underwear, squeezing just enough to draw a ragged groan from your throat. You felt the damp heat between her legs when your thumb brushed her clothed pussy.

‘Fuck me,’ she gasped, hips jerking as you pushed two fingers past her waistband, through slick folds. ‘Turn around.’ She smirked before she pivoted, turning around, back pressed to your chest. You hooked your thumbs in her panties - black lace - and dragged them down to mid-thigh, perfectly profane. Her skin burned where your knuckles brushed her inner leg. 'Please.' She pleaded, pushing her ass against your erection' You fumbled with your underwear, cock springing free against her lower back. She guided you with a hand behind her, fingers wrapping your shaft, angling you downward. Your first thrust grazed into her. Too tight.

‘Wrong - ,’ she yelped, pain and laughter trembling. 'Oh fuck. I'm so sorry.' You sidle up next to her, 'Are you - '' 'Keep going. Don't ruin the mood. Keep going. Please.' You choked; you adjusted, the head of your cock catching on wetness this time. She gasped as you pushed past swollen flesh, sinking an inch into her. Her inner muscles clenched.

‘Deeper.’ she begged, fingers clawing at your thigh. ‘Please - ’ You drove forward until your hips met her ass. A choked cry tore from her throat as she took your full length. She was fracturing. 'Fuck. Fuck - ' You held still, letting her adjust, feeling the flutter of her walls around you. 'Take it. Take it.' You breathe out, out of breath, fucking her into heaven. Nothing to offer but your length divvied into her wet walls. Hips pinned against her every turn. Your cock kissing her cervix - the rim of her moist cunt pressed oh so tight, filthy, dirty. ‘Should’ve - ah - aimed better,’ she panted, rolling her hips to take you deeper still. You moved then - thrusts that dragged just so, perfectly, leaving just the crown of your cock before pressing your full length inside her. Her moans sharpened, pitching higher with each retreat, each return. You slid a hand around her hip, fingers finding her drenched folds, circling her swollen bud as you fucked her. Her thighs shook. ‘Come on,’ you urged, thumb pressing hard. ‘Let go.’ You fucked deeper. Restraining her neck, her back compressing into an arch that left nothing in the middle. Only her nape and ass pressed against you. You dug your palm into her navel, 'Cum for me. Princess. Cum for me.' You growl, drawl. Her back arched, more than before. More than what should be possible. A scream ripped through her as she came, muscles milking your cock. Pulse after pulse. You groaned, and you followed, hips slamming forward as release tore deep into your muscles, your bones. Rope after rope. Cum served right to her cervix. Glancing off the walls, eventually sickeningly spread all inside her, filled to the brim, spilling like lava through the slightest crevice of her folds. All she could offer was a soft sigh.

Her back was to you, she was still trembling. Sweat glued the both of you together. Your fingers stroked the damp hair at her nape.

'I don't think I can walk.'

You smile. 'Who said you had to walk?'

‘Mmm,’ she hummed, turning in your arms. ‘Such a charmer.’ Her hand slid down your chest, pausing at your abdomen. ‘Prove those muscles aren’t just for show. Carry me.’

You lifted her easily, fireman-style. Her laughter vibrated against your neck as you carried her to the bathroom.

She opened the doors. 'Though I'd be of help, you know, my arms, and your legs situation.'

'Appreciate the assistance.' You jokingly say.

The shower hissed, steam immediately fogged the mirror.

‘Brunch with Sooin later. Before her exhibition.’ she said, a reminder to herself. Water sluiced through her hair, darkening it to ink.

You followed, hands sliding over her slick shoulders. ‘And after?’

She tilted her face up, droplets catching on her lashes. ‘Haven’t decided.’ Your palm cupped her breast, thumb rubbing a taut nipple. She sighed, leaning back into you. ‘Maybe we’ll just… see.’

'Wait.' You reached for the shampoo, squirting some into your palm. 'Did Gawon just suggest winging it?'

'I'm full of surprises.' She turned, presenting her back to you as you worked the shampoo through her hair.

'Next you'll tell me you threw out your color-coded calendar.'

'Let's not get crazy.' She was soft, content. Her head steadily went along with your touch. 'This feels nice though.'

'What does?'

'Not knowing. Just… being here with you.' She leaned back slightly into your touch.

'Even with soap in your eyes?'

'Especially with soap in my eyes.' She laughed, swiping at her face. 'Very romantic. Really setting the mood.'

'I do my best.' You helped rinse her hair, fingers gentle against her scalp. 'So this spontaneous Gawon - should I be worried?'

'Terrified.' She grinned up at you. 'I might suggest something really wild. Like trying that new Thai place without checking reviews first.'

'The horror.'

'Or walking through the park without a clear idea.'

'Now you're just talking nonsense.'

'I'm learning spontaneity from you. So to speak.'

'That's either very sweet or you're setting me up for something.'

'Can't it be both?' She reached for the conditioner. 'Your turn. What do you want to do today?'

'Honestly?' You took the bottle from her. 'Whatever makes you keep smiling like that.'

'Smooth talker.' But her smile widened. 'Though I notice you didn't actually answer.'

'Maybe I'm learning from you. Keeping my options open.'

'A convert!' She pressed a wet hand to her chest in mock surprise. 'My work here is done.'

'So Sooin at… noon?'

'Eleven-thirty. She's got that exhibition at two.' Gawon tilted her head as you worked conditioner through the ends of her hair. 'She's nervous about it.'

'Art?'

'Mhm.'

'She'll nail it.' You guided her back under the water. 'She's got that whole eccentric thing down.'

'I'll tell her you said that.' She wiped water from her eyes. 'She thinks she's too cheerful for the part.'

'That’s charm though. No one has energy like her.'

'She contains multitudes.' [1] Gawon's eyes sparkled with mischief. 'Speaking of which, you never told me who your favorite poet actually is.'

[1] Gawon deploys Whitman quotes like other people deploy "um" or "well". It's her tell. You've catalogued them all: 'I contain multitudes'; 'I am large' when caught crying at a commercial; 'Do I contradict myself?' when she changes dinner plans for the third time. If you were confronted on behalf of her, you'd say, to the world and above 'She's a loser, your honor'. Though the fact that she only does this for maybe four people in the world makes you stupidly proud to be one of them.

'You're not getting out of the Whitman bit that easily.'

'Worth a shot.' She reached past you for the body wash. 'Though I bet it's someone properly pretentious. Ezra Pound? T.S. Eliot?' You had your hand out, she spooled some body wash on your palm.

You rubbed your palms together, getting suds out. 'Baudelaire, actually.' You softly rubbed her body down.

She paused, surprised. 'Gross.'

'What?'

'Pervert.' She smiled, something tender in it. 'I see where you get your naughtiness from.'

You smiled back.

The water ran.

'See?' she said finally. 'Spontaneity. We just had a poetry moment in the shower.'

You pressed a kiss to her damp forehead. 'Maybe ease up on the transcendentalists before coffee.'

'No promises.' She tucked herself against you for a moment. 'I'm feeling very one-with-the-universe today.'

'God help us all.'

'Just you.' She pulled back, eyes bright. 'Think you can handle it?'

'I'll manage somehow.'

'Good.' She headed for the bedroom, calling back, 'Because I'm thinking we skip the predetermined brunch place and just walk until we find somewhere that looks good.'

'Living dangerously.'

'Try to keep up. This new spontaneous me waits for no one.'

'Except for the fifteen minutes you'll spend choosing which spontaneous outfit to wear?'

A towel flew back through the doorway, her laughter following it. 'Twenty minutes, minimum. Some habits die hard.'

You helped her dry her hair, something you’d underestimated, she had a mischievous smile the moment you accepted her offer of drying her hair. The best part was, indeed, the scent of her hair, the softness of it, gliding along your hand.

‘Didn’t expect it to take this long?’’

‘Not at all, it's your hair. Any time is too short.’

‘You got vocal chords shaped like a heart don’t you?’

'Only for you.' You wrapped your arms around her waist, and kissed her neck once.

‘I’m feeling beguiled.’

‘Unsafe?’

‘Very. Where’s the exit?’

‘Oh. I’m not that easy.’ You tightened the embrace.

She giggled, her hand wrapping endearingly around yours.

You had maybe 3 outfits; they were also scattered - the rest of the time, you and Gawon had to look for it. You finished just a little later than Gawon.

Outside, Sooin was sitting in her jeep with the windows down. She spotted you approaching with a grin.

'Morning,' she said, climbing out. 'I brought coffee but I drank it all. Sorry.'

'You okay?' Gawon asked.

'Yeah. Just couldn't sit still at home.' She leaned against the car. 'My neighbor started vacuuming at six AM so I figured that was the universe telling me to leave.'

You all climbed in. The car smelled faintly of coffee and the blue lavender sachets she kept tucked everywhere.

'Where to?' Sooin asked, pulling out carefully.

'I hadn't really decided,' Gawon said.

Sooin glanced over. 'Really?'

'Really.'

'Huh.' A small smile crossed her face. 'Okay. Let's just drive then.'

She took a left at the light, no particular destination in mind. The morning traffic was light, mostly delivery trucks and early joggers.

'The exhibition's at two-fifteen,' Sooin said after a while. 'They want a 'spontaneous review' .'

'You're good at those,' Gawon said.

'Sometimes.' She adjusted the mirror unnecessarily. 'It's three months in Hokkaido if I get it.'

'That's far.'

'Yeah.' Another adjustment. 'Really far.'

They drove past a small café with outdoor seating. Sooin slowed.

'This works?'

'Perfect,' Gawon said.

Sooin parked, taking two tries to get it straight. Inside, they found a corner table. The place was nearly empty, just them and an older man reading a newspaper.

'Tea?' Gawon suggested when the server came by.

'Coffee,' Sooin said. 'I know, I know. But tea makes me sleepy.'

'Since when?'

'Since always. I just pretend to like it.' She smiled at the server. 'Biggest mug you have, please.'

They ordered food too - eggs, toast, nothing fancy. Sooin picked at hers.

'Not hungry?'

'I ate earlier. Made eggs at home too. Forgot I did until just now.' She laughed quietly. 'I'm a little scattered today.'

'You'll be fine,' you said.

'Maybe.' She took a sip of coffee. 'My agent actually said 'think less.''

'Helpful.'

'Right?' She managed a real smile then. 'I should just channel Gawon. Very contained.'

'I'm not that contained,' Gawon protested.

'You made me use a coaster at your apartment during a party.'

'That's just common sense.'

'It was a red solo cup.'

They fell into silence. Sooin's hands had stopped fidgeting, wrapped around her mug.

'Thanks for this,' she said eventually. 'I know I'm being weird.'

'You're not,' Gawon said.

'Right.' She put the phone down. 'Tell me something normal. Anything.'

'Like what?'

'I don't know. What you had for breakfast yesterday. Your grocery list. Literally anything that isn't about auditions.'

Gawon thought about it. 'I bought new socks.'

'Thrilling.'

'They have cats on them.'

'Of course they do.' But Sooin was almost smiling. 'Are they at least subtle cats?'

'They're wearing top hats.'

Sooin smiled.

'What? They were on sale.'

You laughed. 'Show her the ones from last week.'

'No.'

'They have tacos on them,' you told Sooin.

'Tacos?'

'Tiny dancing kitty tacos.'

Sooin stared at Gawon. 'You're secretly twelve years old.'

'They're comfortable.'

'That's not a defense.'

'It's the only defense I need.' Gawon took a sip of coffee. 'Besides, you have that shirt with the - '

'We don't talk about the shirt.'

'The one with the sequined - '

'I said we don't talk about it.'

They went back and forth like that, and slowly Sooin's death grip on her mug loosened. Her shoulders came down from around her ears.

'Fifty minutes,' she said eventually. 'Think I have time to throw up?'

'You're not going to throw up.'

'I might.'

'You won't.' Gawon pushed the water closer. 'Drink this.'

'Bossy.'

'Yeah.'

Sooin drank the water. 'Remember when I auditioned for that commercial? The one with the cat?'

'You were allergic.'

'So allergic. My face swelled up like a balloon.' She touched her cheek. 'At least there's no cats this time.'

'Small mercies.'

'Huge mercies. Can you imagine? Sorry, I can't quietly unravel, I'm too busy sneezing.''

'You'd still get it,' you said.

'With my balloon face?'

'Even then.'

'Liar.' But she looked calmer. 'Thirty minutes. Oh god.'

'You want to head over?'

'No. Yes. I don't know.' She stood up, sat back down. 'What if I forget my own name?'

'Then make one up,' Gawon suggested.

'Hi, I'm… Gertrude.'

'Aim higher.'

'Beatrice?'

'Now you're just listing old lady names.'

'Those are sophisticated names.' Sooin stood again, for real this time. 'Okay. Let's go before I really do throw up.'

You paid and left. Outside, Sooin stopped walking.

'I don't want to go to Hokkaido,' she said quietly.

'Then don't,' Gawon said.

'I need the job.'

'You need a job. Not necessarily this job.'

'It's a good opportunity.'

'Is it though?'

Sooin looked at her. 'You're supposed to be supportive.'

'I am being supportive. I'm supporting your right to not freeze your ass off for three months.'

'That's…' Sooin laughed, surprised. 'Actually helpful?'

'I have moments.'

They walked to the car. Sooin got in, started it, didn't drive.

'What if I bomb?'

'Then you bomb,' you said.

'That's it?'

'Then you bomb and we get lunch and tomorrow's another day.'

'You make it sound simple.'

'It is simple. But cruel.'

Sooin considered this. 'I hate when you're profound.'

'Sorry.'

'Don't be.' She finally put the car in drive. 'Twenty minutes. Let's do this.'

At the theater, she parked crooked and didn't fix it.

'How do I look?'

'Like yourself,' Gawon said.

'Is that good enough?'

'It's perfect.'

Sooin nodded, grabbed her bag. 'If I die in there - '

'We'll delete your browser history.'

'I was going to say tell my mother I love her, but that's better. Thanks.'

She hugged them both quickly, then walked inside before she could change her mind.

'She's going to nail it,' you said.

'Yeah.' Gawon was already looking for somewhere to wait. 'Coffee?'

'Obviously.'

You found a place across the street. Ordered. Sat by the window where you both could see the theater doors.

'She really doesn't want to go to Hokkaido,' Gawon said.

'No.'

'Think she'll take it anyway?'

'Probably.'

'Yeah.' Gawon turned her cup three times. Caught herself. 'Damn it.'

'I didn't say anything.'

'You were thinking it.'

'Little bit.'

They sat quietly, waiting. Normal morning. Normal coffee. Two people waiting for their friend to maybe change her life or maybe not.

Either way, they'd be there.

Sooin's exhibition was successful. She sold 3 pieces. 3 more than she expected. She was more than ecstatic. And she was hired.

'I got it!' Sooin shouted from the hallway, fumbling with her keys. 'Holy shit, I actually got it!'

'We heard you the first ten times,' Gawon said, taking one of the champagne bottles before Sooin dropped it.

'I'm going to keep saying it.' She finally got the door open. 'Maybe forever.'

Her apartment was a mess. Empty wine bottles from last night's panic session, canvases against every wall, a dead plant she kept meaning to throw out.

'Sit,' Gawon ordered. 'You're vibrating.'

'I can't sit. I might explode.' But Sooin collapsed on the couch anyway. 'They want me for three months. In Hokkaido. Starting next month.'

'That's fast,' you said.

'That's terrifying.' She opened the champagne badly. Foam everywhere. 'Shit. Sorry.'

'Leave it.' Gawon was already in the kitchen getting glasses. Real ones, not the plastic cups Sooin usually used.

'Fancy,' Sooin said.

'You got a real job. We're using real glasses.'

'It's just three months.'

'It's a whole thing. With a budget. A whole mentor.'

'Who thinks I have 'luminous loneliness.' Sooin made air quotes. 'Whatever that means.'

'It means you're hired,' you said.

'Yeah.' She drank half her glass at once. 'Weird though, right? Like he saw through me or something.'

Gawon and you exchanged a look.

'What?' Sooin caught it. 'What was that?'

'Nothing.'

'Bullshit. You did the thing.'

'What thing?'

'The worried look thing.' She poured more champagne. 'I'm fine. I'm great. I'm employed.'

'We know,' Gawon said carefully.

'Do you? Because you're looking at me like I'm about to cry or something.' Sooin laughed. Too loud. 'I'm not going to cry. I got the part.'

She kept drinking. Fast. By the third glass she was quieter.

'Three months is long,' she said eventually.

'We'll visit.'

'Yeah.' She picked at the couch cushion. 'It's just. I'll be alone. Again.'

'You won't be alone. You'll have the cast, the crew - '

'That's not what I mean.' Sooin looked at them. 'When's the last time someone actually wanted me around? Like, really wanted me?'

The question hung there.

'See?' She smiled, but it was all wrong. 'Can't remember either.'

'Sooin - '

'It's fine. I'm used to it.' She stood up too fast, swayed. 'I'm going to bed.'

'Let us help - '

'I'm good.' She wasn't. 'Really. Thanks for… this. For being here.'

They watched her weave toward her bedroom. The door closed with a soft click.

The apartment had gone quiet except for Sooin's gentle breathing from the bedroom. You'd both helped her there an hour ago, after the toasts became mumbled and her eyes started closing mid-sentence.

Just you and Gawon on the couch, the Yamazaki bottle between you on the coffee table. She poured two fingers each, no ice.

'She was happy,' Gawon said, tucking her legs under herself. 'Really happy.'

'The exhibition was a success.' You add.

'That's not what I mean.' Gawon took a sip, considering her words. 'Did you see her face when that couple was discussing her work? How she lit up?'

'She loves when people get it.'

'No.' Gawon shook her head. 'She loves being seen. There's a difference.'

You waited. Gawon had that look-the one that meant she was working up to something.

'She told me she hasn't been with anyone.’ She said, quiet.

'She's focused on her work.'

'She's scared.' Gawon stared into her glass. 'I mean, I know the feeling now, you know? She’s never been with anybody - I never thought that concept would be so important to me now.’

She looked at you then. 'When's the last time someone chose her? Really chose her?'

Japan’s humid night tucked the both of you in this comfortable atmosphere.

'I've been thinking,' Gawon continued. 'About what she needs.'

'Gawon - '

'Just listen.' She shifted closer. 'You're good. Actually good. Not just nice, not just charming. Good.'

'I'm not - '

'You are.' Her hand found yours. 'And she trusts you. We both do.'

'What are you asking?'

'I'm asking…' She took another sip for courage. 'I'm asking you to make her feel wanted. Even just once. So she knows what it's like.'

'You want me to-'

'I want her to stop believing she's meant to be alone.' Gawon was fierce but quiet. 'I want her to know how it feels when someone sees all of her and wants her anyway.'

'This is whiskey talking.'

She set her glass down. 'This is me talking. Me loving her enough to be unconventional.'

'And you'd be okay with it?'

'I'd be there.' The words came out sure. 'If she wanted. If it helped her feel safe.'

You studied her face - earnest, determined, maybe a little scared herself.

'This could complicate everything,' you said carefully.

'Everything's already complicated.' She laughed softly. 'We're sitting in her apartment, drinking her celebration whiskey, trying to figure out how to fix her loneliness. We passed complicated a while ago.'

'She might say no.'

'She might.' Gawon picked up her glass again. 'But she might not. And maybe that's what she needs - to choose. To be chosen.'

From the bedroom, Sooin murmured something in her sleep. You both turned toward the sound, then back to each other.

'Think about it,' Gawon said. 'That's all I'm asking.'

'I don't need to think about it.' You touched her face gently. 'If you're sure. If she wants it. If it would help her…'

'You'd do that?'

'I'd do anything for the people I love.' First time said aloud. 'Both of you.'

Gawon kissed you then, soft and grateful.

She curled into your side, and you sat there with the weight of what you were contemplating. The whiskey bottle refracted and diffracted, amber and warm, like the feeling in your chest.

'When?' you asked eventually.

'When she's sober. When she can really choose.' Gawon was sleepy now. 'When it's not about the exhibition… but just… us. Being here for her.'

'Okay.'

'Okay?'

'Okay.'

She smiled against your shoulder. In the bedroom, Sooin slept on, unaware of the promises being made in her name, for her heart, in the whiskey-soft glow of her own living room.

Morning came with the quiet sounds of movement in the kitchen.

'There's coffee,' Sooin said without turning when you and Gawon came in. She was at the stove, hair messy, wearing the same paint-stained shirt she always wore for cooking.

'Smells good,' Gawon said, settling at the table.

'It's just eggs.' Sooin was carefully neutral. 'Nothing fancy.'

'Sleep okay?' you asked.

'Fine.' She still hadn't turned around. 'You?'

'The couch was comfortable.'

'Good. That's… good.'

Gawon nudged your foot under the table. The eggs were starting to stick to the pan.

'Here.' You stood, moving to help. 'Let me - '

'I've got it.' But she let you take the spatula, stepping back.

Standing this close, you could see she'd been crying again. Not recently, but enough to leave traces.

'Sooin.'

'Don't.' Her voice was very quiet. 'Please.'

'Okay.'

You focused on the eggs, salvaging what you could. She stayed nearby, not quite touching but not moving away either.

'I said things last night,' she said finally.

'You were honest.'

'I was drunk.'

'Both can be true.'

She laughed softly, without humor. 'I guess.'

The morning light caught her face when she finally looked up. She looked tired but also somehow lighter, like crying had washed something away.

'I meant it though,' she said. 'About being tired of being alone.'

''I know.'

'It's not…' She glanced at Gawon, then back. 'I'm not trying to make this weird.'

'You're not.'

'I am though.' She moved closer, just barely. 'Aren't I?'

You set the spatula down. 'Look at me.'

She did, reluctantly.

'You're not making anything weird. You're being you.'

'That's the problem.'

'No,' you said gently. 'It's not.'

Something shifted in her face. 'You mean that.'

'Yeah.'

'Even though…' She gestured vaguely between you and Gawon.

'Even though.'

She was very still now, watching you. You reached up slowly, giving her time to step back. She didn't. Your hand touched her face.

'Oh,' she said softly.

The kiss was brief, gentle. Her fingers wrapped around your wrist, not pulling away, just holding.

When you stepped back, she stayed still for a moment, eyes closed.

…

She opened her eyes, looked at you, then at Gawon who had moved closer.

'I don't understand any of this.'

'That's okay,' Gawon said quietly.

'Is it?'

'Yeah.'

Sooin took a breath. Looked at the stove. 'I burned the eggs.'

'I noticed.'

'They're completely destroyed.'

'We'll make more,' you said.

'Right.' She turned off the burner, moved the pan to the sink. 'Right. Okay.'

She ran water over the burned mess, watched it steam.

'Thank you,' she said to the sink. 'Both of you.'

'For what?'

'I don't know.' A small laugh. 'Everything. Nothing. The eggs.'

'Anytime,' Gawon said.

The morning sun filled the kitchen. Three people standing in the aftermath of something shifting. The burned smell was already fading.

Sooin dried her hands, turned around. 'So. Breakfast?'

'Breakfast,' you agreed.

And that was enough for now.

The taxi smelled like fake pine. Gawon sat by the window, arms crossed.

'You okay?'

'Fine.'

'You're doing that thing with your jaw.'

'What thing?' Her jaw unclenched slightly.

