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ninisdollie · 3 days ago

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summer bummer - jake sim 𓈒ིུ ❤︎

‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

“In which reader and Jake see each other only in the summer, finding themselves between tangled sheets and filthy words. But this year, it’s not just sex anymore.”

‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ❤︎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧ Content: +18MDNI

fem! reader x jake, friends with benefits! to lovers, fingering, dirty talking, unprotected sex, oral sex (f and m rec), riding, multiple positions, spitting, porn with a little emotional plot idk.

word count: 7.0k

hate comments will be deleted and blocked, likes and reblogs are appreciated !!

The field by the lake hadn’t changed, same driftwood benches, same cooler of cheap beer half-buried in the dirt, same old Bluetooth speaker trying its best to fight against the crackle of the fire. A few faces had grown older, a few new ones floated in from the city for the summer, but the rhythm was the same.

You always traveled back to your hometown for vacation, where you could forget about your city girl live, where most of your childhood friends still lived, where you spent the days tanning under the burning sun and drinking margaritas.

You were perched on a log near the flames, cold drink in hand, sweat beginning to bead at the nape of your neck despite the breeze off the water, despite the thin fabric of your short flower dress. Your friends were around you, Jay had brought his guitar like always, Heeseung was already tipsy, throwing rocks into the lake and yelling about something stupid. It was light, fun and meaningless. But you couldn’t stop checking the curve of the dirt road, waiting.

He was coming tonight, you knew it. Jake Sim.

It was never official. Not a relationship or a fling. It was almost like a summer tradition, like fireworks and iced tea and peeling sunburnt skin. You came back every year, and so did he. Like gravity, something written in body. No goodbyes, no promises, just heat and hands and stolen nights that left you wrecked until fall. You’d known him for years at this point, same boy who almost drowned in your parent’s pool at twelve, same boy who kissed you in truth or dare, same boy who knew your body much better than yourself.

The thing is, you barely spoke the rest of the year. A couple likes on Instagram. A birthday text, maybe. But no late-night calls, no long conversations. It was easier that way. If you talked too much, it would start to feel real. If it felt real, you’d both ruin it.

But still, you knew what it meant when you saw his name light up your phone two weeks before summer.

Jake Sim: you coming back this year?

Your fingers trembled over the keyboard.

Me: of course, always.

Because it didn’t matter how much time passed. The second your eyes met again, everything came flooding back, the way he kissed you like he was starving, the roughness of his voice when he begged to stay inside just a little longer, the way your bodies fit like puzzle pieces designed by the sun itself.

You weren’t in love. But it was close enough to hurt when you had to go back to your city every year.

So you both kept a silent deal. You didn’t ask who he fucked in the winter. He didn’t ask if you missed him in the spring. You only cared about the here and now, the sticky, sacred months of July and August. You only cared about sweat-slicked skin and beach towels and his hand gripping your throat like it was the only way he knew how to say I missed you.

Your stomach twisted when you heard it.

Tires crunching over gravel, laughter, car doors slamming.

You didn’t even have to turn to know because you felt it.

He was here.

It had been eleven months, two weeks, and six days since he last fucked you against the wall of your aunt’s bathroom at the end-of-summer party. You’d cried after. Not because of him, but because leaving always felt like peeling your skin off and flying back to a world where Jake didn’t exist.

But now he walked in like he owned the night, as always, that soft and chill aura like he didn’t care about anything in the world. Sun-kissed and cocky, rings on his fingers, black tshirt clung to his chest like it was begging for your attention. Ni-ki was beside him, already tossing a grin toward the group by the cooler, but Jake?

Jake looked straight at you.

The air left your lungs like a punch. You hated that it still did this to you, turned your insides to syrup and your thighs to heat. One look, that’s all it took. You didn’t smile, or wave. Just sipped your drink and looked back like it didn’t matter, letting the breeze wave your hair against your face.

“Finally decided to show up.” Heeseung dabbed him up, but his eyes were still locked on your face.

He stopped a few feet away, slow steps bringing him just close enough to let your body register him, his smell, his shadow, the ghost of his hands already on your skin. His voice was casual when he finally spoke.

“City girl had the time to come this year” he said, the exact same thing he said last summer. The same damn line.

Your lips curved around your drink, glossy and shining under the warm light of the fire.

“I always come, Jake.”

He smiled like he wanted to say something filthy about that. Like he remembered every single time. Then his eyes trailed down your body, slow and intentional because of course he wanted you to notice. You squirmed a bit, flipping your hair over your shoulder.

The fire was crackling between you two. Ni-ki called his name, someone handed you another beer, which you rejected with a smile, Sunghoon yelled something about “going crazy this summer”, but it all blurred. The music was loud, but your heart was louder.

“You look good,” Jake added, voice low enough that only you could hear it.

You smiled softly, tilting your head, took in the curve of his arms, his thick lips, the gold chain glinting at his collarbone, the heat in his eyes.

“I always look good” you whispered back.

He chuckled, stepping back, walking away like he hadn’t just lit every nerve in your body on fire.

But you knew how this would end.

Because he was here looking at you like he hadn’t had a decent orgasm since the last time you moaned his name.

After a few hours, the fire started burning low. People had thinned out, some stumbling back to their parents’ houses, others crawling into tents by the lake or paired off under trees in the dark. The music had died to background static. Your drink was warm and half-full, forgotten in your hand. The air was still thick with smoke, beer, and heat that clung to your skin even after sundown.

You’d been sitting on the edge of a blanket, legs stretched out, staring into the dying embers and the star-full sky, when Ni-ki wandered over, car keys dangling from his finger, hair a bit messy.

“You need a ride?” he asked, voice lazy, smile crooked. “I’m sober, Jake’s coming to.”

You hesitated for only a second before you saw Jake trailing behind him.

One glance from him was enough. That slight tilt of his head, that litlle smile on his lips, the way his eyes dipped down to your mouth just for one second before biting his lips. He didn’t say anything. Just leaned against the side of the car, one hand in his pocket, eyes still on you.

“Yeah,” you said, too quickly. “Thanks, Ki”

Inside, Ni-ki’s father’s truck smelled like weed and cologne and dried lake water. The windows were halfway down, the music low and thumping with bass. You were pressed against the cool leather, the hem of your dress creeping up your thighs with every shift. Jake climbed in right beside you, not even pretending to leave space, it wasn’t even necessary for him to sit besides you, and his thigh brushed yours, firm and warm.

Neither of you said anything.

Ni-ki started the car and chatted from the front, his voice a cheerful hum against the dark. Something about the girls by the cooler. Someone puking behind the dock. You nodded, made a sound of agreement, but every nerve in your body was tuned to Jake. His arm was stretched lazily across the back of the seat, fingertips just grazing your shoulder, his touch already setting your skin on fire. He smelled like smoke and sweat perfume and him. Familiar and dangerous.

“Is school going well?” he asked under his breath, close enough that his mouth nearly touched your cheek.

You turned toward the window.

“Yeah, it’s been nice. You?”

He didn’t answer. Just smiled again and let his hand drop, light and casual, until the side of it was resting against your bare thigh. It wasn’t even obvious. Ni-ki didn’t notice, too busy driving and still talking, and Jake didn’t move. His fingers didn’t trail, just a slight pressure. But it was enough to remind you of every time he’d had you spread out in the back of a car like this before, drunk off each other, reckless and flushed.

The road dipped, and the jostle made his palm shift higher on your leg.

You bit your lip.

“Cute dress,” he murmured. “Little short, though.”

You pulse started to rush, and it was suddenly so hot inside the car. Then his fingers crept under the hem of your dress, brushing the inside of your thigh, higher and higher, until you felt your whole body clench.

“—right? So I told Heeseung not to piss his girlfriend off—” Ni-ki kept talking in the front seat, totally oblivious, laughing at his own story.

Meanwhile Jake’s fingers brushed against the thin cotton of your panties, and exhaled through his nose.

“You wore these for me?” he whispered, dragging one finger slowly over the damp seam, right where you were already pulsing for him. “Or did I get you this wet just now?”

You swallowed hard. Your head hit the back of the seat.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “Can’t wait to taste you this summer”

You squeezed your legs shut instinctively, but he just pushed his hand between them, forcing them apart again. His fingers slid beneath the fabric, hot and greedy and slow, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you. His middle finger circled your clit, gentle but focused, rhythm cruelly steady. Your hips twitched. You tried to keep your face blank, heart racing as Ni-ki kept talking about girlfriend drama and god knows what else. Jake leaned back in the seat like nothing was happening, laughing and his friend’s jokes, keeping the conversation, like he wasn’t making your thighs shake under the cover of your dress.

And all you could do was clutch the edge of your seat and pray your breathing didn’t give you away.

“Hey, Y/N” Ni-ki said. “You think your parents will let us throw the pool party this year?”

You could barely hear him, you couldn’t even answer. So you just hummed, but it came out more like a moan, and Jake chuckled besides you because he had two fingers inside you now, slow and shallow, more teasing than satisfying.Every twist of his hand dragged against your sweet spot and pulled a silent scream from your throat.

His lips brushed your ear again.

“You’re so tight, baby. You miss me?” he asked like he wasn’t knuckle-deep inside you, like this was all small talk.

You nodded once, shaky and pathetic, and he smiled.

Ni-ki pulled up in front of your parent’s place, headlights sweeping over the front porch.

“You want us to walk you up?” he offered, turning in his seat.

You jolted, heart hammering.

Jake’s fingers slipped out of you just in time, slow and slick, leaving your panties soaked. He brought his hand to his mouth casually, like he was stretching, and sucked the tips of his fingers clean while staring you dead in the eyes.

“Nah,” Jake said smoothly, voice casual. “She’s good.”

“Y-Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for the ride, Ki.”

But you weren’t. You were literally shaking.

You stepped out of the car on trembling legs, your thighs wet, your panties ruined, and Jake’s grin burned into your memory.

Your parent’s didn’t allow you to host the pool party this year, since the damages of last summer were still ghosting in the house. So Sunoo, being the good friend that he was, offered his pool.

The party was already in full swing by the time you showed up, loud music, wet footprints all over the tile, floats bobbing in the pool, and a cooler full of drinks that had long since lost their ice. The heat was sweltering. The sky was cloudless. And everything felt like it was pulsing with that hazy energy.

You found your friends by the pool, and smiled at them. You slipped off your sandals, dropped your towel on a sun chair, and waded straight into the pool, cool water wrapping around your body like a sigh.

Jake was there too.

He was across the pool, shirtless in red swim trunks, tan skin glistening wet, a beer bottle tipped to his lips as he leaned back against the edge with that lazy, devastating smirk. His hair was damp, curls pushed back, and he had that look in his eye. The one he only wore when you were in the room.

You hadn’t spoken since the night in the truck. Just a few glances, a look across the lake. He was busy this summer too, you knew that, his father needed help in his job, so you weren’t seeing him that often. But you still felt him every second since.

And now, he was watching you float through the water like he already had you pressed up against the pool wall, hand between your thighs, making you come so hard you’d choke on his name.

You kept your face blank, kept swimming. But your heart was going wild.

Everyone else was drunk and loud. Sunghoon was doing cannonballs, Jungwon was begging someone to make more margaritas, Ni-ki was DJing from the patio like his life depended on it, but your whole world narrowed every time Jake’s eyes dragged over your chest, your stomach, the way your bikini clung to your hips.

At one point, you reached for your drink from the edge and felt his presence behind you before you even heard his voice.

“You trying to kill me in that bikini?” Jake murmured, chest brushing your back in the water. His voice was low and close, mouth inches from your shoulder. “Or is this just for attention?”

You didn’t turn around.

“We both know i don’t need to ask for your attention.”

He chuckled, dark and quiet.

“You know i love when you get cocky.”

You don’t even remember who touched who first.

One second, Jake was behind you in the pool, his breath grazing your neck like a threat, and the next, your fingers brushed his underwate, just enough to say now. You didn’t look back, it wasn’t necessary because he followed.

You climbed out slowly, water cascading down your legs, your bikini clinging to your curves like a secret. Jake was only a step behind, eyes locked on the drip of water trailing down your spine. No one noticed, or maybe they did and didn’t care. This was how it always happened. One second, you were mingling, the next, you were gone.

Inside the house, the music got muffled by walls and closed doors. You walked past the kitchen, past the hallway, past the laundry room, and Jake’s hand caught yours. Pulled and turned. He shoved open the bathroom door and you stumbled inside, your back hitting the wall, cold tile kissing wet skin.

Then, his mouth was on yours.

He tasted like alcohol and fresh fruit and he kissed you like a man unhinged. His hot mouth devouring you, breathless and not giving but taking. Tongue deep, wet and sloppy, teeth sharp, pulling your lower lip and sucking it, no space between you. The kiss wasn’t sweet. It was months of repression, of thinking about this exact moment, of remembering how tight you were around him, how loud you got when he hit just the right spot.

Your back hit the wall with a thud, and his hands were everywhere, palming your ass through your bikini bottoms, gripping your waist hard enough to bruise, sliding up your spine to twist in your wet hair and tug your head back, like he was scared you’d disappear again. You felt his hard length beneath the damp fabric of his shorts, grinding into you like he couldn’t hold himself back.

Jake pulled back just long enough to look at you.

“You look fucking unreal right now,” he breathed, eyes blown. “I’ve been losing my mind all fucking year thinking about this pussy.”

His voice was hot and low and filthy, his hand sliding down your stomach, slipping under your soaked bikini bottoms without hesitation.

“You missed me?” he murmured, middle finger dragging through your slit. “Huh, baby? You missed this cock?”

You moaned, too breathless to lie. Head spinning, eyes hazy and brain already shut down.

He grinned like he already knew.

“Of course you did. This pussy was made for me.”

He shoved your bottoms down, let them fall wet to the floor. Then, he dropped to his knees like it was instinct. You barely had time to breathe before his mouth was on you. Tongue hot, fast, messy and desperate. Jake moaned into your cunt like he’d been starving all year. You moaned into your hand and let your head fall against the wall as his tongue licked a wide, greedy stripe up your slit, then circled your clit, sloppy, shameless and relentless. His fingers dug into your thighs in case you’d pull away and he ate you out like this was his last meal.

“God,” he groaned, voice muffled against your heat. “always so fucking sweet.”

You rocked your hips forward into his face, already breathless from how deep he was buried between your thighs. Your pussy dripping on him, pulsing and hot. His hair was damp from the pool, and now from sweat, his working like he was worshiping you.

Your fingers laced through his curls, pulling.

“Jake—oh my God.”

He didn’t stop. Just growled into you and pulled you closer, spreading you wider, tongue fucking into you as if he couldn’t decide whether to tease or devour. Then, his thumb slid up, wet from your slick, pressing soft tight circles against your clit as his tongue fucked in deeper.

You gasped, back arching.

“Jake, please—”

“You gonna come on my mouth?” he asked, almost sweetly. “You gonna make a mess on my face, baby?”

He was smiling against your sex, completely obsessed, like your shaking thighs and broken voice were exactly what he wanted to ruin. Like he wouldn’t be satisfied until you fell apart right here in the bathroom with his tongue buried inside you and your moans echoing off the tile.

You whimpered, trying to hold yourself up, but your knees were already buckling.

“Please, Jake—don’t stop—”

“Oh, I won’t,” he muttered against your clit, voice low and wrecked. “Not until you’re dripping down my chin.”

Then he sucked again. Hard, wet and loud. Totally obscene and shameless, his tongue flicking fast, his thumb grinding into your clit in tight circles, dragging your orgasm out of you like he was starving for it. You gasped, hips jolting forward as heat crashed through your spine and exploded in your belly.

Jake groaned into you, tongue lapping up every bit of your mess like it was his job. His arms locked around your thighs, holding you in place, making sure you felt every second of it, felt how messy you were, how wrecked, how much he loved it.

You came hard.

Your thighs clamped around his head, your toes curled, your hands scrabbling for the sink behind you as pleasure split you in half, hot and dizzying. Your whole body trembled, mouth falling open in a silent cry as your pussy pulsed around nothing, empty but aching, soaking his mouth and chin.

Jake only pulled back when your legs gave out.

He caught you, barely, arms around your waist, eyes heavy and glazed as he looked up at you, his face glistening with your slick, lips red and shiny, hair messy from your hands in it.

“So fucking good” he said, voice ruined.

Then he kissed you again, messy, open, licking into your mouth like he wanted you to taste yourself on him. In one movement, he shoved down his trunks and grabbed your thigh, hiking it up against the wall.

“You ready?” he said, lining himself up and thrusting in all at once, bottoming out. You gasped. “Gonna fuck you just how you like it.”

He was thick and deep and so fucking hard, stretching you open like your body had been waiting for him all year. His length throbbed through your soaked walls, still senstive but still wanting more. You cried out, back arching as Jake buried himself to the hilt, brutal thrusts that knocked the air from your lungs.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, voice low and ruined in your ear. “You’re so tight around me. Like this pussy’s been waiting all year, just for my cock.”

You clenched around him at the words, helpless, already overwhelmed. Your nails dug into his biceps as he held you pinned between his chest and the cold edge of the bathroom counter, his hands gripping your thighs to keep them spread wide open. He moved deep, dragging strokes that made you choke on your breath. His cock hit that spot inside you perfectly, rubbing against your slick, sensitive walls, making you tremble with every push.

Your head fell back, lips parted, completely at his mercy.

“God—fuck, I missed this,” he groaned, hips snapping faster. “Missed how you squeeze me. Missed these pretty fucking sounds. You make me insane.”

He grabbed your hips, slamming you down onto him harder, faster, skin slapping against skin as the bathroom filled with the sounds of filthy, frantic sex, wet, breathless, obsessed. The air inside was so hot, the mirror foggy, your body wet not only with water but with sweat and spit, every inch inside of you burning for him.

You wrapped your legs around him, holding on tight, body jerking with every thrust.

“Jake—oh my god—yes—fuck me, please—”

“I am, baby,” he growled, pounding into you. “Fucking you like you need.”

He kissed you, teeth and tongue and bruising need, before pulling back to spit the next words right against your mouth:

“That’s right. This pussy’s mine when you’re here. Mine to fuck. Mine to ruin.”

A loud groan left his mouth, losing rhythm for a second, driving into you harder now, ruthless, like he wanted to fuck you so deep you’d still feel him tomorrow, his thrusts pounding into your soaked pussy, his body smacking against yours in loud, wet sounds that echoed off the walls. You moaned loud at that, barely holding back from coming again.

“I’m gonna fuck you all summer,” he hissed in your ear, fucking you harder. “Every night. Every morning. You understand?”

His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your swollen, aching clit, rubbing tight circles that helped the pressure on your stomach start to build with so much force.

“You wanna cry on my cock again like you did last year?” he taunted, thumb dragging up to your clit as he pounded into you harder. “Huh? Gonna make a mess for me like a good fucking girl?”

Your body didn’t hold back anymore. You came again, gasping, clenching around him so tight he cursed into your neck, hips jerking as he came with you with a thick moan, hot, deep, full. He spilled inside you so familiar and warm and good, and you whimpered at the feeling. God, you missed it so much.

You collapsed into him, slick and shaking, still pinned to the wall as he caught his breath, mouth dragging across your collarbone like he couldn’t stop touching you.

“God,” he whispered, kissing your jaw. “I’m not letting you go a single night without this dick.”

Jake then pulled out slowly, the loss making you whimper again, and his eyes lost between your legs watching how you dripped him down your thighs, he bit his lip at the view. Then kissed you again, fast but hot, helping you put on your bikini bottoms again, still a bit dazed from the strong orgasm.

“You never do, anyways.”

He chuckled softly, putting his shorts on and hissing at the sensitivity on his cock, then placed a kiss on your forehead, winking an eye.

“Summer’s just getting started, baby.”

The days passed with not much happening. Parties, nights by the lake, fishing, movie nights in someone’s old basement. Almost every night ending the same way, everyone either passed out or going home.

Except you.

And Jake.

It always started with a look. That same look. Then a brush of his hand at your hip while you were helping clean up. Then a muttered, “Come with me,” while the others weren’t looking.

And ended with the two of you tangled in the backseat of his father’s car, windows halfway fogged, leather seats squeaking under the shift of your weight. You straddling him, panties shoved to the side, Jake’s hands gripping your waist tight as you rocked your soaked pussy over the thick, heavy length of his cock. Him fully inside you, buried deep, sweat dripping from his hairline as he hissed through his teeth. The night quiet except for the sound of your skins slapping together.

“Fuck, baby—” his voice was hoarse, raw. “You feel so fucking good. Always so tight for me.”

His nasty words always making you come even harder around his length.

“I’ve been thinking about this since you left,” he whispered, grabbing your ass and helping you move faster, harder. “Jacking off in my room like a fucking loser, imagining you bouncing on my cock just like this. Every fucking night.”

“Every summer,” he whispered. “You’ll always be mine.”

Other times were lazy sundays in his room, after a wild night, makeup still on your face, mascara smuged, but he always told you you looked beautiful that way. The sheets clinging to your bodies thanks to the sweat and the heat, Jake leaning his back against the bedframe, legs parted and you between them.

Still lazy, but hungry.

His cock already hard. Thick, flushed, glistening at the tip like it had been waiting for your mouth since the second he pulled you into the house.

“Holy fuck,” he breathed when you kissed the head, feeling him throb in your hand “You trying to ruin me, baby?”

You smiled, slow and wicked, as you licked a fat stripe up his shaft.

“I thought I already did.”

Jake’s head dropped back against the pillow, his hips twitching when you spat on his length, tongue swirled around the tip again, tasting the salty precum. You took your time, pressing kisses all over, teasing him, dragging your mouth down to his balls, licking and sucking until he was breathing through clenched teeth, abs tensing with every shift of your tongue.

“Shit—fuck” he gasped when you finally wrapped your lips around the head and sank down.

You moaned around him in response, and Jake swore, one hand flying into your hair.

“God, baby—your mouth is so fucking perfect.”

You bobbed your head slow, letting your tongue slide along the underside of his cock, eyes locked on his face the whole time. You loved watching him fall apart, how his brows pulled together, how his lips parted in these breathless, broken moans. His whole body went tight under you, muscles flexing, thighs trembling with every stroke.

“You’re gonna make me come already,” he panted, voice shaking. “You’re so fuckin’ nasty, just—shit—look at you.”

You pulled off with a wet pop, breath hot against his cock.

“Then come,” you whispered, stroking him slow, tongue flicking at the tip. “I want it. In my mouth. On my face. Wherever the fuck you want.”

Jake groaned.

“God, I almost forgot how filthy you are,” he muttered, hips lifting, fucking into your fist as your lips wrapped around him again.

But when you both were drunk, it was even more messy.

Laughing too loud, bumping into the hallway walls on the way upstairs, hands already all over each other before the door even closed.

Jake’s breath hot in your ear, mouth on your neck, his fingers tangled in the hem of your dress as you shoved at his chest, stumbling backwards into the room.

“I fucking want you,” he slurred, lips grazing your jaw, voice ragged. “I want you so bad it’s fucking sick.”

“You always want me,” you whispered, giggling breathlessly as he kicked the door shut and you both tripped into the mattress like lunatics. “You’re obsessed with me.”

He grabbed your wrists and pinned you down into the bed, kissing you hard, messy, open-mouthed, teeth clashing, tongues tangling.

“I am obsessed with you,” he muttered against your mouth. “I think about you all year. Think about your moans, your thighs, your fucking cunt—”

“Jake—”

“I jerk off to the sound of your voice,” he hissed, already yanking your dress up over your hips. “To the memory of you riding me. You fuckin’ haunt me.”

You gasped when he tugged your panties down fast and rough, mouth hot on your throat. He didn’t even wait to undress himself properly, just unzipped, shoved his pants low, pushed your legs open and spat on your pussy like he couldn’t take it one second longer.

“You’re so wet,” he groaned. “Fuck, baby—this pussy missed me, didn’t it?”

He shoved into you in one brutal thrust, no teasing, no warning, just full length, all of him, thick and throbbing, slamming into your soaked heat like he was making up for lost time. And you screamed, legs wrapping around him as he rutted into you without rhythm, just hunger and need.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he panted. “You feel fucking insane. I’m gonna lose my fucking mind—”

His hands were under your ass, lifting you into every thrust, bed creaking under the pressure. His forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged, sweat dripping down his temple.

“I’m gonna fuck you stupid,” he whispered. “Gonna make you come so hard you forget your own fucking name.”

“You already do,” you moaned, nails dragging down his back.

Jake slammed deeper, taking every inch of your insides, pussy walls clenching around himc swallowing him like you were made for him, the room spinning not just from the alcohol but from the heat.

“You want it rough tonight, huh? Want me drunk and desperate, just using this pretty pussy ‘til I can’t even move?”

“Yes—fuck”

“You’re mine,” he spat, gripping your face, thumb sliding into your mouth. “Say it.”

“I’m yours—” you whined around his thumb, eyes rolling back.

He cursed, pulled out halfway, then slammed in again so hard you gasped.

“Say it louder.”

“I’m fucking yours!”

The air was thick with sweat, your bodies slick and tangled, the whole room smelling like sex and tequila and the kind of hunger you don’t come back from.

It was routine, it was habit. It was everything you could ask for. Because Jake didn’t just fuck you, he worshipped your body. Every thrust said mine. Every kiss felt dangerous. Every time he came inside you, it felt less like sex and more like surrender. He knew you so well, knew exactly what to say, where to touch, which speed to use. No other man had ever satisfied you the way he did.

And lately, he looked at you like you were a secret. Like you meant something. His touches were softer, his kisses more tender. He laid on your back and trailed his fingetips in slow circles and hummed songs in your ear.

But it scared you. You knew things with Jake wouldn’t be easy. He lived here, he belonged here, away, moving through calm days and quiet nights. You were different.

You were a city girl, you went to college, went to parties, woke up hangover on your friend’s penthouses.

It would never work. And never seeing him again, that really scared you.

So you kept your feelings tucked behind your tongue, hidden in the back of your throat behind every moan. You kissed him hard and pulled his hair and begged for more, but you never said please don’t fall for me.

Because sometimes, you thought maybe he already had.

And sometimes you thought maybe you had too.

Those thoughts were still consuming you days later, one morning in Jake’s bed.

You could hear the birds outside. The fan humming above. His slow, steady breath against your collarbone. Jake was still tangled around you, warm and heavy, like he’d melted into your skin overnight. His leg between yours. His arm around your waist. His hand—God, his hand—resting just under your breast, like it belonged there.

You wanted to stay there forever. In that golden, sleepy silence. Where nothing had to be said. Where everything could still be just sex and tequila and tradition. Where the feelings hadn’t spilled out yet.

But then he spoke.

“I don’t think I can do this again another year,” he said softly, voice hoarse with sleep.

You blinked slowly. Your body stiffened, but only just.

“What?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“This. Us. Fucking for a month and then going back to acting like we don’t know each other the rest of the year.”

You lifted your head, your heart already thudding in your chest. Jake was looking at you. Hair messy, lips still kiss-bitten, eyes swollen with everything he hadn’t said until now.

“I know we said this was casual,” he continued. “I know that’s what you want. But it’s not casual for me anymore.”

Your mouth parted, but no sound came out.

“I don’t want to wait eleven months to touch you again. I don’t want to only be yours in July. I want to wake up like this every day. I want to know what it feels like to take you out, not just sneak around.”

“Jake…”

“I want to know what it feels like to love you without pretending it’s just about sex.”

That word.

Love.

You sat up, pulling the sheet to your chest even though he’d seen every inch of you a thousand times. Even though he had your come drying on his stomach, your moans still in his mouth.

“Don’t say that, Jake” you said, voice suddenly cold.