'That thing.' You poked her shoulder. 'When you're annoyed but pretending not to be.'

'I'm not annoyed.'

'Okay.'

'I'm not.'

'I said okay.'

She turned to glare at you. 'Her lipstick is on your collar.'

You glanced down. There was indeed a faint pink smudge. 'Huh.'

'Huh? That's all?'

'What do you want me to say?'

'I don't know. Something.' She turned back to the window. 'Never mind.'

'You're jealous.'

'I'm not jealous.'

'You're a little jealous.'

'Shut up.'

You slid closer. She leaned away.

'Gawon.'

'What?'

'You literally suggested it.'

'I know what I suggested. Doesn't mean I have to like it.'

'Fair.'

The driver changed lanes. Gawon stayed pressed against the door.

'She uses vanilla lip gloss,' you said conversationally. 'Very sweet.'

'I don't care.'

'Like candy almost.'

'Stop talking.'

'You use that mint one. Much better.'

She finally looked at you. 'You're enjoying this.'

'A little bit.'

'Ass.'

'Yeah.' You touched her knee. 'Come here.'

'No.'

'Come on.'

'I said no.' But she wasn't pulling away from your hand.

'One kiss.'

'You've had enough kisses today.'

'One more.'

She rolled her eyes but turned toward you. 'You're ridiculous.'

'Yeah.'

'And your collar is still pink.'

'I'll wash it.'

'Good.' She leaned in then, quick and firm. When she pulled back, she was almost smiling. 'There. Happy?'

'Getting there.'

'Don't push it.' But she let you take her hand. 'How was it anyway?'

'How was what?'

'You know what.'

'It was nice.'

'Nice.' She considered this. 'That's it?'

'She was nervous. Kept apologizing.'

'Sounds like her…'

…

'I also liked it.' She added, in the silence.

Wha-

She swiftly kissed you this time, harder, hands on your jaw. The taxi driver coughed pointedly.

'We're almost there,' Gawon said against your mouth.

'We could circle the block.'

'That's very Pretty Woman of you.'

'I've never seen it.'

'Liar.' But she was smiling now, the tension finally breaking. 'You probably cried at the end.'

'Every time.'

'I knew it.' She settled against your side properly. 'You're such a soft touch.'

'Only for you.'

'And Sooin, apparently.' She smiled, now with an air of mischief.

'That's different.'

'I know.' Quieter now. 'I know it is. Still.'

'Still,' you agreed.

The hotel appeared ahead. Gawon straightened, already reaching for her bag.

'For the record,' she said as the taxi slowed, 'I prefer when your mouth tastes like mint. Or nothing. Or me. Or you.'

'Noted.'

The taxi stopped. The doorman was already moving toward them. The moment broke, but the understanding remained - she'd given something, watched something, felt something she hadn't expected. And maybe that was okay.

The hotel already felt like home. Two days. Just two days and the air carried Gawon's scent.

And the traces of the entire day, and the day before that.

You carried a box of cookies that Sooin made into the villa. She said it was just a parting gift just for today, but it felt more like she was trying to forget what happened. It was the opposite for you, you couldn't forget; and the fresh smell of the cookies, reminded you exactly of Sooin's plump lips, pressed desperately against yours, as the scent of the cookie caramelized in the oven.

You left the box of cookies on the table.

The door to the bathroom clicked when you sat on the bed. And Gawon emerged. Sheer stockings covering her feet to the midway of her thighs. A stunningly webbed black lingerie piece that covered just the right amount to leave you anguish, while still narrowly hiding everything.

Her bra was the same too, the underswell, the upswell, the way her breasts coupled just over the edge of the bra, just so, god almighty.

'Sit on that chair.' She was firm.

You moved, still admiring her, but now sat facing her.

She approached, slowly at first, between you and the bed, and she sat.

'I suppose this is what I planned as payback.'

'Because of yesterday.'

'Among other things. You kissing Sooin, keeping me sore this entire week.'

Her stocking-clad foot traced a deliberate path along your denim-clad thigh - a slow exploration. ‘Gawon.’ The name escaped you, raw and pleading.

‘Hush.’

Your fingers dug into the chair’s worn knit fabric. Her toes pressed, finally, against the aching bulge straining your jeans - then lifted away. ‘Gawon.’

‘Keep saying my name.’ A command.

Both feet settled heavily on your thighs now, warm soles pressing heat through denim. Your knuckles whitened. ‘What do you want? Tell me.’

‘Help me. With your feet.’

‘Good boy.’

One foot slid upward, the nylon catching on your zipper. A single toe hooked under the button. Relief was a breath away. ‘Take it out.’

‘What?’

‘Take it out.’ Her foot pressed down, the arch molding perfectly to your trapped erection. Toe pads dragged firmly along the swollen length. ‘Look at you. Hard just from my feet. Naughty boy.’

‘You’re the reason.’ Your voice was gravel. Her sole pressed harder, feeling the rigid heat through the layers of cotton and denim.¹

Her hands clenched the bedsheets, knuckles taut.

Then - emptiness. Her feet withdrew.

You looked up, lost. ‘Wh - '

Her fingers hooked the waistband of her skirt. A slow, slide down endless legs. The fabric caught briefly on her toes before pooling on the floor. Art unveiled.

You released the chair, transfixed. The air hummed with worn nerves. She planted her feet firmly on the mattress edge, wiggling her toes - a deliberate provocation. Her gaze pinned you, savoring your desperation.

Slowly, deliberately, she ripped the seam of her left stocking. White-painted toes emerged. ‘These were expensive,’ she murmured. ‘I expect… reciprocation.’ The contrast - torn black nylon against creamy skin - was devastating.

‘Take it out.’ This time, it was final. You shoved your boxers down, freeing yourself.

Gawon’s eyes widened. Her left foot landed on your bare thigh, sole searing against skin. Then the right. Both feet bracketed your shaft, radiating unbearable heat just millimeters away.

‘Let me show you what these can do.’ A soft, dangerous smile.

Her feet closed around you. Her warm textured soles around your shaft, bare toes wiggling, brushing. Pressure. Friction. Gawon grinned, your cock trapped between her arches, twitching, helpless, pooling with precum.

She asked you to move closer, ‘Wait - closer. I can - ’

You dragged the chair forward immediately, wood scraping floor. She slid toward the edge. Your hands locked around her thin calves, feeling the flex of muscle beneath nylon.

‘That… works.’ Her breath hitched. One hand slid down her stomach, fingers pressing into soft skin below her navel. Lower. Beneath the lace edge of her panties. A sigh escaped her as her fingers moved slow, shadowing across her lace panties, hints of knuckles, fingers, the soft squelch. Her hand emerged glistening.

‘God. You’re so wet.’ You barely tear out.

‘Like you wouldn’t believe.’ She held up her slick-coated hand. ‘Want it? Be good. Take it.' She wrapped that wetness around your cock. Tight. She spat into her other palm. Both hands worked you now, while her feet maintained their tight grip at the base of your cock, barely moving, but destroying your nerves nonetheless.

Then she moved. Her hand held crown of your cock as her soles pressed heavily on either side. Her hand worked the precum down, her feet worked all of it: saliva, precum, her slick.

You twitched. Back arching. Your grip on her calves was too tight at some point, to which she moaned a soft rebellion: you stopped immediately.

You dug your toes into the carpet, your biceps pulsed, you lost oxygen after every filthy pass of her feet along your length.

And yet,

Her feet never stopped - a slow, torturous undulation against your shaft. The textured nylon dragged and pulled every moan from you, every hunchback position to prevent spilling on her textured soles rubbing against the slit of your cock.

Then just as you half-twitched to completion.

She stopped.

'You want my hand?'

'Yes.' You barely say.

You were prey to Gawon: 'Louder, beg for it.'

'Please. Your hand. My cock. Please.'

Her hand gripped your cock like it was a squeeze toy, a welcome sensation when you're passing in and out of consciousness.

Every downward stroke of her hands synced with her soles pressed hard around your cock.

'Look at you,' she breathed. 'Twitching like a rabbit in a snare.'

A strangled sound escaped you. Her thumbs circled your swollen head, smearing her wetness mixed with yours. Pre-come slicked the path. The schlick-schlick of her pumping hands synced with the shush-shush of nylon soles gliding.

Then she changed rhythm.

Her feet stilled, clamped tight just below the head. Her hands accelerated, twisting on the upstroke, thumb digging into the frenulum.

'Gawon - !'

'Not yet.' Her command was amber and honey and gunpowder pressed to your very nerves. 'You hold it. Hold it for me. Be a good boy.'

Sweat beaded your temples. Your hips jerked, seeking deeper pressure, but her feet held firm, denying release. Muscles trembled - thighs, abdomen, the cords in your neck standing rigid. The need was a live wire sparking behind your eyes.

'You taste the air?' She murmured, inexplicably.

You did. Salt. Her arousal. The tang of overworked nerves.

'That’s you unmaking. That’s what I do. Now, come here. sit here.' She patted on the part of bed between her thighs.

You stood up immediately, sitting between her thighs, her arms now entangled around your waist.

'I have a request.' She pressed a kiss to your jaw.

'Mm.' You reply. Running on fumes.

'I want you to… are you listening?' She says, now soft.

In a flash, her legs wrapped around your waist, her hand wrapped around your cock. Her heels just hovered by the sides of your shaft.

Then her heels dug in.

You let out a groan. In pleasure.

'I want to watch you have sex with Sooin.'

You twitched. You almost came. You groaned too. She's trying to fucking kill you. Her heels moved just so, the muscle of your shaft shifting in turn, her soles now pressed on either side of your shaft.

'Gawon - '

'Fuck Sooin for me. I won't force you. I want you to. I liked it… I liked it when you kissed her.'

'Gawon - ' You breathe. You were about to break. You were twitching. One more move. That's all she needed to break you.

'So?' Waiting for an answer.

Her left foot shifted. Just the big toe, dragging slowly, agonizingly, from root to tip along the pulsing vein underneath your cock. A whimper tore loose. Her hands tightened, twisting harder.

'Ok! I will. Fuck. I'll fuck Sooin. In front of you... I'll cum inside her.'

You groaned, her soles continued its movement, along the length of your cock, the whole of her soles, milking you.

She moaned. She came before you did. She moaned right on the rim of your ear, vibrating her perfect orgasm.

Holy Fucking Shit.

You detonated next.

It was a structural collapse. Spine arching, heels digging into carpet, vision whiting out as heat roared up your spine. Her hands milked every spasm, her feet a warm, grounding weight as you emptied yourself over her fingers, stripes of white landing hot on your stomach, her fingers, the carpet below the bed.

You panted, Gawon held you firm.

Gawon watched, chest rising and falling rapidly, her own arousal glistening visibly now at the lace edge of her panties. She lifted her slick, glazed hand, studying the mess with detached fascination.

'Holy fuck.' She said, spent.

You laughed.

She laughed in turn.

Her foot, still resting against your spent cock, gave one final, proprietary squeeze.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow was when everything was gonna happen.

You and Gawon shared a shower. Went along with the routine of days past.

With a commitment etched into eachother's hearts.

The day was neutral. Routine. You and gawon showered together. She scoffed when you held her waist with a half-hard cock against her back; all she could offer was, 'Tonight, you'll have all the time you need.' She didn't know how much that made you ache.

The hours ambled past. You and Gawon made rounds to cafes, pet shops, summer trees. Her honey hand was wrapped with yours the entire time, even when clammy: a soft proclamation that the both of you would be through thick and thin.

By evening, you walked nervously with Gawon to Sooin's place. She said everything was arranged. What did that mean?

The walk upstairs was even more nerve-wracking. It was until Gawon hugged you, right outside the door to Sooin's, that you calmed down. 'Sooin deserves the best. You deserve the best. I won't be jealous. I want Sooin to feel loved - more than just a kiss. I want you to understand, more than just sex, that I'll be forever yours.'

'It's a pity I can't throw you against this wall and make love. Hm?' You grin. She grins back. You kiss. You have no idea what you did to deserve Gawon.

The door softly cranked open and Sooin was stood there. Her hands raised perpendicular, waiting for you.

You walked towards her, then hugged her.

Sooin stood on her toes for a moment, readjusting her arms around your neck. She was secure, holding your head, looking at you; maybe she was trying to conceptualize something, something more foreign than just kissing.

Your hands were at her waist now, against her warm skin.

You were already half-hard. Half-dizzy. Crazed: Gawon's watching you, Sooin wants you. Focus, for once, focus.

Two beautiful women, one observing, one right in your arms - the one that isn't your girlfriend. You were confused.

Things were uncoiling. You aren't sure what it was.

'Kiss me. Again. More. As much as it takes.' Sooin whispered, right on your ear. Her moist breath tingling the side of your ear, your face.

Your breath caught. AWOL. You looked at Sooin once more. Her cheeks flush, her breaths heavy, her hair tangled so perfectly around your fingers.

You caught the side of her chin with one hand. Tilting her head just a little, just so, and you touched her lips. She was breathing fast, her heart was beating, you felt it on her lips.

You slid your tongue between her lips, selfishly. mmph she says, christ almighty. You traced her lips, her tongue.

Her arms tightened around your neck, and she took initiative: pushing her tongue deep into your mouth. You moved in response, in surprise. 'Gently' you whisper, she nods; now, licking softly, her tongue to yours, exploring you. Her hands were stretching the quarter-zip that Gawon bought for you.

You were catastrophically hard. You weren't privy to what Gawon was doing, what she was saying, most of all, what her reaction was. You were a deer under spotlight. Sooin coodinating perfectly to make sure you couldn't look at Gawon.

'Was that good?' She asked. Cheeks flush. Breathing heavily. Her hips were gently rocking against you. On your hardness.

'Yes. That… was perfect.' You whisper, just loud enough. Gawon surely heard it. Your cock jerked in excitement.

Without saying anything, you pulled her tight, entering her mouth once more, harder, without sympathy. She squealed something. You kissed her hard. Passionately. Far passionately than before, far more than the other times.

Your arm seized the small of her back. You helped her rock her body against your hardness. She was moaning in tandem with your pushes and pulls.

You looked down to see, to go past concept, to see what you were doing to Sooin. But before then, Sooin pulled your chin again, and kissed you hungrily.

Don't worry.

Just enjoy it.

'Christ almighty Sooin.' You balk, speech almost unintelligible. Desperately clinging to Sooin's body.

'Grind into me. Please.' She begged. That was it. That did it.

You nearly lifted her into the air as you ground yourself deep into her. Separated by cloth. Your cock against her pussy.

She moaned deep into your mouth. Her husky voice destroying a piece of you every time.

'I'm gonna come.'

'Keep going. Please. Keep going.'

You desperately move. Forgetting everything. Concepts forgotten. Just Sooin body perfectly sidled up on your brick-hard cock.

Then:

Gawon wrapped her arms around your shoulders. Forehead against your nape.

'I want in.'

Sooin retreated back. Cheeks red. Breathing heavily.

Gawon’s lips left a searing trail down your neck - half-graze, half-bite - as her fingers hooked the hem of your shirt. Fabric rasped upward, baring skin to the cool air and her hotter mouth. She mapped your shoulders, the tense cord of your triceps, then circled to face you, eyes locked on yours as her tongue flicked a nipple. The jolt went straight to your groin.

‘I want to suck your cock.’

No preamble. No permission asked. Her hands were already at your waistband, deftly working the button, the zipper teeth parting like a sigh. Your fingers tangled in her hair, not guiding, just anchoring, as she sank to her knees.

Behind her, Sooin stood frozen. Back pressed to the doorframe, knuckles white where she gripped the wood. Her breath hitched - a soft, involuntary sound. Gawon heard it. Didn’t turn. Just smiled against your hipbone, her breath humid through the thin cotton of your briefs.

‘Watch,’ Gawon murmured, not to you.

She peeled the briefs down. Your cock sprang free, flushed and straining and dripping with pre cum. Gawon’s gaze didn’t leave Sooin’s face as she took you into her mouth.

Her cheeks hollowed out, a gentle sucking noise rang out as your knees almost buckled right then and there.

The soft whimpers of Gawon going deeper.

The slick noise of her tongue circling the head.

Sooin made a sound - a whimper trapped in her throat. Gawon hummed around you, the vibration ricocheting up your spine. Encouragement? Mockery? Impossible to tell.

‘Gawon - ’ you choked out.

She pulled off with a filthy pop. ‘Patience.’ Her hand replaced her mouth, stroking slowly. Deliberate. Theatrical. ‘She’s never seen this, has she? Never seen how pretty a man comes apart.’

Sooin’s eyes were wide, dark, fixed on Gawon’s hand moving on your shaft. A fevered flush crept up her neck.

Gawon’s free hand reached back, blind, and found Sooin’s wrist. ‘Touch him,’ she ordered, voice thick around the command. ‘Just here.’ She guided Sooin’s trembling fingers to your hip, to the tense muscle jumping beneath sweat-damp skin. ‘Feel how hard he is for us.’

Sooin’s touch was feather-light. Terrified. Electrifying. Her fingertips traced the V of your pelvis, then flinched back.

‘Look at him,’ Gawon insisted, taking you deep again, hollowing her cheeks. _‘Look at what we do to him.’

Sooin’s breath stuttered. This time, when her hand returned, it didn’t tremble. Her palm flattened against your stomach, feeling the clench and release of muscle as Gawon sucked harder, faster. Her thumb brushed the base of your cock where Gawon’s lips stretched tight.

Two hands now. Two women. One unbearable friction.

Gawon moaned around you - a sound of pure satisfaction - and Sooin echoed it, softer, wonderstruck. Her nails bit lightly into your hip as Gawon took you to the hilt, throat working, eyes watering but never closing, never looking away from Sooin’s rapt, overwhelmed face.

Gawon’s throat flexed - a tight, rippling swallow against the head of your cock. Her nose pressed into your base. You felt the ridge of your crown catch momentarily on the tense ring of muscle at the back of her mouth before she forced herself deeper, her throat opening in a practiced spasm. Tears welled at the corners of her eyes, tracking mascara-smudged paths down her flushed cheeks. She didn’t blink. Didn’t look away from you.

Her lips sealed impossibly tight around the root, the stretch burning. You felt the thump thump thump of her pulse through the soft flesh of her palate, pressed directly against your straining underside. Saliva overflowed, thick and slick, dripping down your shaft onto Sooin’s hand still splayed on your lower belly. The warm rivulet traced a path through the sweat-sheened skin.

Gawon held you there, buried to the hilt. Her breath came in short, desperate sniffs through flared nostrils, unable to inhale fully. Her jaw trembled with the effort. A low, guttural hum vibrated through her throat and into your cock - a physical buzz deep in your core.

Then, slowly, agonizingly, she retreated. Her throat released its grip with a wet, sucking pop. Your cock slid back through the tight tunnel of her mouth, every ridge, every vein catching exquisitely on her tongue, her palate, her teeth held carefully back. Her tongue flattened beneath you, a hot, broad pressure massaging the sensitive frenulum as she withdrew. Cool air hit the slick length for a fraction of a second before her lips, swollen and red, sealed back around the head.

Her tongue pressed hard under your cock, making you wince with pleasure, all the joints of your body gridlocked under blissful tyranny. Her lips pulsed around your shaft, the softness of the inside of her mouth, molded around your shaft, all velvety and fucking outrageous, dragging horribly along your length, the suction of her lips making a meek sound as it passed the crown of your cock.

Her hands never stopping working the base of your shaft and your balls. Switching rhythmically, squeezing lightly, fingers rolling your sac, just so, just so.

'Fuck. Gawon.'

'God. I love you. And this cock. And everything.' She breathed out, all flush and bothered, intermittently sending a hand down her panties, knuckles shadowing along her panties as she fucked herself on her fingers.

Gawon's saliva ran glistening along your shaft. Before it could pass down your legs, her lips surrounded your shaft again. Slicking Sooin's fingers where they still pressed against your hip. The sound was obscene: wet schlicks on the upstroke, guttural swallows of choked gasps when she surfaced, the constant drip onto skin.

Her hot gusts fanned your wet skin when she, occasionally, came up for air: short, sharp inhalations followed by low moans directed at you, directed at her fingers working on her pussy, before she plunged down again.

Sooin’s hand on your hip shifted. Her thumb found the taut tendon running from your hip bone towards your groin. She pressed into the rigid cord of muscle, her nail scraping lightly through the sweat and Gawon’s spit. Her other hand, the one Gawon had guided, lifted from your belly. You felt her hesitation in the air above your cock, then the tentative brush of a fingertip against the slick, spit-sheened head - just below where Gawon’s lips were sealed. A jolt shot through you.

Gawon felt it too. Her eyes, locked on Sooin’s, narrowed slightly. She increased the suction, hollowing her cheeks sharply, pulling Sooin’s focus back to her mouth, her control. She released you with another filthy pop, saliva stringing between her lower lip and your crown.

'See?' Gawon rasped, her voice wrecked. She didn't break eye contact with Sooin. Her tongue darted out, broad and pink, lapping at the pre-come beading at your tip, collecting it messily. 'See how he leaks for it?' She guided your cockhead back to her lips, her tongue swirling over the slit once more before taking you in, not deep this time, just the head, sucking hard and fast, her cheeks collapsing inward. 'All this… just from my mouth. Imagine.'

Gawon looked at you once again. This time, she stood up, wrapping her arms around your neck before kissing the side of your face, then pressing her tongue deep into your mouth.

Sooin stood there, wet-handed, even flusher, but she still just stood there: waiting, patiently.

'Sooin.'

That was all she had to say for Sooin to rush back towards you. But before she came, Gawon pushed you. You lost the abiltiy to maintain balance a long time ago, your knees were fucked, your brain was totally fucked. You were just fucked.

So you fell. Onto the bed.

'Calculated.' You breathe, masking the previous panic in your voice.

'Always.' Gawon says. And she leans on you, her knees on the bed. Hand on your wet cock.

Her lips surrounded your nipple, and a faint suction ran through your entire body.

Gawon's hand, the one taht was preoccupied with stroking you into madness, pulled for Sooin to come. And, again, she did.

Knees on the bed.

Palpably close to your cock, Sooin kneeled closer. And her lips pressed warm against your nipple.

Gawon motioned for Sooin, something unspoken, and you felt her hand wrap around your shaft.

Schlick.

Her moved. Her hands were smaller. Warmer. Tighter.

Schlick.

'Sit on him.' Gawon said. You darted up to look at them. Sooin was silent, eyes wide, her hand stopped moving.

'Are you sure?'

'Sit on him. Dear.'

The side of your chest where Gawon stayed was warm, she was there, looking at Sooin, she slid off your body, steadying herself. Her skin glanced off the sunlight, she was paler, a born deer surrounded by two wolves.

You were complicit in her ruin. You knew it now. Your cock grew harder the more you looked; soft skin, large bosom, thick thighs. You took a deep breath when Sooin straddled you, your lungs ballooned, the sides of her inner thighs pressed to your outer thighs. Her body was just inches off your rock-hard cock.

Gawon slid behind Sooin. Sooin didn’t turn - her gaze stayed locked on you, lips swollen and bitten red. The snick of a bra clasp echoed in the quiet. The garment slid down Sooin’s arms and landed in your lap, warm from her skin.

'Ah.'

Their laughter tangled - light, nervous. Gawon’s hand darted out, snatching the bra away.

Sooin’s breasts were bare now, high and full, nipples flushed pink. Your gut clenched, a visceral pull to bury yourself inside her - now.

She crossed her arms over her chest. 'You’re grinning,' Gawon observed, mischievious.

'I know.'

'Approved?' Gawon’s tone was all edges.

'Jesus. Are you blind?' You shifted closer, easing Sooin back against your chest. She was gentle, her back was arched. She was so so soft. Her bare shoulders trembled.

'Mm!' Sooin gasped as your thigh brushed her inner leg.

'Okay?' you murmured.

She nodded, cheeks blazing with red.

A hand closed around your cock - Gawon’s. Her thumb pressed the leaking tip. 'Hard as marble. Is this for her?'

You stayed silent. The answer pulsed in her grip.

Sooin arched when Gawon’s other hand slid between her legs, palming her through damp cotton. 'It’s really happening. Oh fuck, it's really happening.' Sooin breathed, pinned between you.

Gawon hooked a finger in the waistband of Sooin’s panties. Look. She peeled the fabric aside.

Wet heat glistened. No barriers left.

You traced Sooin’s inner thigh, feeling the jump of her muscle. 'Tell me.' 'I want' Sooin’s voice frayed. 'Just… touch me first.'

Gawon’s hand left your cock, guiding yours to Sooin’s center. 'Here.' Your fingers met slick heat. Sooin whimpered.

'Like this?' You circled her clit, her viscous slick covering the pads of your fingers. Holy fuck. Sooin’s head fell back against Gawon. 'Yes. God - yes.'

Gawon bit Sooin’s shoulder, leaving a red bloom. 'He needs to feel you. Ready?' Sooin nodded, frantic.

You lined up, the head of your cock nudging her entrance. Her hips jerked. 'Wait,' Gawon ordered. She spat into her palm, slicked your length. 'Now.'

You pushed in - slow. Sooin cried out, back bowing. 'Breathe,' Gawon commanded, pinning Sooin’s hips down. 'Take it.'

Sooin’s walls clenched, scalding tight. 'More - ' You thrust deeper. She sobbed, nails scraping your forearm.

Gawon watched. She moved to the side of the bed, sitting next to you. Hand on her mound - fingers moving. She breathed soft. She was looking at you, how you moved into Sooin. You met her eyes, once or twice. Making sure she saw, how your hips crushed against Sooin. Gawon's grin didn't leave her, her lust-gleamed eyes didn't change. Her fingers were still inside of her. In the background, as you stared at Gawon, Sooin let out pitiful moans that was more inspiration than anything else.

You moved deeper. Found her shoulder to bite on. Her pussy was wet, hot, her slick passed through your entire shaft, collecting down your balls.

'I'm fucking losing it. I'm fucking losing it.' She repeated, in your ear. You went faster.

Her hips moved up, your hands pulling as support, and she crashed back down. Her ass against your thighs. Smack.

She let out a pitiful moan again.

She moved back to find a different position. Her breasts bounced up and down. Your cock ground against her g-spot. She came.

She came just like that.

'Ahhh. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck' She buried her head in your shoulder. Trembled. Lost herself. Regained herself. Grinded her hips just a little. Letting your cock move and scrape against her sensitive spots.

'How does it feel? His cock grinding you. All inside you. Stretching you out.' Gawon's hand held Sooin's sweaty nape.

It wasn't question: an observation.

Her pink pussy was swollen around you. Morphed around you. Her stomach moved as her diaphragm collected oxygen. It felt unreal, her pussy tightening as she breathed in and out. It reminded you of a grounding detail, as the pause ensued: fucking Sooin as your girlfriend watched.

This time, Gawon's hand wrapped behind you, and she kissed you; first, on your ear, a tender, wet kiss that traced the outline of your ear; then, as you tried to kiss her back, her finger hovered over your chin, and pushed it back: 'I'm a spectator.' That was all she said.

Sooin was still breathing softly, her forehead still pressed against your left shoulder. The sides of her body still moved in accordance of her breaths, her humid breath hovered on your collarbone - worn out, high on bliss.

'Slap me.'

What?

'What?' You say, this time, with your mouth. Doubly processing.

'I want you to slap me.'

You look at Gawon, only to find her smiling.

The only clueless person in the room - you. [1]

[1] The exact moment your brain, which was previously operating on a simple "This is nice / This is weird / This is hot" flowchart, blue-screens entirely. It's the dawning, ice-water horror of realizing that the other two players in this… scenario… have apparently been co-authoring a very specific Google Doc of Kinks & Agendas in a shared folder you were never invited to.

Sooin blew air at you. You looked, she was smiling, still rawing from the pleasure, and then, just then, kissed you.

You locked your arms behind her back, and pressed your cock so deep that she groaned into your mouth. Her tongue moved in frantic movements as you pressed deeper and deeper into her; her folds pressed wet against the base of your shaft. You let the kiss go - to Sooin's dismay: mouth open and dizzy and flushed - to press your face against the space between her breasts; on either side, there was hills of perfect upswell dotted with pinkish nipples. You held her firmer as you plowed into her. She was still, victim to her pleasure, moaning, groaning, releasing her slick - some of it dripping on the carpet.

You saw Gawon move behind Sooin in your periphery. A sharp crack echoed - Gawon’s palm landing hard on Sooin’s ass. Sooin yelped, her fingers digging into the back of your neck. You held her hips down against your lap, your cock buried deep inside her, and delivered your own stinging slap to her other cheek. The flesh jiggled, already flushed.

'Thought you could just take and take, little thief?' Gawon hissed, naked, pressing her front against Sooin’s sweaty back. Her lips brushed Sooin’s ear. 'Squeeze her tight. Make her gush. Let her ruin her own fucking carpet.'

No more talk needed.

You stood, lifting Sooin’s legs, hooking them over your shoulders. She groaned, back arching, as the angle drove you impossibly deeper, the head of your cock grinding against her cervix. A raw, punched-out whimper escaped her - she was still trembling from her last climax.

You pulled her ass back, just enough for the tip to catch, then slammed home. A wet thwack of flesh meeting flesh. Sooin shrieked. You grunted, the force driving your hips forward.

Glancing down, you saw Gawon on her knees between Sooin’s splayed legs. One hand was frantically rubbing her own swollen clit. The other hand rose and fell in weak, almost spastic slaps against Sooin’s reddened ass. 'Close… oh fuck, close,' Gawon gasped, her voice thin and strained.

Sooin’s ass slammed against your hips again, slicker now. The wet sound was obscene - a mix of her slick, her cum, your pre-cum, smearing across skin and dripping onto the carpet below. The air reeked of sex and sweat.

Gawon’s head snapped back. A ragged cry tore from her throat as she came, her hips bucking against her own hand, her weak slaps stopping entirely as her body seized. 'Yes! Fuck! YES!'

The sight, the sound, the feel of Sooin’s cunt clamping down like a slick fist - it pushed you over the edge. 'Gonna - !' you managed, pulling out just as the first hot pulse surged up your shaft.

'Fuck! Fuck!' Sooin sobbed, her body convulsing. Her swollen pussy clenched around nothing, and a gush of clear fluid splattered onto the carpet between her thighs, soaking into the fibers. 'Oh god! Oh god!' she gasped between desperate cries, her hips jerking as she squirted again.

You gave her no respite. Still hard, still throbbing, you shoved back into her sopping, pink entrance. This time, you crushed your mouth to hers, swallowing her gasps as you fucked her through her own aftershocks. Deep, punishing strokes. The final sprint.

You buried yourself to the root, grinding hard. 'Fuck!' The growl ripped from your chest as you locked Sooin against you, fingers digging into her hips hard enough to bruise. You emptied yourself deep inside her - one thick, hot rope after another, painting her inner walls, each pulse kissing her cervix. Your balls tightened, drawn up, as Gawon ducked her head, hollowing her cheeks to suck them greedily, swallowing what spilled.

'You… filled me,' Sooin breathed against your lips, dazed.

You kissed her, deep.

You thrust twice more, shallow and possessive, grinding your spend deeper into her core. Then you pulled out with a wet suck.

Thick globs of your cum spurted onto the soaked carpet, joining her slick puddle. One stray pulse landed on Gawon’s waiting tongue. She closed her mouth, swallowing.

You lowered Sooin onto the bed. She collapsed, chest heaving, looking up at you with glazed, awestruck eyes.

Your gaze locked onto Gawon. She was still panting, her own climax lingering. On her knees, she shuffled forward until her face was level with your softening cock, still glistening with a mix of your spend and Sooin’s slick. She let the heavy head rest on her tongue for a heartbeat, tasting it, before closing her lips around your shaft. She hollowed her cheeks, sucking firmly, cleaning every inch with slow swipes of her tongue.

To be continued.

a\n: And here we are! Hopefully this fic isn't too bad, I forgot how to write, and then maybe remembered…. idk. So for a few updates, I think releases will be monthly. Commissions are a bit of an issue - since i live somewhere where receiving payments or even operating a paypal account is strictly forbidden - so I decided to close the Ko-Fi account. When push comes to shove, and I mean when I'm really seeking money, I may find a work around. For now, here are my free works: monthly, utterly imperfect, barely edited, yet here. right here.

#gawon smut #kpop smut #fanfic #kpop #sooin #sooin smut #meovv smut

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e1e4n0r5 · 2 days ago

Text

Their Little Plaything: Bonus Scene 5

Masterlist, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Epilogue, Bonus Scene 1, Bonus Scene 2, Bonus Scene 3, Bonus Scene 4

Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends

Pairing: Former Bullies Cait & Vi x Loner Nerd Reader

Words: 6589

Synopsis: The summer between Junior and Senior years doesn't go exactly as you'd planned

Warnings: ANGST!! Relationship insecurities, feelings of isolation, bullying, implied excessive alcohol use

Notes: This wasn't my fault! Someone suggested this a while ago and I wasn't planning on doing it because it's too heart-breaking but then my brain went 'do it' and I had to obey 😭

Summer between Junior and Senior Years

The air on campus buzzed with early summer heat and long goodbyes. Students were dragging overstuffed suitcases down the sidewalks, calling out promises to meet up over the summer break, hugging, laughing, and posing for last-day selfies.

Cait adjusted her bag on her shoulder and turned to Vi with a look that said don’t make a scene.

Vi, of course, was already making one. She had you pulled tightly against her chest, chin tucked over the top of your head, swaying the two of you back and forth with a grip that didn’t seem like it would never let go.

“Eight weeks,” Vi muttered into your hair. “Fuck it, you’re not going, you’re coming with us.”

“Vi-”

“Cait can refund your mom whatever she’s booked, you can’t go,” she begged.

“Vi-”

“How the fuck are we supposed to manage without you for two months!”

Cait spoke louder than you, calling firmly, “Violet.”

She sniffed, shaking her head. “Okay. Okay, I’ve got it. I’ve got it. It’s only eight weeks. That’s nothing. That’s just, like…Forty gym sessions. Without you. Fuck, I’m gonna be so buff by the time you see me.”

Vi finally let go, though her hand lingered around your waist, reluctant to fully let go.

You chuckled softly, but your smile didn’t reach your eyes.

Cait stood close, watching the hug, arms folded lightly. She looked so poised, even now, dressed neatly for her family’s car service that was waiting by the curb. She was trying to keep it together. You were already upset, Vi’s neediness and clinginess was starting to come out…Someone had to be strong. But her eyes softened when you turned to her.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to drive you to the train station?”

“Cait, it’s almost an hour away, in the other direction. You’ve already got to drive three hours; don’t make it five. I’ll be fine, the campus bus’ll be here any minute.”

She nodded unhappily. She knew you were going home to be with your mother over summer – your mum had booked some non-refundable vacation spots months ago, as surprises for you, not knowing you were now in a relationship – but it didn’t mean she wouldn’t miss you.

Still, you’d come spend the last two weeks at the Kiramman summer estate with them (even though Cait’s parents didn’t yet know you were a throuple) but it was still going to be a long summer without each other.

“Have you got your ticket?”

“Yes.”

“Purse?”

“Yes.”

“Phone charger? Headphones, book for the journey?”

“Yes, yes, and yes.”

Cait nodded. “Text us when you get to the station.”

You smiled, trying to force down the tears. “Okay.”

“And when you arrive,” Cait said, stepping forward to cup your face in both hands. “And I expect full updates from you. Books read, meals eaten – with pictures! – outfits worn, exercises done. Photo collages of all the places you go with your mother.”

“Got it,” you whispered. “Everything. You’ll be sick of me.”

Vi’s hand twitched on your waist, resisting the urge to pull you back in. “You’ll be okay, right? You’ve got your mom, and…We’ll have video sex every night-”

You giggled, tears in your eyes. “Not when I’m sharing a room with mum on vacation.”

“Okay, secret titty pics in the shower will suffice for those days,” Vi joked.

“And we made the shared playlist, so we can think of each other when we’re apart…” Cait’s eyes started getting damp.

“Yeah,” you interrupted gently. “Yeah, we’ll be fine. Eight weeks. Two months.”

It felt like you were all saying it to reassure yourselves.

As they said their final goodbyes, Cait pressed a lingering kiss to your lips, and Vi bumped her forehead against yours, whispering, “Don’t forget us, baby.”

The campus shuttle bus arrived only a minute after their car pulled away. You queued with your suitcase, trying not to cry as you got on board, settling into a window seat, watching the campus slowly empty of students as they all went home for those glorious weeks between years.

It wasn’t until you put in your headphones and they didn’t automatically connect that you realised the worst had happened.

You hadn’t noticed at the time, but as you’d been scrambling to finish packing that morning, you’d accidentally knocked your phone off the bedside table, and under the bed. In the chaos to get out of the house on time, you hadn’t checked if it was in your bag.

Your lifeline – your only connection to the women you loved – was out of reach. And would be for eight weeks.

The train ride was torturous. Not only did you not have your music or any way to communicate with your girlfriends or your mother, but because you knew Cait and Vi would be worried sick. You hadn’t texted them when you’d arrived at the train station, you hadn’t texted once during the two-hour train ride, and you hadn’t let them know you’d arrived in your hometown. You knew they’d be going insane with worry!

But you tried to put it out of your mind; there was nothing you could do about your phone, and when you got back to your childhood home, you’d just think of another way to contact them. At least you still had your laptop.

You walked through the Arrivals area of the train station, looking out for your mum. You smiled wide when you saw her.

“There you are!” she called happily, running over and pulling you into her arms.

You hugged her back tightly, not wanting to let go. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed this; your mum’s shampoo, her perfume, the warmth of her voice, the way she held on like you might slip away.

“Hi, mum,” you choked against her shoulder, trying to hold back tears.

“Oh, I missed you so much, sweetheart!”

Sweetheart.

Your heart panged. Vi. She’d be so worried about you.

“I was texting you, you didn’t reply.”

You shook your head. “I forgot my phone in…My dorm,” you covered quickly.

“Oh, no. We’ll sort something out when we get home. We could always get you one of those ‘burnt’ phones?”

“A burner phone?” you teased.

“Oh, stop it. Come on, let’s get you home. And you can tell me all about what you’ve been up to!”

The house looked the same as ever: white paint peeling just a little more, flower boxes full of red geraniums struggling in the summer heat, wind chimes clinking softly in the breeze.

Inside, everything smelled like lemon polish and fresh laundry. You sank into the familiar cushions of the old sofa, curling your legs under you as your mum bustled about, making tea.

“You look tired,” your mum said, handing you a steaming mug and sitting beside you. “School been that rough?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. The semester ended okay. Just…A lot happened this year.”

“Girlfriend trouble?” Your mum raised an eyebrow and gave you that look – curious, patient, not pushing.

You traced the rim of your mug with your thumb. “Well…”

She grinned. “I knew it! I knew my baby had a girlfriend! Who is she, what’s her name?”

“Well…Um…”

“Oh…Oh, is it a boy?” she asked in surprise, like it were a secret.

That snapped you out of your hesitation. “No, no, definitely not a boy.”

“So, we’re still lesbian?”

You laughed. “Yes, mum, we are still a lesbian.”

“Well, spit it out then! Who is she?”

“Cait-”

“Cait! Awww, that’s such a nice name! Is she-?”

“-And Vi.”

Your mum paused, blinking. “Caitandvi? That’s her name? Where’s she from?”

“No, mum. Caitlyn and Violet. I have two girlfriends.”

She gasped your full name. “Are you cheating on those girls? Do they know about this?”

“No, mum, stop! I have two girlfriends. We’re all together. We’re in a three-person relationship. I have two girlfriends; Cait has two girlfriends; Vi has two girlfriends.”

You could almost see your mum’s brain rebooting. “Oh. Oh, I see! Is that the open relationship stuff?”

You shook your head. “No, not open. The three of us are together, no-one else. Closed unit.”

She finally nodded. “Okay, okay, got it. How long have you been together?”

You sipped your tea. “Since just before Christmas.”

She gasped. “And why haven’t you told me this before?”

You looked at her. “Mum, can you imagine trying to have the conversation we just had…Over the phone? When half the time you still face the camera the wrong way.”

She rolled her eyes at you. “Alright, missy, settle down.” She was quiet for a beat. “Are they nice to you?”

You smiled a little, surprised by the question – and the emotion it stirred. “Yes. They make me feel safe. Loved. Seen.”

Your mum nodded slowly. “Then I’m happy for you, and I can’t wait to meet them. It’s not about the shape of the relationship. It’s about how it makes you feel.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, feeling so relieved at your mum’s acceptance and blessing. “They’re really different. Cait’s like…Precision and care. She was Class President this year, and she’s won again for next year too! And Vi’s all fire; she’s on the school football team. They balance each other, and somehow…I fit in there too.”

“They sound like good girls,” your mum said, sipping her tea.

Your eyes stung a little. “I miss them already. I can’t believe I dropped my phone at home and didn’t even notice! I haven’t been able to get in touch with them. They’re going to be so worried about me, or think I’m ignoring them!”

Your mum reached over, rubbing your shoulder gently. “They’ll be waiting for you. The ones who love you always are.”

The first few days at home weren’t terrible. Maddening. But not terrible. You’d spent the first evening trying to figure out how the hell you could contact either, or both, of them.

Your mum had offered to buy you a burner phone – but you didn’t know their numbers.

You’d considered email – but you didn’t have their email addresses.

You could see their social media accounts, but you couldn’t comment or message without an account.

You’d tried to get into your private account (that you only ever used to doomscroll and look at what Cait and Vi posted), but the platform wanted to send a verification code to your phone number – which you didn’t fucking have access to! You’d emailed the help desk, offering to answer any and all security questions – do anything they needed! – but they said there was nothing they could do without your phone.

You could write them a goddamn letter – except you didn’t know either of their families’ addresses, and the Kiramman summer estate was unlisted.

And this rate, you’d have to resort to smoke signals or carrier pigeons…You could just imagine trying to wrangle a bird, sticking a letter to its leg and telling it to go find Cait or Vi. That would only go well…

You unpacked slowly, folding your clothes into the drawers of your childhood bedroom, surrounded by posters you hadn’t bothered to take down when you left for college. Your mum made all your favourite meals, fussed over your hair, asked too many questions about your relationship. It was familiar. Safe.

But not the same.

You kept reaching for your phone, again and again, only to realize it wasn’t in your pocket. Wasn’t on the dresser. Wasn’t in your bag. It was nowhere.

Day by day, the silence stretched out longer. No Cait teasing you in the morning with perfectly timed sensual voice notes. No Vi sending blurry selfies from the grocery store with captions like do we need ten frozen pizzas?

Just…Nothing.

Your mum had surprised you with a disposable camera on day three.

“I know it’s not a fancy phone but you can still take pictures to show the girls! You’ll have to get them developed and printed, but that’s what we did back then,” she explained as she unpacked some groceries.

You examined the camera with a smile, eyeing the extra rolls of film she brought. “Thanks, mum. This is kinda cool. Retro.”

“Please do not describe anything from my youth as retro,” she scolded.

So you started taking photos. You hoped they were okay, you couldn’t see what you’d taken. Maybe everything would end up blurry, or your finger would be over the lens. You captured your outfits of the day – OOTD, as you’d learnt from Cait’s social media. Most of your meals, so Cait would know you’d eaten, even if she wasn’t getting live updates. The beach day you and your mum went on (obligatory secret titty pic for Vi, which then gave you a panic attack thinking of an employee at a photo shop who may end up seeing your boobs). An award-winning photo of your feet propped up on the porch swing, a book in your lap, the sunset in the distance, a gentle blur to the photo to give it that soft and romantic vibe.

The knowledge that the girls would see the photos in the future kept you going, even when you were cut off from them. It was a little thing to hold on to.

But by day ten the doubts began to creep in.

You’d been looking at their social media accounts over the days. Smiles, sun, cocktails by the pool, evening meals in restaurants Cait’s family paid for. Not one mention of you, or missing someone special. Nothing. Just them enjoying themselves.

Two carefree love-struck college girls, living their best summer life.

Maybe it was easier if they didn��t love you back.

Maybe it was better not to hope.

Maybe they’d gone back to Caitlyn’s estate, to her rich family and fancy silverware and acres of land, and realized how easy it would be to forget about you.

You began to wonder if you’d made it all up. If the love was temporary. Conditional. Something that had ended with the school year, like a class schedule or a lease agreement.

Without Cait or Vi checking in, holding you, reminding you that you were safe and wanted and real… You’d never felt so alone.

You walked past your old high school on your way to the grocery store, and it made your stomach twist. Your mind filled with all the horrible memories of your years there – the mocking, the tormenting, the horrific isolation.

The fluorescent lights in the grocery store buzzed quietly overhead. You hadn’t meant to linger, just grab milk for the two of you and leave. But your thoughts kept wandering – without a phone to distract you – to the feel Cait’s fingers tracing your hip, Vi’s laugh muffled into your neck, the smell of both of them next to you in bed.

“Oh my god, look who it is,” a voice drawled behind you.

You turned slowly, praying it wasn’t—

Heather Scott. The girl who played the prank on you in high school, outing you to the whole school, your humiliation published on social media for the world to see. Same perfect teeth, same overly tanned skin. She looked you up and down with a smirk that made you feel fifteen again.

“Didn’t think I’d see you back here,” Heather said, arms crossed. “You always acted like you were too good for this town. What happened, college not work out?”

You frowned. “It’s summer break, Heather.”

Her eyes scanned you. “You look the same. Bit skinnier. Still quiet, huh? Still lesbo?”

You wanted to disappear, but somehow you couldn’t move.

“Oh, come on. Not learnt how to take a joke yet? Bet you’re still the weird girl no-one wants to sit with.”

Your cheeks burned. “Actually, I’m not.”

She raised her eyebrows. “No? You finally got some friends at that fancy college?”

“I do, yeah. I’ve got a best friend-” Shit, you haven’t been able to talk to Powder, either!

She laughed. “Wow, that’s super impressive…”

“And two girlfriends.”

Heather blinked. “Two girlfriends? Now I know you’re making shit up.”

“Look them up: Caitlyn Kiramman and Violet Lanes,” you challenged, even though you hated every desperate word pouring out of your mouth. Why were you doing this? Why were you so desperate for this bitch’s approval? You’d stopped liking her the second she aided in your public humiliation, and that was years ago!