“Why not?” he asked, brow furrowed.

“Because this wasn’t supposed to be that. That’s not what we do.”

Jake sat up too, confused, bare chest rising and falling as he tried to read your face.

“You can say everything to me when my cock’s inside you,” he said, eyes narrowing. “But the second I say I want more, you run?”

“I’m not running.”

“Yes, you are. You’ve been running since last summer. And the one before that.”

You stood from the bed, searching for your underwear like it was some kind of armor. The same scary thoughts in your head, the reality of it all hitting you.

“It’s not going to work, Jake. I told you since the beggining”

“No, you told me you didn’t want more.” He leaned forward, voice tighter now. “And I believed you. Until you started kissing me like I was the only thing keeping you breathing. Until you started holding me after like it meant something.”

You paused. Still facing the wall. Too afraid to look back.

“It’s safer this way,” you said quietly.

He laughed, bitter and humourless.

“Safer for you, maybe. But I’m the one who’s been waiting all year like a fucking idiot, hoping this time would be different.”

You turned to him finally, heart in your throat.

“I never asked you to wait.”

“No,” he said. “But you made it impossible not to.”

There was silence for a moment. And then Jake stood too. Naked, wrecked, still beautiful in the morning light. His eyes softer now. But sad. So fucking sad.

“I would’ve given you everything,” he said. “I still would.”

You didn’t answer.

You just grabbed your dress, your phone, and walked out of the room with tears in your eyes and his name like a stone in your throat.

The city felt bigger than usual.

You stood in the middle of your room in a t-shirt that wasn’t yours—his, oversized and worn-in, somehow ended up in your suitcase, probably from the night you threw up in his lap—sleeves pushed up to your elbows. It smelled faintly of saltwater and sweat and the faded remnants of Jake’s cologne, like a scent memory you were scared would disappear the second you washed it.

Your suitcase was still half-open on the floor. You hadn’t unpacked.

Outside, the city roared like it always did, sirens in the distance, someone yelling two blocks away, a motorcycle growling past, but all you could think about was the way the crickets used to sing by the lake. How the air back there tasted like bonfire and beer and warm skin. How the quiet meant something when it was wrapped around Jake’s voice and his breath on your neck in the dark.

You padded barefoot to the kitchen and poured yourself a glass of water with shaking hands, but your stomach felt like it was folding in on itself.

Everything was fine.

But then you opened your phone.

And scrolled.

And there he was.

Jake, half-naked on the dock, laughing with Ni-ki, holding a beer, dripping wet from the lake. Jake, driving with one hand on the wheel and the other on your bare thigh, sunglasses low on his nose, smirking like he owned the world. Jake, leaning over you in the backseat after Sunoo’s pool party, whispering filth into your mouth while everyone else was drunk and distracted.

Your heart twisted, sharp and slow and sick.

You hadn’t seen him since that morning. Since you ripped yourself out of his sheets and out of his arms and walked away with your pride held like a shield across your chest.

He didn’t come to Sunghoon’s goodbye party, he didn’t come to the last movie night in Jungwon’s basement.

He didn’t text. He didn’t call. He didn’t even look at your story.

And you didn’t reach out.

And now, in the dim hush of your apartment, with the AC buzzing and your body wrapped in his old shirt, the weight of it crushed you.

You slid to the floor, back against the bedframe, phone in your lap, eyes burning.

Because you wanted to be the girl who could let go. The girl who could take the pleasure, take the heat, take the memory, and walk away untouched.

But this time you weren’t her.

This time, you wanted more.

You wanted mornings. You wanted winter. You wanted him.

But you were too scared to say it.

So now you sat in the silence you chose, surrounded by his ghost, with nothing left but a hundred memories that all smelled like sex and regret.

You hadn’t turned on the lights, letting the soft blue glow of the television flicker across the room, even though you weren’t really watching anything. Just letting sound fill the silence.

And then… A knock.

You blinked. Stilled. For a second, you thought maybe you imagined it.

Then it came again.

Three gentle raps against your apartment door.

Your heart flipped. Your chest tightened. You stood slowly, like moving too fast would make it disappear. And when you opened the door…

Jake was there.

In the hallway, under the soft yellow glow of the broken light overhead, hair messy, hoodie half-zipped, eyes rimmed with exhaustion and something worse, like maybe he hadn’t slept in days. Like maybe he’d replayed that morning in his head a hundred times, and it still broke him every time.

“Hi,” he said softly.

You stopped breathing.

He looked… wrecked.

And beautiful. Standing in front of you like he had no idea what he was supposed to say now that he’d actually come.

“I didn’t know if you’d open the door,” he admitted, voice quiet.

You swallowed, gripping the edge of the door like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

“I almost didn’t.”

Jake let out a soft breath. Nodded. Then looked up at you, eyes shining a little too much.

“I had to see you, i booked the cheapest ticket” he said. “I couldn’t just let it end like that.”

You said nothing. Just looked at him, bare, faced and trembling, still holding the doorknob like it was a weapon.

He took a tiny step forward.

“I fucked up. I should’ve let you have your space. I should’ve waited. But I couldn’t. I’ve been losing my fucking mind thinking about you.”

“Jake…”

“No,” he said gently. “Let me say it.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his voice thick now. Full with honesty and feelings.

“I meant everything I said. I meant it when I told you I wanted more. I meant it when I said I couldn’t keep doing this once-a-year bullshit. Because it’s not just summer to me anymore. It’s not just sex. It hasn’t been for a long time.”

Your chest ached. He looked straight at you, no shields, no teasing smile, just a boy standing at the edge of something terrifying, begging you to take a step toward him.

“I’m in love with you,” he said, barely a whisper. “I think I’ve been in love with you my whole life, since the first time i fucked you. And I’ve just been waiting for you to catch up.”

You blinked fast, heart beating so loud it hurt.

“I didn’t know how to… I thought if I said it out loud it would ruin everything.”

He nodded.

“So did I.”

“But it didn’t,” you said, voice trembling. “It ruined everything not saying it.”

Jake gave the softest smile. Sad, but hopeful. Like he still wasn’t sure if you were going to slam the door or fall into his arms.

So you reached for him. You grabbed the front of his hoodie, pulled him inside, shut the door behind him. And when your mouth crashed into his, hot, desperate, full of all the things you hadn’t said, Jake knew.

You were his.

Not just in summer or just in bed.

Just completely his.

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luveline · 18 days ago

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Hii jade idk if this is something you would be into but ive been reading all of ur hotch fics that include a relationship with jack and reader and i was wondering if you would be interested in writing for a hotch and ex!reader fic, where reader and jack have a really really close relationship and hotch even depends on her to look after him at times if necessary. I was thinking she comes to pick up jack at the office and everyone is like we didnt know you were seeing someone???? And hes like im not but theres very obvious tension and heart eyes being shared between the two.

thank you for requesting ❤︎ fem, 2k words

You don’t see any of the BAU agents that you’d recognise in the office today, but it's alright, ‘cos you’ve spotted your boy. Jack Hotchner sits at a crowded desk that could only be Spencer’s with a glass of water held in both hands. He tips it up, drinking feverishly, a stream of it dripping down his front to wet his raglan t-shirt.

You haven’t come by the office in a long time. Not since you and Aaron were dating, it must’ve been a year ago or more the last time you made it up for a rare lunch date. It had been quiet, then, his new agent Emily sent with Spencer to do some work with their tech girl. You’d smiled at Derek on the way in, you remember. Laughed at his joke about your ring finger looking a little light.

You hide your hands behind your back. “Oh, hey, sweet boy,” you say, your voice carrying. You’ve no need for false cheer —it’s been too long since you saw Jack. You have no excuses.

His head comes up at the sound of your voice. When he finds you making your way to the desks, he slides his cup down over the table and slips from his chair, unspeaking as he crosses the room to fling himself at your thighs.

You bend down to kiss his hair. “Hi,” you say, kissing it again. Two quick ones. “Hi, Jack.”

“Hi,” he says, matching your quiet tone. He feels trembly and strange in your arms, like he’s shaking.

“Hi.” You loop your arms around his shoulders. He’s slender as a bird, but taller than the last time you’d hugged him. The silence drags, Jack’s hands screwed into fists in your jeans. “Sorry it’s been so long since I last saw you,” you whisper, for his ears alone, “I didn’t mean to get so busy.”

“Everyone is busy.”

“I know. But it doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you.”

Pleased with this, Jack pulls away from you, and when he speaks he’s regained some of his volume, “Dad said I can stay with you for a sleepover only if you want me to.”

“I want you to.”

He beams. Offering a hand for the taking, Jack pulls you to Spencer’s desk and retrieves his blue backpack from the chair, its front a bright plastic print of SpongeBob and Patrick. He makes you take it, and you swing it over your shoulder.

“Let’s go,” he says.

“Wait a second, you gotta go up and say bye to your dad.” You wish you could send him up alone, dread a solid rock in your tummy that shifts to hurt with every breath. “Come on, lead the way.”

As you’re going, Emily and Rossi catch sight of you on their way back from the kitchen. “Who’s that?” Emily asks, to which Rossi says, “How should I know?”

“You know who she looks like? Hotch has that photo on his lock screen…”

You miss the conversation that begins between them, a step behind Jack as he enters Aaron’s office without knocking. His dad quickly looks up from his laptop and gives the phone by his ear a readjustment. “I’ll call you back,” he promises, putting it down.

Something cruel twists around in your gut wondering who it is. Could be anybody. Just as easily a colleague as a friend as a new girl.

“Dad, we’re going.”

Aaron stands from his chair. “Thank you,” he says to you, so obviously stuck as to what to say next that anger pricks the back of your neck. You swallow every last bit of it down.

“I told you whenever you need me to, didn’t I?” You get a look at him. Eyebags darker than ever, he’s skinny, tired, everything you hate to see. “Are you taking care of yourself?”

Where you’d expected to see anger, regret colours Aaron’s stance. He holds the back of his chair and sighs. “Of course I am.”

You cross an arm over your stomach. That morning, getting dressed, you’d decided to wear something that might make him want you back, even though you know he wants you back. Something that might make him braver, then. Or kinder, more agreeable to what you need. You’re wearing the silver chain he bought you, just so he knows you still have it, over a leather-type jacket and his favourite pair of jeans. It felt good at the time and childish now, because he’s not doing any better without you, and you miss him so much you might fold first.

“He asked to stay the night. What time do you want me to bring him back?” you ask.

“What time were you thinking?”

You let Jack drift into your hip. His small nose is surprisingly pointy. “I’d keep him forever if I could.”

The stumble in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed. He smiles weakly. “Yeah, I know. You’re good that way.”

Jack tips his head back to force your gaze on him, “Yeah, ‘cos dad says you’re good as gold.”

Your smile wavers. “Does he?” you ask carefully.

Aaron used to tell you that sort of stuff all the time. He had a way of picking a turn of phrase that you miss. He loved that one especially in his softest moments, tear stained and sniffling against him or smiling at something he’d said, he’d declare it, like everybody should’ve known it too. You’re good, he’d say, caressing your cheek, you’re as good as gold, honey.

“Why don’t we say midday, honey?”

“Okay.” You try not to give your own sermon on the way he uses the pet name, but it’s no use. He says honey like it’s yours, doesn’t matter that the last time you saw him you told him he doesn’t get to say he loves you, what use was that, any of it, when he wouldn’t step up to the plate.

Listen, it’s not that you need to get married. There’s a part of you that thinks marriage is special, and there��s a part of you that knows it’s a license rather than any solid proof of things, but what you needed most from Aaron was commitment. Even if he promised it once out loud that you were permanent, and that he was going to be careful. But you’d asked and he’d hesitated and your reconciliation is about as near as a lily flower is to the arctic circle.

“Jack, can you give us two minutes?” you ask, holding up two fingers.

Jack looks out the door. “Can I go see JJ?”

“Sure, sweetheart,” Aaron says, “come and give me a hug, okay? We’ll say bye now.”

Jack does his flinging thing and ends up pulled to Aaron’s stomach. Rough hands spread over a short back, dulcet murmuring of love yous and miss yous lost in blonde hair.

Jack leaves. Aaron is glad you’ve asked for time alone, it couldn’t be more obvious, with or without his training in psychic evaluation. You decide tiredly to take a seat in front of his desk, waiting for him to sit himself before you offer any more to him.

He grips the edge of his desk between his finger and thumb.

“I didn’t mean to ignore your call,” you confess. Calls.

He nods.

“I was sleeping. Then…”

“You don’t have to explain.”

“I don’t want you to think I don’t want to be with you, Aaron,” you say, careful again. “I want it a lot. And I’m angry with you because you don’t want it like I do.”

“You know I want that, too.”

“You don’t, though. I told you, either you start to look after yourself, or I go. And you aren’t looking any better.”

“Well, missing you does this to me.”

He says it with a sincerity that has you wincing.

“Don’t say it like that, like I’m making it worse,” you say, nearly glaring, “I’m trying to fix it. You work all the time and I thought I could understand it, but it’s not about missing you, it’s literally that you expect me to sit at home watching you work yourself to death, while Jack–” You cut yourself off short. Take a deep breath. “Sorry. I know you aren’t hurting Jack. Aren’t trying to hurt Jack, but...”

Your murmuring sets off his own, “You can be angry with me, I deserve it.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this. You own up to your mistakes but you don’t change. I can’t– I don’t even know what this is, but I can’t do it forever. I need you to…” You stare down at your lap. “Need you to fix this.”

“I’m–” He bites his tongue. Then opens his mouth, speechless for a time. “I will. I’ll fix it.”

“Will you?”

“I’ll fix it.”

You feel like you could fall to pieces in his arms, but you need him to do what he’s promising you, and crying while he rubs your back won’t help. “I’m so angry at you,” you say.

“I know.”

You want him to say he loves you. He braces his hand on the desk.

In the bullpen, JJ holds Jack on her hip and tries to direct his attention to her, while the rest of the team turn their ears to the open door, listening.

“Not his girlfriend, then?” Emily asks.

Aaron moves toward you. Through the window, they watch as he chucks you gently under the chin. You move your face from his touch, speaking too quietly to hear from down here.

“Are they fighting?” Jack mumbles.

“No, honey, they’re not fighting, just talking.”

“I’m going with her to sleep there,” he says. “For a sleepover. Dad said so.”

“Wow! What are you gonna do at the sleepover?”

(It’s brave of Aaron to try and touch you when you’re divided. You’re both being brave. You’re honest with him. Anyone looking at you both can see how badly you want to give in, which makes it tough to watch as you stand and gather yourself away from him.)

Your smile is shaky as you descend the steps from the landing, but it strengthens when Jack perks up.

“Hi,” you say, greeting the agents that have circled around him with some renewed timidity. “Ready to go, baby?”

“Can I say bye to dad again?” he asks.

JJ sets him down. “As many times as you want,” you promise.

Jack rushes back to his dads office. You watch as he trips over himself, and as Aaron comes to meet him by the door for a hug that turns meandering.

“Be good, okay? And remember what we talked about, yeah?” He strokes his hair back to meet Jack’s eye.

“What did we talk about?”

“That she’s not mad at you, Jack. Only me. Okay?”

You wish you could hate him, but all you have is love and the urge to block his number. At least you get a night with your boy, sweet as he is.

Aaron catches your eye from above. His wan face fills with a determination that has your heart in a tumble —it feels like a promise, like the next time Jack comes to stay, he could come with him. All Aaron has to do is take a break.

(You take Jack’s hand again and lead him out of the offices, and Aaron dials Strauss’ number. He’s not stupid enough to think that a month of vacation days can fix the things that are hurting you, nor could the simple promise ring with the pear-drop diamond that sits hiding in his desk, but he has to start somewhere, and he has to start now.)

(In the car, Jack asks if you’ll be coming home soon. You’re brave enough to tell him any day now.)

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble #criminal minds

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astrobydalia · 11 months ago

Text

Summer fling❤️‍🔥

Relatioship observations

work by astrobydalia

❤️‍🔥 A thing about Virgo Venus is that since this is Venus’ fall they tend to be socially awkward or have struggles reading the room. The type to make jokes or remarks that are a bit too direct and low-key break the mood. They tend to behave in ways that comes across as robotic or dry

❤️‍🔥 A similar thing happens with Scorpio/Aries Venus too (venus is debilitated here as well) they tend to behave in ways that breaks social harmony by being a little too bold or even scandalous (Examples of this energy: Marilyn Monroe, Doja Cat)

❤️‍🔥In general, unless the rest of the chart says otherwise, debilitated Venus positions gives the native low charisma and lower ability to blend in socially. Their demeanor tends to be too forward or rub people the wrong way.

❤️‍🔥What is up with Leo placements and becoming romantically obsessed with people that reject them? Either that or they enjoy perusing people who they "shouldn't" be with like authority figures or someone that is way out of their league

❤️‍🔥Just like Jupiter in a woman's chart tells you how her husband will be, I feel like Jupiter in man's chart will tell you what kind of husband he'll be to be honest

❤️‍🔥 Whenever I had Vertex in the 5th house of a Solar Return, romance was a significant thing during those years!! However it was always flings, situationships and stuff like that. The sign with gives more nuance like one year I had it in Sagittarius and I had a fleeting romance with a foreigner

❤️‍🔥 With debilitated moon (Capricorn/Scorpio Moon) I've noticed these natives tend to believe or feel like love is conditional. Things like loyalty, trust and care are earned and come with a price or you have to jump thorough endless hoops first in order to get them. They refuse to be vulnerable so they expect the other person to show their cards first and then MAYBE if you earn their trust they'll open up too but good luck with that LMAO.

❤️‍🔥 That being said, I noticed men with Capricorn/Scorpio Moon tend to marry a woman that is very self-righteous and controlling. Their choice for a life partner tends to be... yikes

❤️‍🔥 Capricorn/Scorpio Moon can be the type to be skeptical of the idea of true love. The difference is Scorpio Moons are most likely to convert into the lovey-dovey train once they find their person cause being water sign deep down they crave that intimacy. However Capricorn Moons are most likely to freeze their heart out even when their soulmate is right in front of them, unfortunately the more time passes the more cap moons tend to harden their hearts

❤️‍🔥 Scorpio Moon’s greatest fear is to be alone I’ve noticed. And yeah nobody wants that but trust me for Scorpio Moon this is a HUGE thing. When I say they crave intimacy I mean they CRAVE intimacy. If they could hot glue their loved ones to their body so they’re connected to them for life like siamese twins, they would.

❤️‍🔥 Taurus Moons are just as obsessive and sexual as scorpio moons, literally copy paste. They can also be just as toxic when underdeveloped. The difference is taurus moons are more nurturing and if they don't want you to leave they'll create a paradise or "golden cage" for you (vs Scorpio moons who tend to resort to emotional or mind games for this purpose). I was also surprised to discover how needy taurus moons become once they like you?? Idk how to explain it but it's like they wanna insert you in every aspect of their lives and low-key gatekeep you LMAO. On the other hand Scorpio Moons will push you away and play cat and mouse for a while if they see themselves catching feelings

❤️‍🔥In my opinion both moons (Scorpio and taurus) tend to seek possessiveness or control in their relationships and they usually have the upper hand or the most power I've noticed

❤️‍🔥Praying for gen z babies born under Scorpio Venus cause a lot of them have that placement square Aquarius Neptune and that combo is.... ooof. Romanticizing toxic delusional love that brainwashes the shit out of them YALL NEED TO WAKE THE FUCK UP

❤️‍🔥 When someone has their planets in your 12th house sign you have a fogged perception of this person, you tend to idolize them cause there are parts of them that you're blind to. However this person will feel confident in knowing your psyche as well as the unconscious motives behind your actions. This person has a knack to naturally know how to appeal to unconscious desires or fears you weren't even aware you had. For this reason you'll find this person either triggering and scary OR very addictive cause it almost feels like they penetrate your soul

❤️‍🔥 With that being said, people with planets in your 12th house are the best therapists for you or best people to vent to. Water houses in general can apply, but I feel like 12th house is better for this cause it rules over spiritual and emotional healing/cleansing specifically. This person can help you untangle your unconscious and you can feel sooooo much relief after talking or being with them. This will only apply if you trust them and they have good intentions ofc, otherwise they'll actually feed into your unconscious fears and make them worse

❤️‍🔥 People with placements on your 8th house secretly dislike and/or envy you, but still feel the need to be close with you cause they low-key wanna tear you down, wanna see you fail, wanna keep taps on you to make sure aren't too successful. I've seen SOOOOO many toxic fake friendships with this synastry... Although I've previously talked about positive manifestations of this overlay too, frankly this dynamic is what I've observed for the most part with this synastry if im honest with you

❤️‍🔥 I totally agree with @zeldasnotes when she said 8th house synastry is only good/tolerable when there’s mutual sexual attraction between the two, otherwise it’s annoying af. I believe this is because the two people can easily use sex to release all the intensity and tension between them instead of letting it build up or channeling it through toxic emotions like envy

❤️‍🔥 Okay but have you ever been genuinely loved by an Aries placement? When their heart is in it, they'll have unshakable loyalty. They’d move mountains for you, kill and fight for you. They are THE ride or dies

❤️‍🔥 A thing that I've seen a lot with women who have debilitated Jupiter (Virgo, Gemini, Capricorn) is that they have a husband that prioritized his work over their marriage/family. The husband is often away due to work or duties or just emotionally unavailable in general. These women tend to give up something about their life after marriage because they had to accommodate to their husband's life style, like if she has to move or give up her own job to be with him she will. For example: Grace Kelly (Gemini Jupiter) who quit acting after marring the prince of Monaco. Hailey Bieber (Capricorn Jupiter) who was exposed to a lot more public attention after marrying Justin and she said herself she's had to learn to adapt that being new part of her life now

❤️‍🔥 Another big thing I've seen with Saturn influence in the 7th house is that your spouse will have big, BIG ambitions. People only talk about Jupiter or Venus but to be real with you, Saturn is an underrated indicator for your spouse being wealthy. This placement indicates that your spouse is stablished, successful and can easily provide stability for you. All the people I've seen with this placement married someone who had a business!!!!, their own house, a successful career, a household name, a higher position, etc

What I mean by Saturn influence on the 7th (for both Vedic and Tropical): Saturn in the 7th house Capricorn or Aquarius DSC 7th ruler in the 10th house (also maybe 11th house) or vice versa Saturn darakarka

❤️‍🔥 Mars-Pluto aspects definitely will make someone have pretty extreme kinks

❤️‍🔥 I’ve seen this a lot in Pisces Moons and Aries Moons that they low-key wanna be babied in a relationship or they subconsciously end up being the one who’s more coddled and taken care of by their partner

❤️‍🔥 Aries and Gemini placements in the composite chart is indicative of a relationship that likely won't last long-term. I've seen this placement in long lasting marriages too but their relationships gave off fling vibes, really playful, they type where people said they wouldn't last

❤️‍🔥 I’ve seen Saturn in the 7th house synastry manifesting as the opposite of commitment. The Saturn person blocks off the possibility of having a committed relationship with the house person and the house person feels abandoned

❤️‍🔥 With that being said Saturn in synastry/composite can indicate rejection in that area and things one or both parties will deprive the other of or deny them. For example Saturn in the 8th synastry/composite can mean one person refused to have sex with the other or there are many conditions and restrictions in the sex life of both

❤️‍🔥 Aquarius and Capricorn Mars/Venus are SO good at hiding their attraction from you. They'll watch from afar for some time before making some move meanwhile you'll be clueless of their interest

❤️‍🔥 Moon square Neptune is an aspect that makes someone emotionally insecure, the type to need constant reassurance that you still love them. Can also be emotionally manipulative in very subtle almost undetectable ways

❤️‍🔥 Earth Venus find it very easy to engage in casual dating/hook up culture because they know how to not get too attached. They have a hyper awareness of what purpose a certain relationship is serving them at the moment so they act accordingly

❤️‍🔥 On the other hand I’ve noticed Air Venus natives have a tendency to play around because they know they get the ick quickly. But it's all fun and games until they end up catching feelings accidentally 😭

❤️‍🔥 My experience having Gemini Jupiter in the 7th house: Yes all my suitors/dates have been foreigners but the cultural difference was never that big. They usually came from a country close to mine or their cultural background was very similar from mine

work by astrobydalia

#astrology #astro #astro observations #astro notes #zodiac #birth chart #astrobydalia #astrology observations #astro community

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l0s3rd0wnt0wn · 26 days ago

Note

Would the bat kids be pissed if WB!reader had half sibling counter parts to them from their mom that they actually liked?

Idk if that makes sense-

Bio: Yeah, I get it. So, the reader's mom remarried, and now they have cool siblings whom they don't even call half-siblings because they consider them their siblings.

Just think about it: Reader has a great relationship with their half-siblings but a horrible relationship with their adopted ones. Think about it, Reader coming back home to their childhood house just to see that half the links are like the coolest people ever. The two of you used to play outside until the streetlights were on, watching movies that your mom would never let you watch if she wasn't home. Your older brother used to give you crazy piggyback rides and fling you around the house like you weighed little to nothing. He’d drive you around and take you to places. One time, he took you on a date because "Mommy said I had to come." So now he's on a date with a pretty girl, and you’re right next to him, stealing his fries. You are the victim of your twins always messing with you, pulling pranks, and playing with your hair. One time, you had a thousand beads and barrettes stuck in your hair because you decided to take a nap in front of them. These people aren’t just your half-siblings; when people say, "Isn't he your half-brother? Aren't the twins your half-siblings?" you say no—they are siblings, and you'll die by that fact. So when they decide to visit you all the way from California to Gotham, you're ecstatic. You and your brother have this crazy handshake that’s enough to make Duke jealous. You're playing around with the twins, manhandling those little sickos, and it’s making Damian jealous for some reason, even though he’s acting all serious. Immature deep down, he’d rather be the one getting piggyback rides and being held upside down. Why is Dick getting jealous that you're calling your brother "big brother"? You even got your brother in the first place; he's your adopted brother, but there’s still a small pain in his chest when you do it. Jason’s face scrunches up when you ask for a ride, but you’re not talking to him; you're talking to your brother. Tim gets mad when you take one of his games, thinking it’s some trick to get you to play with him, but in reality, your big brother loves that game, and so do the twins. Why are Steph and Cass getting envious of some kids playing double Dutch with you? They’re not five, but it still isn’t fair; they’re not strangers. I mean, you've been living in this house for years, so is blood really thicker than water? But they, are your half-siblings still a Wayne? You have the last name, after all.

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joelscurls · 2 years ago

Text

I wanna show you off

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 4.1k

summary: The women who live in your building aren't subtle in their hatred for you — or their affection for your boyfriend, Joel. You decide to set them straight.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, porn with plot, no outbreak, established relationship, implied age gap, horrible neighbors, general cattiness, all the ladies want Joel, alcohol consumption, fluff, explicit smut, possessive!reader, exhibitionism, dirty talk, oral (m receiving), facefucking, unprotected piv, creampie, one (1) spank, use of pet names (baby, angel, darlin', etc.), I think that's all? lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: idk what happened. I saw one too many tiktok edits set to the song agora hills by doja cat and blacked out. anyway, enjoy!

If it weren’t for your rent-controlled apartment with a perfect view of the downtown skyline, you would’ve moved out of your building by now.

Your neighbors don’t like you. You’re certain of it. You can tell by the way the ladies stick their noses up at you in the elevator and whisper to each other the second they think you’re out of earshot.

It had started, you suspect, because of your age. You’re a lot younger than all of the other residents here, your apartment left to you by your grandmother after she passed away.