She just laughed to herself as she tapped away on her phone. After a few seconds, she paused, eyebrow lifting. “Blue hair, kinda tall?”

“Yeah! That’s Cait-”

“You’re seriously trying to tell me that these two,” she turned the phone around and showed you the latest photo on Cait’s profile – the two of them sitting in the shallow end of a pool, each with a drink in hand, kissing passionately, “Drop-dead gorgeous women are into you?”

Your heart twisted. “Yes-”

“No fucking way, Y/N. They are way too hot for you. They’re both off-the-scale hot, and you’re seriously like a three on a good day. And besides,” she scrolled back on Cait’s feed, shaking her head, “There’s no mention of you. No other girlfriend, they don’t say they miss anyone, they’re not looking forward to seeing anyone…”

Your heart twisted again. “I’ve asked them to keep me off social media-”

“Why, if you’re really together? Oh, because of that stupid prank years ago? You really think people from school will still pick on you for that? No-one gives a fuck about you anymore.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re such a fucking loser, Y/N. I bet you’ve made up this whole thing in your head, and these girls don’t even know you. Hey, let me check.” She tapped away on her phone, chewing her gum for a few seconds, and then laughed. “Ha! See!”

She turned the phone back around, showing you a private message screen between her and Cait.

Heather Scott: Y/N says hi

Caitlyn Kiramman: ??

Your lip trembled, your heart pounded.

No.

No, they wouldn’t.

Two question marks doesn’t explain anything! That could mean anything!

Then another message popped up:

Caitlyn Kiramman: Stay the fuck out of our business

* * * Ten days earlier * * *

“Do you think she’ll miss us?”

Vi lay on Cait’s chest in the back of her family’s car, a waterproof blanket beneath them and fluffy one tucked over their naked bodies. It was a three-hour drive to the Kiramman summer estate from college; they had perfected a routine, one they couldn’t wait to show you.

Vi held Cait tightly, as Cait stroked her fingers through her dark hair, lightly scratching her scalp.

“Of course she will.”

“Has she messaged?” she lifted her head a little of Cait’s chest, only to have her hand bring it back down.

She checked her phone screen, unable to hide her disappointment. “Nothing yet.”

“But it’s been two hours,” Vi protested.

“I know,” Cait soothed, “But she might have been in a rush at the station, or maybe her phone died on the train. She’ll let us know as soon as she can. Now, do you want another quick round, or a 30-minute nap before we have to make ourselves presentable?”

Vi growled playfully. “What do you think?”

The Kiramman summer estate was beautiful, quiet, and utterly suffocating. The white brick mansion sat surrounded by orange groves, miles from the nearest neighbouring mansion. Complete with a large pool and bar, terrace, home gym, games rooms, home cinema, and much more, it was the perfect place to escape city life for those precious few weeks of glorious summer weather.

Cait stood at the balcony of her bedroom, arms crossed, watching the distant lights of the city on the horizon. Her family’s staff had unpacked their things as they got settled with tea with her parents. The sheets were pressed, the pillows fluffed, and dinner had been served with ceremonial polish.

But it was missing something. Someone.

Vi tossed and turned behind her, huffing softly. “She hasn’t texted.”

“I know.”

“I know she can be forgetful, but she wouldn’t just disappear.” Vi sat up, bare arms tense, tattoos flexing with every anxious movement. “What if something happened to her?”

Cait turned. “Maybe her phone died, or maybe she’s just catching up with her mother. She’s been saying for weeks how much she’s missed her. She’ll reach out when she can.”

Vi ran her hands through her hair, agitated. “I don’t like this.”

“I don’t either,” Cait admitted gently. She crossed the room, sitting beside Vi. “But she knows how much we love her.”

Vi leaned forward, elbows on knees. “How can she not have texted back yet? She cried when we were 10 minutes late home last week!”

Cait smiled faintly, brushing Vi’s arm with her fingers. “Okay, to be fair to her: her period was really messing her up that day and she later admitted that she overreacted.” They both smiled softly. “She’ll come back to us, Violet. She always does.”

Cait’s mother, Cassandra, insisted they have tea on the terrace, dressed in light summer linens, surrounded by the expansive gardens filled with bright flowers and gleaming marble paths.

Vi barely touched her tea, her legs jostling under the table constantly.

When they returned to Cait’s room, Vi threw herself down onto the chaise, groaning.

“I’m losing my mind,” she said into a pillow.

Cait sat on the edge of the bed, undoing the clasp of her sandals. “It’s only been three days.”

“Exactly. And I already feel like I’m going to chew through the walls. Why hasn’t she messaged us back! Or even just read the messages!”

Cait looked over at her, walking over slowly. “Is this about missing her, or needing something else?”

Vi met her eyes. “Both.”

Cait’s expression softened.

Vi looked up at her, and for once her bravado cracked – she looked small. “She grounds me. I’m angry all the time and she just…Dissolves it.”

Cait kissed her forehead, then pushed her onto her back on the chaise with a hand on her throat. “Then let me help until she’s back.”

Vi pulled her hips close with a desperate sigh. “You better. I’m losing it here.”

They always shared Cait’s bed at the summer home – the Kiramman parents weren’t naïve enough to imagine that the girls would sleep separately. It was soft and plush, a wonderful bed by all accounts. But neither Cait nor Vi had slept well since they arrived.

“Cait,” Vi whispered desperately on the fourth night, “Touch me.”

Cait turned, stroking her hand down Vi’s side. “You’re trembling.”

“I just…I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“I know.”

Vi pressed into her, mouth at Cait’s collarbone. “You have to take it. All of it. Please. I can’t be gentle.”

Cait allowed Vi to roll her over in a practiced, effortless shift of movement. “Then don’t be. Let it out. You know I can take it.”

Vi’s fingers clawed at her, and Cait kissed her like a balm. Steady, grounding, there. There was no teasing. No slow build. Just desperate hunger, and the two of them trying to chase something that didn’t feel whole without their third.

Afterwards, Vi broke down a little, quiet tears slipping down her cheeks. Cait pulled her close, combing through her hair as they lay in the dark.

“We’re gonna be okay,” she whispered.

“Not until she’s home.”

Cait stared at her phone, brows drawn.

“She still hasn’t read any messages,” she said, sitting on the lounger by the pool, clad in her favourite bikini.

Vi paced the patio like a trapped tiger. “She always answers. Even if it’s just a heart. Even if she’s in class.” She groaned, squeezing the back of her neck. “I knew something felt off. Something’s happened.”

Cait raised a hand. “Let’s not panic. It could be something small. Broken phone, tech issue...” But even as she spoke, she didn’t believe it.

Vi paused, hands clenching and unclenching. “What if it’s not?”

Cait shook her head powerlessly. “Well, she hasn’t blocked either of us, and she hasn’t left our group chat. So, we’re not dumped yet. Plus, imagine how she must be feeling – at least we’re together; she doesn’t have either of us, she’s on her own.”

They both sat in silence for a moment.

“I just…” Vi started, then stopped. Her voice cracked slightly. “I just miss her so bad, Cait. And I feel guilty. Like I shouldn’t, because I’m with you and I love you – I love you so fucking much – but it’s like...Half of me’s gone.”

Cait took her hand and pulled her down to sit next to her on the lounger. She wrapped her arm around Vi’s waist, leaning into her chest.

“You’re allowed to miss her,” Cait whispered. “I miss her too. Every time I wake up and she’s not wedged between us like our little space heater, I miss her all over again. Every time I send her a text and see it sitting there, unread. You’re not alone in that.”

Vi buried her face in Cait’s shoulder. “I didn’t think I’d fall this hard. For both of you. But I did. And now it feels like she’s just…Gone.”

Cait pulled back just enough to cup her face. “She’s not gone. She loves us. We’ll figure out what’s going on soon, and then we’ll laugh about how panicked and stressed we were.”

Vi nodded slowly, clinging to the hope in Cait’s voice.

Vi barely made it halfway through breakfast.

The Kirammans had insisted they join the morning meal on the terrace again – polished silverware, crystal glasses, and political small talk.

Vi pushed her food around her plate – having drunk too much the night before – and gave clipped, muttered responses. Her hand twitched toward her pocket every few minutes, checking her phone again and again for a message she knew wouldn’t be there.

When her fork clattered too loudly against the porcelain, Cait’s mother looked at her in concern. Vi muttered an apology and stood.

“I’ll go check on her,” Cait said smoothly, folding her napkin and excusing herself to follow before Cassandra could ask what on Runeterra was going on with the two of them.

She found Vi standing beneath the covered walkway, staring out at the fountain like she wanted to punch it.

“She’s still not answered,” Vi said when Cait came up beside her.

“She still hasn’t blocked us, though. That’s something.”

Vi huffed, tugging at her hair. “You don’t get it.”

“I miss her too, Vi,” Cait replied defensively.

“No, Cait, I need her. I wake up thinking about her, I can’t sleep without her breathing next to me. You’re my rock, you always have been, but Y/N…She’s like breathing now.”

Cait didn’t speak. She only reached out, gently curling her hand around Vi’s, pulling her forehead to rest against hers

“I don’t know how to calm down without her. I need her here. I need her safe. I can’t do another seven weeks of this, Cupcake,” she wept.

“We’ll help each other,” Cait said. “And when we get back, we’ll remind her how much she matters to us. Every day.”

They didn’t speak much that morning. Vi was up first, pacing the length of their bedroom like a caged animal. She needed to fucking destroy something. Cait stayed in bed longer than she normally would, her arm curled around your pillow, which Vi had insisted they bring, despite Cait’s protests that it was ‘a little much.’ Both women were grateful for it now.

She buried her face in it, inhaling your scent, and when Vi looked back over to check on her, Cait didn’t lift her head.

“Hey.” Vi knelt beside the bed. “You alright?”

“I thought I’d be stronger than this,” Cait admitted. “I thought if anyone would hold us together, it’d be me.”

Vi’s heart ached seeing her like this, neat hair loose, voice small.

“We both suck at this,” Vi said, crawling into bed beside her and pulling Cait against her chest.

“I want to be with her. I want to wake up with her. I want her curled up on the couch reading while you and I bicker about what to make for dinner.”

Vi smiled softly. “I miss those dumb slippers. The ones with the ears. I always said they weren’t cute. But now I realise how fucking adorable they are.”

“I miss her humming while she brushes her teeth.”

Vi leaned her forehead against Cait’s. “We’re so gay.”

Cait laughed for the first time in days.

By the eight day, something had changed.

Cait had retreated into a cold silence. She read books, scrolled on her phone, posted pool pics like nothing was wrong. But Vi saw through it – the coolness that was a mask for something fraying underneath.

That afternoon in their room, Cait pulled out her laptop and scrolled through photos, silent.

“She’s in every one,” she said softly.

Vi came to lie beside her on her front, looking at the black-and-white photo on the screen.

You were in a towel, hair wet and smiling shyly as Cait took the picture.

“We made her feel safe,” Cait said. “And now she’s gone home, without us. To that place that was never safe for her.”

Vi swallowed. “We’re gonna bring her back. We have to. She’s probably scared. Or lonely. Or convinced we’ve forgotten her.” She gritted her teeth. “Why can’t we just say we miss her in a post?”

Cait shook her head softly. “She asked us to keep her off social media. We made a promise, Vi. We can’t break her trust just because we miss her.”

Vi teared up a little. “But if she’s watching our feeds, she’d see it.” Her throat started burning and she had to swallow thickly. “She’s hurting somewhere, I know it. And we can’t do anything about it.”

“We will,” Cait said. “As soon as we get home.”

“In seven weeks,” Vi almost sobbed into the comforter.

Taking a break from the pool, Cait and Vi were in the pool’s private kitchen getting some cold drinks. Cait sat on a stool at the bar, Vi rifling through the glass bottles on top.

Cait looked up. “Vi…,” she said softly, a small shake of her head.

The dark-haired girl sighed, hanging her head. With annoyed acceptance, she pulled out a pitcher of fruity mocktails from the fridge, pouring two glasses.

“Day ten,” she said, voice flat.

Cait replied quietly, “I know,” staring at her dark phone screen. Waiting for message. Anything.

Vi braced her arms on the counter. “What if she thinks we’ve moved on? What if…What if her mom said something? Or some dipshit from town?”

“We don’t know that. But we know her. We know how much she loves us.” It had become a mantra for them both during their stay.

“Then why hasn’t she tried to message? Not even a fucking email?”

“Violet, she doesn’t know our emails,” Cait reminded delicately. “She doesn’t have our numbers memorised. Who does, these days?”

Vi looked up, red-rimmed eyes meeting Cait’s. “I feel like I’m falling apart. And I’m with you. That should be enough, right? But it’s not. And I hate that.”

“Vi. You don’t have to choose between me and her. Missing her doesn’t mean you love me less.”

Out of nowhere, Cait’s phone pinged. She grabbed for it frantically, almost dropping it in the process.

1 message from [Unknown Contact]

It was you! It had to be! You found a way to make an account!

Cait’s face lit up…And then dropped.

“Who the fuck is Heather Scott?” Vi demanded, reading over Cait’s shoulder.

“And why is she with Y/N?”

Cait typed back ‘??’, dreading the response she would get. “I don’t think Y/N has ever mentioned-”

Vi’s head shot up. “She’s that bitch!” she shouted, accidentally too close to Cait’s ear.

“Ow, Vi!”

“She’s that bitch that pretended to like Y/N in high school and then posted her online! Heather Scott!” she slammed her hand down on the marble top in rage.

Cait glared back at her phone, fury rising within her.

‘Stay the fuck out of our business’

She had to stop herself throwing her phone down, putting her head in her hands, rubbing her scalp to try and calm down.

“I want to go home,” Vi said firmly. “Now. We’ll go home, and we’ll find a way to get to Y/N from there. I don’t give a fuck if we have to drive to her town and scream her name out the car window. She’s not safe there.”

Cait nodded. “We’ll leave first thing tomorrow.”

The front door creaked as Cait eased it open. The house was still. Dim with the blinds half-drawn, stale with the scent of summer heat. Vi followed behind her, suitcase thunking softly against the floor as she put it down, exhausted from the journey. Three-hours was a long way to sit in tense silence.

Faintly, from upstairs, they heard sniffles.

“Y/N?” Cait called gently, looking towards the staircase, her heart in her chest.

Silence.

Then more sniffles, a weak cough.

Vi ran ahead, heart pounding. What if you were hurt? How long had you been there? What if you’d broken your legs, or your back?! What if you needed a fucking ambulance because you were dying?! Cait heard her footsteps along the hallway upstairs, and then—

“Cait,” Vi’s voice cracked, “She’s here.”

Cait dropped her own bag and rushed toward the bedroom. God, what would she find? The door was open, Vi in the doorway.

You knelt on the floor by the bed, a chaotic assortment of your things on the floor around you, a suitcase open in front of you as you shoved things in, uncaring for the state of your clothes. Your phone lay on the comforter, charging by the cable, the battery image flashing red.

“Y/N?” Cait called gently, not wanting to overwhelm you, even as she longed to pull you into her arms. Her soft tone just earned more sniffles and a miserable hiccup. “Sweetheart, did your phone die? Is that why you didn’t reply to us?”

You groaned loudly, coughing as you cried.

Why was she being nice to you!

Your eyes were red, as though you’d not stopped crying for hours. You were crying – sobbing your fucking heart out – as you kept stuffing your items into the suitcase, purposefully not looking at the two girls.

Vi didn’t hesitate.

She ran over and dropped to her knees in front of you. “Baby. No. No, no, no. What are you doing? Talk to us, baby.”

You looked up slowly. Your voice was hoarse. “I lost my phone on the first day, and I didn’t hear from you, and I couldn’t contact you,” sob, cough, “and I thought…You were just faking before. And I made it all up in my head. I couldn’t-,” cough, “I didn’t have any photos to prove to myself it was real.”

Vi let out a sound that was more of a howl than anything else and pulling you into her lap, arms wrapped tightly around you, like she was afraid you might disappear. You were too upset, too weak, to even wrap your arms around her in return.

“You didn’t make it up,” Cait said gently, stepping into the room. She looked shaken too, but her voice was steady. She came over to kneel next you, her hand gently but firmly stroking your back. “We’ve been messaging you every day. We thought you wanted space, or you were having so much fun with your mother. Vi was tearing her hair out.”

“I was going to leave,” you confessed. “I didn’t want to come back here, and you both pretend it never happened.”

Vi pulled back, cupping your cheek. “Don’t say that. We’ve been counting down the days to see you again. We missed you. We fucking missed you, sweetheart.”

“I thought I wasn’t enough,” you said. “Not enough to miss. Not enough to matter.”

Cait leant forward, kissing your shoulder. “You are the most important part of us. We love you so much, sweetheart. You belong here. With us.”

Your jaw trembled. “But Heather Scott-”

Vi growled. “Fuck that bitch and anything she said to you.”

“I don’t want to be apart again,” you whispered.

“Then don’t be,” Cait said. “Move in with us, officially.”

Vi nodded fiercely, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re already here all the time anyway. You can choose new bedsheets, we’ll redecorate whatever you want!”

Your lower lip trembled and then you sobbed even harder.

“I missed you both so much,” you breathed.

“We’re home now,” Cait said. “And so are you.”

They didn’t unpack. They didn’t talk about what they’d missed or try to explain the ache in their chests in any eloquent way. They just held you close.

You lay together in bed, your head nestled on Cait’s chest. Vi had curled around your back, arm slung tight over your waist. Cait had her phone in a holder over your heads, talking you through all the photos and videos they’d taken in the first few days when they could, somewhat, function. Their voices soothed you, but you weren’t truly listening. You just needed them there. And they knew that; they’d tell you everything again when you all felt better. The familiar scent of the house, the softness of clean sheets, and the presence of the women you loved wrapped around you like a blanket.

“I didn’t realize how quiet it would be without you,” Cait murmured into your hair.

Vi gave a soft grunt. “I was tearing through the garden like a maniac.”

“I slept in my mum’s room a few times,” you whispered. “I felt twelve again.”

Neither Cait nor Vi said anything for a long time. They just held you tighter.

Your voice was muffled when you continued. “I ran into Heather. The girl who played that prank on me. She asked if I was still weird and lonely, and I immediately started trying to prove myself to her. Like, ‘I’m cool now, I have two girlfriends!’”

Vi lifted her head slightly, about to speak – probably something brash and full of fire – but Cait gently touched her arm.

“We’re proud of you,” Cait said quietly. “That you stood up for yourself.”

You shook your head sadly. “Wasn’t much ‘standing up’. I cracked the second she was mean to me, about us.”

Vi sighed and kissed the back of your shoulder instead. “We’re going to remind you every day that you’re not that girl anymore. And even if you were, you’d still be ours.”

You sniffled. “I thought maybe I’d made it all up. You two, this house, everything. It felt too good to be true.”

Vi kissed the edge of your jaw. “No way. You’re the best part of it.”

Cait adjusted slightly to press a kiss to your forehead. “You ground us, darling. We fell apart when you were gone.”

You lay like that for a long while, tangled in warm limbs and whispered promises, the kind too soft and slow for the daytime.

Eventually, Cait reached for a remote and turned on the soft glow of the fairy lights they’d strung up before summer – your idea to give your photos and videos some mood lighting. The room filled with a delicate pink warmth.

“Let’s stay like this,” she said. “No expectations. Just us.”

Outside, the evening deepened. Inside, they breathed as one.

Safe. Together. Home.

Taglist: @sevikas-whore, @djstinkyfartz, @jinririz, @abbyandcaitlover, @ayuxiru, @bebeluvvv, @youdoyou-andiwilldome, @kittymrtnezz69, @wyprettylilone, @jlb20416, @autisticratbagtm, @theoreticalfreak, @riotstemple29, @zaunite-516, @zmbieeee, @godhatesgoodgirls, @yoyo-w, @milanyas, @unknownomgg, @bella-but-not-hadid444, @marvelwomenarehot0, @nenoino, @opalundercover, @beggingonmykneesforher, @qlelwow, @loneliestafterparty, @flowersareup

#their little plaything #arcane #vi arcane #arcane vi x reader #arcane violet #vi x reader #arcane au #caitlyn kiramman #caitvi #caitvi x reader

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charity-angel · 12 hours ago

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I currently live just outside that area (still on the screenshot, just... That big road at the far east, towards the top, that has an absolutely massive kink in it, just outside the red circle? That's pretty much where I live.

We've got some absolutely gorgeous countryside, pretty much all round. It rains a lot, so it's REALLY green.

Our fabulously rainy, and thus damp climate is really awesome for spinning cotton - keeps the dust down, and the fibres supple enough they won't snap. The industrial revolution was really A Thing round here. Mills everywhere.

They're mostly closed down now, converted into flats, or shops, offices. But we do enjoy some of the last bastions of the British fabric industry being around here. I highly recommend a trip to Immanuel's Fabric in Burnley, if you're a sewist. Never the same stuff twice, and they have a massive room that's £1/metre. (Cash or PayPal only, no card payments. And it's not particularly wheelchair friendly - there's steps in, and some very narrow bits in the £1 room. But the staff are always amazing - help me in, grab whatever I need, walk me and my haul back to the car...)

God, there has to be something more than fabric... And the chemical factories made to support the cotton factories...

That said, if the Industrial Revolution is your thing, there's still a working museum/mill south of Manchester. Quarry Bank Mill - I very much enjoyed it, both times I've been.

Pendle Witches? That's a particularly *fun* part of our history. Probably a lot less sci-fi than Doctor Who made it out to be.

Accrington bricks? Those bright red fuckers that are hard as iron and WILL wreck your drill bits if you're unlucky enough to find one in your wall? Well, that's because there is literally iron in them. And they're made within that red circle. (They're also called Nori bricks, because the whoever made the first stamp for them sort of forgot it has to be done in mirror, so it would be the right way round when the bricks are stamped. They were supposed to say "iron". Now they're stamped with Nori on purpose, because why mess with what works?

Totally doesn't make us look like illiterate idiots at all...

Ooh, speaking of ancient typos, there is a place south of Manchester called Altrincham. The engraver who made ye olde "welcome to" sign managed to put a C instead of a G. It's pronounced "alt-ring-um". The OG pronunciation stuck around, but the typo also stuck.

Wheeling back to Accrington and its bricks, one of Accy's other claims to fame is probably the best-known of the "pals" divisions from WWI - definitely the best reason it shouldn't have happened:

If you don't know, when the army was recruiting for the Great War, in a moment of genius they decreed that men from the same town would fight together. That way they already had the camaraderie to help them stick together and have each other's backs.

It worked. Right up until the entirety of Accrington's men were lost at the Somme.

Weirdly, they stopped doing Pals battalions after that.

(there's another example, but it's from way outside the circle, so... not covering it here)

Anyway, the reason I circled back to the bricks is that there is a specific memorial to the Accrington Pals in the Somme. You might have guessed by now, but it's made of Nori bricks.

I didn't manage to find it, despite having a decent map (pre sat nav), but I'm assured it does in fact exist.

Accy is also bloody ancient - it's listed in the Domesday Book. Not quite as big as it is now, but it's there.

Um... There must be more.

(but yeah, the football thing pretty much came about because of the mills - gave people something to do other than work and drink. That's why it's so prevalent up here.)

HEY

HEY YOU!