The building is prime real estate, situated in the heart of one of the city’s most desirable neighborhoods. Most of the people who live here have done so for ten, twenty, even thirty years. And it seems that time has festered a sort of social hierarchy: one which places you at the very bottom.

You shouldn’t care. And you hadn’t, for a while. But their eyes have started to feel like daggers, pointed directly at you at all times, and you feel as if you can’t even enter the building without judgment.

You’re not a bad neighbor. You’re not. You’d learned through living in a dormitory in college how thin shared walls can be, and, as a result, the proper volume at which to keep your music; how you should always be cautious to not let your door slam closed on the way in; that you should never vacuum after eight pm or before eight am.

You never leave trash in the hallway, and you park your car only in your allotted spot, despite the fact that it’s the farthest away from the building.

Even so, the lack of weathering in your face makes them look at you like you’re less, like you’re a greedy little thing who has taken something she isn’t worthy of.

It’s the same way they look at you when they see you with your boyfriend, Joel, for the first time.

They leer when you walk into the foyer, hand-in-hand with an older man. He’s handsome, rugged, something out of Nicholas Sparks novel. And you’re you.

Joel thinks you’re being paranoid at first, says they couldn’t possibly hate such a sweet, friendly girl. The girl he loves so damn much. But it doesn’t take long for him to notice it too: the glares, the scoffs, the misplaced judgment — never set in his direction, only ever yours.

One Sunday afternoon, as he sits on your couch watching the Cowboys game with a sweating bottle of beer in his hand, you step out to grab your mail. You’re close to tears when you return, flinging the door open, envelopes slipping from your trembling fingers.

He leaps up as soon as he catches sight of your face. Your expression is stuck somewhere between sadness and rage, bottom lip tucked between your teeth so firmly he worries you’ll draw blood.

“I hate them,” you sob as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his broad chest. You’re wetting his shirt, the one he just bought the other day. But he won’t let you lift your head. If anything, he holds you tighter.

“Wanna tell me what happened, darlin?” he asks, leading you toward the couch. You sit down together, your body still wrapped in his, and you groan.

“It’s stupid.” Your voice is muffled by cotton. He loosens his grip on you only enough to let you turn your face. “I was getting my mail, and they were down in the lobby,” you sniff. “The woman who lives right next door – the one with the outdated perm, and the one across the hall with the yippy little dog.”

“Mhm,” Joel soothes, running his thumb gently along the tense line of your jaw. “Did they say somethin’ to you?”

You huff. “No, not to me. They didn’t see me there.”

Their hushed voices still ring in your head like a fire alarm in need of new batteries: relentless, infuriating.

Don’t know what in the world a handsome gentleman like that is doing with a little girl like her. You’re tellin’ me. What a shame. Such a young thing – she can’t possibly know how to handle a man like that. He needs a woman his own age!

“They said I’m not good for you,” you weep. “That I’m too young. That I — I c-can’t be what you need.”

“Darlin,” Joel drawls. He fishes the tv remote off of the coffee table and flicks the screen off. Drops it somewhere next to him on the cushion. The apartment is noticeably quiet now, apart from your shaky breaths and the dull drone of an idling truck engine from the street below.

“You know I love you, right?”

You sniff again. Nod.

“I don’t give a shit if people think you’re too young for me,” he huffs. “You’re a grown woman. You give me everything I could possibly need and then some.”

“Yeah?” you squeak. You know deep down that Joel wouldn’t stay with you if he had any reservations about any aspect of your relationship. But after months of no reprieve from stinging glares and brash insults, you feel as if you’ve been broken down, reduced to an anxious, overwrought version of yourself.

Joel repositions himself, sprawling back on the couch and pulling you with him so that you’re laying against him. “Yeah,” he repeats, stroking your hair. He tucks a loose strand behind your ear, away from your glassy eyes. “Those ladies can get their asses in line.”

You laugh, then — a real, genuine laugh — the kind that Joel can somehow always pull out of you, even in the most inopportune of times.

You’re so grateful for him, for his innate ability to calm you down when it feels like the world is crumbling below your feet. Grateful that he’s yours.

You lift your head. Prop yourself up by the elbow on Joel’s thigh. Wipe away the lingering wet on your cheeks with a deep, settling breath.

“Does it stroke your ego, having a fan club of women who wanna fuck you?”

He smirks. Pulls you closer to him with a hand cradling your face.

“Maybe a little,” he whispers, his lips ghosting yours. “Does it stroke your ego, bein’ the only one who gets to fuck me?”

And in truth, it does. You’re the only one who knows where he likes to be kissed, how he likes his cock stroked, how to make him cum embarrassingly quick with just your mouth.

You’ve learned him intimately, every inch of him. Ruined him for any other woman.

So in a fucked up kind of way — it does.

“Yeah,” you admit. You suck his bottom lip into your mouth, silently reveling in the way he immediately moans, the way he bends to you.

“These all mine?” You bring a finger to his lips, sputter on a shaky exhale when he unexpectedly parts them and sucks the digit into his mouth.

“Mhm,” he hums around you, takes your free hand in his and guides it down his body, across the expanse of his torso, the plush of his belly, pausing when you reach his crotch.

Your pulse quickens, then, a dull throb forming at the base of your neck. You extricate your finger from his mouth with a gentle pop.

“This too,” he whispers, canting his hips up toward the flat of your palm.

He’s half-hard, his clothed bulge pleading for attention. But he pulls your hand away quickly, not letting himself get carried away at the feeling of your fingers grazing him through denim.

Instead, he re-situates it against his chest so that you can feel his heartbeat where it hammers under skin, against flesh and bone. “This is all yours too,” he says, voice so low it reverberates in your skull.

“All of it — all of me. Don’t gotta worry your pretty little head with anythin’ anyone else has to say about the matter. Got it?”

His words are spoken with so much conviction that you have no choice but to believe them, to let them stick in your brain like anchors in sand: deep and immovable.

Yours, yours, yours.

And nobody else’s.

“Yeah,” you smile into the column of his neck, inhaling his scent: mostly him, but with notes of you.

“Got it.”

It’s two weeks later when she makes a move on him: the woman with the perm. Joel is taken aback by her boldness, with you just a few feet away, digging your key into the lock of your mailbox.

“You must work with your hands,” she purrs, grabbing one of his wrists and examining his calloused fingers with such little integrity, his mouth actually slips open at the unabashedness of it all.

“Uh-”

“I’m Sheila,” she hums, raking her fingers through tight, blonde curls. “And you are?”

“Joel,” he grunts noncommittally. Wrenches his arm back. He doesn’t miss the way her eyebrows twitch in offense.

But she’s insatiable, this woman. She bounces back like a rubber band, not-so-subtly pushing her breasts together, the zip of her sweatshirt slipping down an inch and her mouth curving into a salacious grin.

You just about stop dead in your tracks when you round the corner to the lobby, junk mail in hand, and see her, her body turned towards Joel’s, chest pushed out and hip popped. She has a bedazzled tote bag full of groceries slung over her shoulder, a head of leafy greens poking out the top.

“Hi neighbor!” she smiles mockingly at you, all lipstick-stained teeth, when you sidle up to Joel. “I was just telling your friend here what nice, strong arms he has.” She’s not looking at you, eyes locked firmly on Joel’s biceps, nearly drooling at the sight of him.

Heat spools behind your ears, red-hot.

“Not her friend,” Joel corrects before you can. “‘M her boyfriend.”

“Oh,” she says. “Boyfriend.” Her lips wrap loosely around the word, like it’s some fanciful thing. “You’re too old to be someone’s boyfriend.”

Joel takes a step away from her, closer to you, and splays a steadying hand across your back. “Man-friend, then.”

You laugh, not because it’s funny, but because this entire conversation is fucking awkward.

Sheila pays you no attention.

“Well,” she sighs, overtly staring at the exposed skin of Joel’s chest, where the top two buttons of his flannel are undone, “Joel, if you’re ever lookin’ for a good meal, I’m just next door.” She flits her eyes up to his and smirks. “Know a big man like you has gotta eat.”

Your vision blurs scarlet.

Joel is equally as infuriated. The disrespect of this woman, to so openly flirt with him in front of you. His fists ball tightly at his sides.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” he gruffs. “Anyway, nice to meet ya ma’am-“

“Sheila,” she reminds him.

“Sheila,” he repeats, only to appease her. He turns to you, squeezing your waist affectionately. “We should probably get goin’, right sweetheart?”

You’re still fuming, barely able to register Joel’s voice next to you through the thick haze of pure fury clouding your mind, but you manage to nod, spit out a hurried yeah.

And with that, Joel is turning on his heels, pulling you with him toward the elevators. You don’t dare look back at her, but you can feel her eyes boring a hole in the back of your head.

Her footfall fades into the mailroom and you breathe a minuscule sigh of relief. At least she’s out of your sight.

“Please just move in with me,” Joel begs when you’re finally behind closed metal doors, the inspection plaque situated above the buttons suddenly extremely interesting as you try to focus on not thinking about setting this woman’s apartment on fire.

You’ve talked about living together a few times. It’s just — you’ve never considered it so seriously until right now.

“I can’t let them win,” you mutter, agitated.

You hate how they’ve made you feel, like you’re some helpless animal tucked in the corner, hiding from them. Just waiting for the next ambush.

With the passing of each floor, your anger simmers, bubbles into a silent rage in your stomach, one which threatens to boil over at the next underestimation of Joel’s devotion to you. You need to make it known, once and for all, that he’s yours.

Words from your grandmother play on a loop in your head, ones she repeated to you often when you were a child: if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.

And then you have a thought — a devious thought — maybe you don’t have to say anything to get your point across. Not to them, anyway.

Your mouth is on Joel the second you’re back inside the four walls of your own apartment, slotting against his pulse point and sucking a desperate bruise there.

He’s not expecting it — why would he be? You’ve just been seething the entire elevator ride up to your floor, the entire walk down the long, winding hallway to your unit. He’d practically been able to see the steam billowing from your ears.

So the switch-up is more than a bit dizzying, to say the least.

“Whoa, darlin’,” he pants, his large hands draping over your shoulders. “What are you-”

“Joel.” Your voice is stern; it demands his attention. “Do you trust me?”

Your hand trails down his body languidly, in a straight line to the waistband of his jeans. And fuck, of course he trusts you — more than anyone. But this is wrong, fucked up, for you to make him feel good when you’ve been made to feel so small these past few minutes.

Still, his cock doesn’t get the memo, twitching in his jeans as you place another open-mouthed kiss on the underside of his jaw, your fingers beginning to fiddle with his belt buckle.

You give him no choice with the way you’re touching him, the way you’re looking at him when you pull back, all pleading eyes and parted mouth, but to resign all protest. He’ll give you the world, and if right now you want to use his body to blow off some steam, who is he to complain about it?

“Yeah baby, of course,” he breathes. “What do you need?”

You smirk at him audaciously, tongue smoothing over your teeth. “Need you to be loud,” you purr. Your voice is so innocent in juxtaposition to the words you spew. It sends a chill down the column of his spine. “Let them know who makes you feel good.”

He nearly cums in his pants untouched, grasps at the fabric of your shirt with clumsy hands and nods. “Fuck, okay.”

His belt falls to the floor with a clang.

He lets you take control, then. Lets you mark him with your tongue and your teeth, lets you back him to the door with deft fingers working his shirt buttons open before sinking to your knees in front of him, freeing his hardening cock from the confines of his jeans and boxers.

It’s already weeping for you when you pull it out, precum beading at the tip. He’s so big, growing heavier in your hand with each passing second, and you lose yourself for a moment, hypnotized by him.

“Always so eager to please me, aren’t you, pretty girl?” Joel’s voice pulls you back to earth, soft and adoring.

“Louder,” you remind him. Plant a kiss right over top of his leaking slit.

“Fuck,” he hisses through his teeth. One of his hands flies to the crown of your head, anchoring himself with fingers in your hair. “Dirty fucking girl.”

His voice fills the entranceway, confident and filthy.

“Mmm,” you hum approvingly.

“Yeah? You want me to tell ‘em? Tell ‘em you’re making my cock drool for you? That nobody — shit-” You enclose your lips around his tip, suckling on it as your fingers wrap around the base of his length and you begin to stroke him lazily. “-that nobody has ever made me feel this good?”

Footsteps echo down the hallway and the sound makes you reflexively pause, your hand stiling on Joel’s cock. It’s followed by the jingling of metal, the click of a key in a lock, the opening and closing of a door — all close enough that you can pinpoint the source, can tell where exactly it’s coming from.

Sheila is home.

Perfect.

It’s probably worrying how excited it makes you, the prospect of her hearing, of her sitting alone in her apartment, at her empty dining table, and listening to Joel fall apart at your hands. Maybe they’ve driven you to and over the edge of sanity with their words, her most of all. Regardless, you can’t help the way it makes your cunt flutter around nothing.

You lick a slow stripe up the underside of Joel’s cock, starting just above his balls and dragging the flat of your tongue up, up, up to his tip. His breath shudders, his grip on your hair tightening, and the subtle sting at the center of your scalp gives you another idea.

“Do you wanna fuck my face, Joel?”

“Do I wanna — fuck — you’re gonna kill me, angel.”

“Go ahead,” you encourage, unhinging your jaw as wide as it can go, letting your tongue droop over your bottom lip.

Saliva pools in your waiting mouth and Joel groans at the sight of you, so malleable for him, begging to be used.

“You sure?”

It’s not that he doesn’t think you can handle it. He knows you can. You’ve taken him down your throat more times than he can count. Always so fucking eager to please him, you are — just one of the many reasons he feels so goddamn lucky, so infuriated that anyone would think otherwise.

But still, he can’t help but worry that he’ll hurt you.

You nod, eyes locked on him, confirming beyond a shadow of a doubt that you want this. He nods back, beginning to feed his cock into your mouth, easing it in slowly and halting when his head hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag.

You don’t pull away, don’t show any indication of displeasure. In fact, you dig your fingers into the meat of his thighs, bearing down on him as you push forward. Mascara tears stain your cheeks as you choke on him, laser-focused on relaxing your throat so that you can accommodate more of his length.

Joel pulls back, retreating entirely before pushing in again. He slowly increases his pace, your eyes hooded, so doelike and innocent, as his cockhead bruises your larynx.

The sounds he’s pulling from your mouth are absurdly lewd: muffled gags and frantic inhales of breath. And then there’s him, moaning wildly, not sure if he’d be able to shut up even if he needed to be quiet. Your mouth is good, too fucking good and he’s going to — fuck, he’s going to cum if you don’t stop.

He pulls out abruptly, a string of drool and precum tethering the tip of his cock to your swollen bottom lip. You’re panting, coughing, still bracing yourself against his legs when you fucking smile up at him.

“Christ,” he says. “Fuckin’ angel, you are. Mouth feels like goddamn heaven.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. But I need to cum in that perfect little cunt,” he breathes, pulling a strangled moan from the back of your rawed throat.

He helps you up, spins you around to face the door. You brace both hands on the wood, humming as he pulls your pants down to your knees. His breath is on the back of your neck, trailing up to the shell of your ear with one whisper just for you, because he can’t help it.

“So fuckin’ beautiful, you know that?”

You shiver, responding with a tilt of your head, inviting him in with a needy little mewl. He cradles your face in one of his large hands, the other rubbing over the curve of your ass as he kisses you passionately, tasting himself on your tongue.

The hand on your ass trails lower as he deepens the kiss, two fingers pressing against your clothed seam. You’ve all but soaked through the fabric, wet cotton molding to his knuckles as he caresses them along your pussy before pulling your panties down in one swift motion.

You whine into the kiss, desperate and dripping for him. “Please,” you breathe against his lips. “I’ll make you feel so good, I promise.”

“Know you will,” he coos, mouth parting from yours as he straightens out and lines himself up with your entrance. You arch your back, rocking onto the balls of your feet as he teases you with the tip.

His cock is so thick when it finally notches into you. It’s always so devastatingly thick, no matter how wet you are for him. The stretch stings, a jolt of warm pain coursing through your walls as he stills halfway in.

“You okay?” he asks, one hand resting at the small of your back, the other on your hip, fingers gripping to you only tight enough to hold you in place.

“Yes, fuck — yes,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me, Joel.”

“I’m goin’ to baby, don’t worry,” 'he promises, pushing in another splitting inch. “Pussy’s so goddamn tight, ‘ts suckin’ me right in.”

It feels like hours pass with Joel’s cock motionless inside your aching cunt, his warm breath fanning across your back as he focuses on not cumming. You’re whimpering, begging under the weight of his body, to please just fucking move.

When he finally obliges you, pulling all the way out and then bottoming out in one deep thrust, it nearly punches the air out of your chest. You scrabble for purchase on the door, fingernails scraping against chipped paint. “F-uucckk,” you moan, eyes rolling back in your head as he sets a dizzying pace.

The sound of his balls slapping against the back of your thighs is enough to attract attention on its own, the loud smacksmacksmack going straight to your cunt. Joel growls behind you, driving into you even harder, the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot.

“Oh, shit,” you cry. Your pussy inadvertently squeezes him and he curses at your back, low and deep.

“Not going to last if you keep doin’ that,” he warns. “Cunt is too fuckin’ good. Best I’ve ever — uuuhh — had.”

He’s not just saying it for show. It’s true. You know it is, too. He’s told you before, both under the influence of your pussy and not. Waited too many goddamn years to feel like this, he’d said once.

“It’s — fuck, it’s fine Joel,” you mutter. “I’m close too, just keep going, right there.”

A door across the hall creaks open. A pair of footsteps patter across tile.

Do you hear that? Yeah; what is that noise?

Joel laughs darkly behind you, snaps his hips up, forcing a guttural moan out of you.

“Think they caught us, darlin’,” he says. “Caught you takin’ my cock like you’re fuckin’ made to.”

Oh my word!

Joel is unrelenting, pounding into you despite the voices right outside your apartment, and you fear for a moment that you’ve created a monster. One of his hands leaves its place on your waist, cracks down on the center of your asscheek with a slap, the flesh recoiling under his palm and you gasp.

The feeling travels between your legs, straight to your neglected clit. It pulsates under the hood with every pass of Joel’s cock over your g-spot, and you feel yourself hurtling toward the edge dangerously fast.

If these people don’t leave, they’re going to hear you cum. Do you want them to hear you cum? Yeah, you think, clit jumping again at the thought, I think I fucking do.

“Joel, fuck-”

“You gonna cum?” he goads. “Yeah, can feel you squeezin’ me — you’re gonna cum, aren’t ya?”

This is vulgar! We should file a noise complaint. C’mon.

His hand snakes around your front then, finds your throbbing bud, and with a few passes of his calloused fingertips, you’re gone, vision whiting out and all noise around you muted.

Joel keeps you upright between him and the door, his grip on you tightening as your muscles slacken. He follows closely behind, cumming inside you with a carnal noise from the back of his throat, rope after rope of his spend filling your cunt.

He pulls out with a grunt, immediately collapsing on the floor. Without his support, you topple over too, falling onto his lap with a satiated giggle.

A banging comes from the other side of the wall then, shaking your kitchen cabinets a few feet away, the clanging of glassware jolting you.

Keep it down next time! I don’t need to hear that!

And then you’re laughing like teenagers, Joel pulling you in for a sloppy kiss, all tongues and teeth.

“Think they’re really gonna make a noise complaint?” Joel asks when you finally come up for air.

“I dunno,” you smile. “Does your offer still stand — for me to move in with you?”

“Always,” he vows, forehead resting against yours.

end notes: ty for reading! pls consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed <3

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal as joel miller #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

5K notes · View notes

always-just-red · 5 months ago

Note

Oh I forgot to add 😭😭😭 be it fluff like jelly sylus but fluff maybe he trying to make the mc jelly too ? I’m going wild with ideas, I will be quiet

(Part 1 of ask) FINALLY finished this fic oh my goshhh I've loved it so much but writer's block was my constant companion for this one 🫠 Thanks for your patience!! Sy is jealous but I'm still pushing my 'Sylus is the softest man alive and would die before hurting MC' agenda, so I had to get a lil creative! Hope I've pulled it off idk 😭😭

Be Mine

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus is getting a little tired of sharing you with the other men in your life (and he doesn't mean Luke and Kieran 🙃)

Genre: lil bit of angst, comfort and fluff

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, jealousy, other LIs mentioned, brief allusion to Raf's self-harm tendencies, cheating mentioned, some intimacy & kisses-- more soft than spicy!

| Word count: 4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Sylus has spent centuries waiting for you, so he’s going to give you another minute.

Patience is not a virtue; it’s an old acquaintance he greets with a false smile whenever he’s forced to pass it on the street. Sometimes outside your building, whilst you’re chatting with a neighbour from the apartment above yours. Sometimes when you’re running late from a doctor’s appointment.

Patience has been cropping up a lot these days and gods, he’s sick of its face. Even now, it sits with him at this table for two as he sips at a glass that’s almost empty. There’s poetry in stalling, in savouring what’s left, especially as a waiter hovers anxiously nearby, anticipating the need for yet another refill (it would be the third).

Dregs of blood-red wine swirl with solemnity. Sylus is a patient man, a man who waits, but he doesn’t want to be. He wants the reward of it: the pot of gold at the end of that insipid rainbow. Hasn’t he waited enough?

He lifts his drink to his lips again.

“Sylus!”

They curve as he swallows the final drop.

“I’m so sorry,” you stammer, flinging yourself into the seat across from him so quickly that he’s cheated of the chance to rise and help you with your chair. “Sit back down,” you usher, because he had made a start on it, “really, Sy, I’m so, so sorry. Things at work just got crazy, and I—”

“You don’t have to explain, sweetie,” he smiles as he signals the waiter. He’ll have that refill, now, and he orders your favourite drink as you shrug off your coat and fumble with your bag, looking for something. “I’m more than familiar with the Association’s… dedication to a cause.”

You glance up with an amused smile. “We’re keeping you on your toes, huh?”

“Mmm. There is one hunter who’s proving to be a real thorn in my side.”

“You on top of that?”

“Most evenings, yes. Some mornings, too.”

You poke your tongue out at him. You’ve retrieved a compact mirror and you use it to study your dishevelled reflection. “Is everything all right at work?” he asks as you fuss over your hair.

“Yeah,” you puff. “Long story.”

“We have time.”

With a warmer smile, you stash your mirror away and sequester your bag by your feet. “You sure?” He gives you a look. “Fine,” you chuckle. “Basically, Xavier forgot to write up some reports. He’s been away on an ultra-secret, special mission or whatever—” you tap your nose conspiratorially— “which I didn’t just tell you, okay? But yeah, the reports weren’t done, and they were due tonight, so…”

Sylus raises an apathetic eyebrow. “He asked you to help?”

“Begged me, more like.”

Of course he did. The waiter arrives with your drinks and Sylus has never been gladder for a distraction. His mouth is full of pettiness, bitterness, so he drowns it with wine. You could have called. Texted. “So kitten’s been playing secretary, hmm?” he goads instead.

“That would imply kitten could keep track of time,” you pout, “so no. And speaking of playing a part—” you poke his nose— “you’re allowed to be mad at me. I should have called you. Texted. So let me have it, yeah? I feel bad enough already without you being all… perfect.”

You’re only teasing, but Sylus doesn’t feel perfect. He’s thinking about you working late with your partner, laughing at his jokes, poking him with your pen to keep him from falling asleep on his paperwork. He smirks, regardless. “What if I want you to feel bad?”

“Oh, gods,” you slump forwards, face-down on the table. “How long were you waiting?”

“Years.”

You fake cry into the tablecloth. “Don’t, Sy. Just tell me the truth. How bad was it?”

“Really, years,” he insists again, folding his arms on the table and sliding forwards, too. His chin is resting on his hands, and he blows at the top of your head. “Look.” Your face lifts so you can peer at him. He pinches his hair. “I’ve even gone grey, see?”

You sit up the tiniest bit more and your noses are almost brushing. “It looks nice,” you whisper.

“You think so?”

“Mmm. Suits you.”

Your eyes are every gem— every jewel in an illicit auction Sylus has to steal away from the rest of the world, because something that pretty just has to be his; it will find no worthier home than his hands. His devotion fills vaults. Aren’t they spilling with emeralds, rubies, sapphires, diamonds— those reckless imitations of your gaze? No-one else could deserve them, adore them like he does.

And they’ve nothing on the real thing.

Someone clears their throat and Sylus tracks the noise begrudgingly. The anxious waiter is back, clutching menus this time. You sit up fully, laughing to break the tension, and sure enough, Sylus feels less like hurling the man through the nearest window.

He’s still thinking about it though. He tells the waiter as much with a smile, and the menus are passed over with shaking hands. When Sylus says, “thank you,” it sounds like a bomb, ticking.

“Play nice,” you tut, once the waiter’s cleared the blast radius.

“Sweetie, when do I ever not play nice?”

You blink back at him disbelievingly. This should be good. “How about the time that you—?”

A familiar ringtone interrupts you, and your eyes widen in apology as you grab at your bag, rifling around for your phone. You find it— check the call and decline it— but relief is hiding, refusing to set foot on stage. Not yet, it confers to Sylus darkly, because it knows what comes next.

“Do you need to…?” he asks anyway.

“Nah, it was just Rafayel. Thanks, though.” You set the phone down. “Where was I?”

“You were about to tell me what a terribly bad man I am, sweetie.”

“Right!” you giggle. No, not yet. “So how about the time that you…” The phone rings again. You check it. Decline it. “How about the time that you—ugh!” It’s ringing again.

Sylus taps a finger on the table, impatiently patient. You can’t mute the wretched thing: the next call you miss would be a Wanderer, tearing through an orphanage or the like. It’s the reason you check, even when there’re no orphans at stake— just a pest of an artist with too much time on his hands.

Except… “Oh,” you say, glancing downwards, “it’s Zayne. I should probably—” Sylus gives a half-smile of blessing, but you weren’t waiting around for it— “hey, Zayne! I can’t talk right now, unless— Raf? What the hell? How did you get Zayne’s phone?”

You pull yours away from your ear as a string of whines come through:

“— ignore my calls, don’t even text me to ask what’s up, and then pick up his call right away? You hate me, right? Just say that you hate me, cutie.”

“I don’t hate you, Raf.” The phone is back to your ear. “I’m busy. Now seriously, how did you get— oh, hi, Zayne. Why is Raf…?” Sylus can hear a deeper voice answering your questions. “He’s at the—? Shit, is he okay? Ugh, tell him I can hear him. Tell him I know he’s not dying.”

You meet Sylus’s eyes as conflict erupts on the other end of the call. Sorry, you mouth as static filters through, interspersed with broken words and curses. The doctor’s voice prevails. “Yeah, Zayne,” you speak back to it. “I’ll call Thomas, get him to pick him up. Mmhmm? Oh!” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I forgot, he’s at that stupid art thing. Look, maybe later, I can…”

The artist’s shrill tone is protesting.

“I know it’s my job, Raf!” you counter. “But gimme a break, please. If it was any other night, you know I’d be there. Of course I wanna be there! But I can’t—”

It’s just a slip of the tongue— words you don’t even realise you’re saying— but Sylus still feels his heart sink. He hates it. A heart is so difficult to argue with: it’s long gone before you can talk any sense into it. He stands from the table, those priceless eyes of yours pursuing him. When you tilt your head, he musters a smile, then a weak excuse: “I’m just stepping outside for a moment.”

You nod, a follow-up question on the tip of your tongue, but then there’s a voice in your ear again— two voices— and you’re you, so of course you listen.

…

Sylus waits on a bench outside the restaurant, closing his eyes as he waits for his heart to come back.

It’s only been a few minutes. He’s thinking about your eyes, your nose and lips— an inch from his— and how he should have closed that gap before it grew treacherous. Shouldn’t he be done with this? This… longing? You’re his. You’ve told him you’re his, over and over again, but he finds himself needing to hear it once more; the ghost of your voice is starting to lack persuasion.

He is yours without exception, but you? There’s always a caveat. I’m yours, Sylus. But only so long as the city is quiet. I’m yours, Sylus. Until someone else calls. The door to the restaurant opens— he can hear it— but he doesn’t open his eyes. He wants to pretend.

I’m yours, Sylus. No caveats. No exceptions.

“Sylus.”

He swallows the dread in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” you entreat softly. His eyes open, and you’re wearing your coat, holding your bag. “I have to run to the hospital— it’s this whole thing. Raf, like, passed out or something. He’s not been eating again. Zayne said when something like this keeps happening, it’s a sign that… yeah. He just… needs someone. And he hasn’t got anyone else, you know?”

“I understand.” You’re worried about your friend. That’s all it is.

Why can’t he believe that’s all it is?

You come over and sink down on the bench beside him, looping your arm through his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Don’t you know that he’s afraid? That a selfish, spiteful part of him wants to hide you— with the rest of his treasures— away from the light, so he can love you in the dark?

There’s a sigh as you lean against him, savouring his touch like the wine one swirls in a glass when their thoughts are elsewhere. It’s gone in a mouthful; you check your watch, and he hopes it’s bitter.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

No, he would rather be sweet for you, but look at you— making him lie. “I’m okay,” he says, and it doesn’t have a drop of conviction. He’s tired of philanthropy.

…

“What are you gonna do? Come on, tell us. Tell us! What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know, Luke. Give me a second, okay? Jeez.”

You literally just got here. Your pace is brisk and the night air still clings to you— you shed a layer of it by peeling your arms out of your coat. Luke and Kieran are close behind, keeping to your heels like terriers hoping you’ll trip with a plateful of food. They’ll take even a crumb at this point.

“You gonna fight him?” Kieran nudges, but your lips stay tight.

“Oh, you’re so gonna fight him,” Luke takes away from the silence.

You don’t know what you’re going to do. You’ve reached a decadent lounge, lavished with black and gold, and you throw your coat over the arm of a chair before starting to wrestle off your combat boots. You’ve been off work for hours, but it doesn’t feel like it. One call-to-duty after another; first the hospital, now this.

Mephisto caws in greeting from a nearby perch. “I’m not gonna fight him,” you say as your second boot drops with a clunk. “I just need to—”

“Say no more,” Luke cuts you off. “We want in.”

With a tired sigh, you gaze up at the twins at last. Kieran is readying a fist: punching his hand softly, the beak of his mask low and threatening. Beside him, Luke swings a baseball bat over his shoulder. He didn’t have it a second ago. Where did he even—?

You put your hands on your hips. “You guys got a death wish or something?”

“Yes!” they enthuse together, nodding excitedly.

You haven’t got time to ask. Your focus drifts to Sylus’s bedroom door, where music is leaking with honeylike light. You can’t count the number of times you’ve fallen over that threshold, exhausted— always slightly broken. You want to crawl into cool silk sheets and a warmer embrace, but there’s one small problem.

The text that had brought you here, anxious and out of breath:

Boss is with someone.

“What’re you thinking?”

You’re closer to the door, now, and Luke’s whisper makes you jump. You spin, twisting the bat from his fingers and pushing him back until the tip is pressed to his throat. “Get back,” you hiss, before levelling the weapon at an encroaching Kieran, “both of you.”

Luke leaps behind his brother— swinging him between you for protection. The baseball bat stays hovering, and Luke peeks over Kieran’s shoulder, swatting at it like an indignant kitten.

“Stop it,” you scold, poking back at his hand and his masked face. “Begone!”

“Yes, boss!” Kieran goes to move, but Luke is holding him in place. He’s dragged backwards: a human shield until they can both scurry around the turn of a corridor.

You smile fondly. You forget, for just a moment, that you’re alone and full of uncertainty. The song in the next room lulls, at its inevitable end, and then you can’t forget. You’re stood in silence, staring at a door you’ve never had to knock before. Another song starts up.

Whatever this is, you can handle it.

You use the baseball bat to tap against the dark wood. “Sylus?” you call.

He makes you wait. You can hear him, moving around— unmistakably taking his time— but you don’t mind. You’re running scenarios through your head. Is he in on this, too? Or…?

He opens the door and oh, he definitely is. His silk robe hangs haphazardly over his figure, one side threatening to slip from his shoulder and the belt dangerously loose at the middle. A flush is tinting his face, spreading down through his neck, past his collarbone and lower, you think, but you’re trying not to look.

“Sweetie,” he purrs in the way that tells you he’s up to no good, “what a pleasant surprise.” His eyes flit downwards. “And you’re armed, too.”

There’s a breathlessness to the observation, and your ability to breathe briefly eludes you as well. His hair is damp and unkempt, his skin warm, his gaze hot. Is this a test? It feels like a test.

“Are you alone?” you snap, because he’s clearly put some thought into whatever it is, and you’re a good sport, so you’ll play along.

“No,” he says, but then: “You know you’re always with me in spirit, kitten. Even if not in—” another downwards glance— “body.”

“Sylus.”

“Mmm?”

“I’m going to ask you one more time.” You catch his chin with your free hand, forcing his gaze back to your face. “And I want a real answer.” He swallows thickly. “Are you alone?”

His submission is fragile. He lifts his hand, wraps his fingers around your wrist like a reminder of the fact. “Careful, sweetie.” His grip tightens as his voice drops. “Think about what you’re asking.”

“I know what I’m asking.” You snatch your hand free and step closer. “Get out of my way.”

Sylus narrows his eyes, but soon relaxes. He sweeps a hand through his hair, chuckling as he obeys— moving aside to let you past. You storm through, looking over every visible inch of his room. There’s nothing to see, of course. No clothes that aren’t yours pooled over the floor. No lover wrapped up in his bedsheets.

“Just what exactly are you looking for?” he asks smugly behind you.

“Save it, Sylus.” Your pretend patience is gone. “The twins told me everything.”

So you start searching more strenuously. You make your way over to his bed, baseball bat slung over your shoulder as you check behind the far side— even stooping to peek under it. You open the wardrobe. Nothing. Use the baseball bat to push back the curtains, letting in more blood-red moonlight. Nothing. You huff in frustration.

“You know, don’t you?” Sylus says quietly.

He’s leant against the doorway, arms crossed, and you spare him a glance. “Know what?”

“That there’s no-one here.”

It sounds like defeat. “I’m taking this very seriously, actually,” you dismiss as you roll open the drawer of his bedside table, where no-one is hiding. You move on to even more absurd places: lifting flowers out of their vase to glance about inside it, peering into the horn of his vintage gramophone.

You’d hoped your antics would elicit at least a short laugh, or a scoff of amusement. There’s nothing, though, so you plonk onto the bed— defeated, yourself— and look to the man as you set your weapon down.

He looks back with an insincere smile. “How did you know?”

“That you weren’t really with someone? Because you’re you, Sylus. The key to a good prank?” Your fingers twinkle in the air beside your head. “Believability. Besides—” now a forefinger taps at your temple— “nothing gets past this.”

“Your ego?” he guesses with a smirk that is sincere, if nothing else.

“My brain, Sy.”

“Ah.”

Your ego— tsk. Your feet are dangling from the bed, playing with a slipper they’ve fished out from underneath it, and you have half a mind to launch it at him. This doesn’t feel like one of your usual games, though, and you’ve had a whole ride through the N109 Zone to figure out why.

“I really hurt you, didn’t I?” you speak like a confession, staring down at the floor so you don’t have to meet his eyes. “That’s what all this is about, right? You wanted to get back at me for dinner?”

“No, I—”

“I get it.” Your feet find the second slipper. “I do. I mean, it was a really shitty thing to do— walking out on you like that. Especially after you waited for me. You went to all that effort, and I— ah.” You’ve toed one of the slippers out of reach.

“Allow me,” comes a voice that’s suddenly close. Sylus’s figure looms over you before he’s crouching, kneeling by your feet. He still looks like a mess of sin, but he’s gentle as he retrieves the slipper for you. Removes your socks for you. Slides a slipper onto each of your cold feet. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he mutters.

You let out a sigh. “Sylus.” You’re scolding him, and he gazes up at you, his eyes garnets of adoration only you could afford. “You can tell me anything, you know.”

“I know, sweetie.”

“So why won’t you tell me how you feel?”

He sits back on his knees, his thumb drawing circles on the inside of your ankle. The ministrations are mindless, and so are his words: “How I feel is not important.”

“Of course it is!” You pull away from him. “Don’t say things like that.”

“But I thought I could tell you anything, kitten.”

It’s a nick from a blade that could do much worse; he wants you to feel how sharp it is. His smile is a warning and he’s waiting for the hunter in you to strike back, because violence is what you’re good at. What you’re both good at. It hurts, but it’s easy.

You shift forward on the bed. “Sylus… you don’t need to protect me. Not from you. Not from anything you feel. I want you to be happy, to tell me if you’re unhappy. I don’t need you to—” your fingers skirt over his chest and you falter inexplicably— “to sacrifice yourself for me.”

Sylus looks down to where you’re tracing the shape of his heart on his skin. He lets out a long, beleaguered breath, then leans closer to you, his head turning away as he settles it on your lap. Your hands find his hair instinctually, threading through it in slow, meandering motions.

“I want you to be mine,” he admits on another sigh.

He can’t see you smile, but he’ll hear it in your voice: “I am yours, Sy—”

“No— just mine.”

He won’t make it a demand. Even asking you nicely has him breathless and still, like the drawn-out pause of a finished symphony. Your hands stop moving, out of respect for the quiet. You’re remembering the times you’ve been late out of your building because you’d stumbled into Xavier in the lobby. The doctor’s appointments that always overrun, and Rafayel’s ‘emergency’ phone calls.

“Come and sit with me,” you mumble, patting the bed beside you.

When Sylus does, it’s with the same reluctance a cat surrenders a sliver of sun. Lazy and listless— still warm from the light. The bed sinks under his weight and you turn to face him. His robe’s collar has fallen further, so you hook a finger under it to draw it back up to his neck. Then you straighten the lapels, smoothing them over distractedly.

He’s watching your face, not the movements of your hands. Your cheeks feel warm. “I was speaking to Rafayel earlier, and we—”

A groan, and Sylus is no longer at your fingertips; he’s flopped down backwards on the bed, his hand over his face. You can’t help giggling— you’ve broken the big, bad boss of Onychinus, it seems. Is that all it takes? You grin as you lie down with him, settling on your side, propped up on an elbow. He doesn’t stir when you fix a few stray strands of his hair.

“We talked about boundaries,” you continue. “How I can’t be on call twenty-four seven, and how he’s going to take better care of himself, so I don’t have to be.”

Sylus has moved his hand, ever so slightly.

There’s more: “I’m gonna call in sick to work tomorrow. I made a deal with Xavier, that’s why I stayed late today. He’ll cover for me.” You shift closer. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I know I can’t always be with you, but I am always thinking of you, I promise. You’re always with me in spirit, Sy, even if not in—” you press a quick kiss to his chest— “body.”

He chuckles at the words, or maybe the touch tickled.

You grin down at him. “I’m yours. Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

“No! Ugh, just—” Smart-ass! You flick his forehead as he laughs quietly. “Not the words ‘I’m yours’, say that I’m—”

His hand is at your face, pulling you in so he can kiss you. It’s slow and it’s patient; he’s taking his time, and you won’t slip away. You can feel his smile. “You’re mine,” he murmurs when he finally withdraws. One more kiss, lighter, on the tip of your nose. “Just mine.”

Always. You let him pull you into an embrace, snuggling into his warmth like you’ve been wanting to from the moment you last left it. You can hear his heartbeat beneath the lullaby of his breath. “Sy?” you whisper.

“Hmm?”

“You look really hot when you’re pretending to cheat on me.”

He scoffs, but a yawn comes before his response. “Don’t get any ideas, kitten.”

Your quiet is pensive. “I have this lunch with Zayne later this week. I really should text him to find out—”

The grip around you constricts, and a voice is in your ear, soft and possessive:

“What did I just say?”

#🖋rach is actually writing #sylus x reader #sylus #love and deepspace #lads sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #qin che #sylus x mc #sylus x you #lads x reader #lads #lnds #l&ds

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eiightysixbaby · 1 year ago

Note

hi there! i'm OBSESSED with your eddie works and I had a lil request for u!

(if this is out of your comfort zone, I totally get btw, i'm just actually hormonal rn)

thinking about reader and eddie while she's ovulating and absolutely, positively feral... maybe they've only been together for a little while and they've fucked before, but he's never really seen that side of her... idk i'm just thinking a lot of thoughts rn

thanks! 💞

hi angel! thank you so much!!! 🥹🫶🏻 i hope i did your request justice 🩵

18+ only plssss. fem!reader, unprotected piv

The clock ticks obnoxiously where it hangs on the wall, marking each passing second that won’t pass fast enough.

It’s not unusual for a shift at the library to go slowly, but today time feels like it’s trudging through thick molasses; barely crawling by. Or maybe it’s just going backwards at this point, who knows.

You chew at the cap of your pen, reading the same sentence of the novel in front of you over and over yet not fully comprehending it. Trying to ignore the desperate ache between your thighs, the heat that pools in the pit of your stomach. It had been a relentless desire for the last couple of hours, a hunger that couldn’t be sated just yet.

But the promise of seeing your boyfriend after work had you chewing-through-your-leash desperate for your shift to end. You know Eddie had a nice dinner planned for the two of you tonight, but all you can think about is how badly you need his hands on you. It makes you feel bad, but you can’t rid yourself of thoughts of his lips on your neck, his fingers splitting you open, your hips grinding against him. This always happens when you’re ovulating, only this time… you’re not hiding it.

The last couple of times, you’d made do with your vibrator at home; embarrassed to let Eddie see this side of you. Your relationship was still quite new, and you weren’t sure if ripping his clothes off any chance you got would scare him away or not. This time, though? You can’t hold back any longer.

The end of your shift arrives at long last, and you practically fling yourself from your receptionist chair. You gather your belongings with haste, throwing everything into your shoulder bag before hightailing it out the door. Your keys jangle as you fumble with them, searching for the correct one to unlock your car. Eddie will be expecting you, although maybe not expecting you in the state that you’re in.

It doesn’t take long to get to the trailer park, your thighs pressing together in an attempt to provide even the smallest amount of friction as you drive along familiar roads. Your car is barely in park before you’re killing the engine, ascending the few steps to his trailer door and swinging it open without a knock to alert anyone inside. Wayne isn’t home anyway, so really what do you need to knock for?

Eddie’s frame appears in his bedroom doorway down the small hallway, his face brightening at the sight of you. You feel like you’re sweating just looking at him, your clothes suddenly too tight as the space between your thighs vibrates with need.

“Hey, baby. I didn’t expect you so soon, did you fly over here?” Eddie asks, a lighthearted joke, but he’s not far from the truth.

You don’t even answer him, slipping off your shoes before you’re trodding down the hallway, throwing your arms around his neck when you reach him.

“Baby, what’s—” he starts to speak, only for you to cut him off with a hot kiss to his lips. His voice dies against your mouth, fizzling into a soft whimper as you tug his bottom lip between your teeth.

“Missed you so bad,” you murmur. Your nervousness over how he’d react is tossed out the window, unwilling to wait any longer. “And I’ve been wanting you all fucking day,” you ramble, kissing him between words. “I need you,” you plead, letting a hand fumble with his belt buckle.

He makes a sound that’s halfway between a gasp and a laugh, kissing you before speaking. “Do you not want to go to dinner?” he asks, tilting his head slightly to the side.

“I do,” you admit with a pout. “But I need you right now.” Your hands are on a mission, palming him urgently through denim as if he might disappear any second, never to be touchable again.

The corner of his mouth twitches up in a soft smirk, his thumbs rubbing over your hipbones where his hands hold them.

“I’ve never seen you this needy, sweetheart,” he teases you, brushing his lips across the shell of your ear before he bites at the lobe. “But I like it.”

You whine at this, the slightest touch, and he breathes a quiet laugh.

“Please, Eddie, don’t tease,” you beg as he noses your chin up, kissing at your neck.

He doesn’t listen, taking his time trailing kisses down your soft skin and letting his hands wander but never close enough to where you need him. You can feel yourself dripping, making a mess of your panties. His big hands squeeze your ass, taking greedy handfuls. You let out a moan, louder than you’d intended, earning the nip of his teeth against your skin. Taunting.

You’re riled up, frustrated beyond belief, huffing where you stand before you decide you’ve had enough.

You press your hands to his chest, pushing him off of you. He’s surprised by the action, giving you the opportunity to grab the collar of his shirt, pulling him over to his bed and letting him fall onto the mattress. He sits on the edge of it, looking up at you equal parts dumbfounded and turned on. Your hands hurriedly undo the hefty buckle on his belt, unzipping his jeans as you start to straddle his lap. His cock is throbbing, leaking as it lays in waiting in your hand once you retrieve it from its confines.

“Told you not to tease,” you say. His big brown eyes roam over your face, his pretty lips parted just slightly in a state of awe. “I need you to fuck me. Now.”

��Yes ma’am,” he obeys, but it’s less him doing the work and more you taking control.

You ruck your skirt up, pushing the fabric of your panties to the side and lining yourself up with his cock, sliding slowly down onto the length of him. Your name escapes his lips as his leaves yours, already starting to rock your hips against his.

He holds you firmly in place on his lap, guiding your movements to the best of his ability. The stretch he provides you with is delicious, exactly what you’d been craving, the entirety of him filling you up perfectly.

“You’re so fucking soaked, baby,” he remarks, bringing one hand up to briefly run through his messy curls, his cheeks already flushed pink. “Feel bad you had to wait so long for me while you’ve been this worked up.”

He’s teasing you, kind of. Pitying you in a way that only makes you ache further. You bounce faster on him, steadying yourself with your hands on his shoulders. He’s cursing under his breath as you’re fucking yourself on his length, riding him with a fervor and determination he hasn’t seen from you yet. He finds it hotter than he’d have ever expected, seeing you in such a state, and it’s taking everything he has not to finish early.

Lucky for him you aren’t far behind, desperate to cum after waiting all day. He lets one of his thumbs lazily circle your clit, sensing your desire to let go in the way your brows furrow in concentration.

Strings of moans tumble from your mouth, curse after curse of his name as you quicken your pace. Your head tips back, pure ecstasy coursing through you as you take what you want from him unashamedly. The rough pad of his finger on your clit makes you feel like you’re on fire, ablaze beneath his touch. His hips buck to meet your bounces, the tip of his cock pressing over and over against your sweet spot.

“Eddie—” you gasp, just as you fall apart on top of him. Your walls grip him like a vice, making him bite down on his lip.

He works you through your high, pulling out when he can’t possibly hold off his orgasm any longer. He pumps his cock in his fist a few times before he spills against your skin, cum dripping down your pussy.

Both panting, sweaty messes, you meet each other’s eyes and laugh.

“Feel better now, sweets?” he asks, lips pressing against yours in a heated kiss.

You break away momentarily, cradling his face in your hands. “You have no idea.”

He smiles. “Well, for what it’s worth, you have permission to use me whenever you need me.”

“Thank god,” you sigh, smiling against his cheek. “Cause I don’t think I’m done for the night.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfic #leah’s got mail 💌

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princesssmars · 1 year ago

Text

sweet✰honey✰buckin

a rodeo!abby x reader. | p.ii

its a hot spring in the south and rodeo season is here. your hunt for a new fling leads you to an up-and-coming hotshot bull rider with an aversion to groupies. maybe you can change her mind.

wc : 2.509

contains : fxf relationship. barely attempted country slang. fluff. smut. oral and penetrative sex (r!receiving). nicknames (baby, darlin', a single bunny).

a/n : yeah guess who just listened to cowboy carter. idk why i posted about this before writing a single word but i didn't procrastinate this time yall clap it up and enjoy.

if you think about it, this was really all dolly partons' fault.

you could still picture the first time you saw her, the grainy recording on your grandmother's television, the gentle melodies from the blonde bombshell wrapping around you like a warm hug. you'd only been exposed to the south for a few weeks, and you already knew who you wanted your role model to be.

and the buckle bunny stuff also wasn't your fault! you were gorgeous, as people so loved to remind you at every twist and turn. and maybe you used your looks to your advantage sometimes. the first time was when you batted your eyelashes to make a boy do your project a day before it was due in junior year. he was... good-looking, you supposed. smart enough to be on the chess team, so he would do.

so you went to a little party with your friends that night. a spacious house, nice music, and good enough booze. everything was normal until you saw her. she was lean and mysterious, and under the lid of her black ridge top hat you could see her eyes tracking your body as you danced

so yes, her eating you in the back seat of her truck until you cried, holding down your hips when you tried to move changed your brain chemistry just a bit.

now a few years later, you're a little taller, a little smarter, and have collected a handful of studs for your belt. sure you've collected a...not so savory reputation in some of the local bars, but it was nothing a smile and a little flirting couldn't help. and its only going to get better; as the air warms and the trees bloom pussy spirit starts buzzing, and you know rodeo season is upon you again.

it was a hot night at the cow belle and the people even hotter as you scoped the scene from the rim of your glass. you and your friends were perched at the bar, daisy dukes heightened and crop tops tied under your busts.

"i heard red devil rosie'd be here tonight," savannah whispers to your group from beside you, her tall dark legs relaxed with her arm resting on the wood behind you. she always had a bit of a thing for redheads, and she'd had her eyes on rosie ever since it got around that she'd broken up with her fiancee.

"jesus, sav, the poor girl just got heartbroken, now you already wanna jump her bones?" charlize laughs, taking a hard swig of the beer in her hand. standing at a solid five feet and four inches tall the little kentuckian was a handful, always the first in line to ride a mechanical bull or jump in the front of a line dance.

"whats that saying men always use? as soon as you lose one hop on a 'nother?"

"you are deplorable."

as the girls banter back and forth your eyes focus on the rising commotion at the front of the bar. with a slight rise on your toes, making sure not to scuff your boots, and you can't help the growing smile on your face when you spot that blonde hair pushed down by her signature brown stetson.

abigail anderson, the rodeo's angel. she'd only been in the circuit for under two years and sponsors were lining up and begging for her to go pro. it was always easy to spot her, frequently trailed by her already professional friends manny alvarez and owen moore, along with a handful of groupies begging her to look their way.

luckily for you, manny had flirted with you a few weeks back and remained friendly after you turned him down, and he was heading straight towards you while his friends headed to a booth.

"oh god, hide your wives and girlfriends, the buckle brood is here!" he laughs, thanking the bartender for his beer and taking a swig.

"whatever manny, you're just upset our darling here didn't give you a chance." savannah winks.

"i think god was doing me a favor. y'know dixie's been trying to call you for about a week? the poor girls even thought about sending a bouquet. dixie. a bouquet."

"i made it clear before we slept together it would be a one-time thing. 's not my fault she wants more." you sigh.

that just makes the man laugh harder. he chats it up with charlize about how the rankings are looking when he notices how your gaze keeps wandering off, following your eye straight to-

"no."

"hm? i didnt say anything!"

"you said it with your eyes. and im gonna tell you with my mouth that you don't stand a chance. abby hates groupies." he shakes his head.

"abby, huh? i like it." manny grows exasperated as his words go in one ear and out the other. "'n and im technically not a groupie. never seen the woman in my life before now."

"well, look don't touch. or maybe don't look at all, before you put a spell on her or somethin."

you pout, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck and bring him into a hug. you see abby look your way in the corner of your eye and make sure to stretch your torso just a tiny bit until you're able to feel the bottom of your shirt ride up just that much more. when you see her eyes trail down your waist you hide a smile into the side of your arm.

you let the man go with a sweet goodbye, watching as he grabs two more beers and heads over to the booth and twisting your head before you can catch the blondes gaze.

its only a few minutes later when manny comes back with wide eyes and invites you over to sit with them.

sitting across from her, you can see why people are so attracted to her. she’s big, her muscles bulging out from the sleeves in her plaid shirt. despite her size she doesn’t try to take up more space then needed; confident but not cocky.

she clearly notices your glances, and maybe even the smile on your face when one of her past flings with a girl is brought up in conversation.

“so, you’ve had girlfriends before?” you ask, stirring your cocktail with the little colorful umbrella that came with it.

“no no, don’t answer that, you’ll regret it.” owen butts in, meeting your glare. you’d never talked before, but you were pretty sure you had slept with his fiancée a few years ago. last you’d heard they’d had a baby, maybe you’d offer to babysit sometime.

“why not? are you a groupie?” abby asks.

“can’t be a groupie if i barely know who you are. so why don’t we get to know each other better. preferably in private.”

“whatever you say, darlin.”

you hear the sudden sounds of a few hoots and claps and a familiar song that they always play to get people dancing.

“why don’t you show me some of your moves, big girl?”

she rolls her eyes, letting out a quiet sigh before following you onto the dance floor.

as much as she’s trying to fight it, you can tell abby is enjoying herself, learning quickly as you show her the moves to the dance. you’re a bit surprised she doesn’t know it already until she tells you she’s originally from utah.

“what, they don’t have country bars out in salt lake.”

“no, not like this. at least i never went to any of them.”

“wellll if you ever need a tour guide i’m available. whenever you want me.”

“god, manny told me about you.”

“really? what’s he say? i can probably guess.”

“so you know everybody thinks you’re a playgirl who sleeps with cowgirls for damn near a living and you don’t care?”

you shrug. “‘m just young and having fun. maybe everyone else, including you, is too uptight.”

“oh really? and what, you're supposed to help me loosen up?” she raises a single eyebrow. you don't answer, deciding to just look at her face for a while.

you like how pretty she is. the soft blue of her big eyes, the freckles dotted across her face that trail down her neck and disappear into her shirt. you feel pride in your chest when you see her cheeks redden.

when the song ends you pull away from her, ready to go over and tell your friends goodbye when a large hand grips your wrist, tugging your body back to its previous position. before you can question her you feel the weight of her hat sitting on your head.

"well? you gonna answer my question?"

you can still remember the looks on your friends face's when abby told them she was heading home, still gripping your hand. manny looked like he had just seen pigs fly.

it was hard to ignore the way she didn't let go of you until she was driving or the looks she was giving you when she was looking at the road, or how desperate she was when you finally got her here, dragging you to her room and attaching her strap like she'd die if she didn't get you in bed.

"i don't see what the big fuss is about, this really isn't that hard." you tease her, admiring the way she whines when you refuse to let her wrists go from your hands, using all your strength to keep her from flipping you over

but maybe you should learn when to shut your mouth because she roughly starts bucking her hips, smiling at the euphoric look on your face before you hide your face in her neck, trying and failing to muffle your moans.

"what? i thought you said this was easy?" she laughs when she hears your muffled groan, failing to ignore when you roughly bite her. you can tell she's getting frustrated at being restrained, her hands clenching into fists and repeatedly trying to get them from under your hands. "fuckin - cmon, baby, lemme help you."

god, she was so cute. you'd never say it out loud but you liked all the little nicknames she gave you, the gentle kisses she would place on your skin when she was warming you up for her. if you didn't have a one-time policy you would have chosen to keep her around. just for a little while.

but you could also see the inner turmoil in her eyes, the battle between dominance and submission. when you first met her you thought she'd be a stone top, so you decide to take advantage and reach one of your hands up to her hair and pull, forcing a loud moan from her as her mouth gaped open.