DO YOU LIVE IN THIS AREA???

Tell me about it! BRAG IT! DRAG IT! ANYTHING (that isnt football)! I'm begging ( T∀T)°°

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shouyuus · 9 hours ago

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sfw; human!jinu au

right but human!au jinu who's kind of a bastard when you first meet him because he was abandoned as a kid or something and is viciously insecure so he tries to keep his distance just to make sure he can never get hurt like that again, because so long as he keeps people at arm's length then they won't have the power to hurt him. uses his looks to fool around a bit in college, is pretty good at sports, so probably on the basketball team, builds up this reputation for being kind of a fuckboy jock, but you could've sworn you've seen him sitting by himself in the library, tucked into the corner table, humming to himself, so quietly that he probably doesn't think anyone can hear.

who meets your eyes sometimes in the dining commons and you can see the facade flicker, just for a moment.

"the library's closing soon."

he jolts awake, jerking up, wincing as his cheek unsticks itself from a page in his music theory textbook. he blinks up at you for a solid three seconds before he gathers himself enough for words --

"-- shit, sorry uh --" he grabs at his papers and books, trying to shove them into his bag even as you drop into the seat next to him, cocking your head as you watch.

"that was a joke," you say, completely straight-faced, "you know that the library doesn't actually close, right?"

jinu freezes; the tips of his ears are a vivid, burning red.

a tiny grin twitches at the corner of your lips.

he turns back to face you, a frown dug deep between his brows.

"and who're you again?"

you reach into your bag and tug out a stack of papers and a red pen. he eyes it with mild curiosity.

"i'm the ta for that music theory class you've been 'auditing' for nearly an entire semester," you answer, jerking your chin towards the textbook still peaking out of his bag.

the heat works it's way into his cheeks till he's red down to the roots of his hair. he clears his throat, grasps for something to say but he comes up empty. so he settles for frowning a bit harder and crossing his arms, staring as you start to mark up the papers.

"you've got a good voice y'know." you don't look up.

jinu jumps so hard his knee bangs into the table. he hisses with pain, curling into the chair as you glance up.

"ow -- fuck!"

you blink at him as he sighs, his shoulders sagging ever so slightly.

"you should just take the class if you want to that badly."

"whatever."

"i mean, i could kick you out," you muse, dropping your eyes back to the papers, "technically, you're not allowed to 'audit' a class for more than the first month but since i'm the one who takes attendance..." you trail off.

jinu scoffs, "right. cool. so what is it? what'dya want? front row seats to the big game next week? abby's number? a date with me?" he smirks.

you cock an eyebrow, "i... think i'll pass... on all the above, thanks. why're you so cagey about taking a music theory class, anyway?"

jinu stares at you for a moment before shrugging, "'s just not... on brand for... someone like me, y'know?"

your eyebrows ascend the planes of your forehead as you deadpan at him. he withers slightly, scratching at the back of his head, tugging on the strings of his hoodie, his eyes flickering across the table like a frantic dragonfly, uncertain of the waters below.

"on... brand?" you prompt.

at this, jinu sighs, slumping back in his seat and casting his eyes towards the ceiling.

"it's just -- the team'd probably -- i dunno -- make fun of me or something if they found out --"

you frown, "who cares about that?"

jinu flicks his eyes at you, "i do -- they're kinda my friends."

"doesn't really sound like friends if you can't even take a music class without them judging you."

jinu rolls his eyes, "yeah well... they're the only friends i've got so."

you resume your grading, "not the only friends."

jinu huffs out a breath, "really? and who else --" but he cuts off as soon as you glance up to meet his eyes.

you watch as his cheeks mottle with color and he chews on his bottom lip. after another churning, thickening silence, he asks --

"why're you doing this?"

you sigh, putting down your pen.

"like i said, you've got a nice voice. and you seem to really like the class. i just think that you'd do well in it, that's all."

"that's... really all?"

you nod. a soft, disbelieving smile ghosts across his lips. it looks strange on him, like his muscles don't quite remember what it's like to do such a thing without an ulterior motive.

his eyes flicker from the papers to your face. the little smile tugs into a much more practiced grin, his eyebrows quirking into his signature smolder.

"so. you gonna gimme the pop quiz questions for class tomorrow morning?"

you rap him on the forehead with your red pen.

"don't push it."

jinu laughs, the sound deep and charming.

"c'mooooon. i thought we were friends, hm?" his smile is devious and wide and altogether way too roguish.

you bite down the heat slowly working it's way up your neck and recompose yourself as you go back to your grading.

"but i could be convinced into helping you study for it. because that's what friends are supposed to do."

jinu's smile flickers for a second before it settles into something a bit softer, a bit sadder, and he nods.

"yeah... yeah, i think i can live with that."

#⛈ monsoon season #jinu x reader #kpop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters x reader #kdh jinu #kdh x reader #x reader #jinu x you #jinu x y/n #kpop demon hunters x you #jinu fluff #kdh fluff #saja boys #saja boys x reader #saja boys x you #i........................... i cannot believe im doing this LOL #anime boys galore

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selunefae · 11 hours ago

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a/n: first time doing headcanons. :p wanted to try it bc they're quicker to write. i was at the gym and got inspired. xD

masterlist | rules

Gymbro!Caleb who notices you the first day you step a foot into the gym. It’s not every day a cutie like you walks in, all nervous and tugging at your sleeves as you squint at the machines like they're some kind of torture devices.

Gymbro!Caleb who's always there at the distance. All big arms and even bigger chest, tank top clinging into his skin and leaving little to the imagination. You can't help but glance his way every time his muscles flex as he finishes a series. He's always wearing that gentle smile that makes it hard to focus on your reps.

Gymbro!Caleb who finally makes his move when he catches you struggling at the hack squat machine – legs shaking, form all wrong, far too much weight. He starers at you for a moment, then walks straight over with no hesitation and that damn smile. "Here, let me help you."

Gymbro!Caleb who absolutely didn't need to get that close to help you. His chest brushes your sides, one arm around your waist as he adjusts your back. From this distance, you can catch traces of his smell. The faint smell of sweat, faded deodorant, and something distinctly masculine. You're too dazed to protest.

Gymbro!Caleb who somehow always ends up at the gym during your sessions. Monday before work? He's there. A late friday evening? Still there. And every time, he finds a new excuse to keep lingering. "Want to take turns in press?" or "Let me lift this for you."

Gymbro!Caleb whose hands trail lower with every interaction. One day it's his hands brushing your stomach, another day his fingers ghost your thighs. And you don’t stop him. In fact, you start to look forward to those moments.

Gymbro!Caleb who visibly stiffens the moment another guy talks to you. His smile drops, his jaw tightens, and his brows knit together like he’s about to lift the entire gym floor. The guys always end up storming off when he appears behind you, but an instant later, he acts like nothin happened.

Gymbro!Caleb who starts bringing you snacks and protein-packed meals to eat after workout. At first, it's "I made to much and don't want it to go to waste", but two weeks pass by and he’s still doing it.

Gymbro!Caleb who smirks every time you mess up a set and get really flustered, just to brush it off with “Don’t worry, i’ll help you with whatever you need.” And he means it. But he wishes you needed him for more than just your reps.

Gymbro!Caleb who offers to walk you home one night after a late session and waits outside your building until he sees the lights in your room turn on. He doesn't care if he lives on the opposite side of town.

Gymbro!Caleb who’s never flat-out told you how he feels, but shows it in the little things he does. He wipes down every machine before you sit on it, never leaves until you're done, and makes sure you're eating enough.

Gymbro!Caleb who’s clearly into you, but you still think he’s just being nice.

Gymbro!Caleb who finally snaps when a cocky newbie tries to flirt with you near the dumbbell racks. He steps in mid-sentence, voice low and one hand resting on your shoulder. “She already has a trainer.” And suddenly, he’s twice his size and the guy’s gone.

Gymbro!Caleb who leans in right after, close enough that his breath warms your cheek: “Guess I’ll have to make you mine before someone else tries to snatch you.”

Gymbro!Caleb who drags you into the empty yoga studio that night, presses you against the wall, and kisses you like he’s been holding back for months. One of his hands traps you as the other hugs your waist, his kisses are hungry and messy. You let him, because you've been waiting to.

Gymbro!Caleb who might be territorial and a little too possessive, but completely melts the second you tug his hair and push him down.

Gymbro!Caleb who lets you take the lead, savouring how you rub agaisnt him as you continue desperately tugging at his hair and clothes. He could easily overpower you, but he likes seeing you in control. He likes that you think he's wrapped around your fingers, and maybe he is.

Gymbro!Caleb who still cooks for you after that night, who still checks your form and counts your sets and glares down every guy who glances your way. Especially now. Because now, he’s finally claimed you, and he’s not letting anyone else have you.

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #lads caleb #lnds caleb #caleb x you #caleb x reader #caleb xia #xia yizhou #xia yizhou x reader #caleb love and deepspace #caleb smut #love and deepspace caleb #smut #reader insert #female reader #love and deepspace smut

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ssapphosviolets · 2 days ago

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Atta Girl

Lovesick Puppydog Sevika x Reader

┈─★

Growing up in Zaun with not much money to spare usually means you either learn how to fix things yourself, or go into debt having someone else do it. So, when Sevika got her first car as a teenager, a busted up Subaru Outback, she'd quickly learned to fix things up herself. She mostly viewed having to fix up her car as a slight nuisance, annoying but necessary-

Until she met you, and came to understand the fun nuances of mechanical work. And while she never thought she would spend her off days in a car junkyard, it didn't take long for her to find enjoyment in it.

or; you and Sevika go on a date to the car pick-a-part yard

(i'm sticking to my hc that sevika drives a 1996 Volvo 850R Wagon and no one will convince me otherwise. this is my truth) ᯓ also ty to everyone who encouraged me to write this after this post i love all of you. ᯓ inspired by my most recent junkyard trip bc i snapped an ignition coil bolt on my honda and wanted an excuse to look for wheels for my celica ooops

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You can't help but yawn as you pull up your pants, still not fully awake but wanting to get out of the house before the summer heat became too unbearable. When your eyes open to catch yourself in the mirror, you notice the lighting darken and create a shadow over you as Sevika steps up behind you.

"Morning, Sev." You mumble as her hands are placed on your waist. You reach your arms up to wrap around the back of her neck, leaning back into her strong chest and letting your head fall into her as she places a kiss on the side of your temple.

"Mmm. What's up with the cargos this morning, hun?" Sevika whispers. Her hands snake around to your front, carefully pulling up the zipper in front of your stomach before pushing the button through. She tugs a little on the belt loop as one of her arms comes across to hug your chest. "You already know, babe."

"Ah, that you're gonna leave me all by myself while you spend all day giving your attention to your car. You also have love for me too, ya know." You shake your head fondly, her teasing smirk letting you know she's not serious.

She doesn't get hung up on you spending your time on your hobbies. If anything, she likes it. It's an excuse for her to have time for her own, often joining you in the garage as you both do your own things, or if she's feeling up to it even helping you out.

"Come join me then?" You ask hopeful. She nods and kisses down your cheek to your shoulder. "Of course." She mumbles into your skin. She pats your waist before pulling away to get dressed.

"Oh also, can I borrow the Volvo again? Mine mighttt not have enough room." You ask in your sweetest voice as she rounded the corner from the bathroom. You don't have to see her to know she's rolling her eyes. "Of course you can." She sighs in defeat.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

"So what the hell are we actually here for again?" Sevika asks as you both get out of her car, shutting the doors. You catch up to her long strides as you make your way to the entrance of the pick-a-part yard.

"Uhh, well I need bolts for the Honda's ignition coils cause one of them snapped yesterday. I wanna see what wheels are here too. And whatever else seems like a fun souvenir." Sevika wordlessly takes the heavy bag of tools off your shoulder to carry it herself. "I think you have enough 'souvenirs', hun. You already have a collection of steering wheels." She teases.

"Okay but what if, in the next upcoming weeks I get, let's say a.. LS300. But the shady guy I bought it from took off the steering wheel. Oh look, I have one right here. You gotta think bigger, Sevika." You say as you tap the side of her head. She chuckles reluctantly, amused by your stubbornness, all the while deep down she loves it.

She throws a heavy arm around your shoulder, pulling you into her side. The sound of the gravel crunching under your guys's shoes follows the both of you as she hums, conceded. "You're right. Only cause it's you." She mumbles light-heartedly.

You smile up at her, admiring as the morning sun radiates onto her face. The patterns etched in the dark iris of her eyes glow in the light, and her dark tinted lips are relaxed into a slight smile. You love seeing her like this, especially when you compare this image of her to the Sevika you met for the first time, or the Sevika who's on the job.

The resting scowl she always wore turned to a content smile when she was around you. Her eyebrows didn't crease and her jaw wasn't clenched. Her eyes didn't look so pointed and mean, now they're soft and gentle. The way she carries herself is more relaxed, with her steps being lazier and clunkier as opposed to purposeful, and her shoulders aren't as tense.

She smiles down at you when she catches you staring, and you bashfully avert your gaze to the ground.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

While Sevika finishes checking in, you go off to grab a cart. She meets you and places the bag inside, and before you can continue she taps your hand holding the bar, gently shooing you away. You step to the side as she takes your spot, leaning her forearms on the handle as she pushes forward.

You lead the way with a hand on the side of the cart, ogling at the hundreds and hundreds of cars lined up in rows on jacks. Sevika stopped paying attention to the torn apart cars after the second row, instead finding herself fixated on you. This place really was like heaven for someone like you. And Sevika for that matter, who while not being into cars as much as you, had pretty sound knowledge of general mechanics.

Growing up in Zaun with not much money usually meant you either learn how to fix things yourself, or go into debt having someone else do it. So, when she got her first car as a teenager, a busted up Subaru Outback, she'd quickly learned to fix things up herself. She mostly viewed fixing up her car as a slight nuisance, annoying but necessary. Until she met you, and came to understand the fun nuances of mechanical work. She quite enjoyed it when she had to do maintenance or tune ups on her car now. And while she never thought she would spend her off days in a junkyard, it didn't take long for her to find enjoyment in it.

"The holy Honda land." You say as you and Sevika come up upon row 219. She stops behind you as you peek over one of the engine bays, rounding the cart to join you. "It's gonna be the bolt that goes into this little thing." You explain to Sevika, who nods intently.

Sevika knew the drill, and you both got to work. This car didn't have the bolts you needed, so you both continued on to ransacking the rest of the car in search of something that could be of use. Sevika rummaged through the interior while you checked around under the car for any spare bolts or screws that could be of use.

You startle when a car door lands on the ground just next to you, dust being kicked up in your face from the impact. Quicker than you could comprehend, Sevika's hand was covering your head while her other grasped onto the heavy metal before it fell further. Once your body recognized its safety, you couldn't help but burst out into laughter at the fallen door, a piece of the broken handle still in Sevika's hand.

"Well someone already got to the hinges." Sevika shrugged, followed by her own chuckles as she throws the door to the side. You guys repeat the same thing on multiple cars, engaging in conversation about your week or stories from Sevika's recent gambling stint at The Last Drop.

You cheer as the next car you come upon finally had the bolts still intact. "Found em?" Sevika said, amusement clear on her face. "Yes ma'am." She rolls her eyes at your response, but hands you your socket wrench. "Need a 10?" She asks as she searches through the sockets in your bag. You hum in response and she places the piece of metal in your outstretched palm.

You take off the bolts, handing them behind you to Sevika to hold onto until you were done. "Atta girl." She says as she takes them from you, not missing the shy and sheepish look on your face from her praise.

The both of you continue this for upwards of an hour, just rummaging through torn apart cars while talking. Eventually you retire the search of car parts in favor of hunting for wheels. Not even five minutes into rummaging through the piles of rims and tires, Sevika grabs your attention with a low whistle.

You look up and see her lifting up a chrome wheel, with what looked like almost brand new tires. "Oh my god, no way!" You trudge over the wheels on the ground to meet her. You inspect the little numbers on the tires on the rim, "right size and everything." You say happily. "Man I wish I lucked out this easily with mine for the Volvo. Had to pay out the ass for mine."

Sevika shook her head, effortlessly dropping the wheel in the cart as you picked up the other. Sure, Sevika was a gentlewoman; always holding your bags, opening doors for you, tying your shoelaces, any act of service she could think of. But she doesn't undermine your own strength either, instead watching with an ogling smirk as you load the last wheel into the cart, your t-shirt sleeves riding up and revealing your flexed muscles. "You're such a dog." You playfully hit her shoulder.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

"I'm glad you came with me today." You told Sevika as you made your way back to the car, this time covered in dirt, grime, and sweat, with pockets full of clanking of bolts and fuses. You continue, "I know rummaging around a junkyard isn't an ideal date idea, but it's one my favorite things to do with you." You both make eye contact, matching each others smiles.

"I'd do anything with you, hun. You know that." You stop at her car and turn around to face her, your arms reaching up to wrap around her shoulders. "I love you, Sev." She responds by pulling you in further by your waist, leaning down to catch your lips in hers. She squeezes your waist as her way of saying it back. "Let's get home and shower, yeah?" You nod, a cheeky smile finding its way to your lips at the idea.

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ysaefinn · 2 days ago

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Knight!Suguru x bratty!royal!reader

Okay then, I hear you loud and clear.

Sit with me and think of a royal reader that is the middle ground. Scheming but there's definitely a generous amount of attitude for spice. A brat.

But oh does it work wonders for you, most times. Leaning on a hip, arms crossed, eyebrow raised like whatever outrageous demands you've just made were your god given right, yours just as the crown. The harsh flashing light reflecting off your jewels works like a brain-melting hypnosis. "Yes, your highness!" "But of course, your highness!" "As you please your highness!" Ah- Music to your ears. The world at the palm of your hand.

Hmmm but only most times. Your knight seems to be immune to your spell.

Suguru has made it crystal clear the very first time you tried pulling one of your trusty reliable tricks.

Hands on your hips, rolling your eyes, and teasing him about being 'Oh so cruel' and 'not knowing how to have fun' when he stood between you and the kitchen window you tried sneaking out of in the middle of the night. Unmoving like a brick wall with a polite little smile that could melt gold on his undeniably handsome features– one you wouldn't say you could confidently read. The moonlight contouring his beastly build.

He looks like a big bad hound watching over the gates, his no was as polite as can be, but it was absolute. –Alright then change of strategy–

Batting your eyelashes. One delicate finger slowly creeps up his chest. His breath visibly hitches and he looks almost enamored, clearly lost in the attention. Great! Time to go for the kill! You get on your tippy toes, faces mere inches away from each other. And with the sweetest tone you could muster, you begin "Won't you let me get my way just this once?" A second, another, Suguru is heavily breathing then he... smiles-! Wider than he usually would before placing a big arm over the small of your back. Perfect! He's definitely in your pocket no–OhHuh?! With a swift move, he throws you over his shoulder and starts making his way to your sleeping chambers. "Nice try, but I'm afraid I can't overlook this in particular. Their majesties' orders, I'm very sorry Your Highness. It's quite late after all, we wouldn't want you to miss out on any sleep, now would we?"

Un-be-lievable. Absolutely outrageous. But you swear the heat and redness of your face were results of being caught off guard, nothing much!

It's quite frustrating really. Seems you've met your match. But if anything, it just clears your doubts. From the moment you shook hands with your newly appointed guard do– body guard –ever so thoughtfully appointed by the Monarch–You figured that he won't be so willing to join your endless collection of marionettes. It makes your eye twitch really. You've always been the child who threw tantrums when your noble playmates wouldn't hand over their toys despite having mountains of trinkets already. He is an exception, the enemy of absolute control. A threat, but one that you can't deny is very very enticing.

He wouldn't flat out tell you to act right of course! Perish the thought, he was but a servant! You hold the cards! You are the hand that swings the sword! But he'll find ways. He's very indulging and sweet –it honestly feels sincere– but his messages are received nonetheless.

A sweet gentle smile always present as he tuts and politely reminds you to cut your lady in waiting some slack. To go easy on your maids for misplacing one of your countless rings. To turn a blind eye on the very miniscule alteration made to your breakfast. Maybe he oversteps every now and then. A weird look; a raised eyebrow; a little snicker. The most he has ever gone was playfully threatening to 'tell your father how bad you were being if you kept acting up' not like the king isn't at the palm of your hand as well. But still.

Audacious.

It's like his heart is armored as well!! Why doesn't he listen? Why doesn't anything work? Everyone else is mindlessly dancing to your tune so you know for a fact you haven't lost your magic just yet. What's so different about this man? How does he not only manage to stay untouched but also leave a clear mark on you back?

You almost want to obey, to be good, maybe you'll even get a reward if you let yourself fall into his arms. What if he lets you run your hands over his strong arms and feel up his firm body you've always been so curious about? What if you get the chance to touch his long gorgeous inky hair? What if he lets you doze off on his soft ches-

...

This cannot be happening.

Seems it can though. It didn't take you too long to recognize the longing look in his eyes, clear boundaries were never set, blurred lines were his gateway, and you knew love when you saw it. Before you know it you were inviting him to spend the night with you almost on the daily, kissing him on empty halls, pressing your entire body against him while holding his bicepts during your walks in the garden, he'd hold you in his lap under the shade of tree deep in the woods away from prying eyes, pluck fresh fruit off the trees and hand freed them to you slice by dutiful slice, he replaces your heavy crowns with lighter softer alternatives made with flowers.

He even promised to marry you.

Lovers or not, he will always be your knight. And you were his to serve, his to protect.

And his to correct, on occasion.

It was his fault really. This was bound to happen eventually. Nothing is set in stone and the crown heir must prove themselves worthy –Something you excelled at. It was something he admired you for, truly! You're clever, very aware of your strengths and use them to your advantage, the perfect leader, he loved you for it...just not now.

A shiny carriage from the west arrives early in the morning. Out emerges a new shiny toy, a prince gift wrapped in silks and gold –you always loved shiny. The royal foreigner makes his way not to your father, not your mother, but directly to you. And Suguru might be a brute good-for-nothing soldier, but it doesn't take a genius to put the pieces together, this is the suitor your parents have chosen for you. The firstborn prince of esteemed royal birth, from a country that is nothing to scoff at, of course, this is happening. A marriage of convenience to strengthen the bonds between the nations someting something the fishing industry isn't what it used to–Oh piss off.

Suguru is right at your side when the obnoxiously sparkling man finally comes to a stop before you, he is right there beside you when he holds your gloved hand and places a kiss at your knuckles, and he is right there when you –without missing a beat– giggle at the gesture and bat your lashes right back at him.

Suguru's body freezes, then his jaw clenches and snaps back to place and he can't help but snarl.

Guard dog. One in dire need of a leash.

He knows you have no choice but to play along, he knows that you marrying another man is the most likely outcome. But he is selfish enough not to care, he wants to pull you close by the waist, tuck you underneath his chin and send the envoy back to wherever he came from. He is your knight, and you are just as much his. It wouldn't have been a problem if this were only one of your many masterful performances, he wouldn't have minded much. What you have with Suguru was real, not a business move, not a transaction.

But it still itches at his core.

No matter how many times you reassure him that it was all fake, no matter how many times he pins you the walls of your room and makes you repeat declarations of love, no matter how much you promise that you'll get rid of the foreign prince, that you'll get in your father's head, that you'll do something, anything. Suguru is still very much bothered.