"not so uptight now, are you?" you laugh, awwing at her when she lets out a small whine.

you didnt realize until it was too late that it was a mistake to underestimate her because she was attaching her hands to your hips, planting her feet on the bed, and thrusting up into you like a wild bull, sucking a mark into your chest like she can't see you struggling to breathe.

"yeah, that's it. not so easy now, is it darlin'?"

and oh how you hate how you can't answer her, only able to muster up a weak glare as the pleasure grows, feeling the burning heat gross in your stomach. you're trying to hold off, not ready for this to end just yet, and hating the satisfied look on her face when your shaky arms wrap around her neck.

"you gettin' close, baby?" she maneuvers your legs to spread wider, hitting that spot inside you at just the right angle. god, everything feels so hot and overwhelming and so damn good-

"that's it, show me how pretty you look cummin around me." once she reaches a hand down and roughly rubs your clit it's over, moaning and gasping her name as your orgasm hits you like a freight train. she never stops her movements, in fact, you think she goes harder once she feels your nails dig into her arms.

your head flops onto her shoulder, basking in your post-orgasm bliss as her large hands rub up and down your back. mind hazy, you feel yourself drifting off and giving yourself a mental pat on the back when you're shocked upwards by a fierce thrust from below you, wide eyes darting to abby's.

"what, ya thought we were finished? if you wanna claim me you gotta earn it, bunny."

"oh no, abby i cant-" you try to decline, not sure you can take another before she presses you back into her sheets, manhandling your legs over her shoulders and your arms under your back. she can tell you're about to fight it because she's pushing her strap into you again.

it's embarrassing how close you are already after a few minutes, unable to move as she splits you open in a damn mating press. trying to hide your face in the sheets is futile so you have no choice but to keep eye contact with her, which only brings you closer to the edge because she's looking at you like she wants to fuck you until she physically can't anymore.

she's quieter now but you can hear her mumbling under her breath about how 'you're too damn fine, jesus you're gonna be the death of me,' and the next thing you know you're both cumming, feeling the wet mess grow between your legs.

she sinks into you, boneless on top of you as she gently rubs at your sides as you do the same for her head. after a few minutes she gets up, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips at your soft whine at the strap leaving you before heading off to the bathroom to get a washcloth.

it's gentle as you both clean the other, softly trailing the rag down her arms as she observes you. its almost...domestic. which you haven't done in quite a while. it feels nice.

when she gets up to throw it in the hamper you reach for your clothes on the floor before she questions you.

"excuse me, what do you think you're doin?"

"uhh...leaving?"

"nope, bad manners if i let you go home now," she tosses you a shirt from one of her drawers, finding her own pajamas before flopping on her bed. "i don't know what kinda girls in the circuit you've been seein', but I'm not like that."

you're on the fence, rubbing the fabric of her large shirt before putting it on and settling in next to her. it couldn't hurt just to sleep with her, right? "fine. but you should know i don't normally do...this."

"me neither. but there's a first time for everything, right?" she smiles, rubbing your hip from over the shirt before trailing it under. "besides, maybe we can go again in the morning. still need to prove to you I'm not uptight."

thank god for dolly parton.

sorry if this is shorter than expected i feel like death. can we all do rodeo!abby this summer. pretty please.

taglist : @euphternal @jupiter-502 @vqxen @youcallmeconnor @andersonlore i love you guys im giving you kisses rn

#rodeo!abby #buckle bunny!reader #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson #abby anderson smut #abby #tlou #abby x reader #tlou2 #tlou 2 #tlou smut #tlou x reader

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cowboybeepboop · 8 months ago

Text

Fling

“God damn it Y/N... you're going to be the death of me.”

Pairing: Tyler Owens x fem! Reader

Genre: Smut

Word count: 2.5k

Summary: Fucking during a storm

Warnings: Public sex, unprotected sex, p in v, not proofread.

a/n: I’m currently posting a little bit of everything so if you have any requests for any fandom you can send it my way and I’ll do my best :) Also idk this one is just a random ass idea I had

You and Tyler have been sneaking around for a couple months, the rest of the team doesn’t know about it. It first started with a drunk hookup but then you couldn’t get him out of your mind.

It’s nothing too serious, at least not right now. Tyler isn’t exactly sure what you two are yet, but he knows he’s a lot more protective and possessive in you than he’s ever been with any other girl. He doesn’t share you with the guys and tries to subtly mark his territory in public, something you’re entirely obvious to.

You yawn as you step out of your motel room, nearly crashing into Tyler who’s standing with a coffee in his hand.

Tyler reaches his arm out stopping you from falling, one hand around your waist and the other holding the coffee. “Woah, watch where you’re going darlin.” He chuckles.

“What are you doing? Creeping outside my room?” You tease, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Tyler chuckles again as he stands you steady, taking a sip of his coffee. “Well I was waiting for you to get your sleepy ass out of there! It’s like 9am. The hell have you been doing in there?”

“Maybe I had company,” you keep the teasing tone, walking down the stairs with Tyler at your heels.

Tyler grabs your wrist stopping you from walking any farther, making you turn to face him, the two of you still on the stairs. “You didn’t…?” He asks looking down at you, his fingers still wrapped around your wrist.

You giggle softly, “Of course not.” You walk down the stairs to the truck greeting Boone and the rest of the team.

The day of chasing starts very eventfully, you’re sat in the passenger side of Tyler’s truck. It’s just the two of you, Boone and Lily in the other vehicles for once.

Throughout the day, Tyler finds himself stealing glances of you in the passenger seat, the thought of anyone else “visiting” you this morning has been on his mind all day, even throughout chases. He’s always had a possessive side but for some reason it’s ten times stronger with you.

You reach over placing your hand on his thigh, your eyes are focused on the storm in front of the vehicle.

Tyler almost flinches slightly to your touch, but then he relaxes, your hand on his thigh is now the only thing he can focus on. He glances down at it before returning his eyes to the road, clearing his throat a little awkwardly before speaking. “You really didn’t… have any visitors this morning did you?” He asks, trying to sound nonchalant but only coming off as a bit jealous.

“Tyler of course not,” you laugh. “Is that why you’ve been so sour today? You know I was just teasing you.”

He sighs, a look of slight relief coming over his face as he realizes you were just teasing him. “I know you were. I just couldn’t help but think you were getting up to something. You were sleeping in awfully late this morning.” He glances over at you, a sly smile appearing on his face.

“Whatever, I was just tired.” You retort. “But you know.. I’ve been thinking,”

He raises his eyebrows as he continues to pay attention to the road, he’s all too familiar with the tone you’re using right now. “Oh, have you? And what have you been thinking about?”

“It’s just, there’s something I wanna try..” you rub soft circles into his thigh.

Tyler can feel the heat from your hand on his thigh radiating through his jeans. He shifts his legs apart slightly before speaking again.

“What is it? What do you wanna try?” His voice is low as he speaks, sounding as if he already knows where you’re going with this.

“Well, we’ve been chasing for a while, it’s thrilling and all but..” You gulp, cheeks flushed. “I’ve always wanted to have sex during a storm.. outside.”

Tyler almost swerves the car a little as your words register in his head. He wasn’t expecting you to be so blunt.

“Y-you wanna.. what?” He can feel the heat building in his face, but he manages to keep his voice steady.

“I’ve always thought it would be hot.. to do it outside, you know.” You move your hand further up his thigh.

Tyler lets out a soft groan, he glances out the window, the storm is getting further away as the tornado is dying out, and the sun is setting.

“You really wanna do it out here? In public?” He asks, knowing he’s not going to be able to deny you anything.

“We could.. do it in a barn or behind a building.” You chew on your bottom lip, eyes focused on his face.

Tyler’s fingers are gripping the steering wheel tightly as your words flood his mind. The way you’re looking at him is not helping either.

“Y-yeah, yeah a barn would work..” He chokes out, already considering the risks of someone seeing you two together in broad daylight.

“You think?” You perk up, shifting in your seat. “You’d actually.. want that?”

He glances at you, seeing how excited you are to do this in the first place. God when did he become such a pushover for you.

“Yeah. I’d want that. A lot actually.” He smiles devilishly, already scouting out a location in his mind.

You lean over pressing kisses to his neck, your hand sliding up his leg.

Tyler swallows hard, his fingers wrapping around your wrist to try and stop your hand from moving any higher.

“G-god damn it darlin. I’m driving.” He says, his breath hitching in his throat when your lips press against his neck.

“I know.. I just can’t help myself.” You whisper against his skin.

His hand tightens around your wrist as he looks over at you, taking in your eager form. He’s only human and he’s been craving your touch for so long. “You keep doing that and we ain’t gonna make it to a barn.”

You continue to pepper kisses against his flesh, your hand squeezing his thigh. “You have me so worked up..”

He grits his teeth as your hand continues to rub his thigh, your lips against his skin make it incredibly hard to focus on the road.

“Jesus darlin.. I think I see a barn up ahead. Hang on.” He swerves off to the side, quickly parking. He told the rest of the team to stay back while you two do the chasing. He leads you to the barn hand intertwined with yours.

Tyler pulls you through the barn door, shutting and barricading it behind you. He quickly pulls you behind a high stack of hay, his body immediately pressed up against yours.

“God damn it darlin.. I’ve been craving this all day.” You press your lips to his hungrily, the warring of the storm outside adding to the passion.

Tyler’s hands grip your waist, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth, desperate to taste you. He pushes you back against a wall, his body pinning you in place as he continues to kiss you passionately.

He pulls away for a moment taking in your form, your face is flushed and your breath is heavy. He’s never seen anything so beautiful before. “God damn it Y/N... you're going to be the death of me.”

“Ty.. I need you.” You pull your skirt up, leaning back against the wall. Your free hand pulls his body closer, fingers digging into his side.

He swallows hard, his gaze dropping to your legs as you pull up your skirt. His hands move to the front of his jeans, struggling to unbutton them.

“You have no idea what you're doing to me right now... I've been thinking about you all day.”

You help him, trying to free his erection as fast as you can. “Tyler, enough talking.” You kiss him hungrily, the wind whistling in the distance.

He pushes your hand away, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling them down just enough to free his aching erection. He pins you up against the wall, his hands moving up your legs, under your skirt. His hips roll against yours, desperate to relieve the pressure he's been feeling all day.

“God damn it..” He pants, his head falling forward as he tries to focus. He moves his face to your neck, his lips trailing kisses down to your collarbone.

You let out desperate moans, moving your panties to the side so he can slide inside you.

Tyler groans loudly as he pushes himself inside you, his hands now on your hips, pulling you closer to him as he bottoms out.

With a rough growl of desire, Tyler starts to thrust into you, his movements urgent and demanding as the wind outside seems to echo your own passion. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer as the barn creaks around you, muffling the sounds of your union.

Rain begins to pound against the roof, adding to the intensity of the moment as your bodies move together in a rhythm that feels almost primal. You can feel the storm's electricity in the air, mirroring the intensity of your own desires as Tyler claims you, right here in the middle of nature's fury.

The scent of damp earth and hay fills your nose, mixing with the musky scent of Tyler's body. The storm outside seems to fuel your passion, making every touch, every kiss feel more urgent and necessary than ever before.

With a fiery need burning through him, Tyler's hands slide up your body, gripping the soft flesh of your breasts as he kisses you deeply. His movements become more erratic, driven by the pounding of the rain and the crackle of thunder.

You arch into his touch, your nails digging into his back as you try to get closer, needing more of him. The barn feels alive around you, the storm's fury matching the tempestuous passion that has overtaken you both. Your breath mingles with his, coming out in short, ragged pants that sync with the increasing tempo of your love making.

Each thrust is met with a moan, the sound lost in the cacophony of the storm, as Tyler claims you over and over again, marking you as his in this most primitive of ways. The wind howls outside, but it's nothing compared to the intensity of your shared desire as you climb closer to the edge of pleasure, your bodies moving in a dance as old as time itself.

As the storm reaches its crescendo, so does Tyler's passion, his thrusts becoming more powerful and punctuated by the cracks of lightning that pierce the sky. You moan louder, your body responding eagerly to his every move. The sound of rain drumming against the barn roof is the only music to your symphony of desire.

He kisses you deeply, his teeth grazing your lower lip as he pulls back, leaving you gasping for breath. His eyes are filled with a fierce hunger, the kind that can only be satisfied by the person they're devouring. You can feel yourself tightening around him, the promise of release coiling in your belly like a serpent ready to strike.

Tyler's hands slide down to your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he lifts you off the ground, holding you in place against the wall. You wrap your legs tighter around his waist, the sensation of him filling you completely sending sparks through your body.

The world outside the barn is a whirlwind of chaos, but in here, all that matters is the two of you, lost in the eye of the storm, your bodies joined in the most intimate of ways. The barn feels like it's shaking with the force of your passion, and you know that you're about to reach the peak of the tempest together.

As the storm reaches its peak, Tyler's movements become more frenzied, his eyes never leaving yours as he feels you tighten around him, the signs of your impending climax written all over your face.

With a grunt of pure masculine need, he drives into you even harder, pushing you both closer to the precipice. You gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders, as you feel the beginnings of your orgasm start to build.

The thunder outside seems to sync with your heartbeat, the lightning flashing through the gaps in the barn's walls illuminating the sweat-drenched, desperate expressions on your faces. The wind howls around you, echoing the sounds of your passionate cries as you both give in to the intensity of the moment.

Your bodies are slick with sweat, your skin sticking together as you move in unison, the rain outside turning the hay beneath you into a wet, squelching mess that only serves to enhance the carnality of your encounter. And just as a particularly vivid bolt of lightning pierces the sky, casting a stark, white light across the barn, you both shudder in unison, reaching that pinnacle of pleasure and letting it crash over you like a wave, your cries of ecstasy joining with the thunder as you cling to each other, lost in the tempest of your love.

As the thunder rumbles in the aftermath of your shared climax, Tyler's arms tighten around you, his breathing ragged in your ear. He whispers sweet nothings, his words barely audible over the dwindling storm. He gently sets you back on your feet, kissing your forehead tenderly before helping you fix your clothes.

The barn feels warmer now, despite the chilly rain outside, the air thick with the scent of passion and the earthy aroma of wet hay. You both stand there for a moment, catching your breath, your eyes locked in an intimate gaze that speaks of secrets and promises unspoken. Tyler's hand lingers on your waist, his thumb brushing the soft skin just above your hip.

The storm outside begins to calm, the rain slowing to a gentle patter, almost as if it's giving you two a moment of peace after the tumultuous chaos. You lean into him, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, feeling the warmth of his body against yours.

The world outside seems so far away, and all that matters is the warmth and comfort you find in his embrace as the storm slowly fades away into the night.

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n0vazsq · 6 months ago

Text

Yours | LN4 x Reader

pairing . . . lando norris x best!friend!reader

summary . . . You and Lando were best friends, everyone knew that. But Lando couldn't help but feel different when you entered the Mclaren hospitality with your new boyfriend

request . . . yes!! based on this request!

word count . . . 1.3k+

warnings . . . angst, jealousy, possesive-ish lando if you squint

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . neck injury still there dni </3 but i'm like limiting myself to writing 3-5 fics a day so pls no more requests guys i beg until i write that joao felix fic (im joking you can request all you want)!! also i dont like this idk why its just not fic-ing </3 also ily if you notice the refrences

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @httpsdana (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

. . . Lando Norris never liked sharing you.

Not in kindergarten when you shared your animal crackers with Leo Thompson, not in middle school when you declared the boy from biology class 'kind of cute,' and certainly not in high school when you got your first boyfriend.

He tolerated it back then because, despite everything, you always came back to him. Always.

But now? Oh, now, it was Kygo. Kygo. The world renowned DJ with the perfect smile, perfect hair, perfect….everything.

Lando tried to brush it off at first, thinking it was just a fling.

"He's too busy," Lando told himself. "He won't stick around. She'll get bored of the jet setting life."

But months passed, and Kygo stuck around. Long enough for Miami to roll around, and suddenly Lando was living through his worst nightmare: seeing you two together, up close and personal.

The Miami Grand Prix weekend was a whirlwind of heat, noise, and flashing cameras, but nothing felt louder than Lando’s thoughts as he watched you walk into the paddock, hand in hand with him.

Kygo.

It wasn’t like Lando hadn’t been prepared for this. He’d heard from you weeks ago, your excited voice on the phone telling him about you two coming to the Grand Prix to watch him. He played it off then, made some snarky remark about how you could 'do better than a guy with a laptop' but now?

Seeing it? Watching you laugh, looking so effortless beside Kygo? It was unbearable.

He didn’t even know why.

Well, that was a lie. He knew.

"Quit staring," Oscar teased under his breath as they walked back toward the Mclaren garage.

"I’m not staring," Lando grumbled, eyes fixed on the ground.

Oscar shot him a look. "You’re boring holes into the guy’s head. Careful, mate, you’ll scare him."

Lando didn’t laugh. He couldn’t find the humor when Kygo had his arm slung casually around your shoulders. You weren’t his, Lando knew that, but there was something about the way Kygo looked at you. So relaxed, so….confident. Like he had every right to hold you that close.

It made Lando’s teeth grind.

The day dragged. Qualifying went well enough, but Lando’s mood was like a storm cloud following him around. He couldn’t focus, not when you kept popping in and out of the garage with Kygo in hand, the two of you looking like the most annoyingly attractive couple to ever exist.

"Your head’s not in the game," Lando’s engineer muttered at one point, earning a sharp glare in response.

Because how could it be?

When the sun dipped below the horizon and the city came alive with its neon glow, Lando found himself at the post qualifying party, drink in hand, leaning against the bar with a scowl he wasn’t trying to hide.

Across the room, you were dancing.

And Kygo, of course, was there, laughing, spinning you around like some movie cliche. You looked happy, your face lit up with a smile that Lando had seen a thousand times before, but somehow tonight it was like he was seeing it for the first time.

He didn’t even realize he was staring until someone bumped his shoulder.

"You’re sulking," Oscar said, appearing beside him.

"I’m not-"

"You are. And it’s pathetic." Oscar gestured toward the dance floor. "If you’re that jealous, do something about it."

Lando’s head whipped around. "I’m not jealous."

He snorted. "Sure."

You stepped off the dance floor for a breather, heading toward the balcony to cool off. The Miami night was warm and sticky, the party’s music muffled now that you were outside. You leaned against the railing, letting out a soft sigh as you gazed at the skyline.

"You’re having fun."

The voice startled you. You turned to find Lando stepping onto the balcony, hands shoved into his pockets. His expression was unreadable, but there was something….off about him tonight.

"Yeah, I am," you replied, smiling softly. "It’s a great weekend."

Lando nodded slowly, his gaze drifting out over the city. "You’ve spent most of it with him."

You blinked, surprised by the edge in his tone. "With Kygo? Well….yeah. He’s been great."

"Right." Lando’s jaw tightened. "He seems great."

There it was. That tone again.

"Lando," you said, frowning. "What’s going on with you?"

"Nothing."

"Bullshit." You stepped closer, crossing your arms. "You’ve been acting weird all day. You barely said a word in the garage, and now you’re out here sulking. Just spit it out."

Lando’s eyes flicked to yours, sharp and searching, and for a moment you thought he might finally just say whatever was on his mind. But instead, he looked away again, shaking his head.

"It’s nothing."

You huffed, annoyed now. "If it’s nothing, then why are you being like this? It’s like you’ve got some problem with me and Kygo-"

"I do."

The words cut through the air like a whip, sharp and sudden. You froze, staring at him. "What?"

Lando exhaled, his hands running through his hair as if trying to hold himself together. "I do," he repeated, quieter this time. "I hate it. Seeing you with him. Watching you laugh and dance and, god, it’s driving me insane."

You stared at him, heart hammering in your chest. "Why?"

Lando looked at you then, really looked at you, and the intensity in his gaze made your breath catch.

"You are jealous," you whispered.

He let out a shaky breath, his voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah, well….can you blame me?"

The two of you stood there, the night silent around you, his words hanging heavy in the air. For the first time, you looked at him, really looked at him, and saw something you hadn’t seen before.

And now, you couldn’t unsee it.

"Lando…"

"I can’t-" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "I can’t stand the idea of someone else being your favorite person. I’ve known you my whole life, and I’ve always been that guy. I don’t know how to- how to share you. I don’t want to."

Your heart twisted painfully at his words. "Lando, you don’t have to share me."

He let out a soft, humorless laugh. "Don’t I? You’re his now. Or at least… that’s what it feels like."

"I’m not his," you said firmly, taking a step closer. "I’ve never been anyone’s but my own. But you… you’re my favorite person too, you idiot."

Lando’s gaze snapped to yours, his expression vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before. "Then why does it feel like I’m losing you?"

"You’re not." Your voice was barely a whisper now, the space between you closing until you could feel the heat radiating off him. "You’re not losing me."

Lando’s eyes flicked to your lips, and suddenly, it was like the last thread of restraint snapped.

He leaned in, his hand coming up to cup your face as his lips met yours, soft at first, testing, until you kissed him back with just as much urgency. It was all the words left unspoken, all the tension, all the jealousy, pouring into one moment.

When you both pulled back, he met your eyes, full of guilt and pity. And who was it for? Fucking Kygo. Always him.

Then, when you said, "I'm sorry, Lando. I can't. It's not right.", he knew that he'll never be yours.

And as he watched you run off into the party, it all came crashing down on him. He will never be yours again.

He was just somebody you called when you're alone, somebody you used, but never owned. He knew he's not the one you really love.

And maybe that's why he's never given up.

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fairene · 1 year ago

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　　　　　　　　　 # masterlist .ᐟ ౨ৎ

BLOG IS RATED 18+. minors dni!!!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀♡ — smut / ✧ — fluff

gravity [15.2k] ♡

where your life with lando is just beginning. friends to lovers.

divine [6.7k] ♡

where you accompany him to a gala, but he can barely focus with you in that beautiful dress. you are utterly divine. established relationship. fem reader.

pressure [2.6k] ✧ ― ask

"i'd love to read something with lando and a tennis player!reader, not just bc i love tennis lol but also bc it could be interesting to have him with someone who has experienced the same level of pressure." ― ask and you shall receive.

one of your girls / part one [11k], part two [13.7k]♡

you are just one of his girls. a frequent regular. but something changes, and you are his favorite. jealousy, toxicity, yearning.

sweet love [2.3k] ✧ ― ask

Fic idea!! maybe some sick lando? like taking cares of him, kinda overlapping with Austrian Grand Prix? i love your writing; am always rereading it and still have the same effect as reading the first time :)) ― ask and you shall receive.

beneath the moonlight [20.1k] ✧♡♡ ― ask

ohhh hey ! wanted to stop by to say i love ur fic and wanted to request insatiable lando with max f’s sister like a forbidden summer fling with all their friends and no one’s supposed to know about their secret relationship ( especially max ) ― ask and you shall receive. @444mercss

passenger princess (8.5k) ✧♡♡― ask

hi! first of all, i absolutely ADORE your writing. i’ve been reading all of your stuff for the past few days!! second, i was scrolling on pinterest and i rediscovered the lando daddy bracelet pic. that combined with THE dutch gp pic made me be down even worse for him. with that i request a fic with an established reader x lando relationship. that’s set during the weekend of the 2024 dutch gp. where he wears the bracelet over the course of the weekend and it gets you(? or me? idk how to phrase that) really worked up, and after he wins they fuck while he’s still wearing it. and it’s like the most rough feral sex known to mankind. but at the end you want him to come in you and he’s like “oh you wanna make me a daddy”. like yes it is a slight breeding kink but it’s more of the idea of the bracelet and how he definitely knew what he was doing when he wore it (in the fic and irl too tbh). that’s the general idea but feel free to put your own spin on it!! i am incredibly down bad for him and that photo did something to me. ty 🤗🧡

whispers of the crown (3.2k) ✧✧

Could you maybe do a Princess of Monaco with cl16 and they just hard launch their relationship

love your writing

more to come when i find time to put more effort into this

all rights reserved © 2024 𝗙𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗘. please do not plagaraize, rewrite, or translate my works on any other platform. this is my only platform, so if you see my works elsewhere, it is not me. credit goes respectively to all gif creators.

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141n3 · 3 months ago

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laito rant

I hate when people dumb down laito’s character to just a sex-obsessed pervert. Hes literally so much more than that and i see so many people jsut completely missing the point of his character and *why* he acts the way he is for reasons other than the way the anime made him to be another otome trope.

First of all, laito was groomed throughout his entire childhood by his mother, cordelia. She would rape him (not sleep with. Rape. Stop saying stuff like “had sex with” and “slept with” because he was a CHILD it was rape) consistently and told him that sex and lust was love- this caused laito to have an extremely twisted vision of what love is and how he expresses his love to the player/yui.

I think that Laito is very misrepresented in the anime, probably because they didnt have time to get all the characters lore in or else the show would be as long as one piece, but still. He’s not even given a little snippet of a backstory like Shu with Edgar, all we see of his past is him as a little kid where he barely even interacts with his mom which we see in Yui’s nightmare.

Im so tired of people tearing his character down to just a pervert. Because he’s not- he’s a traumatized kid (idk about kid- wiki says 17 in human but hes like 200+ im pretty sure so idk) whos a victim of manipulation, incest, and rape. It’s not his fault that he’s like that when he was literally convinced by the person you trust the most growing up- his mother, that love is sex.

Throughout his childhood and mostly teenage years he has thing feeling of emptiness that he feels after having sex (whether it be after being raped by his mother or having a fling with a classmate) where he asks himself something along the lines of “if this is love, why do i feel so empty?” And he mostly has sex to try and fill that void that he has inside of him.

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rosenclaws · 2 months ago

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Checkmate || Professor Logan x Reader Smut

summary: Your history professor is hot and you know that going after him is a mistake. He's double your age and also your professor. But you can't help yourself. You want him and he wants you. So now what do you two do.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY, Taboo relationship (Professor x Student), the reader is meant to be 21-22 years old. Power imbalance, fem!reader, oral (f!recieving), rough sex, breast play, hickeys, spanking, unprotected sex, degradation, dirty talk, bondage, missionary, bent over a desk, skirt kink low key, glasses kink, mean during sex Logan, complicated feelings.

wc: 5.3k (OOPS LMAO)

a/n: Hello! So this is my first smut fic in a while so please be kind lmao. I really hope it lives up to what I wanted it to be. Obviously, don't do this in real life. It is NOT a good idea ever. This kind of relationship is not healthy. With that out of the way I really hope you guys like it and I might. make a part 2. I have an idea cooking but idk so lmk if you want one! Please enjoy! Also I'm not going to be going back to smut writing full time this is just a one off so plz don't ask ty.

"You're playing a very dangerous game darling." Logan leans back in his chair, his glasses sit on the bridge of his nose as he stares at you with his intense green eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about Professor." You tilt your head, innocent eyes as you play that clueless college girl.

A hint of a smirk on your lips as you tighten the grip on your books. They rest just below your chest where your low cut top was leaving very little to Logan's imagination. You could see his eyes flick down just for a moment. A little win for you as you continue to play this incredibly dangerous game with your history professor.

You knew you had to have him the moment you stepped into his classroom. Everything about him was intoxicating. The smell of his cologne that would waft into your senses when he passed around papers and the slight bulging of his muscles when he crossed his arms.

The tight shirts he wore, the deep gravely voice as he gave his lectures, the fucking beard, and those delicious glasses that he wore. His stupid hair that was always styled to have these little tuffs that you just wanted to grab onto. He was just so fucking handsome.

You sat front and center, legs crossed and a smile on your face as you shamelessly eye fucked him every class. Of course he noticed, how could he not.

Not to sound egotistical but you're not the first pretty young thing to look at him that way and you won't be the last. It's textbook really.

The short skirts, the low cut tops. The innocent act, faking cluelessness just to come to his office hours. The dumb questions, the over exaggerated nods of understanding.

"Thanks Professor Logan, I really needed your help." They'd always say with their eyes begging to be fucked.

Some men might have even taken their offer. Caved at the first sight of bare skin and an eager face. But Logan was not some men. He had no interest in entertaining his desperate students. Was it harsh? Perhaps. But Logan didn't really care.

He's not interested in being some girls college fling. The story she tells when she's had one too many shots, giggling to her friends as she recounts the best night of her life with her professor. And yes, it would be the best night she's ever had. Logan would make sure of that.

But then you walked in.

Logan clocked you the moment you walked into his classroom. A subtle smirk on his lips when you came up to personally introduce yourself, leaning just a little too far over his desk so he could get a clear view down your shirt. The same song and dance. He almost laughed. But there was something about you that was different.

A fire in your eyes that he had never seen. You seem smart, smart enough to know not to sleep with your professor. Yet you don't seem to care as your attempts at grabbing his attention are relentless. He would call it pathetic but there's something different. You weren't desperate like the others.

You were hungry.

It was impressive really and he couldn't deny that you were certainly attractive. So he decided to play along. Logan...has had a complicated relationship past. One that has involved too much stress and relegated him a single man at 45.

Dating apps are utter trash and it's hard to meet someone naturally with his work schedule. It's not hard for him to get his fix when he really needs it. All he needs to do is go down to that dingy bar by his apartment and sit at the bar. It doesn't take long until someone comes to talk to him. Maybe that's why his ego is so big. But he can back it up which is more than most men can say.

Though he was never truly satisfied. Deep down he wants more than a one night stand. He craves true intimacy but he's given up on ever finding it. He misses the fun flirty parts of finding love. So what's the harm in indulging you just a little.

A double entendre here or there, calling on you more than he should, and when no one's looking...sending you a wink that makes your legs cross tighter. The harm? Costing him his job and disgracing everything he's ever worked for.

But isn't that what makes it exciting?

"You get A's on all my assignments. You have a 4.0, deans list every semester. Yet I find you in my office more than anyone else." Logan takes his glasses off and tosses them onto his desk.

He takes notice of the way your mouth practically waters as he stretches his arms above his head. His untucked shirt lifting just a little to see his bare abs. The game in action. When you fire he fires back. Predator and Prey, but you can't tell who's who quite yet.

You shrug your shoulders. He watches you carefully as you walk around from the other side of his mahogany desk. Your skirt rides up just enough for him to see the hint of your black lace panties. Another classic move.

"Going to your office hours just really helped me retain the information." Logan clenches his jaw.

"Let me guess..." Logan leans back in his chair, his legs spreading as he shifts.

"You were top of your class at whatever shitty high school with overbearing parents and this college is your first real taste of freedom and you think, what better way to stick it to your parents than to sleep with your professor. How does that sound?" He sounds so condescending as he slowly gets up from his seat and place his hands on his desk.

Leaning closer and closer to you with every word until his lips are mere inches away. You can smell a hint of cigar smoke. Of course he smokes.

"Close. I was valedictorian, I do have overbearing parents, but I'm not the ditzy naive college girl you think I am. " You reach up and grab onto his tie. Your nails play with it as you debate on untying it or using it to pull him forward.

You decide on the latter.

"But if that's what you're into, I can certainly play the part." You pull him close so that your lips were at his ear. Your voice makes him shiver. His eyes closing as a low groan escapes his throat.

"Is that what you like? Having a young, innocent girl throw herself at you?" You push, enjoying how much it's getting to him.

"I'm certainly not innocent but I can pretend." You let go of his tie and he stands back up. His eyes are wide as it seems his cocky attitude has slipped just a little bit.

"Oh professor I'm so clueless about this essay." You pitch your voice higher than normal as you stick your lip out in a pout.

"Will you please help me?" Logan rolls his eyes at your dramatics. You're enjoying this but you have no idea what you're getting yourself into.

"You think you're mature? A big girl who can make her own fucking choices huh?" He growls.

He grabs your books and tosses them to the floor. They clatter with a loud bang. Suddenly the mask slips just a bit, fear shoots through your eyes as you wonder if someone heard. It's well past office hours and most everyone has gone home but there could be a janitor or another professor staying late to work. Logan sees that and bares his teeth, ready to sink them into you. An upper hand, an weak point he can use to his advantage.

"What's wrong darling? Scared someone might walk in and see you spreading your legs for your professor?" He taunts as his hands grab your thighs.

"Not at all, because they'll just see the old, lonely professor between his poor students legs." You bite back. Logan raises an eyebrow as his thumbs slowly caress your skin.

"Feisty." He hums.

For a moment the two of you just stare at each other. The reality of the situation weighing on you. You could get into so much trouble for this. This could ruin everything. But you don't care. You've worked too hard to walk away now.

You want him, more than you should. Waking up a extra early so that you look just right for him. Asking questions you already know the answer to. He's been on to you for a while but you knew that. You've been waiting for this. Both of you think you've been playing the other but right now all the cards are down and it's just a matter of who strikes first.

"If we cross this line, we can never go back. Do you understand me?" Logan says lowly.

One of his hands reaches to grab your chin. His thumb pulling at your bottom lip as he studies your face. Anything that could convince him you didn't want this. That he had taken things too far. But there was none of that. Nothing but pure and utter desire was in your eyes.

You reach over and grab his glasses that were discarded on the table. Silently you slip them back on his face. You always though he was hotter with them on. Logan lets you, finding it quite amusing.

"I understand. I don't want to go back." You say breathlessly.

Your hands reach for your blouse. Logan freezes as you unbutton your shirt painfully slow. Teasing him until he can finally see what you've been dying to show him. Your bare skin. No bra. How did he not notice before? He can feel his jeans get tighter as he stares unabashedly at your bare boobs.

"What? Never seen a pair of boobs before Professor?" You purr, really stretching out his title. You know it turns him on. It's taboo but so much fun. Your hands gently coming to cup them, push them up and play with them. They're partly covered by your blouse but it still drives him completely mad.

"Dirty fucking girl." He growls.

You gasp as he wraps one hand around your waist. Sliding you close enough to feel his bulge press against your panties. With his other hand he slides whatever books and pens were sitting so neatly on his desk to the ground with a loud clatter. You look towards the door once again and Logan smirks.

"Just you and me here sweetheart. Promise." Logan knows the schedule of every professor here. No one bothers to stay any later than they have to and the janitors are practically none existent. Not that he blames them. The school doesn't pay them enough anyways. He lays you down so your back is on his desk.

Your legs hang around his waist as he grabs your blouse and rips it apart.

"Fuck, aren't you just perfect." His hands are cold as he grabs your breasts in his hands. It makes you shiver. He squeezes them softly, almost hesitantly.

But it doesn't last long as he bends down and takes one of your breasts in his mouth. His tongue teasing your nipple as his hands grope and play roughly. Your back arches up, pushing them closer into his face. His glasses smashing against his face but he doesn't fucking care. A quiet whimper is music to his ears as he continues his pleasurable assault on your boobs.

"Always showing these off." Logan mumbles as he finally lets you catch a breath. His lips now trailing up to your neck.

"You show your other professors your tits or am I the only lucky one?" He asks tauntingly.

He already knows the answer but man does it stroke his ego to hear you say it. You bite your lip as you reach for his tie. Needing him to take off his damn shirt. He grabs your hands and pins them to your side. His mouth biting harshly into your shoulder before his tongue soothes the now painful spot.

"When I ask you a question I expect an answer." He clicks his tongue in a disappointed manner.

"Just you." You whine as you try and grind your hips, craving any kind of friction against your aching cunt. But once again Logan stops you. His hips pining you down.

"Almost there..." He purrs. You flex your hands as your brain starts to malfunction. How does he expect you to focus? Prick.

"Just you Professor." You pant and he lets go of your wrists.

Your nails dig into his shirt as he pulls at his tie. You messily unbutton his shirt to reveal his ridiculously toned chest. Your mouth waters as he shrugs his shirt off and places his tie on his desk. A devilish smile on his face as he does so.

"You're smart but I bet I could turn that brain dumb real fucking quick." He says. It's not a guess, it's a promise.

"Get up." He commands and you scramble to your feet.

He cups your face, its almost sweet as he smirks. He leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek before turning you around and bending you over his desk. Talk about whiplash. He lifts your skirt up to get a good view of your ass in that black lace he saw earlier. You shakes your ass teasingly and Logan isn't having it.

His hand slaps against your ass harshly making you jolt. Your eyes widening in shock at the pain. Though the pain doesn't last long as he drags his fingers along your cunt. Fuck they're so big.

You rest your elbows on his desk as you try and control your breathing. He's barely touched you and you're already going insane.

It's torture.

Pure torture.

His fingers stop and you let out an angry huff. Logan chuckles at your impatience. His hand reaching up and pulling the crotch of your panties back, letting them go and grinning at the loud snap against your skin.

"Can you hurry up?" You snap.

"Oh I'm sorry darling, is the teasing a too much?" He asks mockingly. He presses his crotch against your ass as he bends over so he could whisper in your ear.

"I agree, how terrible it would be to tease someone over and over." His false sympathy is really starting to piss you off.

"It would be like dressing in slutty skirts and shaking your ass in front of your professor after every class." You close your eyes as you realize this is payback.

"Didn't think you were one to hold grudges." You look back to glare at him and he just laughs.

"I don't. Think of this more as a learning opportunity." He falls to his knees his hands kneading your ass roughly. You just know he's got that stupidly handsome cocky look on his face.

"Yeah? What lesson are you trying to teach professor?" You try to gain some control back but Logan isn't having it. He slaps your ass again and you bite your lip. The pain dissolving into pleasure in an instant.

"Teaching you how to show some fucking respect." He growls as he leans in shoves his face into your clothed cunt. His tongue moving much to slow for your liking.

"You're fucking soaked right through darling." He hums as he pulls your panties to the side.

Your face falls onto the desk as he buries his tongue deep in your cunt. Soft whimpers fall from your lips as Logan absolutely devours you. His moans are pure filth and you start to wonder if he'll even come up for air. The sounds that fill the room are completely obscene. His nose presses against your ass as he continues his assault on your pussy. Tongue moving with expert skill. His hands have a firm grip on your ass and he isn't letting go any time soon.

You moan as his tongue plays with your clit. Teasing it every now and then when you least expect it. You're pussy is practically dripping onto his tongue. Begging for him. It needs him. You gasp when he finally pulls away. You sneak a look back and somehow he's gotten even hotter.

His eyes are dark with lust, his completely breathless. His glasses are fogged up and crooked but he doesn't even bother to fix them. His eyes meet yours and you shiver at how intense his gaze is.

"Fuck. Tastes so fucking sweet." Any reasonable thoughts and words fail him as he grabs your hips and pulls you right back onto his face. Your hips move involuntarily, chasing the sweet, sweet pleasure he offers with that dirty tongue of is.

Logan wanted to give you a proper punishment. Tease you a little until you're begging him to touch you. But the moment he got his first taste of you, all those ideas went out the window. He needed you, he craved you. The pleasure is intense and he's not letting up.

Without thinking you buck your hips trying to move away. You don't want him to stop but you just need to breathe and Logan was sucking the air out of your fucking lungs. Logan growls, actually growls. You whine when he stands up, abandoning your cunt to pin you down onto the desk.

"You're moving around too fucking much."

He grabs your hands and puts them behind your back.

"Is it too much hm? You bite off more than you can chew?" He ask. It's like he wants you to tap out. To prove he was right and you were in over your head. But you won't give in.

"No. Just want you to hurry up and fuck me. Or are you still trying to get it up old man?" You taunt.

His jaw clenches as he grabs his previously discarded tie and wraps it around your wrists tightly. Even tying a bow that he smirks at, a present just for him.

"You want my cock darling? Fine. I'll give it to you." The metal clinks of his belt make your heart skip.

Excitement surging through your body as you're finally getting what you want. You bite your lip as he tears your panties off your body. He very loudly sniffs them, groaning at the smell and tossing them behind him. Fucking perv.

He gives you no time to think as he rubs the head of his cock along your cunt. Using your own wetness to slick up his cock. Before you can utter another word he slips his tip in. A loud cry fills the room as you get your first raw feeling of Logan. He's massive.

You always hoped he'd be but fuck. He's stretching you beyond belief. Heavy, girthy, and bigger than any normal man should be. He nudges the deepest parts of you and he still hasn't bottomed out.

"Aw am I too big for you?" He thrusts his hips to shove himself in a little more. You don't even recognize the noises that fall from your own lips as he slowly takes you apart just by sliding in.

"N-No." You wish you had your hands free but there was something incredibly sexy about being tied up. At being at his mercy.

Logan wraps one of his hands around your neck. Not tight but firm enough so that you're well aware he's there. He's everywhere. He's all consuming. He leans down to kiss your bare back, his beard scratching your skin as he travels up to your shoulder.

"No? So this isn't too much for you?" He hums in your ear.

Your eyes squeeze shut as he finally bottoms out. His balls slapping against your ass he bullies his cock in. You shake your head. Refusing to waver. Though it was getting hard to even focus. You're completely overwhelmed and he can tell.

"Hey, breathe darling." Logan presses a kiss to your temple. He can feel how erratic your heartbeat has gotten. A soft moment breaking through the tension. You want to hold him. You want to kiss him and bury your face into his chest. You want all of him.

"I'm okay, just please. Fuck me Professor I need it so bad." You wail. Logan lets his forehead fall onto the back of your head.

He pulls his hips back slightly and slides back in. Easing you into himself into your cunt over and over until you start to open up for him. Your cunt is begging to be fucked and it doesn't want to let him go. Now what kind of man would he be to say no to her? Logan rests his hands next to your head, letting go of your throat.

"I'll take care of you honey, all you need to do is take it alright." He coos as he pulls all the way out until just the tip was still nestled inside of you.

With one harsh thrust he fucks his way back in. You barely recognized the cry that left your throat. His pace is ruthless. His glasses are falling off his face from the force so he just takes them and tosses them to the ground. Nothing is going to get in his way.

"Fucking shit." He hisses he slows down his movement.

He's not ready for this to be over. Slowly he fucks himself in and out. Watching in awe as you just suck his cock right up. Clenching around it. So warm and wet and fucking tight. You can't think straight anymore. Words have long left your brain as you can only manage a few incoherent mumbles and noises.

"Where'd my smart girl go? Did I finally fuck you dumb?" He asks, resting all his weight on one hand as he brushes some of your hair out of your face. His hands pushing your head to the side so he can see you better. You open your mouth but nothing comes out but a whimper.

"Hm? Come on you can do better than that." He leans down and brushes his lips against your cheek.

"Just one word?" You take a deep breath and clench your fists tightly. His dick is so far inside of you that you can feel him in your lungs.

"More." Your voice is shaky as you glance up at him, a pleading look in your eyes. Logan scoffs in disbelief.

"You really are a wanton little whore." He pulls out roughly making you whimper.

His movements are uncharacteristically wild as he unties your hands. Tugging and pulling fiercely until your wrists are finally free. You don't have time to even rub your wrists before he's got you standing and facing him.

You glance down and see his cock standing up, hard and leaking. This is the first time you get to see it in all its glory. If it was up to you you'd drop to your knees and suck him off right here.

But Logan has other plans. He grabs your ass and hoists you onto his desk. Pulling your legs until they're around his waist and the tip of his cock slips in.

"You want more? I'll give you more. I just want to watch your tits bounce while I fuck you and then see what kind of face you make when you come on my cock." He slams his hips forward and you claw at his arms.

You tilt your head back as Logan places his hand on your back. He pulls you closer and you use your hands to keep you upright. His lips latches onto your chest. Sucking hickeys that you'll for sure have to hide tomorrow.

"Professor..." You groan as this new positions sends him deeper. He's pounding into you relentlessly. Using gravity against you as he's practically pushing you up and letting you fall right back onto his cock. His other hand presses onto your stomach and you whimper.

"Feel that? I'm in your fucking guts honey." He purrs. Your head falls down and you see his hand on your stomach. Your voice is raw as he rails into you. Wailing and moaning from just how good you feel.

Your head feels faint and you can only hold onto Logan as your only anchor. His rough hands feel so nice on your burning hot skin. Though you can't focus for long as your eyes drift to his cock going in an out of you. It's hypnotic. Just him pushing his cock in over and over.

"I'm so close honey, just need you to come. Think you can do that for me?" Desperation slips into his voice as he rests you back onto the desk. One hand on your breasts while the other plays with your clit with tight circles. It's utter devastation as you convulse under his touch. The pleasure nears pain as you become completely overstimulated.

"Shh...It's okay. I got you." Logan coos.

His eyes squeeze shut as you come hard. Your cunt clenching him so tight he swears he's going to burst right then and there. Fuck he wants to. He wants to fill your pussy with his hot cum and watch it drip out. Stain his desk so that every time he looks down he can see the remnants of this night.

"Too much Logan please." You cry as you feel him pounding into you through your orgasm.

"You're okay, just take it honey. You said you could just let me fuck you a little longer." He begs.

He wraps both arms around your waist and picks you up, falling back into his chair and planting his legs onto the ground. You mewl loudly as your forehead falls onto his shoulder. You're nothing but a toy at this point. A plaything he can use to wet his cock.

With the extra leverage he repeatedly thrusts his hips up into you. Bouncing you on his cock until he can't take it anymore. With an animalistic roar he pulls you off him as his cock spurts cum all over his stomach. You watch in awe as he makes a complete mess of himself.

Logan falls back into his chair, his chest heaving as he brushes a hand through his hair. The other hand making slow soothing circles on your back. You can't help but notice he kept you in your skirt and blouse while he's completely naked. Not that you're complaining though.

Logan reaches up and brushes his fingers along your jaw. He's got this look in his eyes that makes you nervous. Not because he's angry or regretful. But he's content. The line has been crossed and you both know it. This was a game to the two of you, that's all it was supposed to be. So now what?

"Are you okay?" He asks quietly, your breasts are littered with hickeys and he can't help but admire his masterpiece.

"Yeah, I am." You sigh as a pleasurable ache starts to set in.

You haven't been fucked like this in a long time. Logan sets you back onto his desk as he starts to gather the clothes that were discarded onto the floor. He cleans himself up as best with some spare papers. Not the most ideal but he uses what he can.

You slowly button your blouse, some of the buttons are now missing and you huff at the thought of having to buy a new one. It's quiet as you both get redressed.

You pick up Logan's tie and try your best to smooth it out for him. He watches in amusement as you rub it against the edge of the desk. He slips your panties into his back pocket after finishing dressing.

"I think those are mine Professor." He stiffens at the sound of you calling him that but he just shrugs.

"A souvenir of sorts." He hums as he rests his jacket along your shoulders.

"Do I get a souvenir?" You ask semi jokingly. He reaches for his tie and wraps it around your hand.

"If you want one darling." He presses the tie into your hands and you realize he's letting you keep it. You smile as you hold it to your chest in an almost protective manor.

"We can never do this again." He says seriously, the reality of what had just occurred slowly setting in for the both of you.

"I know." You say as you pull his jacket tighter around your shoulders.

He tilts your chin up as he studies your face. He's seen a lot of students come and go through his class. Some of them he remembers, the star students, the annoying ones. But you, well he'll remember you for a long time.

"You'll come to class and sit where you always do, raise your hand and answer questions and I'll answer them. But no more office hours. No more short clothes." He says and you listen. If anyone were to find out about this. It would mean the end of both your careers and yours hadn't even started.

"The semester is almost over and you'll be out of here soon. A college graduate." He gathers his things and packs them into his brief case. Handing you your books that he had thrown on the floor earlier.

"Will you miss me?" You ask hesitantly. It's a dangerous question.

"You know I can't." He says as he helps you off his desk. Your legs are a little wobbly but you can still walk.

"I know, but will you?" He thinks for a moment, refusing to meet your eyes as he shuts off the lights. He can't answer it because he knows he will. Of course he will.

So he just gives you a somber look and you nod in understanding. You follow him out of the building, worried someone might question why you're both here so late but there's no one in sight.

"Let me call you an uber before I go. I don't want you walking home this late." He says as he pulls out his phone.

"Oh it's okay I don't live far." You tell him but he insists.

"I shouldn't be here when they pick you up but my car is close by. I won't leave until I see you get in." He says. That still gives him some anxiety but he can't drive you home. It's too risky.

"I understand, I'll see you in class tomorrow Professor." The word feels odd coming from your lips. The meaning has been tainted for ever.

"See you tomorrow." He doesn't know what to do now. He can't hug you, kiss you. But turning and leaving just feels wrong. So he waves. You laugh as you wave back.

As he walks back to his car when he hears you call out his name making him stop. You're running to catch up, stopping before him and blurting out the question you need the answer to before you walk away forever.

"Do you regret it?" You ask him. He should. You both should regret this. It's shameful and completely inappropriate. In fact you should never speak again if you know what's good for you. Logan sighs and turns to face you.

"No. Not at all." He says firmly.

"Neither do I." You tell him. You smile softly and turn away, running back to the spot where you're supposed to meet your uber.

Logan rubs his jaw as he unlocks his car. Getting in and waiting until the car comes to pick you up. He stays in the parking lot for a while. Watching on his phone until you it says you've been dropped off. A part of him wants to check just to make sure but he know he can't.

The next day he shows up to class and you're right there front and center. Gone are the risky clothes and it seems your real taste in clothes make you look even cuter. He shakes the thought away as he starts to pulls up the lecture.

"When most people think about war they think of the big moments. The bloody battles, the famous figures." He walks around the room as he talks. His students typing away at their laptops as he changes the slide.

"But when everything's said and done. The aftermath is what really affects the people. How war can change a nation." He stops right in front of your desk but he doesn't dare sneak a glance.

You look up at him, nerves settling under your skin as you wonder where he's going with this. There's no possible way anyone could know what happened between you two but you still shift in your seat as he utters his next sentence.

"What happens...when the game is over?"

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett smut #wolverine smut #professor logan

364 notes · View notes

bombiikki · 1 month ago

Text

𝖎sn't 𝖎t 𝖑ove? ⸝⸝ 𓂃₊ ⊹

⋆˙⟡ — non idol!hanni x fem!reader

♯ 𝖘ynopsis : you’re torn between loving hanni and protecting her from the danger that follows you as spidergirl. you keep breaking up with her, but she always waits. maybe it’s time to stop running—and just love.

𝖈ontains : ANSGT. resolving some issues, emotional whiplash, they break up so many times, then make out up, lots of yearning, and hesitation, reader questions everything, but never her love for hanni, hanni is lwk the strongest soldier ever, it ends with fluff, so its still technically the happy ending

𝖜ord 𝖈ount :13.6k

𝖆uthor's 𝖓ote : the happy ending cuz its what the ppl crave for. i lwk rushed the ending bc idk i think it js got a lil repetitive but dont let my opinions stop u from enjoyign the fic !!

. ♬ ݁˖ 𝖓ow 𝖕laying — isn't it love? from steven universe

a part 2 to "a blessing in disguise" < to the spidergirl series masterlist

the wind was a scream in your ears, wild and relentless as it whipped past your mask. the city blurred beneath you in streaks of brick and concrete, yellow cabs and blinking lights, all of it too fast to matter. your body moved on instinct—knees bending, arms snapping forward, webline catching the ledge of a glass tower and flinging you forward into open air.

you didn’t even feel the drop anymore. just the cold. just the way it cut through your suit like a knife, or maybe it was the way your thoughts wouldn’t shut up.

it had been a week. a week since the funeral. a week since the rain soaked your suit and your hands trembled behind the mask. a week since hanni’s eyes had searched for answers, and you gave her none.

now there were sirens below. two police cruisers, lights bleeding red and blue into the smog, racing after a black sedan that had just slammed through a bank’s glass doors. the windshield of the getaway car was cracked, the front bumper barely hanging on, and one of the guys inside had been dumb enough to start shooting before they even turned the corner.

you didn’t hesitate.

your webline snapped taut as you flipped over a rooftop, the gritty surface racing beneath you. with every swing, you gained on them. one breath. two. then you dropped low, just above traffic, your body twisting through the maze of cars and honking taxis.

you could see inside the car now. four guys. ski masks. bags stuffed with cash. one was screaming into a walkie. the driver jerked the wheel violently, swerving into the opposite lane. horns blared. a truck nearly clipped them.

you gritted your teeth, picked up speed.

your shoulder clipped a traffic light—pain bloomed, sharp and bright—but you didn’t stop. you dove lower, flipping under a scaffold and landing hard on the sedan’s roof. the whole car buckled. the guy in the back screamed.

“what the hell was that?!”

you grinned beneath your mask and pounded your fist against the roof. “guess who!”

the guy on the passenger side rolled down his window, raising a pistol with shaky hands. you shot a line of web straight into the barrel before he could aim. the gun clicked uselessly. he tried to pull it free, but you yanked him out the window instead.

he hit the pavement with a grunt, rolling to a stop.

the driver screamed and lost control. the car swerved, smashed into a fire hydrant, and skidded onto the sidewalk. water exploded into the air behind it. you leapt off the roof just before impact and landed crouched on the hood.

before the others could recover, you launched a web at the nearest one’s chest and yanked him into a mailbox. he groaned and didn’t get back up.

two left.

the driver scrambled out, limping. you chased him on foot this time, your breath coming hard, every muscle alive with adrenaline. he darted through an alley, tried to climb a chain-link fence. you reached him before he could get over the top and pinned him there with two quick webs.

the last guy didn’t run. he just raised his hands, knees shaking.

you looked at the wreck behind you—sirens still closing in, lights reflecting in the puddles—and exhaled slow.

you were tired. of all of it.

and then, like always, you remembered her. hanni, somewhere in a classroom. maybe doodling in the margins of her notebook. maybe looking out the window and thinking about the girl who left her in the rain.

you swallowed the thought. it burned.

fifteen minutes later, you were back on the rooftops, peeling off your gloves as you ran. you had five more blocks before school. your hair stuck to your forehead beneath your hood. your ribs ached.

you climbed into the school building through a back stairwell and slipped into class thirty-five minutes late.

your teacher sighed so deeply you thought it might echo.

“miss y/n,” she said. “again?”

you nodded sheepishly, clutching your bag.

“sorry,” you muttered, still catching your breath. “traffic. i promise i won’t be late again.”

a few of the students laughed, and your teacher only sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “i’d give you detention, but i think at this point you’d consider it part of your schedule. just… try to be on time. and don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

you nodded, slipping into the desk behind hanni. her posture didn’t change, her eyes fixed on her notes. she hadn’t looked at you since the funeral.

you leaned forward, voice barely a breath.