It's never enough, nothing puts him at ease. Every time you finish a conversation with a kiss to his forehead and walk away to be with that other man, it feels as if Suguru's wounds were stitched without taking away all of the cancer. It never mattered whether it was real or not. Suguru is a selfish man, and a greedier lover.

And you came to find this out after an incredibly inappropriate night of wine and poetry with your supposed future husband.

Come on. You were pushing it at this point. How could you think he wouldn't be feining to claw into your newest toy by now?

But poor you. Couldn't have been caught at a worse time. Frustrated from having to shush an aggressive snarling attack dog on an almost daily basis and being a little tipsy from the alcohol, clearly having forgotten your manners near the empty bottles of wine before coming back to your real man, you waste no time tearing into him about how whiny and needy he has been, how he has no basis to any of these accusations he's throwing around so carelessly, how it shouldn't even bother him this much anyway as he is nothing but a servant to you, and that he should to act like one.

His to protect. His to serve. His to correct.

So...act like a servant? Your word is law, Your Highness!

You don't know how or when exactly you found yourself pinned to the wall with your wrists tightly held together and dwarfed by one big hand, while the other tightly grips your tummy keeping you frozen in place.

"W-what do you think you're doing-?!" "Act like one, huh?" He moves to kiss you all messy and rough, for the first time in weeks, undoing all the progress that pest may think he had made.

He pulls away leaving you warm and needy.

"S-Suguru I'm–"

"Be quiet" he snaps, yet he doesn't raise his voice, he sounds calm and controlled, but Oh so betrayed. You've possibly done irreversible damage to the man who adores you most."You've said enough, listen to me very closely" his glaring hurts so good this is a new side of him you aren't too guilty you lured out of the shadows. "Whether or not you'd like to admit it. I am your man." It sounds more like a judge's verdict than a knight's oath.

"I'm not one of your little toys. I'm your husband" and it sounds so right, you didn't know how much you needed to hear it.

"But sure. I'll indulge you, Your Highness." but this felt like a slap to the face in all honesty, you worked really hard to get him to use your name, the title was only a little bit between the two of you at this point, but he has never said it with more venom than now.

"I'll act like your knight once more, and teach you some manners."

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formulafanfics13 · 8 hours ago

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The Podium Princess - MV1, PG10, LN4, LH44, CL16, OP81 🔥

masterlist

Request

They called her the trophy. Not to her face, no one was that bold, but behind closed doors, in locker rooms and paddocks, in late-night strategy meetings when the real prize had already been won. Not points. Not podiums. Her.

She wasn't a model. Wasn't PR. Wasn't on payroll or affiliated with any team. No last name in the paddock. No title. Just her. Always in the right place at the right time. Always watching. Always waiting.

There were rumours. That Toto had hired her. That Christian had tried to. That she'd once broken Max in two and left Lando shaking. That Lewis kissed her ankle after Japan '21 and whispered something in her ear that made her cry, and still came first the next weekend.

She never spoke publicly. Never posted. Never smiled for the cameras. But after every race, every time the confetti hit the air, she was already waiting. The three podium finishers. Gold, silver, bronze. First, second, third.

They knew what came next.

She was the reward. The ritual. The tradition unspoken but carved into the sport. And every man on the grid wanted to earn her.

She was already waiting in the suite. Monza's podium had ended hours ago. Champagne sprayed, interviews given, suits half-unzipped and post-race high still vibrating in the air. The hotel room, booked before the race even started, was lit with soft amber lighting. Warm. Clean. No cameras.

And she was on her knees. Naked. Waiting. The door opened. Max stepped in first. Always. His footsteps were slow, measured. Calm fury. Gold medal draped around his neck, champagne still lingering on his throat, jaw clenched.

He didn't say hello. He never did. He just walked to her, grabbed her chin, and tilted her head up. "You watched?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Who did you want to win?"

"I I wanted you to-"

"Good."

He dropped his hand. Unzipped. Let his race suit hang at his waist as he stared down at her. Cold eyes. Hot rage. "You'll thank me later for making sure they didn't get first."

She didn't ask who they was. Because Charles and Lando were behind him.

Charles closed the door gently. Shrugged off his jacket. Smiled. Soft and unbothered. Lando was already panting. Hands in his curls, pacing like he couldn't wait another second. Silver medal hanging crooked against his chest.

"You looked so pretty in the paddock," Charles murmured. "You wear that dress for us?"

She nodded. "For the podium."

"Our podium," Max snapped.

"Only ours," Lando added quickly.

She tried to speak again, but Max stepped forward and grabbed her hair. "No talking unless we tell you."

She whimpered.

Charles walked behind her and trailed his fingers down her spine. "You're shaking already, bébé. You want us that bad?"

"She's wet already," Lando said, crouching in front of her. His fingers dipped between her thighs without permission. "Fuck. She's dripping."

"Because she knows what she's here for," Max growled.

"She's a toy," Charles said softly. "Not a girl. A reward."

Lando moaned. "She's our reward."

Max grabbed her by the throat and pushed her down. "Open your mouth."

She did. Fast. Eager.

"God, she's trained," Charles muttered.

Max shoved his cock past her lips without hesitation. "Not gentle," he snapped. "She doesn't deserve gentle. Not after watching them on the podium too."

Tears welled in her eyes as Max fucked her mouth, fast, deep. His hand never left her hair. Her throat burned. Her hands shook. She moaned around him like she liked it.

Behind her, Charles was spreading her knees wider. "She's shaking," he said. "Look at her, Max. She's falling apart already."

Lando sat on the bed, stroking himself slowly, watching them with glazed eyes. "Can I have her mouth next?" he asked, desperate.

"You can have whatever's left of her," Max grunted.

He pulled out, her spit glistening on his cock. Her jaw ached. Her eyes were already ruined.

"Up," Charles said. "Hands on the bed."

She obeyed. Still silent. Still their toy.

Lando moved behind her, guiding himself into her mouth with shaky fingers. "God-fuck-she missed me."

Max stood behind her now, staring down at her ass, the way her body trembled. "She's not ready for both."

"She'll take it," Charles said calmly, dragging a hand through her hair. "She always does."

Max pushed inside. No warning. No gentleness. She screamed around Lando's cock. She was full. Too full. One in her mouth. One in her cunt. Body caught between them, stretched and used.

Charles sat beside her head, petting her hair. "That's it, sweetheart. Let the podium take its prize."

"She's mine," Max growled.

"She's ours," Lando gasped, fucking her mouth harder.

"Don't come yet," Charles said softly. "She hasn't even begged."

Max slapped her ass. "Beg."

She moaned. Tried. Choked.

"Beg."

She sobbed. "Please-use me-need you-want to be-your prize-your toy-please-please-"

"That's a good girl," Charles whispered.

They fucked her harder. Tears ran down her face. Her body shook. They didn't stop. Because she was theirs. And they had earned her.

She didn't know how long she'd been on her knees. Couldn't remember how many times she'd moaned, how many times Lando had kissed her cheek and whispered "good girl" while fucking her throat like he couldn't breathe without it. Her body was shaking. Fucked open from behind, stuffed full in the front. Every nerve fried.

But it wasn't over. Not even close. Because Max, still behind her, still deep inside her, pulled out just long enough to grab his phone from the bedside table. And pressed record. "Keep her still," he snapped at Charles.

Charles leaned forward immediately, one hand in her hair, the other around her waist. "Open your mouth wider," he whispered against her ear. "Max wants a good shot."

She tried. Gagged. Lando groaned. "Fuck, that's it. You're so fucking pretty like this."

Max stepped back, phone tilted slightly down. The screen lit her up. On all fours. Face soaked. Lips wrapped around Lando's cock. Ass red. Pussy dripping. Her whole body shaking like a ruined toy. And that's what Max wanted to remember.

He circled them, slow, camera rolling. "Look at her," he muttered. "Taking it like she was made for this. Like her only purpose is to be fucked by the podium."

"She's better than a trophy," Lando said, fucking her mouth deeper. "Trophies don't cry."

"She lives to cry for us," Charles added, kissing her neck.

She moaned around Lando's cock, a wet, broken sound.

Max reached around, spread her ass with one hand, filmed her pussy stretched open, slick and swollen. "Say it," he growled. "Tell the camera whose you are."

She choked. Could barely breathe.

Charles whispered in her ear again. "Go on, ma belle. Tell him. Say you belong to the winners."

She sobbed. "I-belong-to the podium-only-the podium-please-"

Max groaned. "Fuck, she's perfect."

He tossed the phone on the bed, still recording, still angled perfectly, and slammed back into her. She screamed. The force knocked her forward, throat tightening around Lando's cock. Lando let out a strangled moan, both hands gripping her hair now.

Charles slid in front of her again. "Too much?"

She shook her head, tears spilling.

"Good," he said, kissing her forehead.

Max was relentless. Deep, brutal thrusts. Skin slapping. Filthy sounds echoing in the room. "Gonna come in her," he grunted. "She'll feel it for days."

"Not until I do," Lando panted.

"She'll take both," Charles murmured. "She always does."

Lando came first. Deep. Loud. Hands fisting in her hair. She gagged as he spilled down her throat. He moaned her name. Said "thank you" like she was something holy.

Then Max. He didn't warn her. Just shoved in harder, filled her up, grabbed the phone again to record her shaking body as he came. Pressed the lens to her back, her ass, the mess dripping out of her. "She's mine," he said.

And Charles? Charles pulled her up by the throat, kissed her mouth full of Lando's come, then whispered in French, something filthy, something possessive, and came all over her chest, groaning as she collapsed in his arms.

The three of them stood there. Breathless. Spent. She was twitching on the bed. Mouth open. Eyes half-closed. Body leaking from both ends. The phone was still recording. And Max was still smiling. "Podium earned."

Japan was quiet. Until it wasn't. The hotel suite had been prepared hours before the checkered flag. Same champagne chilling in the bucket. Same lighting. Same velvet chair in the corner for watching. Same bed in the middle of the room. And her. Already on her knees.

Hair brushed. Skin lotioned. Collar on. Nothing else. Her body was still sore from Monza. Still marked from Charles' teeth, from Max's fingers. Her throat had healed. Her thighs hadn't.

But she was here. Because they'd won her. Again. Max entered first. As always. He didn't greet her. He never did. Just walked straight to her, gripped her jaw, tilted her face up to inspect her. "You missed me?"

She nodded, lips parted.

"Show me."

She leaned in and kissed the tip of his cock through his race suit. Once. Twice. Reverent.

He smiled. Cold. "Good girl."

Then Lewis walked in. And everything changed. Because Lewis wasn't Max. He didn't need to speak first. He just walked to the window, took off his jewelry slowly, placed it on the dresser one piece at a time. Watched her reflection in the glass. "She looks nervous," he said calmly.

"She should be," Max replied, already undoing his zipper. "She's got a lot to take tonight."

Then Pierre. Bronze. Third. First time on the right side of this room. He stopped at the door like he'd walked into a dream. "Fuck," he whispered.

She turned her head, eyes locking with his. Wide. Wet. Waiting.

"She's beautiful," he breathed. "You weren't exaggerating."

"She's better than beautiful," Max said, walking behind her. "She's obedient."

Pierre stepped closer. Crouched in front of her. Reached out, hesitated. "Can I-?"

"She's yours," Lewis said, finally turning around. "For the night, she belongs to us."

Pierre's hand touched her face. Soft. Awestruck. "She's warm," he whispered.

Lewis moved behind her. "She's always warm for winners."

Max was already stroking himself. "Let's show him how it works."

They guided her to the bed. Pierre sat at the edge. She crawled between his legs like instinct. Mouth open. Max climbed behind her, spreading her thighs wide. Lewis stayed by the dresser. Watching. Unbuttoning his shirt with slow precision.

"Go ahead," Max told Pierre. "She'll take you."

Pierre moaned the moment she wrapped her lips around him. "Jesus Christ."

"She's good," Max said, lining himself up. "But she cries better."

And then he was inside her. Rough. Deep. Immediate. She gagged around Pierre's cock. Her knees buckled.

Lewis walked to the side of the bed and leaned down. "Don't stop."

Her eyes were already wet. Pierre had his hands in her hair. "She's- fuck- she's tight."

"She's always tight," Max groaned, thrusting harder. "I ruin her and she still grips like it's her first time."

"She's making noise," Lewis said, kneeling beside her. "Open wider."

She tried. Moaned. Shook. "Good girl."

Max grabbed her hips and pulled her back harder. "She'll come just from being used like this. Watch."

Pierre looked like he couldn't breathe. "She's taking both of us..."

"She can take three," Lewis murmured. "Kiss her."

Pierre leaned in, kissed her mouth between thrusts. "You're so fucking good."

Max was panting now. "Touch her clit."

Lewis reached down, found her swollen bud, and rubbed slow circles. She screamed.

Pierre moaned. "She's gonna-fuck-"

"She's allowed," Lewis said. "Let her come for us."

She came hard. Loud. Her whole body trembling as Max didn't stop. As Pierre fucked her throat like it was the only place he wanted to live. As Lewis kept his finger on her clit until her hips jerked from the overstimulation.

And still, none of them stopped. Because the podium never finishes first. She wasn't speaking anymore. Not because she wasn't allowed. But because she couldn't. Her voice had cracked an hour ago.

Her mouth was raw from Lando. Her cunt was swollen from Max. Her whole body was shaking, red, marked, pulsing with every heartbeat. And she was still taking them. Because it was Suzuka. And the podium hadn't finished.

Pierre had just come in her mouth. Soft moans. Apologetic hands. A trembling thank you like he didn't know what else to say.

Max had pulled out mid-fuck just to smear himself across her back, panting curses in Dutch, promising to do it harder next time.

But Lewis? Lewis hadn't even started yet. He stood by the bed like a king waiting for silence. Shirtless. Calm. Gold chain still hanging against his chest. His hand stroked his cock slowly, not because he needed to, but because he liked making her wait.

Pierre sat back in the velvet chair, legs spread, shirt undone. Watching her like art. "She's perfect," he whispered. "You were right."

"She's not perfect," Max muttered, sitting on the edge of the bed, still breathing hard. "She's ours."

Lewis finally spoke. "Lift her."

Max grabbed her under the arms. Pierre moved to help, hands gentle even as she whimpered. They laid her flat across the bed. Back arched. Arms above her head. Legs trembling, spread.

Lewis stepped between them. Looked down. "Been a while, huh?" he murmured, rubbing her clit with two fingers. "Last time was Spa. You remember?"

She nodded. Barely.

He slid two fingers in. She cried out. "So tight," he said. "Still greedy after all that cock."

Then, without warning, he pushed in. All of him. She screamed.

Lewis didn't flinch. Didn't slow. "Deep breath, baby."

He started to fuck her slow. Deep. Deliberate.

Max stroked her cheek, watching her cry. "She loves it."

"She was made for it," Lewis said, thrusting harder. "A hole for winners."

Pierre swallowed hard. "Can I... try her again?"

Max laughed. "Not like that."

Lewis grinned, pulled out. "Flip her."

They moved her like a doll. Onto her stomach. Ass up. Face pressed into the sheets.

"Ever done both at once?" Pierre asked.

Max smiled. "Of course."

Lewis got on the bed behind her. Lined up again. "Hold her mouth open," he said.

Pierre moved in front. Palmed her cheek. "You ready?"

She nodded.

"Good girl."

And then, both.

Lewis pushed into her cunt. Pierre pushed into her mouth. She choked. Moaned. Cried. Her body shuddered.

"Holy fuck," Pierre gasped. "She's, Jesus-"

Lewis grabbed her hips. "Take it."

Max stood behind them, filming again. "Look at this fucking mess," he muttered. "All for us."

Pierre fucked her mouth faster. Lewis hit deeper. Harder. She came again, screaming around Pierre's cock.

"God- she's coming again-"

"Let her," Lewis growled.

She collapsed. Legs shaking. Body twitching. And Lewis didn't stop.

"Gonna come in her," he said. "She needs to feel it."

Pierre moaned. "Me too- fuck- I'm-" He spilled in her mouth. Groaned like he couldn't believe it. "She swallowed-fuck-thank you-thank you-"

Lewis came inside her seconds later. Gripped her hips like he was claiming her. "Stuffed," he whispered. "You're full, baby."

She moaned into the sheets. Boneless. Gone. And the podium? Satisfied. For now.

She was already panting when the door closed.

Qatar heat still clung to her skin, sweat slick between her thighs. The podium had finished late, media delayed them, the champagne sticky on their suits, but the minute the suite door shut, everything changed.

Lando threw his medal on the floor. Oscar locked the door.

Lewis didn't speak. He just walked to her, slow, controlled, and touched her chin. "You look nervous."

"I-I'm okay," she whispered.

He tilted her face up. "You remember what happens when you lie to me?"

She swallowed.

Oscar sat on the edge of the bed. "She's shaking."

Lando was already shirtless, pacing like a tiger. "She knows what's coming."

Lewis smirked. "Then let's get started."

She was naked in minutes. Bent over the bed, arms stretched forward, thighs open. Lando already between them, two fingers buried in her soaked pussy, grinning like it was Christmas. "She missed me," he muttered. "She's soaking."

"Because she's ours now," Oscar said, sliding behind her, kissing her spine. "She knows who she belongs to."

Lewis sat in the chair. Watching. Palming himself through his trousers. Calm. Calculating. "She's been good," he said. "Let her come once."

Lando immediately curled his fingers up. Oscar pressed against her from behind, whispering filth in her ear. "Come for the podium, baby."

She did. Hard. Loud. Her knees buckled. Her voice broke. And then, the tone shifted.

Lewis stood. Walked behind her. Touched the small of her back. "You ready for more?" he asked.

She nodded. He kissed her temple. "Good. Because tonight, we're using your ass."

She froze.

Lando moaned under his breath. "Holy shit, are we really?"

"She's ready," Lewis said. "We've trained her. She's taken us all. It's time."

Oscar kissed her shoulder. "You trust us, don't you?"

She whimpered. "Yes."

"Then breathe," Lewis whispered. "And stay still."

They took their time. Not out of kindness, out of intention. Oscar was the first to prepare her. Lube. Two fingers at first. Then three. Slow, slow, slow. She cried into the sheets, thighs shaking.

Lewis whispered by her ear. "Don't hold your breath, baby."

She exhaled.

Oscar twisted his fingers. "She's so tight."

"She's never been taken there," Lando said, climbing on the bed beside her. "Let me have her mouth."

"Take it," Lewis said. "She can multitask."

She opened for Lando automatically, gagging around him as Oscar worked deeper behind her. And Lewis? Lewis knelt beside the bed, fingers stroking her spine. "Good girl. Keep breathing."

She moaned around Lando's cock.

Oscar pulled his fingers out. "She's ready."

And then Oscar pushed in. Her body arched. She screamed around Lando.

Lewis held her down. "Shh," he soothed. "You're okay. Just breathe. That's it. Let it burn."

Oscar didn't stop. Thrust deeper. Slower. "She's fucking incredible," he muttered. "She's squeezing so tight."

Lando fucked her throat harder, watching her tears spill. "She's crying."

"She's allowed," Lewis said. "She's being broken in."

Oscar groaned. "She's taking all of me- fuck-"

Lewis leaned in and kissed her lips, just beside where Lando's cock split them open. "You're perfect," he whispered. "Our little slut."

Oscar's pace picked up. Lando came in her mouth, deep, loud, moaning her name. Then Lewis climbed on the bed behind Oscar. "Move," he ordered.

Oscar pulled out, just long enough for Lewis to shove in, harder. She screamed again. Her whole body writhed, shaking violently.

Lewis grabbed her throat. "Breathe."

She gasped. Choked. Came again, ruined. Lewis didn't stop.

"Now you belong to all of us," he growled.

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jordiemeow · 1 day ago

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omg would love your thoughts on stepbrother!patrick. def a lot more of a freak

absolutely agreed. where art is a freak in private, patrick could not care LESS.

he's ogling you shamelessly, watching the way your shorts ride up or your tits spill out of your tank. wolf whistling, patting you on the ass when he passes and muttering fake apologies despite the way you catch a glimpse of the corner of his lip quirks as soon as he turns away. accidentally barges in on you in the shower when he needs his toothbrush but he takes his time to admire the curve of your body through the fogged-up glass and rubs one out afterwards.

he convinces himself it's you who wants it. the way you look at him and goad him when your parents aren't home. you're just as pervy as he is. or, at least, that's how he justifies it. actively makes comments like "you don't even try to be quiet, do you? it's like you want me to hear" when he hears you touching yourself in the next room over. on one occasion, he pushes his luck enough to 'accidentally' walk in on you, legs spread and toy nestled between them. you see him, of course. maybe you keep going anyways, just to mess with him.

"you like putting on a show that much, huh?"

and then the front door opens before things can escalate, leaving you both to come down from whatever the fuck that was alone in your separate bedrooms.

it all comes to a head a while after that. you get blasted out of your mind at a party and he offers to take you home. not that he's in any state to drive, mind you, but he sees an opportunity. he somehow manages to get the pair of you home safely but neither of you make any effort to get out of the car. he leans over to undo your seatbelt for you, hand lingering on your thigh while the pair of you stare at each other. he's not sure who moves first—probably him—but five minutes later he has you bent over in the back seat right outside your house, ploughing into you, groaning about how he's wanted to do this for so long. about how he's sick of seeing you in bikinis and not being able to do anything, sucking on lolly pops to taunt him, leaving your door open just a crack when you're getting changed.

absolutely brags to art about it afterwards because he knows his best friend has a thing for you. "no condom, by the way. she liked it messy." art tells him he's sick, but he just shrugs it off. "maybe. but i still fucked her first."

maybe one night you bring a date home, cosied up on the couch to watch a movie. patrick's passive aggressive all night, deciding now he's a living room kind of guy to avoid leaving the pair of you alone. he justifies it by claiming he's just a 'good brother' and 'keeping an eye on you.' but when your date goes home, he's quick to corner you.

"you think he can fuck you better than me? bet he doesn't even know what you sound like when you cum."

"of course he does," you lie straight through your teeth.

"wanna compare? let me bend you over right now and prove it."

refuses to touch you until you're begging. his dirty talk is always absolutely filthy, always highlighting the reality of your relationship. "say it. say you want your stepbrother to fuck you. c'mon, use your words." he gets off on the thrill of being caught. sneaking into your room at night, hand over your mouth to silence your sweet mewls. every thrust a risk, each moan a gamble, but it's worth it in the end. "ah ah ah. shhh. you're being loud again, baby. you want them to hear? want them to know you're getting filled by their golden boy?"

he's big into hickeys. thinks it's fucking hilarious to point them out in front of your parents, acting like it wasn't him that left him there just to watch how embarrassed you get while your mother frowns in disapproval and his dad pretends not to notice.

he acts like he's proud of you. like you're just some innocent little thing. you get good grades—as far as your parents are concerned, you never do anything wrong. patrick would do anything to break that image. "you're such a good girl for everyone else.... but in this room, with my cock in your mouth? not daddy's sweet girl anymore, are you?"

or he makes you watch yourself in the mirror. hand curled around your throat to keep your head up so you can see the blissed out, cock-drunk look on your face. "look at yourself. look how fucked out you are. look what your stepbrother does to you."

he sends you filthy texts at the dinner table with your family asking whether you're thinking about it too. about him taking you right there. bet your pussy's already dripping through those little shorts. and when you reply with wanna check? he ducks his head under the table to 'pick up his fork,' met with the sight of you opposite him, pushing your shorts to the side, pussy glistening and no panties in sight. what a tease.

loves when you talk back. he's big into testing your limits: edging, choking, orgasm control, anal, calling you dirty names just to see how far he can take it. and you're always willing to go further. "look at you. from my bratty little stepsister to my perfect little slut."

also probably has a breeding kink. finds it especially hot because he's your 'brother.' send tweet

#tw stepcest #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig smut #jo asks ⋆˚࿔#jo blurbs ⋆˚࿔

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rafesyangel · 2 days ago

Text

What happens when rafe comes home a little mad today ? :(

You laid up on your stomach , love island playing in the background on your ipad bored out of your mind

Until The keys jangled, followed by the door slamming a little too hard. You barely had time to sit up before you heard heavy boots across the floor.