“but those are the best promises to make.”

and maybe she didn’t believe it. maybe you didn’t either.

but for just a second, you thought you saw her pencil stop moving. and that small, impossible flicker of hope warmed your chest.

even if only for a moment. even if you didn’t deserve it.

some part of her still listened and some part of you still loved her—even now. especially now.

it started slow. a glance. a breath. a flicker of something almost lost. not with a grand gesture or a dramatic apology. just with a glance. and then another.

she didn’t smile when she looked at you. but she didn’t look away, either.

sometimes, that’s all a flame needs—just a little air.

you sat behind her again in chemistry. same seat, same scuffed floor tile beneath your foot that squeaked if you shifted your weight wrong. the desk still had that scratch in the corner where someone once carved a heart and then tried to erase it. you’d traced it before, back when your thoughts moved like rivers toward her, even when you were supposed to be balancing chemical equations. back then, she’d twirl her pen when she was thinking, and you’d find yourself watching the motion like it meant something.

now, she sat straighter. tighter. the space between her shoulders seemed smaller, like she was always bracing for something. she didn’t glance back. didn’t nod. her presence was sharp, all edges. like she’d drawn a silent boundary between you—chalk on pavement. and you didn’t know if you were meant to cross it.

but then she passed you a beaker before you asked.

and later, when your hand accidentally brushed hers near the sink, she didn’t pull away. didn’t flinch. just went on adjusting the bunsen burner like nothing had happened.

not much. but enough to burn.

you caught her humming under her breath one morning. it was faint, like the wind barely catching on an open window, but you knew the song. a melody you’d only heard once, when everything still felt new and terrifying. back when she was pressing gauze to your bleeding shoulder, eyes wide, voice shaking. back when she looked at you like she didn’t know whether to run or hold on.

you didn’t say anything now. just listened. let it fill the quiet space between you like sunlight sneaking through old blinds. warm and unexpected. gentle on skin that had only known cold lately.

at lunch, she sat beside you. not across. not at another table. not with her usual friends in their usual corner.

she sat beside you. her tray bumped yours, and you both said “sorry” at the same time.

she didn’t laugh, but the corners of her mouth twitched. like laughter might’ve been hiding there, waiting for the right moment to be brave.

you almost smiled. almost. but you didn’t trust your hands not to shake.

it was still too soon. still too glass. but still, you spoke.

your voice found her without permission. soft questions about class, about the mitosis quiz, about whether or not she thought mr. lee might actually be in love with the concept of kinetic energy. she rolled her eyes, but she answered. and her voice wasn’t cold—not warm either—but real. a kind of tentative honesty, like testing ice with one careful step.

you didn’t touch her. not even a sleeve or a wrist. not yet. you didn’t deserve to.

but you listened. really listened. especially when she talked about the things she loved. the way dna coils because of hydrogen bonding. how amino acids twist into helixes and sheets like origami. how enzymes knew exactly what to become in order to fit the molecule they’d bind to—like some kind of molecular soulmate. you didn’t say much when she got into it, just nodded and let your chest fill with the sound of her excitement. like her voice could stitch you back together without meaning to.

sometimes, after class, you’d walk beside her in the hallway. not touching. not talking. just walking. your shadows brushed the same patches of linoleum. she didn’t ask you to leave. and that was something.

on good days, when the clouds weren’t too heavy and the guilt in your chest hadn’t swallowed your spine, she’d look at you with something close to softness. like she remembered. and once, she said something funny—dry and sharp, about enzymes being the unsung heroes of the human body—and it made you laugh out loud. she looked at you like she didn’t mean to make you do that. like she hadn’t meant to reach you.

but she had.

still, you saw it. in the way her fingers curled tight around her pen. in the way her gaze sometimes lingered too long before pulling away.

the question lived in her eyes. do i let you back in? will you leave again?

and you couldn’t blame her. you didn’t have a promise that would mean anything. your mouth had already broken the ones that mattered.

so you said nothing. just sat beside her during study hour. your notebooks side by side. pens moving in quiet synchrony. the silence wasn’t empty—it was full of questions neither of you were ready to ask.

then one afternoon, you stayed late to finish a group project. just the two of you. sunlight filtered low and golden through the windows, catching the strands of her hair and making them shimmer like copper. she was writing notes. focused. calm.

you glanced at her. just once.

and she looked up. caught you.

you didn’t look away fast enough.

“what?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

you shrugged, eyes flicking back to your notebook. “just glad we’re talking again.”

her fingers stilled on the page. she blinked. and for a heartbeat, you thought she’d get up and leave, close the door, draw the line again.

but she didn’t.

“me too,” she said softly. it wasn’t a whisper, not quite. but it was steady.

it wasn’t a promise nor was it forgiveness. it was just a flicker.

and you, like the fool that you were, cupped your hands around that tiny flame and swore to keep it alive.

even if you burned. especially if you burned. even if it meant burning all over again.

it took weeks. not just glances or passing words anymore—but real time. quiet hours spent in the same room. late study nights. group projects that turned into gentle conversations. she laughed at your jokes again, sometimes. rolled her eyes, but with softness, not distance. you learned to be patient. to not reach for her hand even when your own ached to hold something steady. you waited. not because you were uncertain. but because love wasn’t a thing to be rushed. not when it had been broken before.

sometimes you’d catch her watching you when she thought you weren’t looking. sometimes her gaze lingered too long. sometimes you swore she almost smiled.

you remembered everything. the way she used to tuck her hair behind her ear when she was thinking. the way she’d tap her pencil twice before writing something down. you memorised it all over again, like it was a new language and you were desperate to be fluent in her.

you found excuses to be near her. in the lab, you offered to be partners. she agreed without looking up. you told yourself that meant something. maybe it did. maybe it didn’t. either way, you held onto it.

and then came the day when your heart couldn’t take the quiet anymore.

you’d spent the afternoon helping her carry boxes for the science fair—oscillating models and half-finished posters, that kind of thing. she was laughing—really laughing—for the first time in what felt like forever. and for a second, the world tilted right again. like maybe things could be good. maybe they already were.

so you did it. you asked her to meet you on the rooftop of the old library building after sunset. said you had something important to say. she blinked at you for a second. hesitant. wary. but she said yes.

the sun was already gone when she climbed up the fire escape. the sky was navy blue and full of quiet stars. you were already waiting, pacing, rehearsing the words you’d said a hundred times in your head.

she stepped forward, folding her arms, her expression unreadable. “you’re being weird,” she said.

you swallowed. “i know.”

silence.

then—“i love you.”

your voice barely broke the air, but it was enough.

her breath caught. her shoulders tensed.

you kept going, even though your heart was racing like a train without brakes.

“i never stopped. even when i left. even when it hurt. i thought i was protecting you, hanni. i thought if i stayed away, you’d be safe.”

her eyes didn’t soften. not yet.

“but it just made us both miserable,” you whispered. “and i was wrong. i know that now. you don’t need protection. you need honesty. and... love. and i want to give you that, if you’ll let me.”

she stared at you like she was trying to solve an equation with too many variables.

“you left,” she said, voice small. “you said you loved me and then you left.”

“i know,” you said, stepping closer, hands trembling. “and i won’t pretend like that didn’t happen. i broke your heart. and i hate myself for it every day. but hanni, i swear to you—i won’t leave again. not unless you tell me to.”

the wind moved gently through her hair. the city below buzzed faintly, distant and irrelevant.

you reached into your pocket and pulled out a tiny folded paper—creased and worn. it was the note you’d written weeks ago but never had the courage to give her. on it was a sketch—her and you, sitting under the stars, the words “worth it” scrawled at the bottom.

“i made this the day after the funeral,” you said. “because even when i was hurting, even when everything felt too big and too heavy, loving you still felt right.”

she looked at the drawing. then at you.

and then, like sunlight cutting through cold—she stepped forward.

“i’m scared,” she said.

“me too,” you breathed.

“but i still love you,” she whispered. “even if i didn’t want to.”

you laughed, a broken, relieved kind of sound.

“so… what does this mean?” you asked.

she took your hand and it was the first time you’d touched her in what felt like forever.

“it means,” she said slowly, “you get one more chance. and you don’t get to waste it.”

you squeezed her hand gently. “i won’t. i swear.”

“don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she said mockingly.

you smiled, eyes shining. “but those are the best ones to make.”

and that night, under a sky full of stars and unsaid fears, you kissed her—softly, carefully, like a prayer—and for the first time since everything fell apart, you let yourself believe that love might just be enough.

because even broken hearts can burn again.

even flickers can become flames.

the days were softer now.

sometimes you woke up and forgot what it was like to ache. her laugh had that effect on you. it echoed through the halls, through your chest, and settled in the cracks you used to hide behind. there were moments—brief and blinding—where you almost believed you could be normal. just a girl in love. just two science nerds holding hands on the way to class.

the world was quieter with her hand in yours.

she wore your hoodie now, the one with the tiny web stitched inside the pocket. her hair tied messily. her knuckles ink-stained from taking notes. she tapped her pencil on your desk during class, nudged your shoulder when you got distracted, smiled at your jokes before you finished them.

and you smiled back. really smiled. with teeth and dimples and something in your chest you hadn’t let breathe in a long time.

but even sunlight casts shadows.

he started showing up in the corners of your eyes.

mr. pham.

not alive. not even speaking. just... standing. watching. arms crossed like the day he caught you sneaking onto their rooftop. eyes sharp. unreadable.

you’d blink and he’d be gone.

you never told hanni. how could you?

but some days, when she touched your cheek and kissed the corner of your mouth, you felt ice bloom down your spine. not because of her—but because of him. because of the promise. because of the look in his eyes when he told you to protect her. because you said yes, even though it shattered something inside you.

you started hesitating more on patrol. paused longer on rooftops. you couldn’t bear to swing past the district station anymore. every siren made you flinch.

but you always came back to her.

every day, she waited by your locker. every night, she texted you goodnight, even if you hadn’t replied for hours. and every time you looked at her, really looked, it felt like forgiveness. like the world was saying, try again.

still, she noticed.

one afternoon, in the quiet lull between school and golden hour, you were at her house. she was reading something on her bed, and you were pretending to do the same, but your fingers kept twitching, tapping against your thigh. your mind kept drifting. always back to him.

“y/n,” she said softly.

you looked up, startled. her eyes were on you, steady and warm and a little sad.

“where’d you go?”

you opened your mouth. closed it. shrugged. “just tired.”

a lie. the kind she’d stop believing soon.

but instead of calling you out, she set her book aside and crawled closer. her hand found yours, curling around it like it belonged there.

“you’ve been pulling away again,” she murmured. “is it... about my dad?”

you froze.

she didn’t look angry. just honest. just scared, but not of you.

“sometimes,” you said quietly, voice like ash, “i see him. not really. just... sometimes i think he’s still watching me. judging. wondering if i’m keeping my promise.”

her fingers tightened around yours.

“and are you?”

you blinked at her.

“keeping it?” she clarified. “are you protecting me?”

you didn’t answer. because protecting her meant walking away. it meant leaving again. and you hadn’t. not this time.

hanni’s other hand cupped your jaw. she leaned in, her forehead resting against yours. her breath was warm. steady.

“i know he wanted you to keep me safe,” she whispered, “but he didn’t know what that would cost you. he didn’t know how much i—how much we love each other.”

your breath hitched.

“if being with you puts me in danger,” she said, “then fine. that’s my risk to take. not his. not yours.”

your eyes stung. you tried to pull away, but she wouldn’t let you.

“look at me,” she said. “i choose this. and i will every time. i choose you.”

you wanted to believe it. god, you did believe it. but some part of you still trembled with every kiss. every time she held your hand too tightly. every time her heart beat against your ribs and you thought, i could lose her.

but right now, she wasn’t afraid.

and maybe, for tonight, that could be enough.

you kissed her like a prayer. slow. shaking. she kissed you back like a promise—one stronger than the one you’d made to a dying man.

when she pulled away, she smiled. not like before. not soft or shy.

this one was steady. certain.

and when you closed your eyes, there was no ghost behind them. no shadow in the corner.

just her.

and for now, for this, it was enough.

you hadn’t meant to wake up like that—breath caught sharp in your throat, heartbeat thudding like a war drum in your chest. the nightmare had torn through your sleep like claws, dragging you back to a rooftop soaked in rain and blood. to a promise you made on shaking knees. to a man gasping for air, begging for his daughter’s life.

and now you were here again.

not in that moment, but somewhere far too close to it.

you stood outside hanni’s window, rooftop beneath your feet and the city stretching out like it always did—loud and indifferent. the night air chilled your fingers even through your gloves. you hadn’t even realised you’d suited up until you caught your reflection in the glass. spidergirl. not y/n. not the girl who had kissed hanni on this very rooftop just days ago. not the girl who had made her laugh so hard she cried.

just spidergirl. you were always spidergirl when you did this.

you knocked once, softly, and she opened the window like she had been expecting you. like she always was.

her smile flickered when she saw the suit. she didn’t say anything. she just stepped aside and let you climb in, like this was normal. like this wasn’t the beginning of the end.

“you okay?” she asked quietly, brushing hair from her face. her voice was sleepy and a little concerned. she was wearing one of your hoodies—probably the one you left here two weeks ago. her room smelled like lavender and detergent and home.

but that warmth was the last thing you deserved.

“what happened?” she asked again, stepping back.

you didn’t move. didn’t answer. just stood there, mask on, chest aching, lungs full of things you didn’t know how to say.

she waited.

and then you shattered.

“i can’t do this anymore,” you said. your voice cracked like something small and broken. “i can’t keep pretending this is okay.”

her brows furrowed. “pretending?”

“that you’re not in danger every second we’re together. that i can just love you and nothing will go wrong.”

hanni blinked, and something in her expression faltered. “where is this coming from?”

“a nightmare,” you said. “no. a memory. your dad… he was dying, and he looked at me like i did it. like it was my fault.”

her voice was gentle, but firm. “it wasn’t.”

you paused. the memory surged again—his voice, his blood, the way he looked at you like you were both his worst fear and his only hope.

“i think we need to stop seeing each other.”

and just like that, the silence shattered.

hanni’s face folded in on itself. not angry. just… wounded. like you had taken something beautiful and crushed it in your hand.

“you’re breaking up with me again?” she asked, disbelieving. “now?”

you still couldn’t look at her.

“i have to. i keep putting you in danger. i can’t—i can’t sleep without dreaming of the worst-case scenario. every time i’m with you, i’m scared it’s the last time.”

you stayed silent. and despite the silence, you kept your mask on and didn’t dare meet hanni’s eyes.

“you don’t get to do this,” she said, her voice rising further. “you don’t get to show up in the middle of the night and decide for both of us.”

“i wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

“then stop,” she snapped. “stop acting like love is something dangerous. i’m not going to fall apart just because you love me.”

you turned your face away, jaw tight behind the mask. your hands curled into fists.

“i see you die every night,” you said, voice soft and shaking. “you don’t know what that does to me.”

“and you think i didn’t notice when you disappeared?” she said, her voice beginning to fray. “you think i didn’t feel it every time you pulled away? when the texts stopped, when you vanished like i meant nothing?”

you couldn’t look at her.

“i love you,” you said. it came out like a confession. like a wound.

“then stay.”

you flinched. “i can’t.”

“why? because of a promise?”

you didn’t answer. because you knew your answer was yes. because fear had clawed up your spine like it always did. because if something had ever happened to her and you were the reason, you’d never have forgiven yourself. because love, to you, still meant sacrifice. still meant leaving.

and because she looked at you like you were worth the risk—and you weren’t sure she was right.

she stepped back then, like she was trying to protect herself from the words you hadn’t said.

“so that’s it?”

you nodded. “i’m sorry.”

you didn’t wait for her to say your name—didn’t wait for the look she’d give you when she realised you meant it.

you swung off the rooftop before your heart could change its mind.

you swung through the city like it was the only way to stay sane.

the wind in your ears, the rooftops flying by in blurs of steel and brick, the weight of gravity pulling you down and the webline pulling you forward—it was the only rhythm left that made sense. it was all muscle memory now. the city pulsed below you like a wounded thing, flickering with sirens and neon and breathless cries for help. and still, none of it could drown out her name.

her name lived under your ribs. soft, painful, echoing. your heart ached with every rooftop passed, every second spent above a world where she no longer held your hand.

you saw her at school sometimes. that was the worst part. not the bruises. not the late nights. not the dream of her dying again and again beneath the lizard’s claws. no, it was the ordinary things that hurt the most.

seeing her brushing past you in the hallway, her backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. seeing her in chemistry, head bent over her notebook, pencil tapping as she annotated diagrams of cellular respiration like her heart wasn’t broken. seeing her laugh—god, laugh—with someone else during lunch. not the kind of laugh she gave you, not the kind that wrapped around your neck like summer air, but still—it was a laugh. and you weren't the reason for it anymore.

you kept your distance. that was the deal you made with yourself. no more climbing to her window at midnight. no more stolen moments of warmth between bruises. no more selfish love.

because that’s what it had become, hadn’t it?

you loved her so much, you left her.

you wished you could stay. you wished that was enough. but it never had been, had it? the shadows always came back. and you always followed them. not because you wanted to—but because someone had to.

and still—still—when you saw her smile at someone else in the hallway, your chest squeezed like it didn’t know what to do with all that ache. like it didn’t know whether to be happy that she was okay, or broken that she was healing without you.

you were pulling away. and she was letting you.

but neither of you had stopped hoping. not yet. not entirely.

and maybe that was worse. maybe that was the cruelest part. because there was still warmth between you. the kind that lingered in silence, in the corners of your shared memories. just enough to feel. just enough to miss when it’s gone.

just a flicker.

but it hurt like a flame.

sometimes you found yourself looking for her reflection in windows. watching her from across the courtyard like you were stuck behind glass. her hair in a loose braid. a bandaid on her finger. her lips mouthing the steps of mitosis under her breath. and you’d wonder if she still thought about you. if she still dreamed of the nights you lay side by side, breath tangled, hearts too full.

but the guilt always came back.

the guilt always won.

so you stayed quiet. you laughed at the right times in class, answered questions when the teacher called your name, pretended your smile wasn’t made of paper. and every night, you pulled on the suit like armor and bled for a city that would never know your name.

you tried to be brave. you tried to be spidergirl.

but even spidergirl couldn’t stop thinking about hanni.

she lived in your silence. in your hesitation. in every part of you that wanted something soft and safe and too bright for someone who only existed in shadows.

you wished she hated you.

it would’ve made things easier.

but she didn’t. she still looked at you like maybe she could forgive you. and maybe that was the most painful thing of all—that she still had that light in her, and you weren’t sure if you deserved to be near it again.

so you let her go. but not all the way.

you let yourself hope—just a little. just enough to hurt.

just enough to wonder… if someday, somehow, she might look back. and you’d be brave enough to take off the mask. and maybe—just maybe—stay.

hanni hadn’t moved on. not really.

people thought she had. she laughed again. tied her hair with yellow scrunchies. answered questions in class like nothing had ever broken inside her. and maybe that was the trick—she didn’t look broken. she looked like someone who was healing. someone who was learning how to live without something she once held close.

but you knew better.

you saw her at school, always in the corner of your eye. you never looked for her—never directly—but your eyes found her anyway. like she had been stitched into your peripheral vision. like your heart had been trained to search for her, even when your head begged it not to.

she still smiled. still watched.

sometimes, you felt her gaze on your back like a gentle hand—not pushing, not pulling—just there. quiet. steady. waiting.

and god—it hurt more than any bullet ever could.

because you knew what bullets felt like. the sharpness, the heat, the panic. you had been grazed, torn through, stitched up more times than you could count. but none of it had ever settled into your bones the way she did now. none of it ever lingered like this ache. this awful, tender, impossible ache.

she was waiting for you. maybe she shouldn’t have—but she was.

you saw it in the way she still left space beside her during study hour. in the way she glanced toward the door when you were late to chemistry, even though she didn’t need to anymore. in the way she picked at the label on her water bottle when your name was mentioned, like she was holding something back.

you wondered what would happen if you sat beside her again. if you said something soft. something true. you wondered if she’d still listen.

but you didn’t. you said nothing.

you just watched her from a distance and pretended your silence was safety. you wore it like a shield, even as it rotted you from the inside.

she passed you once in the hallway. close enough that your arms brushed. she didn’t flinch. she only glanced up at you and nodded, slow, like she was giving you time. and her eyes—those eyes—were still kind. not like they used to be. not wide and glowing. but something quieter. something deeper. like a flame beneath glass.

you felt yourself swallow hard. your breath stuttered in your throat.

because she still saw you. and somehow, that was worse than being invisible.

sometimes you wondered what she told herself. did she think you’d come back? that you’d knock on her window again one night like nothing had ever happened? or did she know—did she know you were still out there, swinging from rooftops, haunted by a promise and a man who died on your watch?

you wished she hated you—you really did—because hate would mean she’d let go.

but she hadn’t—not completely. and maybe that was the cruel part. maybe that was what kept you up at night more than the guilt or the blood or the dreams. the knowing. the unbearable knowing that if you turned around, if you just reached—she’d still be there.

waiting. still.

and you didn’t know if that made her brave or foolish. but you knew what it made you.

a coward.

because love—real love—didn’t leave. not like you did. not when it still had a heartbeat.

so you walked past her in the halls, your steps slower than they should have been, your head bowed just slightly. and she walked past you too, her eyes catching yours for half a second.

not a question. not a plea.

just… hope. just that quiet, stubborn flicker that refused to go out.

and every time, you wondered how something so gentle could hurt so much.

you couldn’t stay away. the city sprawled beneath you like an endless maze of memories, and every rooftop you swung past felt hollow without her waiting on the other side. the night was cool, the air sharp with the faint smell of rain that hadn’t quite fallen yet. somewhere far off, a siren wailed, distant and lonely, like a sound made just for you.

and before you even realised, you were there again—right outside her window again. the same window you’d stared at in sleepless nights, the one that held the ghost of promises you never fully kept. your heart hammered, not from exertion, but from the ache of everything you’d lost and everything you still wanted.

your knuckles hovered just above the glass. you hesitated. then, finally, the knock—soft, almost shy, like maybe you didn’t want her to hear it. or maybe you did. maybe you needed her to.

you held your breath, waiting, heart pounding like a drum you couldn’t quite control. after a moment, the curtains at her window fluttered—a slow, hesitant movement that felt like a fragile heartbeat.

the fabric was drawn aside, and then the window slid open with a faint creak. her face appeared, framed by the dim, golden light of her room. her hair was down, loose and slightly tangled. her eyes—wide, searching—found you through the dark like they’d been waiting. she looked vulnerable, raw—like she’d been waiting for something she wasn’t sure would come. like she had been holding in so much, and finally, here in this quiet night, some of it was slipping free.

you felt your chest tighten. despite the exhaustion etched on her face, despite the sadness that seemed to hover just beneath her skin, she was still the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

you smiled awkwardly, the kind of smile that tries to hide everything—guilt, fear, love all tangled up inside. your fingers went up, trembling slightly, and you tugged off your mask, letting it fall with a soft thud to the floor. your hair was wild and messy and you ran your fingers through it, half to fix it, half just to do something with your hands.

your smile wobbled—nervous, unsure. the kind that tried to say “i love you” and “i’m sorry” at the same time but said neither.

her eyes flickered over your face, lingering on every line, every shadow. she didn’t say anything for a moment—just watched you with a quiet intensity that made your heart ache.

“you,” she breathed, a word heavy with a thousand things unsaid.

your chest stung.

“hey,” you breathed, barely above a whisper.

there was a pause. neither of you moved. the space between you felt both impossibly close and miles away, full of shadows you couldn’t quite reach through. and still, she stepped back, pulling the window open wider. a silent invitation.

you carefully climbed through, the cool air of her room brushing your skin as you moved inside. the room smelled faintly of jasmine and old books, a softness you hadn’t felt in a long time.

the door was closed. the light was warm. the world outside didn’t exist here.

you stood in front of her, not quite touching, like if you moved too fast, she’d disappear.

she looked up at you, and in her face was every sleepless hour, every quiet moment she’d waited. and you looked back at her like she was the only real thing in the world.

you lifted a trembling hand to brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear. your fingers lingered there, tracing the curve of her jaw with gentle reverence, like you were trying to remember every line, every detail of her face.

she didn’t flinch. didn’t pull away. her breath hitched, and you felt it—how close the edge still was. how fragile this moment could be.

then, without warning, your lips found hers—soft at first, searching, like you were trying to say everything without words. but the moment she leaned into you, everything shifted. the kiss deepened, growing hungrier, messier. her hands found your shoulders, then your neck, pulling you closer like she couldn’t stand the space between you. your fingers curled into the fabric of her shirt, anchoring yourself to her, to this.

you moved together like something inevitable—like you’d been holding this in for too long and the dam had finally cracked. her lips were warm and desperate against yours, and when her fingers slid into your hair, tugging just slightly, it pulled a quiet sound from your throat. you felt everything all at once—her breath catching, her body pressing against yours, the rush of heat that made your chest ache.

you backed her toward the wall without meaning to, one step, then another, until she was there beneath your hands, her breath warm against your cheek. your lips broke apart only for a second, gasping, and then found each other again, even more urgent than before. it wasn’t careful. it wasn’t clean. but it was real—raw and aching and alive.

your hand found her waist again, sliding around her back as you pressed into her, needing her close. she fit there, perfectly, like something lost and found. you kissed her like the world was ending, like maybe it already had, and this was all that was left. and somehow, despite the heat, despite the trembling that ran through both of you, there was something unspoken holding it all—something soft beneath the fire. it was what you both needed, even if it didn’t fix everything.

when you finally pulled back, your foreheads rested against each other, breaths ragged, lips swollen. the warmth of her skin grounded you in a way the city never could. her skin was warm. your hands were still on her waist, steadying yourself like the world tilted when she wasn’t this close. you could feel the rise and fall of her breath, the quick beat of her heart through the thin fabric of her shirt.

“i missed you,” you whispered, voice barely steady.

she smiled, the kind of smile that’s a little sad but still hopeful. “i know,” she said, voice soft, almost fragile.

you didn’t say sorry. you didn’t promise that you wouldn’t leave again. the truth was heavier than words could hold. the guilt, the fear—they were still there, lurking just beneath the surface.

but she didn’t ask for those things. instead, she stepped into your arms, as if somehow this moment made the uncertainty feel a little less sharp.

you held her close, careful not to crush the delicate thing between you. the silence stretched, but it wasn’t empty—it was waiting. waiting for something neither of you could name yet.

and even though the problems weren’t solved, even though the future still felt uncertain, in that quiet space between heartbeats, you let yourself believe maybe—just maybe—this flicker could grow into something stronger.

for now, that was enough.

the day began like it had forgotten the past. no nightmares. no rooftop ghosts. no blood behind your eyelids.

just sun through your window, warm and golden, and her name on your tongue like a prayer you didn’t mean to say out loud.

you saw her before first period, standing by her locker, one foot tapping the floor as she balanced a book on her knee and tried to fix her hair with the other hand. she didn’t notice you right away. her face was scrunched up in quiet frustration, lips pursed as a loose strand refused to stay tucked behind her ear.

and for a moment, you just watched. let yourself memorise her again. the small things. the way she hummed under her breath when she read. the curve of her smile when it finally settled, unbothered and soft.

then she looked up and caught you staring. her eyes widened, then softened.

"you’re staring," she said.

"i do that sometimes."

"creepy."

"flattering."

she rolled her eyes. but she smiled.

you walked her to class. talked about nothing. the clouds. the vending machine still being broken. she said her chem teacher was a sadist. you said yours probably had nightmares about molarity equations. she snorted into her sleeve. and you felt something settle inside you—something that hadn’t felt calm in weeks.

in physics, she leaned over her desk and whispered, “explain this to me before i go insane.”

you looked at her worksheet. “you’re already insane.”

“so help me before i get worse.”

you scooted closer. tried not to smile too wide when her arm brushed yours. explained the formula slowly, pointing to where the force and displacement aligned, and her eyes followed your finger like it was the most important thing in the world.

"why do you know this stuff so well?" she asked.

"because i’m secretly a nerd," you said.

"not secretly."

��you nudged her with your shoulder. she didn’t nudge you back, but she also didn’t pull away.

at lunch, she pulled you down beside her before you could think twice. her tray bumped yours, and she handed you her juice box without asking. you blinked.

“i don’t like grape,” she said simply.

“i do,” you said, even though you didn’t.