Rafe stormed in, jaw clenched, phone in one hand ,shirt half untucked like he’d wrestled it off in frustration.

“Jesus Christ, today was a nightmare,” he muttered, tossing his shirt on the floor, His eyes landed on you laid out in a big shirt, legs kicked up, innocently looking up at him

You gave him a soft smile. “Welcome back, babe.”

But he didn’t smile back or doesn't say anything at first. Just stands there, breathing heavy. Pissed

You turned your head slowly, “Bad day?”

He drags a hand across his face and walks toward the bed, not answering until he’s standing right at your side. "I don’t wanna talk about it," he mutters, eyes dropping to where your legs are peeking out from the blanket.

He stood at the edge of the bed, chest rising fast. “You know what I really need right now?”

You raised a brow, half-teasing. “A shower? A nap? Therapy?”

His eyes darkened. “No. I need you. Your body. Right now.”

Before you could reply, He crawled onto the bed, hovering over you a shadow in motion ,he leaned down and grabbed your thigh, dragging you toward the edge of the bed. His hands were firm almost too firm —but you didn’t stop him. You gasped as he manhandled you onto your back, hovering above

His lips crashed onto yours, rough and rushed, like he was trying to exhale the frustration of the day into your mouth, One hand slid up your shirt, the other gripping your waist, his fingertips digging in a little too hard

Your moans start coming louder, breathier

not on purpose, not for show, just from how badly you want him. Every time Rafe moves, you move with him, hips bucking, hands clutching at his arms, face, neck like you’re just as desperate as he is

And it's driving him insane

You're not staying still , gasping, tugging at him like you’ll fall apart if he doesn’t give you more.

“Baby” he growls, voice caught somewhere between a plea and a warning. “You keep movin’ like that, I swear to God”

You don’t stop.

Your body slick with heat and tension His hands dig into your waist, trying to hold you still but you roll again, pressing up into him, whimpering

“Rafe, more oh…please, I need—”

And that’s when he snaps

His hand flies up fast, too fast and cracks across your cheek. Not a light tap. A real, heated slap

It echoes.

The room goes quiet for a second, both of you shocked, His eyes go wide, like the sound yanked him out of whatever tunnel vision he was in. “Shit baby I didn’t—”

But your head turns slowly back to face him, pupils blown, lips parted

You blink

Then smile

“…Do it again.”

Rafe stares at you, mouth slightly open, and something dark and hungry crawls up from his chest.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters, grabbing your face again gentler this time, but only for a moment.

He kisses you hard. Rough. Possessive

His gaze dropped to your lips. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Harder.”

His smirk was slow and dangerous. “You sure you know what you're asking?” “You think I’ve got it in me to be gentle tonight?” he growled, his voice all gravel and need

You whimpered in his ear more every touch felt like heaven

“God, you like that?” he muttered, almost in disbelief, rutting his hips against you through your underwear. “You like when I forget how to be soft?”

You bit your lip, nodding

“YesyesyesRafe, I want all of it….Just take it out on me.”

A/N : am i self projecting? Yes i am

#rafe cameron x original female character #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x smut #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #outer banks rafe #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #outerbanks rafe #rafe outer banks #rafe fanfiction #rafe imagine #rafe obx #rafe smut #rafe x reader #rafe x you

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nostalgebraist · 2 days ago

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When you finish writing a big story and you became very close the characters, was there a time after where you were like "i kind of want to revisit these characters again, but i should probably just let the story be, they deserve to rest" Im not talking about wanting to write a sequel, is more about still coming up with fun ideas for them, maybe a little scene or something, but choosing not to do anything with it because it'd feel disrespectful to the ending you gave them?

This doesn't happen to me, no.

The reason is that, once I finish the story, my sense of "being close to the characters" suddenly vanishes. And, although there are rare moments where it (briefly) returns, it mostly stays gone.

I can't remember if I've ever talked about this in detail before, but – when I'm in the process of writing a story, especially near the end, the characters feel "real" to me in a very strong and kind of uncanny way.

I don't actually believe that they exist as independent entities from me (much less sentient ones), but it does almost feel like that's true, when I'm in the thick of the writing process.

I have no trouble intellectually distinguishing fiction from reality, even in the state I'm describing. But my emotional and intuitive relationship with my characters, when I'm in that state, is pretty similar to the one I have with real people I know in real life. And there are a bunch of... uh, mental phenomena?... associated with this that I'm slightly afraid to describe because I worry they'll sound like hallucinations or delusions if I don't add a lot of caveats.

For example, when I'm alone in a room writing (especially if I'm writing in the middle of the night), I sometimes feel like it's not just me in the room, that the character I'm writing about is "there with me," in much the same way I'd be aware of someone real person's presence if I knew they were in the room but didn't happen to be looking in their direction. Or: sometimes I feel like the characters' voices are "flowing through me," that I'm merely taking dictation from them – and will sometimes even think to myself: "man, I'm so grateful that the character is helping me write this part, because if I tried to do it all by myself there's no way I would get it right." And it takes a moment before I realize, wait, no, I am writing it by myself – at least in a literal and physical sense.

Basically if you read this post, and then sort of read between the lines of it under the assumption that I'm downplaying how weird the experience actually is because I'm worried an accurate account would make me sound kind of unhinged... then you will have roughly the right impression of what the writing experience is like for me.

Whatever is going on here, it feels like it's probably on some kind of spectrum that also contains stuff like tulpas, multiple systems, and maybe also the way that children can sometimes get really deeply wrapped up in their imaginary play. I don't know how common this stuff is among writers (maybe it is common but rarely talked about?). It's not something I've experienced anywhere else in life; I don't experience it with other people's fictional characters or stories, or with fantasies I have that aren't associated with a work in progress, and I don't remember ever experiencing it before I started writing fiction as an adult.

Anyway, as I said at the top, the moment I finish writing a story, this phenomenon simply turns off, suddenly and completely. The transition is very noticeable when it happens, and makes me feel something akin to grief or loneliness over the brief span between the moment it starts and the moment it is fully completed – like I've just lost a bunch of close friends at once.

With Almost Nowhere, I remember a very specific feeling – on the evening of the day when I finished writing – that the characters were "departing 'into' the finished book," reverting to a lesser existence as "mere words" rather than "real people," as though they had been plastic toys animated by Terra Ignota's Bridger, and were now turning back into toys again. It made me sad, for a little while, but once they'd fully "lost their reality" I no longer cared, because it was that same sense of reality that made me care, and now it was gone.

So, to finish answering your question: I don't feel an urge to return to my old characters, because it feels intuitively obvious that doing this is impossible. That anything else I wrote about them would be inauthentic, somehow, in a way that the original work wasn't. They were "there," before, but they're "gone," now. This difference is very stark, and very hard to ignore.

(As I noted above, they do sometimes "come back" to me – very rarely, and very briefly, but that is enough for a proof of concept. Perhaps, if I were to try, I could find some way to "bring them back" for longer intervals. But I doubt I will ever try that. I feel a bit afraid of the concept for several reasons – for one thing, the "inauthenticity" I just mentioned squicks me out and I'd prefer not to come too close to it, and I also have a baseline wariness of doing stuff that seems too much like messing around with my own mental health. There's also a "catch-22" involved here, where I don't feel motivated about the characters the way I used to, and that means I'm not even motivated to do things that would generate that motivation. The "target" of the effort won't appeal strongly to me until I've already gone to the trouble of obtaining it, which means the effort doesn't feel justified in the first place.)

#almost nowhere

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mona-risms · 2 days ago

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Not exactly a request but food for thoughts. (Though if this did give you anything to work with I'd love to see what you turn up with.)

Mirror sex with Rumi because you just have to show her how pretty she is.

She didn't like her demon marks before the movie, her insecurity may still flare up every now and then afterwards even if it's lessened by the time the movie is over. Take her braid out and let her hair cascade around her like an electric purple waterfall.

(Very sure a life-long paralyzingly severe insecurity can't disappear over the course of a couple weeks or so. Especially when your own mother figure refuses to accept that part of you and explicitly treats it as a flaw.)

Kiss her face, her neck, arms, inner thighs, especially on the patterns. Prop her up, her back flush with your front so you're touching as much of her as possible, including the 'cursed' marks (that's a given.) make her face herself in the mirror while you touch her and whisper sweet nothings into her ear about how pretty she is.

If she denies it- tease her until she accepts the praise. Edge her a couple times, urging her to tell you things she does like about herself, her voice, her eyes... Watch her mascara run, by the way, she looks cute when you're thrusting your fingers into her cunt (make her agree with that statement as well). Her beautiful brown eyes look so pretty brimming with tears. Then slip in the marks again and just reassure her that she's beautiful, and the patterns are a part of her, and you love all of her.

In less than no time you'll have her fucked dumb enough to let go of her stress, if only for a little while.

Alright, that's enough horny for me. Good night !

I collapsed onto the floor WHAT THE HELL!!! I don't even know if I have anything to add to this I'm flabberghasted

How long do you think her hair would be first of all. Like. That's a longass fucking braid, surely it'd be like Stocking-level hair length right....or actually maybe even more so considering even Stocking's hair went down to her lower back at LEAST if tied up. Either way it's Very easy to just grip her hair so that she's Really facing the mirror properly

You ARE right in the fact that there's No Possible Fucking Way that she'd just stop feeling insecure all of a sudden when she essentially had shame and body dysphoria drilled into her very core just bc she was born half demon (A* parenting, Celine 😒). Hell, the first time the both of you have sex post-movie, she'd probably start off in the dark, and even then they still glow 🤷‍♀️. One must not be shocked if she needs to stop for the moment yk

Otherwise mother of FUCK man. Even her vision would get all blurry from the tears that keep building up and running down her cheeks do she can barely even see herself anyway, all while her entire body and ESPECIALLY her legs are Quivering Like Crazy and crying at the same time 😜😜😜😜 her cunt is so unbelievably slick from the amount of times you've edged her and for how long you've fingered her until she feels everything go so fucking hazy

Her patterns would most likely respond to the emotional overwhelm asw considering it seems like they tie together—you can easily tell when Rumi's at the very edge of cumming, so you can just draw your hand back and she whines loudly but she doesn't care, not when she's putting all her remaining brainpower to listen to you and do whatever you ask her just as long as you make her cum again so hard and make her squirt pleasepleasepleasegod--

Hey at least by the end of it she'll probably be thinking more of the way you've fucked her dumb bc of how much you love all of her instead of the lingering shame of her own ancestry and appearance 🫶 so like plan successful!!!!!

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forthebrokenheartedthings · 2 days ago

Text

The Edge and The Echo (One Shot)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Ex Military Combat Medic Reader

Summary: A mission goes wrong. Sam gets hurt—and you disappear to the rooftop, ready to disappear for good. But Bucky finds you, and what starts as one person on a ledge becomes two broken people finally seeing each other in the dark.

TW: Blood, Gun Violence, Anxiety, Suicidal Thoughts

AN 💌: Thank you so much for the feedback on 'What Makes It Worth it' where Bucky helps you through a panic attack—that piece meant a lot to me 💕Sometimes, though, the story goes a little darker than that, doesn't it?

P.S. Seb once said he's grateful his fans are still here—still fighting—when they tell him he helped save them. Bucky would feel the same way 💙

The door creaked as you pushed it open, releasing a gust of warmth and the muffled thump of old soul music. The place was small, low ceilings and scratched wood floors, with neon signs buzzing like mosquitoes in a summer yard. A bar with a real bartender, not a robot, and tables that looked like they’d survived a few bar fights too many.

Sam strode in like he owned the place.

“See?” he said, turning back to you and Bucky. “What’d I tell you? Vibes immaculate.”

Bucky gave the interior a skeptical once-over. “Smells like spilled beer and broken dreams.”

“Which is exactly why it’s perfect,” you said, brushing past him toward the bar.

You took the lead, weaving through the crowd with the casual confidence of someone who'd fought worse things than drunks. Bucky followed, hands in pockets, every movement controlled and quiet. Sam nodded to the bartender like he was greeting an old friend, even though you were sure he’d never been here.

When you slid onto the barstool, the leather let out a disgruntled squeak. You smirked.

“Gentlemen,” you said, twisting around, “what’s your poison?”

“Whiskey. Neat,” Bucky said immediately, like muscle memory.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You sure you don’t want it in a sippy cup?”

Bucky didn’t flinch. “You want that whiskey through a straw after I break your jaw?”

You turned to the bartender. “Three whiskeys, one neat, one with an umbrella, and one with whatever makes these two shut the hell up.”

That earned you a snort from Bucky—and a full laugh from Sam, loud and delighted. The kind of laugh that filled up the space and made the whole bar glance over for a moment. You felt something loosen in your chest. It had been a long week. Hell, a long year.

The drinks landed. You passed them out like a dealer at a poker table, sliding Bucky’s toward him last. When your fingers brushed the condensation near his, he looked up—eyes sharp and blue and unreadable. You didn’t notice. You were already clinking your glass against Sam’s and saying, “To not dying tomorrow.”

Bucky raised his glass last. His voice was quieter when he said it. “To not dying.”

You didn’t hear the difference.

He took a sip and watched you tip your glass back. The curve of your mouth, the glint in your eye, the way you wiped the corner of your lips with your thumb and laughed at something Sam said. Bucky looked down into his drink after that. The smile that tugged at his mouth wasn’t for anyone else to see.

By the time the third round landed, the edges of the room had softened. The jukebox coughed out some old Prince track and Sam, naturally, declared it his “walk-in music.”

He leaned back, legs spread like he was about to start holding court. “Alright,” he said, swirling the last sip of his drink, “real talk. When’s the last time you went on a date?”

You scoffed. “Define ‘date.’”

“Something that didn’t end in an explosion or mild concussion,” he replied.

You fake-counted on your fingers. “So, never.”

Sam pointed at you like he’d won something. “Exactly my point.”

Bucky was quiet. Sitting just to your right, he lifted his drink but didn’t sip. He watched you under the rim of his glass.

You leaned back on your stool, tilting your head toward Sam. “And you date so often, huh? Mr. Save-The-World-And-Dip.”

Sam shrugged, unbothered. “That’s not a denial.”

You smirked, playful and bright. “I don’t need a date. I have self-loathing, caffeine, and a wildly unhealthy work ethic.”

Sam groaned. “Jesus.”

You clinked his glass with yours. “Amen.”

And Bucky—Bucky didn’t laugh, but he smiled, small and real, and stared into his drink like it held the secret to making you see him.

You were still talking, still glowing with all the sharp, electric charisma that kept people orbiting you. You didn’t see the way Bucky’s eyes trailed the curve of your mouth, or the way he flinched when Sam threw an arm around your shoulders.

“You know,” Sam said, squeezing you like an annoying brother, “you’re pretty damn great. Even if you’re emotionally constipated.”

“Thank you,” you replied. “I try to keep my trauma neatly folded.”

Bucky’s foot shifted under the table—and accidentally, your boot grazed his. You didn’t notice. You were reaching for another shot glass.

He noticed.

Every nerve in his leg jolted. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just sat there, foot still touching yours, drinking in the contact like he’d been parched for weeks.

You didn’t pull away. Not because you meant to leave it there, but because you hadn’t even registered it.

And that—that almost hurt more.

“I didn’t sign up for this,” Bucky said, eyes narrowing as the karaoke screen powered up on stage.

“You didn’t not sign up,” Sam countered, already halfway to the mic stand.

“Technicality,” Bucky muttered.

You clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, soldier. Time to weaponize that brooding energy.”

You took the second mic and joined Sam on stage without hesitation. The crowd was a mix of tipsy strangers and half-interested regulars, but none of it mattered. The beat kicked in—something horrendous and upbeat, possibly ABBA—and you leaned into it like a drunk wedding guest with no shame.

Sam matched your energy, belting out lines with zero regard for key. You danced, off-beat and laughing, finger-pointing dramatically at Bucky during every chorus. He shook his head, smiling in spite of himself.

When you two finally collapsed off stage, breathless and cackling, Bucky tried to blend into the wall.

He didn’t get far.

Sam, ever the chaos agent, took the mic again. “Alright, alright,” he boomed. “You’ve seen the warm-up act. Now let’s hear from the man of mystery. Mr. Winter Soldier himself is about to give us a little Dirty Dancing action!”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

Sam grinned. “Ladies and gentlemen—Bucky Barnes, singing ‘Hungry Eyes.’”

Bucky froze like someone had called out his name at a war crimes tribunal.

“I will literally kill you,” he said.

“Only if you can hit the high notes,” Sam said, tossing him the mic.

The bar was now clapping. A low, sarcastic cheer rippled across the room.

Bucky caught the mic with a dead-eyed sigh. Then he glanced at you.

You were laughing, eyes shining, mouth open in shock. You leaned against the bar like your knees had given out.

And that—that—was what made him go through with it.

The music started. He didn’t dance. He didn’t perform. He just… stood there. Voice a little rough, a little off-key, but low and full of something warm and hesitant. He sang it like a man holding something fragile in his chest.

“Hungry eyes… One look at you and I can’t disguise… I’ve got hungry eyes…”

You laughed again—but softer now. Less mockery, more surprise. You mouthed something like oh my god under your breath and covered your face with both hands.

He didn’t look at the crowd once. Just you.

And when he handed the mic back to Sam and returned to the bar, you punched him lightly on the arm.

“Not bad, Barnes.”

“Thanks,” he said, eyes flicking toward you, voice quiet. “Wasn’t for them.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Who was it for?”

But he just shrugged and looked away.

The cold hit you the second you stepped outside, sharp and biting. The bar door swung shut behind the three of you, muffling the last strains of laughter and music. The sky above was heavy with quiet flakes, snow falling slow and silent, like the city was holding its breath.

Sam was already a few steps ahead, phone to his ear. You could hear him telling someone—maybe Torres?—that no, he was not hungover and yes, the mission was still on. He moved with purpose even when he was drunk. You suspected he never truly relaxed.

You and Bucky trailed behind. Slower. Side by side. The air between you crisp and tight.

You shoved your hands deeper into your jacket pockets and tilted your head back, catching snowflakes on your lashes. “You know,” you said, voice loud in the quiet, “if this mission goes sideways tomorrow, I’m haunting Sam’s Spotify. Only ‘Barbie Girl,’ on loop.”

Bucky chuckled. “That’s dark.”

“I contain multitudes,” you replied, grinning.

He looked over at you then. Really looked. Your face flushed from the cold and the whiskey, your breath fogging in little bursts. Your smile was blinding. You were radiant and unaware.

He wanted to say it right there.

Stay with me. Not just tonight. Not just as Sam’s friend. Stay. With. Me.

Instead, he asked, “You nervous?”

You shrugged, watching your boots crunch in the snow. “Nah. It's just another op.”

“Bullshit,” he said softly.

You glanced up, surprised. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t even looking at you. He was watching the snow fall, jaw tight.

“You never get used to the risk,” he continued. “No matter how many times you make it back.”

You exhaled slowly. “Yeah. Well. Can’t screw it up if you don’t think about it.”

Bucky didn’t answer. Not right away. Just walked beside you in silence, long strides even and quiet.

Then, almost too softly to hear: “That’s exactly how you do screw it up.”

You blinked, the words slicing through your buzz. But before you could reply, Sam called out from ahead.

“Yo! Move it, slowpokes. I’m freezing my ass off.”

You caught Bucky’s eye and smirked. “Guess that’s our cue.”

He gave a stiff nod, but something in his face had shifted. A flicker of something he didn’t let show often—worry. Frustration. Fear, maybe.

You didn’t push it. You didn’t notice how much it meant.

The elevator ride up was silent except for the low hum of the machinery and Sam humming the karaoke tune under his breath.

When the doors opened, you stepped into the hallway first. Your room was three doors down, far end. Familiar. Quiet.

You turned, walking backward for a few steps, facing them with a crooked grin. “Night, boys. Try not to miss me too much in your dreams.”

Sam gave you a lazy salute. “No promises.”

Bucky just gave you a nod. Small. Barely there.

You vanished into your room, the click of the door echoing like punctuation.

He stared at the door after you closed it.

The hallway light buzzed softly overhead. The air was still, but Bucky stood frozen. Like something had snagged him in place. His hand lifted slightly—hesitant. Open. Reaching.

He almost knocked.

He wanted to. Just to say something. Anything. You were glowing tonight. You made me laugh. Please don’t ever stop.

But he didn’t.

The hand lowered. The jaw clenched. And he stayed quiet, like he always did.

Behind him, a door creaked.

Sam stepped into the hallway, a glass of water in hand, watching him.

He didn’t say a word. Didn’t crack a joke. Just looked.

Bucky felt it, the weight of that stare, and after a beat too long, he walked away.

No words. No knock. Just retreat.

Snow crunched beneath your boots, thin and brittle like crushed paper. The streets were narrow and lifeless, lined with silent buildings that hadn’t seen paint or people in years. A half-dead town straddling a frozen river in Eastern Europe—no flag, no name, just coordinates and cold.

You adjusted your earpiece and squinted up at the slate sky. “So remind me again, what are we stealing today? A thumb drive? Government secrets? The president’s Netflix password?”

“Classified,” Sam answered flatly through comms.

“That means he doesn’t know,” you muttered.

“Still classified,” he shot back.

Ahead of you, Bucky moved like a shadow—steady, all silent muscle and paranoia. His breath fogged in the air, but he didn’t seem cold. He never did.

“ETA sixty seconds,” he said.

You jogged up beside him, heart steady, gun holstered but loose. “You ever get tired of sounding like a damn GPS?”

“No,” he said, without missing a beat. “You ever get tired of running your mouth?”

You grinned. “Touché.”

He didn’t smile, but he looked at you. Just for a second. Like he wanted to say something else. His mouth opened slightly—then closed.

You didn’t catch it. You were already turning to check the building up ahead.

It was ugly. Gray stone, boarded windows, a door hanging off its hinges like a crooked tooth. The last known location of a known arms broker turned ghost. The CIA had intercepted chatter that he had something on vibranium stock—possibly Wakandan in origin. Intel grab. Quick and clean.

You’d done this a hundred times.

You didn’t see the shadows shift in the alley beside you. Didn’t notice how Bucky’s posture tightened. Didn’t feel the way the air changed.

He did.

The tenement’s front door groaned as you pushed it inward. Dust spiraled through a shaft of weak light. Inside, the building smelled like cold rust and mold. Rotten floorboards, crumbling wallpaper. Silent, save for the static in your earpiece and the soft creak of old wood under your boots.

Sam took point, moving with practiced grace. Bucky flanked the rear.

You swept left, gun drawn now, heart rate calm but climbing. The kind of tension you could swallow, for now.

“Top floor,” Bucky said, nodding toward a narrow stairwell.

Sam rolled his shoulders. “Five minutes in and out.”

He started up the stairs. You followed. Bucky’s footfalls brought up the rear like a heartbeat you couldn’t shake.

Third floor landing. Dim light from a cracked window. You stepped into a long hallway—and something clicked.

Not a sound. A sensation.

Too quiet. Too empty.

“Sam—”

Too late.

The explosion was low, a concussive burst that rocked the hallway and sprayed dust and debris into the air. The floor shook under your boots. Shots rang out from the left and right. Automatic fire, close. Echoing.

You hit the ground hard, rolled behind a busted cabinet. Bucky was already firing—two clean shots from the hallway behind.

You looked up just in time to see a dark shape emerge from the side stairwell, rifle raised—aiming squarely at Sam’s back.

Your breath caught. You hesitated.

Move—

But Sam turned first. Saw it. Didn’t think. Just moved.

Crack.

A rifle shot split the air. Sam staggered mid-turn and dropped.

“SAM!” your voice shattered itself trying to reach him.

Blood hit the floor like ink in water. Thick, red, soaking through the snow that had blown in from the broken window.

You scrambled toward him, slipping in dust and your own panic. “Sam—Sam—”

He was breathing. Barely. One hand on his ribs. Armor split. Bucky grabbed your collar and dragged you behind cover just before another round shredded the wall beside you.

“You okay?” he barked.

“I—he—he took the hit—”

“I know,” Bucky snapped. “You need to focus. You with me?”

You nodded automatically, but your hands were shaking. Your chest felt full of water. Sam was bleeding because you froze. Because you didn’t shoot. Because—

“Hey.” Bucky’s hand gripped your shoulder. His voice dropped. “Look at me.”

You did.

His eyes were clear. Hard. “We’re getting him out. Right now.”

And then you nodded again—but this time, you meant it.

Bucky moved like a ghost through the bullets, precise and violent. He dropped one merc with a clean shot to the throat, another with a brutal elbow to the temple. You stayed low, crawling to Sam.

He was still conscious, barely. His hand was pressed to his side, fingers slick with blood. You saw the way his eyes fluttered, the wince he gave when he tried to breathe.

“Shit—hey, hey, Sam. Look at me,” you whispered, fumbling for your medpack.

Bucky barked from the hallway, “We don’t have time—grab him!”

You ripped open a clotting agent and slapped it to the wound. Sam hissed in pain. “Sorry—sorry, sorry—”

Gunfire cracked overhead. You flinched.

“Now,” Bucky shouted.

You moved.

You hauled Sam up by one arm, Bucky taking the other. He took most of the weight, metal arm steady, muscles locked. The two of you dragged him down the stairs, step by jarring step.

You kept glancing back. Watching for movement. Expecting it. Your hands were numb.

Bucky kicked the front door open. “We’re out in thirty. Move!”

You stumbled through the snow-slick street, feet slipping. Sam groaned, sagging between you.

A van screeched up around the corner—your evac. Torres behind the wheel, pale as hell.

Doors flew open. You and Bucky shoved Sam in.

And still—your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

You followed after him, breath heaving. The doors slammed shut. The van peeled away.

Inside, you were kneeling beside Sam, pressing gauze to his side, but your vision blurred at the edges.

Bucky crouched beside you. “You’re too high—move it lower. There.”

You adjusted. Your hands obeyed. Your brain didn’t.

You’d gotten him shot.

You’d hesitated.

Sam coughed wetly. “You two… make a really shitty ambulance.”

You gave a broken laugh. Just one. Then silence.

The jet’s back ramp hissed open, cold air whipping in. Medics rushed forward like a wave, hands gloved and practiced, voices calm. Sam was unconscious by then—barely holding on.

You stayed in your seat, numb, blood on your hands, drying in sticky streaks across your forearms. You didn’t move until one of the medics tapped your shoulder.

“He’ll make it,” they said gently. “We’ve got him.”

You nodded, but it didn’t land.

By the time you stepped off the jet, Bucky had already disappeared into the shadows of the hangar. You didn’t blame him.

The debrief was a blur.

A sterile room. A low, humming projector showing heat maps. A higher-up in a blazer too clean for combat saying words like “complication” and “containment” and “acceptable loss margins.” They didn’t even say Sam’s name until the end.

“Wilson is stable,” they said. “Mission is logged as successful.”

You didn’t respond.

“Agent?” someone prompted.

You blinked. “Copy.”

That was it.

You left before they could ask more.

Bucky found you sitting on the edge of the training mat an hour later, still in your gear, untouched.

He didn’t say anything at first.

You didn’t look up.

“I didn’t see the guy behind him,” you said finally, voice flat.

“I know,” Bucky said.

“I should’ve.”

“You froze. It happens.”

You turned to him, something dangerous behind your eyes. “Not to people who belong here.”

He flinched.

But you stood before he could answer, brushing past him with mechanical precision. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” he said quietly.

But you didn’t stop walking.

And you didn’t look back.

The fluorescent bathroom light was too harsh, humming like it had a grudge.

You stood in front of the mirror, barely recognizing the reflection. Same face. Same eyes. But everything behind them was fractured—cracked porcelain around something hollow.

Your hands braced against the sink.

Blood had stained under your fingernails. You’d scrubbed twice already. Still there.

You tried to say it aloud. The thing that had been clawing at your throat since the mission.

“I'm sorry.”

Your voice came out hoarse. Barely a whisper. Like you didn’t believe yourself.

You tried again.

“I’m sorry, Sam. I should’ve—”

The words broke before they reached the air.

You gritted your teeth and looked up at the mirror again. You looked fine. Tired. Maybe a little pale. You could pass. That’s what scared you.

When you finally left the bathroom, you didn’t go to bed.

You pulled the blanket off and lay down on the floor beside it—arms folded over your chest, like you were waiting for the ceiling to collapse. At least the floor was solid. Unforgiving. Honest.

That became a pattern.

The next day, you said less. Ate nothing. Spent hours staring at a screen that wasn’t even on. You trained like a machine. When someone asked how Sam was, you gave a thumbs-up without smiling.

By day three, you didn’t answer the door anymore.

But Bucky noticed everything.

The silence. The way your posture had shifted. How you stopped laughing. Stopped teasing. Stopped being you.

He knocked once that night. Gave it a few seconds.

He didn’t push.

But his hand lingered on the doorframe before walking away.

Your room was quiet.

Not the soft kind of quiet, the kind filled with blankets and sleep and the low hum of city traffic.

This was dead quiet. Post-storm quiet. The kind that settled after something inside you had caved in.

Three days had passed since the mission. Since the blood. Since Sam fell.

You hadn’t stepped outside.

Your comm buzzed once. Twice. Bucky’s voice, low and even.

“Let me know you’re alive.”

Silence.

He didn’t call again that day.

The second night, you lay on the floor again. Arms folded across your chest. Eyes open. Staring at the ceiling, waiting for something to shift—inside you or out.

It didn’t.

You kept your comm on. It buzzed again.

“Sam’s asking for you.”

No response.

He didn’t push. You wished he would.

The third day, you left the building—not to go far. Just to be somewhere else. You didn’t pack. Just grabbed your coat and walked.

Your boots echoed in the stairwell. Your shadow stretched long and thin in the morning light.

You weren’t running. You weren’t planning anything.

You just couldn’t keep sitting in a room full of your own guilt, waiting for it to fade.

It wasn’t fading.

It was calcifying.

Sam was propped up in the infirmary, IV in one arm, gauze peeking from under his shirt. The steady beeping of a heart monitor was the only sound between them when Bucky finally spoke.

“She’s gone,” he said.

Sam didn’t react at first. He just stared at the blank television on the wall. Then: “Gone like…?”

“Not far. Took her comm. Didn’t take gear. She’s not on the grid.” Bucky’s voice was even, but something sharp pulsed beneath it.

Sam exhaled through his nose. “Shit.”

Bucky leaned back in the chair, eyes never leaving him. “She hasn’t come to see you.”

“I noticed.”

“She hasn’t talked to anyone.”

Now Sam turned, grimacing as he moved. “You think she’s spiraling?”

Bucky nodded once.

“She blames herself.” Sam looked away again, jaw tight. “She always does. She can save the world and still think it wasn’t enough. You know how she is.”

Bucky said nothing.

“She thinks I got shot because she hesitated, doesn’t she?”

“Because she did hesitate.”

Sam nodded slowly, then looked up at Bucky. “You ever seen her actually upset?”

Bucky shook his head.

“Exactly,” Sam said. “She hides it. Behind all that sarcasm and that mouth that won’t quit. You think she’s fine until she’s not. Until it’s too damn late.”

Bucky stood. “I’ll find her.”

“You think she’s trying to disappear?”

“No,” Bucky said, heading for the door. “I think she’s trying to decide if she deserves to stay.”

Sam’s voice followed him out, soft and raw: “Don’t let her make that decision alone.”

It was always going to be the old maintenance building three blocks from HQ.

No cameras. No patrols. A ladder up the fire escape and a perfect view of the skyline. You’d found it months ago and never told anyone—but Bucky knew. He always paid attention to the quiet things.

The sky was steel gray when he found you.

You were sitting near the edge, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them. Not on the ledge. Not yet. Just... close.

Snow clung to your hair. The wind needled through your coat, but you didn’t flinch. You weren’t crying. Just still.

Like a statue waiting to decide what it was supposed to be.

Bucky stepped onto the roof slowly, boots crunching against gravel.

You didn’t turn.

He didn’t speak right away.

Then: “You picked a hell of a view.”

Your voice was flat. “It’s quiet here.”

He nodded, hands in his pockets. The wind tugged at his coat. “Been looking for you.”

“I know.”

He moved a little closer. Still slow. Still calm.

“You left your comm on.”

“I know.”

He stopped just a few feet behind you. “Sam’s asking for you.”

You were silent.

“He’s okay.”

Still, you said nothing.

He lowered himself to the rooftop beside you. Not close. Not far.

For a while, you just sat there.

Then: “I froze.”

His breath came slow and even. “Yeah.”

“I saw him. The shooter. I saw him before Sam turned.”

“I know.”

“I should’ve pulled the trigger.”

“You didn’t.”

“I froze.”

You turned your head finally. Looked at him. Your eyes weren’t wild or broken. They were worse. Empty.

“Why are you here, Bucky?”

He stared at you for a long moment. Then said, simply, “Because you’re not.”

You exhaled slowly, like you’d been holding it in for days.

“I don’t think I’m supposed to be here,” you said.

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “You mean… on the team?”

You shook your head. “No. I mean… here. Anywhere.”

Silence fell between you like snow.

You looked back at the skyline, lights flickering in the distance like dying stars. “I thought this would help. Being useful. Being needed. But I keep fucking up. I keep getting people hurt. And I keep walking away like I didn’t.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. “You saved a lot more people than you hurt.”

You stood slowly.

His muscles tensed as you rose, but he didn’t move yet.

You took a step closer to the edge. Not recklessly—just… there. The wind lifted your hair. Your coat flared open slightly.

“I’m so tired,” you whispered. “Tired of pretending I’m fine. Tired of laughing when I feel like I’m falling apart. I wake up, and it’s like I’m already underwater. And it never—ever—lets up.”

Your hands were trembling now.

“I didn’t come up here to make a scene,” you said. “I just… wanted to stop feeling like this.”

Bucky’s voice was hoarse. “So what? You just disappear?”

“I’m not good at staying,” you said quietly. “And I’m worse at being needed.”

You turned your face into the wind, eyes closed.

And that’s when his voice cracked.

“If you go—” he said, stepping forward once, twice, “—you’re taking my heart with you.”

You froze.

Slowly, you turned your head, eyes wide. His were already glassy.

He didn’t look away.

“I know you don’t feel it,” he said. “But I do. I’ve felt it since that first day in that awful gym, when you made fun of my warm-ups and told me I looked like a depressed lumberjack.”

Despite yourself, your lip twitched. Barely.

Bucky’s breath caught. “You’re the first person who ever made me feel like I wasn’t broken. Like maybe I was… worth something. You leave now, and I lose that. I lose you.”

You blinked hard, swallowing.

“Please,” he said. “Don’t take that from me. Don’t take you from me.”

Your foot shifted—just slightly—away from the edge.

And Bucky moved.

Not rushed, not loud.

But like something in him had been holding its breath for days—and could finally exhale.

He closed the distance in three long strides. His hand found your wrist first, gentle but unshakable. Just contact. Just real.

And then he pulled you to him.

It wasn’t careful.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was desperate.

Arms locked around you like a lifeline, like he didn’t trust the wind not to steal you away. You felt the tremor in his chest, the way his breath hitched as your body folded against his.

You didn’t hug back right away. You couldn’t.

You just let yourself be held.

The world spun quietly around you—snow falling, city lights blinking dumbly in the distance—and he was the only thing tethering you to gravity.

His voice broke against your temple. “You scared the shit out of me.”

You nodded into his coat.

“I didn’t know if I was gonna find you or a body,” he whispered. “And I—I didn’t know if I’d survive the second one.”

Your hands finally moved. One at a time, around his back. Weak at first. Then tighter.

Your face pressed against his shoulder, and your voice was barely sound.

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head into your hair. “Don’t be. Just… don’t ever do that again.”

You didn’t promise.

You couldn’t.

But you stayed in his arms.

And for now, that was enough.

The snow kept falling, whispering against your jacket as the silence wrapped around you both.

You didn’t know how long you stood there—held, breathing, not breathing, trying to feel normal in a moment that wasn’t.

Eventually, your hands loosened. Your body sagged against his just enough to become a weight. Not clinging. Just… there.

That’s when the shame hit.

Hot. Fast. Like a flash fire under your skin.

You pulled back gently, head down. Not rejection. Just space.

Bucky let you go—but only barely. His hand stayed at your back, like a tether. His eyes scanned you, but not with pity. Never pity. Still, you couldn’t meet them.

“I didn’t…” you began, voice rasped. “I didn’t want you to see that.”

He didn’t answer right away.

You forced yourself to keep speaking. “I wasn’t looking for help. I wasn’t trying to guilt anyone into saving me. I just… I couldn’t carry it anymore.”

“I know.”

You shook your head, eyes stinging. “You shouldn’t have had to see that.”

“I’m glad I did.”

That stopped you.

You looked up. Bucky wasn’t being dramatic. He wasn’t soft.

He was steady.

“You think you’re the first?” he asked.

You blinked.

He looked past you, to the skyline, his voice even and low. “You think I haven’t been on that edge? Not metaphorically. Literally. Balcony rail, third story, freezing night, and no one coming.”

The wind pushed between you like breath.

He met your eyes again.

“You’re not the first. And you sure as hell aren’t alone.”

His eyes dropped from yours, distant now. Like he wasn’t on the rooftop anymore. Like he was standing in a different cold, in a different city.

“Bucharest,” he said quietly. “One year before Steve found me again.”

You didn’t speak.

“I’d been running for months. No real memory of what I was running from. Just flashes. Faces. Triggers. Blood. I didn’t know which ones were real and which ones I made up to survive.”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“There was this hotel—cheap, piss-stained, mold in the vents. Room 307. Third floor. Balcony door that wouldn’t lock. I spent a week there. Didn’t eat. Barely slept. Just… sat. With it. All of it.”

You shifted slightly, eyes never leaving him.

“Every day I stood on that balcony,” he said. “Some days I thought maybe I’d jump because I deserved it. Some days I thought maybe I’d jump just to shut it all off.”

He looked at you then. Really looked.

“I tried once.”

You blinked.

His voice didn’t change. “I climbed up. Cold wind. Three floors. Nothing graceful about it. No note. No big moment. I just leaned forward.”

Your breath caught.

“I blacked out halfway down,” he said. “Woke up in the alley. Broken pavement. Pain everywhere. But still breathing.”

You stared at him, stunned.

“The serum,” he said, with a bitter twist of his mouth. “My body wouldn’t let me quit.”

Your chest felt tight.

He ran a hand through his hair. “No one knew. No one found me. I crawled back into that room. Wrapped my ribs. Didn’t leave for another three days.”

He exhaled slowly. “So no. You’re not the first. And you don’t have to explain it to me.”

You didn’t know what to say.

No comforting words came. No clever retort. You stood in the cold, your guilt still wrapped around you like soaked wool—but now it was layered with something else.

Understanding. Horror. Kinship.

“I didn’t pull back because I wanted to live,” Bucky said. “That first time. It wasn’t like that.”

You swallowed, your voice soft. “Then why?”

He looked up, blinking snowflakes from his lashes. “Because right before I leaned forward, I had one thought.”

You waited.

He met your gaze dead-on. “If I jumped, no one would know I tried.”

The wind blew again—cold, sudden, real.

You closed your eyes.

“It wasn’t about shame,” he said. “It wasn’t even about the pain. I just didn’t want to go out unseen. I wanted someone to know I fought it. That I didn’t just… give up.”

He stepped closer to you, careful, like he was still afraid you might break again.

“I saw you up here,” he said. “I saw you fight it.”

Your lip trembled.

“I saw you step back.”

He reached for your hand, slow and open-palmed. Not grabbing. Just… there.

You let him take it.

“You didn’t give up,” he said. “You tried. And I saw it.”

The weight of his hand in yours grounded you—light, steady, real. And for the first time in days, you felt your chest unclench enough to breathe fully.

But the shame lingered. The bitter taste of being seen still burned in your throat.

“I didn’t want to die,” you whispered. “I just didn’t want to keep feeling like this.”

He nodded, silent.

“I wake up tired,” you went on, voice shaking. “Like everything is already too loud. Too much. Like I’m just… waiting to fail again.”

Bucky listened. No interruptions. No soft coos or empty reassurances.

“And the jokes,” you said, laughing bitterly, “they’re easier. If I’m funny, no one looks too close. They think I’m fine. Sharp, sarcastic, stable.”

“You’re not a joke,” he said, low.

“I know,” you said. “But sometimes I need them to think that. Because if they really knew how dark it gets up here—” you tapped your temple “—they’d leave. Or they’d pity me. And I don’t know which one’s worse.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened.

You looked down at your boots. “You ever feel like… love is something you just get on loan? Like if someone really saw everything, they’d give it back?”

He stepped in closer, your joined hands now pressed between you.

Your voice dropped to a whisper. “Do you think I’m broken?”

He didn’t blink.

“No.”

You looked up.

“You think I don’t know what broken looks like?” he said. “I lived in it. Slept in it. Killed in it. You? You’re not broken. You’re hurting. And those are not the same thing.”

Your throat closed.

“I know what you are,” he said, softly. “You’re someone who keeps showing up—even when it costs you everything.”

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

He reached up with his free hand, touched the side of your face. His thumb barely brushed your cheek.

“And I’m still here,” he whispered. “So no more pretending you’re alone.”

The rooftop was quiet again, but something in the silence had shifted.

It wasn’t empty anymore.

You stood there with him—his hand on your face, your fingers still laced in his—and for the first time in a long time, the edge didn’t call to you. Not because it had lost its voice, but because you’d finally let someone hear yours.

You stepped closer. Slow. Willingly this time.

His arms came up again, not in desperation, but like a promise. You melted into him. No tension. No apology. Just warmth and weight and a shared, awful truth between two people who were still here.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured into your hair.

You nodded, lips against his shoulder. “You said that before.”

“I meant it before.”

You pulled back slightly to look at him, your brow furrowed. “Even if I push you away again?”

He nodded. “Then I come back. Every time.”

You swallowed hard. “Why?”

His eyes were impossibly soft. “Because you came back from that ledge. And now I do whatever it takes to make sure you never stand on it alone again.”

You let out a shaky breath and leaned into him again.

This time, you weren’t holding on for dear life.

You were holding on because he made it feel safe to stay.

The hallway outside the infirmary felt longer than it was. Sterile white lights hummed overhead. Your boots echoed too loud on the tile.

You stopped just shy of the door.

Your hand was sweating in his.

Bucky didn’t let go.

You looked down. He was tracing slow, steady circles with his thumb across the back of your hand—absentminded, rhythmic. Like his body already knew what to do to keep you steady, even if his mind didn’t.

“I can go in with you,” he said quietly.

You nodded.

Together, you stepped inside.

Sam was propped up in bed, awake, IV in his arm, TV playing on mute. He looked over—and he saw everything.

The pale around your mouth. The slight tremble in your wrist. The way Bucky’s hand stayed locked in yours like it was holding you up.

And he didn’t say a damn thing.

Just smiled.

“Hey,” he said gently. “You look like hell.”

You let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “Yeah. It’s been a week.”

He nodded, eyes kind. “I’m glad you’re here.”

You sat. Slowly. Bucky stayed standing, but close—close enough that you didn’t have to let go.

Sam’s gaze dropped to your hands.

He saw the shaking.

He saw the way Bucky’s thumb kept moving. Soothing. Grounding.

But he didn’t call you out.

Didn’t tease.

Didn’t push.

He just looked at Bucky and gave a quiet nod—one man to another, saying thank you without words.

Then he looked back at you.

And asked, “Wanna tell me what I missed?”

The lights were off in the common room. The only illumination came from the city outside—faint reflections bouncing off the glass, washing everything in pale blue.

You sat on the couch with your legs folded under you, a blanket draped over your shoulders. Bucky was beside you, quiet. Not touching, but not far. He never sat far anymore.

You were staring at the skyline again. Not the edge of it—just the lights.

“I keep thinking about that night,” you said, voice low. “Bucharest. The hotel.”

He looked over. His profile was soft in the shadows.

You turned your head. “You didn’t deserve to be alone.”

“I know.”

You hesitated. “I wish I’d known you then.”

He didn’t speak.

“I wish I could’ve shown up,” you continued, voice thinner now. “Just… knocked on your door. Sat beside you. You didn’t need saving. You just needed someone.”

He looked at you fully now. “So did you.”

You nodded. “But I got you.”

The silence between you turned heavy—not with sadness, but with gravity.

Bucky reached out slowly. His fingers brushed your knee first. Testing. Asking.

You shifted—closer.

“I kept thinking,” he murmured, “if I had someone like you back then… maybe I wouldn’t have climbed up at all.”

You shook your head, eyes glinting. “I’d still knock on that door. If I had a time machine, I’d go back just to sit with you in that shitty room. I wouldn’t say anything clever. I’d just be there.”

He leaned in, voice warm now. “You’re here now.”

You let your forehead rest against his. Neither of you moved for a moment. No words. No rush.

And then he kissed you.

Soft. Barely there.

It wasn’t desperate. It was gentle. A kiss like a stitch—small, steady, closing something that had been open too long.

You didn’t pull away. Not this time.

When it ended, your fingers stayed curled into his shirt. His hand found the side of your face.

The skyline kept glowing outside. The quiet held.

And for the first time in a long time, both of you looked— and neither of you turned away.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #the winter soldier #james bucky buchanan barnes #winter soldier #james buchanan barnes

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