“then we’re even,” she replied, taking a bite of her sandwich, chewing slowly like nothing had changed.

and maybe, for a few hours, it hadn’t. for a few hours, the world tilted just right.

after school, you offered to walk her home. she hesitated for the briefest moment. then nodded.

you walked slow. too slow, probably. like you were trying to delay the end of something sweet. she talked about the project she was doing for bio—enzymes, heat, all the ways protein could fall apart. you listened like it was poetry. she noticed.

“you’re staring again,” she said, without looking at you.

“can you blame me?”

“you’re still cheesy,” she muttered, but she was smiling, and the sky was turning orange above her, and you swore she glowed.

on the steps of her apartment, you stopped. her key dangled from her fingers.

“wanna come up?” she asked, hopeful, nervous.

you looked away.

there were sirens in the distance. you could feel the weight of the suit in your bag. a familiar ache in your chest—one that never really left.

“i can’t,” you said, too quiet.

her face didn’t fall, not exactly. but something behind her eyes dimmed.

“right,” she said. “you’ve got... things.”

“it’s not like that.”

she nodded like she understood. like she was used to it. and she was. she shouldn’t be, but she was used to the feeling.

you stepped closer, hesitated, then leaned in. she didn’t pull away. your breath touched her lips. your hand hovered near her cheek.

“i have to finish that paper,” you whispered.

she opened her eyes. looked at you. and god—she looked tired. not of you. just tired of waiting for something you never promised to give.

“okay,” she said.

you didn’t move. neither did she. and in the end, it was you who turned away first.

you didn’t look back. but her presence followed you anyway.

later, as you swung through the city—rooftops passing in blurs and the wind biting your skin—you kept thinking about how close she had been. how the sunlight had turned her hair gold. how she had waited for you to close the space between you.

you tasted the lie on your lips. not a big one—just small enough to swallow.

she didn’t know you were headed toward danger. toward alleyways soaked in shadow. toward a name you still didn’t say out loud.

but she smiled at you anyway. she shared her juice box. she listened when you spoke, and spoke when you listened.

and for one golden day, you let yourself believe. maybe this time.

even if it wasn’t forever. even if the danger crept close again.

you lied—just a little. but it was enough to make your chest ache.

because the truth was never far behind. and neither was she.

it happened fast—like most things in your life lately.

a scream shattered the quiet, tearing through the cold air like it didn’t belong to anyone. and just like that, you were already moving. there wasn’t time to think, not when fear crackled in your ribs like lightning, not when someone needed saving.

your suit clung to your skin like instinct. you vaulted off the rooftop without hesitation, the wind slicing past your face, sharp and familiar. below, a man in a ski mask was dragging someone down an alley, a glint of metal in his hand, something darker flickering in his eyes.

you dropped in without ceremony, landed with a crunch of gravel and a tilt of your head.

“hey, don’t you know it’s rude to ruin someone’s night?” you called out, voice light, steady, even as adrenaline thrummed in your veins. “also, terrible outfit. like, painfully cliché.”

the man spun around, startled, his grip tightening on the gun.

“you’re just a kid,” he snarled.

you webbed the weapon out of his hand before he could raise it, the gun clattering uselessly to the pavement behind you. “and yet, here you are—getting your ass handed to you by one.”

he lunged. you ducked, swift and fluid, your body twisting under his swing. you landed a sharp kick to his ribs, sent him sprawling into a trash bin. but he wasn’t done—he scrambled to his feet, pulled a second gun from his jacket.

you saw the trigger move before you heard the sound.

the shot rang out like thunder in a tunnel.

pain bloomed hot and immediate in your left arm, the force knocking you back a step. your breath caught as blood soaked through the suit, warm and fast. still, you didn’t let yourself fall. didn’t let him see the pain.

instead, you webbed his feet to the concrete, yanked him off-balance, and pinned him with a final shot of webbing to the alley wall.

“you just had to make this dramatic,” you muttered, pressing your palm against the bleeding wound. “can’t even bleed in peace anymore.”

your knees buckled slightly as you launched yourself upward, each swing from building to building tugging at your arm. you clenched your jaw through it. forced yourself to keep going.

you didn’t even realise where you were heading until the fire escape came into view.

her window.

you landed hard, knees thudding against the metal railing. the world swayed for a moment, blurred around the edges. you blinked it back, knocked on the glass with a shaky knuckle.

just once.

the curtains fluttered. and then she was there, eyes wide, barefaced and soft in the lamplight. sleep still clung to her, but the worry chased it away fast.

she unlocked the window and pushed it open. the night air rushed in around her.

“y/n,” she breathed, like she wasn’t sure if she should be angry or relieved.

you didn’t answer. couldn’t.

she reached out anyway, helped guide you inside with steady hands. you nearly collapsed, legs trembling, shoulder screaming with pain.

“what happened?” she asked, voice low, trying not to panic.

you shook your head. “it’s nothing.”

“you’re bleeding.”

“still nothing.”

“shut up.”

she made you sit on the floor, back against the wall. you watched her cross the room quickly, pulling out the worn first aid kit from under her bed. her hands trembled for only a second before she dropped to her knees beside you.

her touch was gentle, careful as she peeled back the torn fabric of your suit. the bullet had grazed your upper arm—deep, but clean. she muttered something under her breath you didn’t quite catch.

“you need stitches,” she said. “but i’ll do what i can.”

you nodded faintly. her voice kept you grounded.

you watched her work. watched the way her brows pulled together, the way her bottom lip was tucked beneath her teeth, how her fingers moved with quiet confidence.

“i missed you,” you murmured, eyes locked on the ceiling, just loud enough for her to hear.

her hands didn’t pause. but her breath hitched.

she didn’t say it back.

not yet.

when she finished wrapping your arm, she didn’t let go. her fingers remained around your wrist, warm and careful, like she was afraid to lose you again.

“why do you always come back like this?” she asked softly.

you looked at her. really looked. even in the dim light, she was breathtaking—hair messy, eyes rimmed with sleeplessness, heart open in ways you didn’t deserve.

you didn’t have an answer. not one that wouldn’t sound like a broken promise.

instead, you leaned forward, just slightly, resting your forehead against hers.

she didn’t move.

you wanted to kiss her. you wanted to stay. but the city still called. and you were still who you were.

so when she finally drifted off beside you, her back slumped against the wall, her head tilted toward your shoulder—you slipped away.

you left without a sound—out the window, into the wind, bleeding and quiet.

you didn’t say goodbye. because you never did.

the rain came down slow, then heavy, soaking through your hoodie before you even reached the edge of the school parking lot. you kept your head down, hands stuffed into your pockets, hood tugged low over your eyes. it was easier not to look. not to search the crowd for her face like you always did.

you hadn’t spoken in days.

not since that night. not since the blood. not since you left before morning, the bandage she’d wrapped around your arm still clinging to your skin like a promise you’d never made.

and still, every time you turned a corner, you expected her to be there.

you didn’t see her at first—not until your foot hit the sidewalk and your breath caught for no reason. not until you looked up and saw her standing by the bike racks, soaked to the bone, arms crossed tightly over her chest like it was the only thing keeping her from unraveling.

she wasn’t letting you go this time.

you could’ve run. maybe you almost did.

but your feet betrayed you. they moved forward, one slow step after the other, until you stood in front of her, the rain curling at your lashes, dripping down your cheeks like sweat or tears—what was the difference anymore?

she didn’t speak at first.

her eyes traveled across your face, your soaked hair, the bruise peeking from under your collar. her voice, when it came, was small. tired.

“why do you keep doing this?”

you opened your mouth, but nothing came out. the words felt too heavy to lift.

“why do you keep leaving?” she asked again, firmer this time. “i wait. every time, i wait. and you still walk away.”

you looked at her then. really looked. her cheeks were flushed with cold, eyes red-rimmed, mascara smudged under her lashes. the rain blurred her edges, but it couldn’t hide the hurt in her voice. the quiet breaking.

“i’m trying to protect you,” you said, and your voice cracked around it.

she let out a shaky laugh. not because it was funny. because it hurt.

“no,” she said. “no, you’re not. you’re breaking me. again.”

the silence between you split wide and deep. thunder cracked in the distance, low and distant like a memory.

you didn’t mean to hurt her. but meaning never mattered as much as it should’ve.

“every time i think you’ll stay,” she whispered, “you disappear. you leave me with the pieces. and i pick them up, and i wait, and i hope. but i can’t keep doing this, y/n.”

your name in her mouth was a wound. soft, but bleeding.

“i had a dream,” you said, because it was the only truth you had left. “i saw you die.”

her expression softened. not because she forgave you. but because she knew you meant it.

“you think keeping me away will save me?” she asked. “do you think it hurts less, watching you leave than taking the risk of staying?”

you didn’t know what to say to that.

“i love you,” she said. “i don’t care if it’s dangerous. i don’t care if it’s messy. i just want you. not the version that disappears in the dark. not the one who says nothing and bleeds alone.”

you looked away. the streetlight shimmered against the rain, glowing like a second moon.

“i don’t know how to stay,” you said, quiet as a confession. “i don’t know how not to ruin things.”

she stepped closer. not to forgive you. but to let you feel how much it hurt.

“then let me ruin things with you,” she said. “because being left behind hurts more than anything else ever could.”

you closed your eyes.

the rain kept falling.

but for a moment, her hand brushed yours, fingers barely touching, as if asking—not demanding—just once, for you to stay.

you didn’t hold it. you just stood there. aching. unsure. and still so in love you could barely breathe.

and then the moment passed. and like always, you turned to leave.

but this time, she didn’t call after you. she just let the rain speak for her.

you were falling through yourself again. slipping in slow, uneven spirals. some days, the sky felt like it belonged to you. some days, you swore your feet had never left the ground. you moved through the city like a whisper, like a bruise no one could name. sometimes you wore the suit just to feel like someone else. sometimes you couldn’t even bear to touch it.

your mind was a mess of turning gears and cracked reflections. nothing stayed still. nothing held its shape. some mornings, you woke up believing you could do this—love her, save her, keep the world from breaking at the seams. other mornings, you couldn’t even look in the mirror. the shadows clung too tightly. your hands trembled. your chest ached.

you didn’t know what you were doing anymore.

one minute, you could still taste her lips on yours, soft and startled like a sunrise. the next, you saw her bleeding, limp in your arms, a nightmare with too much detail. blood on your palms, too familiar to be anything but memory. you shook it off. tried to. but it stayed, clung, echoed.

you loved her and that was the only truth that didn’t shift beneath your feet. you loved her. but was love enough to keep her safe? was love enough to keep yourself from running?

you didn’t know.and god, it hurt to not know.

your thoughts never stayed quiet. they screamed and whispered, begged and warned. you should stay away. you should hold her closer. you should disappear. you should never let go.

you should stop loving her.

no. no, not that. never that.

you couldn’t stop, even if you tried.

she haunted your every corner. her laugh lived in the hollow of your throat. her smile burned behind your eyelids when you blinked. her voice lingered like a ghost in your ears, asking you to stay, to try, to let her in.

you couldn’t tell if you were healing or breaking.

every time you touched her hand, you wondered if it would be the last.

every time you saw her eyes, you feared the day they’d stop looking at you with love.

you tried to be strong. you tried to believe you could be enough for both of you. but sometimes you looked at your reflection and saw nothing but failure stitched into the seams of your suit.

you weren’t a hero. you were just a kid with broken dreams and too much love in the wrong places.

but still—still—you loved her. with everything you had. even when your hands shook. even when your voice faltered. even when you couldn’t promise her anything beyond your heart.

she was your constant in the chaos.

your still point in a spinning world.

and somehow, even when you were at your lowest, even when guilt cracked you wide open, that love remained.

it burned. it stayed. even when you weren’t sure if you would.

you hadn’t meant to walk that way.

honestly, you weren’t even sure where your feet were going until they stopped—and there she was.

just outside the back exit of the school building, half-shadowed beneath the awning where the rain couldn’t quite reach her. her backpack hung off one shoulder, and she was twisting the strap with her fingers like she wasn’t sure whether to leave or stay.

you froze.

she looked up.

your eyes met like they had so many times before—across hallways, between lab tables, under the heavy air of everything left unsaid. but this time, it was different. not painful exactly. just... exposed. like both of you had forgotten how to look at each other without remembering all the times you didn’t.

she didn’t smile and neither did you.

your throat tightened, but you nodded, slow. cautious. her head tilted slightly, the smallest twitch of something unreadable in her expression. you thought, maybe, she’d turn away. maybe this was too much.

but she didn’t.

instead, she stepped forward—not far, just enough to show that she wasn’t leaving. not yet. not this time.

you swallowed the ache in your chest. it still lingered, that awful twist of guilt and longing and shame. you hadn’t meant to stay away for so long. it wasn’t supposed to be like this—like every inch toward her felt like crossing a battlefield. like love was something you had to walk barefoot across glass to reach.

still, you took a step closer. she let you.

“hey,” she said, voice soft but steady. there was no blame in it. just a quiet kind of knowing. a thread of hope strung through hesitation.

you opened your mouth. nothing came. your tongue felt like stone. you hadn’t prepared for this, hadn’t built up the words. all you had was your guilt, your silence, and the tremble in your fingers.

she noticed.

her eyes flicked down to your hands, and slowly—carefully—she reached out. she didn’t grab. didn’t push. just let her fingertips ghost against yours, like asking a question without words.

you flinched.

just a little. not out of fear. not out of rejection. just out of the weight of it. and still, she didn’t pull away.

your breath hitched. you watched her face, the way her brows drew together, the way she kept her hand there, unmoving, waiting. her warmth bleeding into your cold fingers like sunlight on frost.

you didn’t deserve this. not the softness. not her patience. but god, how you wanted it. how you missed her in every way a soul could miss something.

you curled your fingers around hers, slow. hesitant. like it might break if you held on too tight.

her expression didn’t change, but her grip tightened.

“i didn’t think you’d come,” she whispered, and her voice cracked just enough to undo you a little.

you looked away. the rain was falling just past the awning, glittering in the soft streetlight. everything smelled like wet leaves and concrete.

“i almost didn’t,” you said.

the truth sat heavy between you.

you expected her to ask why. expected the weight of her voice pressing against all the reasons you hadn’t said before. but she didn’t. she just stood there with you in the quiet, like she knew the question wouldn’t help.

“but you’re here,” she said, and there was no question in it. just quiet acceptance. not forgiveness. not yet.

you nodded. “yeah.”

the silence that followed wasn’t empty. it breathed. it held you both in its arms and didn’t ask for anything more.

your hand still in hers, you glanced up again, slowly. her eyes were glassy in the low light, rimmed with tiredness, but still… still they held that same softness. that same wonder.

she stepped a little closer. your shoulders brushed. the contact sent something deep in you cracking open.

“i don’t know how to do this,” you said, your voice barely above a breath. “i want to. i do. but i’m still scared.”

she looked at you like she already knew that. like maybe she’d been scared too.

her thumb brushed over the back of your hand. “so am i.”

you blinked. she said it like it wasn’t a failure. like fear wasn’t a door slamming shut, but something you could walk through together, even with shaking hands.

“but i’m still here,” she added, and her voice didn’t shake that time.

your chest ached. your ribs felt too small for your heart. you didn’t speak, didn’t know how to. you just looked at her like she was the only thing in the world that made sense. and maybe she was.

maybe she always had been.

you didn’t say thank you.

you didn’t say sorry.

you just held her hand, standing in the space between leaving and staying, and for the first time in what felt like forever, it was enough.

the night was soft. a hush of wind through the trees, a warmth left over from the sun still lingering in the brick of the rooftop. stars blinked above the city, quiet and uncaring, and the skyline glowed faint orange and blue like it couldn’t decide if it wanted to sleep or stay awake forever.

you sat side by side, your legs dangling over the edge.

her shoulder brushed yours.

you hadn’t meant to talk. hadn’t planned to open the doors you’d kept bolted shut since the beginning. but maybe that was the thing about love—it wasn’t always planned. it just asked you to be brave, even if your voice shook. even if your heart did too.

and tonight, for once, you were tired of carrying it alone.

you looked down at your hands, the scars along your knuckles, the rough skin on your palms. you exhaled.

“he asked me to promise,” you said, quietly. “right before he…”

your throat closed. you didn’t say it. didn’t have to.

her gaze didn’t leave you.

you looked straight ahead, the city stretching out in front of you like a secret you were still afraid to tell.

“he said—if i loved you, i’d let you go.”

a pause. heavy. real.

“and i did. i tried. i did everything he wanted. i thought if i could just stay away, you’d be safe. like that would be enough.”

you bit your lip. the words were tumbling now. too fast, too raw.

“but it wasn’t. it just broke us. over and over. and still—i can’t stop thinking about it. the rooftop. the blood. how i couldn’t save him. and the dreams, hanni—i see you there too, sometimes. i watch you fall and i can’t catch you. and i wake up and i’m already breaking.”

she didn’t interrupt.

you finally turned to look at her. her eyes shimmered, soft with something that wasn’t pity. it was understanding. it was something deeper. something still standing after every collapse.

“i know i keep hurting you,” you whispered. “i don’t mean to. i just—i keep thinking, if something happened to you because of me… i wouldn’t survive that.”

you swallowed. your voice dropped again.

“and i don’t know what’s worse. losing you, or knowing i was the reason.”

the silence stretched.

and then she spoke.

“love isn’t weakness,” she said, gently but firmly. “not mine. not yours. not what’s between us.”

you looked at her. her expression was steady, clear.

“you don’t make me weaker. you don’t put cracks in me. you hold me together.”

your breath caught.

“i know what your life looks like,” she said, softer now. “i know the risk. i’m not pretending i don’t. but i’m choosing this. i’m choosing you.”

she reached out, touched your hand. warm. real.

“you keep trying to protect me by pushing me away. but you don’t see it’s what’s breaking me. not the danger. not the fear. the silence. the leaving.”

your eyes burned.

she scooted a little closer, her hand now fully covering yours. “i’m stronger with you. not without. and maybe—maybe you’re stronger with me too.”

you didn’t speak. you didn’t need to.

you leaned into her shoulder, your forehead brushing her temple. her hair smelled like something soft and familiar. and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself feel it—the weight in your chest loosening. the ache easing.

you were still scared. the fear didn’t vanish overnight.

but in this moment, with her hand in yours, her breath steady beside you—you didn’t feel alone in it.

and maybe that was the beginning of healing. not being unafraid. just being unafraid together.

you didn’t hear the green goblin’s cackle before you saw him. no—what you heard first was the whine of his glider splitting the wind above the city. then came the bombs, the chaos, the smoke rising into the sky like the city itself was burning. and somewhere in all that noise, all that fear, you knew: he was looking for you. or worse—he was looking for her.

you met him halfway across the skyline.

“you’re late,” he sneered, standing at the edge of the rooftop. “i was starting to think you forgot about me.”

“oh no,” you said, voice dry and sarcastic despite the tight knot in your chest, “i wouldn’t miss this date for the world.”

your body moved before your mind could catch up, launching forward with a sharp kick. he blocked it easily, laughing like it was all a game. his glider whirred behind him, circling like a vulture.

"you’re getting sloppy, spidergirl!" he shrieked, wild eyes shining like broken glass. "you’re soft. i can smell it on you."

you didn’t answer. didn’t dare. you were already bleeding—left shoulder, the same one that caught a bullet months ago. he was faster than before. stronger. crueler. you wondered what oscorp had done to him. you didn’t care enough to ask.

the two of you crashed into the side of a building, glass shattering around you. your breath caught in your throat. still, you fought. knee to his ribs, elbow to his chin. he laughed through the pain.

every punch felt heavier than the last, every dodge slower than it should’ve been. your left arm was still sore from the last fight—you hadn’t had time to rest, not really. but you pushed through it, your breath shallow and burning.

he was strong, unpredictable, but you had something he didn’t. desperation.

but even as your fists connected and your webs tangled around him, something inside you twisted. something heavy.

where was she?

you hadn’t seen her all day. hadn’t heard her voice. not even from across the classroom. you’d been keeping your distance again—because distance meant safety, right?

then you heard it. a crash. a voice.

you spun midair, only to see her.

hanni. standing beneath a flickering streetlamp, eyes wide. breathless.

you froze.

"what are you doing here?!" your voice cut through the wind, sharper than you meant. "gp—get out of here, hanni. now."

she crossed her arms, defiant even in fear. "oh, what, i’m just supposed to let you handle this alone?"

behind you, the goblin cackled again. “oooh,” he purred. “spidergirl has a girlfriend.”

your heart stopped.

“how... sweet.”

you turned too late. he was already moving. the glider howled through the air. he slipped past you with terrifying ease, grabbing hanni by the arm. she yelped, legs kicking as he lifted her into the air like she weighed nothing at all.

"hanni!" you screamed, already leaping—already too slow.

the goblin lifted her into the sky, her scream tearing through you.

“let her go!” you screamed, swinging after them with everything you had left. “you wanna fight me? fight me!”

he laughed, rising higher—hovering over the glass dome of the old clock tower.

"gladly," he sneered—and he did.

she fell.

your body moved before your thoughts did. one web shot toward her, another toward the tower behind you. time cracked open. the world slowed.

you caught her. barely. arms around her waist, your body between hers and the glass roof of the clock tower dome. you wrapped your body around hers, arms tight. you cradled her head, shielding her from the impact—shielding her head as you both slammed onto the clock tower’s glass roof. her eyes were wide, but she was breathing.

cracks spidered beneath you like veins.

"are you okay?" your voice broke on the edges. your hand shook as it cupped her cheek. "tell me you’re okay."

her fingers clutched at your suit. “i’m fine,” she whispered. “you caught me.”

you almost smiled. almost.

a pumpkin bomb landed beside you, exploding with a sharp hiss of fire and glass. it shattered the dome beneath you. glass rained down.

your web snapped taut as you both plummeted into the belly of the clock tower. your body twisted midair, webs shooting again—one, two, three—to slow your fall.

the wind roared past your ears. you landed hard, one knee buckling. hanni clung to you, her breath ragged against your shoulder.

you didn’t have time.

he was still here.

the goblin dove through the broken ceiling like a demon from the sky. his glider shrieked. you met him midair again, this time with a rage you hadn’t felt in weeks. your punches were wild, desperate. you didn’t hold back.

"stay away from her!" you screamed, voice shaking.

your mask was torn. one of your lenses cracked. the world looked like it was shattering in half.

you slammed him into the gears of the clock tower. sparks flew. he clawed at your side—sharp, jagged. you screamed. the pain lit your nerves like fire.

but you kept going.

you webbed him to the tower. the last punch cracked something in his helmet. he slumped, glider sparking. the wind stilled.

you didn’t breathe.

then—your web slipped.

“no—no no no—”

hanni’s scream snapped your head down. her weight yanked at your shoulder. your grip was faltering.

she was dangling again. the wires holding you both up strained and groaned.

"hold on!" you begged.

“i’m trying!” she gasped.

your fingers were slick with blood. your arm screamed with pain. your mask blurred from tears.

“just—just a little longer—”

her hand slipped.

you caught it again—barely.

her wrist was small in your palm. you clutched it like it was the last real thing in the world and when you finally pulled her up, cradling her to your chest, something inside you broke.

the guilt was louder than the relief.

you held her in your arms, chest heaving, the ruined clock tower groaning around you. and all you could think about was how close it had been. how you could’ve lost her.

how it would’ve been your fault.

she was safe—yes. but only for now.

the green goblin was unconscious. the tower was falling apart. you couldn’t stay. so you ran again.

you webbed her down gently—far from the wreckage, far from the fight. you didn’t say a word. didn’t dare.

you turned your back before she could stop you and you disappeared into the smoke.

you didn’t say goodbye. because this time, you didn’t know if you deserved to.

you hadn’t slept. not really. every time you closed your eyes, it was like falling into the ocean mid-storm—dark and endless, full of faces you couldn’t reach. her face. his. blood on your hands that wouldn't wash away, no matter how hard you tried. your body was tired, but your mind never stopped. it kept flipping through your memories like pages in a book that wouldn’t close.

the city felt too loud, too bright. every siren in the distance echoed inside your ribs. every rooftop you passed reminded you of a time when you felt braver. stronger. steadier. now you just felt like a ghost wearing a mask. and it was heavier than it used to be.

you disappeared for days. spidergirl went quiet. you stopped swinging. stopped saving. even stopped going to school. because you knew she’d be there. you knew you’d see her smile, or worse—her sadness. and that would break you all over again.

but she stayed in your mind. like fog at the edge of a mirror. always there. soft. persistent. you missed her so much it physically hurt. she wasn’t just someone you loved—she was safety. warmth. the only part of this life that felt like home. and you had left her again.

the guilt clawed at you. sometimes literally—phantom pain in your chest, in your spine. sometimes it was his voice, haunting your dreams, sometimes it was hers, saying your name like she was trying to pull you back from the edge. and maybe she was.

so when you saw her again, by chance—just her silhouette, standing near the old science wing of the school, under a sky that looked like it couldn’t decide whether to rain or shine—your whole body locked up. your feet didn’t move, but your heart did. violently.

she saw you too. you knew she did. she always did. and still, she waited for you to come closer.

your hands were shaking. you stuffed them into your hoodie pockets, but that didn’t stop the tremble in your jaw or the ache in your chest. every step you took felt like walking toward a memory instead of a person. and maybe that was true. because when you looked at her, all you saw was everything you lost. everything you still loved.

you stopped a few feet away from her. she was watching you with those eyes—gentle, steady, unreadable in a way that made you want to fall apart and hold her all at once.

the silence stretched between you, and your throat felt too tight to break it. and then she asked, in the softest voice:

“do you still love me?”

you tensed like she'd hit you. every bone in your body locked up. you felt everything all at once—heat, cold, fear, longing. suddenly hot, suddenly cool. suddenly sure, suddenly so afraid. the words caught in your throat like a sob that hadn’t been born yet.

your heart was beating so fast it felt slow. like it couldn’t keep up. like it didn’t know how.

she had that look on her face. not angry. not demanding. just—hopeful. quiet. like she already knew the answer but needed to hear it from you. needed to be sure you were still there beneath all that armor.

you swallowed. tried to breathe. your heart felt like it was fighting you from the inside out.

“…yes,” you said, so quietly it barely made it out. “i could never stop loving you.”

her breath hitched, just a little. and then—then she smiled. that warm, quiet, kind smile that you’d only ever seen on her face. like spring after a long winter. and you couldn’t understand it. you didn’t know how someone could still smile at you like that after everything.

you were still tense. your body didn’t know how to let go. your hands curled in your sleeves, your shoulders locked in place, like if you moved, the whole world might break again.

but she stepped forward, slow and careful, like approaching a scared animal. she didn’t rush you. didn’t ask for anything more. she just opened her arms.

and then—without thinking, without breathing—you stepped into them.

and it was like everything stopped.

the world, the wind, the ache in your chest—all of it just… paused.

you melted into her. fully. completely. like you’d been waiting to collapse into her since the moment you left. your arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her close, like you were afraid the universe might take her from you if you didn’t hold on tight enough.

she held you. didn’t speak. didn’t move. just held you, her chin resting lightly on your shoulder, her hands rubbing soft, slow circles into your back. you could feel her heartbeat against your chest. and yours slowly matched hers.

you were still crying, though you didn’t realise it until her shirt was damp beneath your cheek.

the tension in your muscles eased. the storm inside you hushed.

you weren’t okay. not yet. but for a second, just one second—you felt peace.

in that moment, love wasn’t a battlefield or a punishment. it was stillness. it was soft and warm and solid. and it was hers. and yours.

and wasn’t it love? wasn’t it love, to fall and still reach for her hand? wasn’t it love, to be broken and still show up? wasn’t it love, even if it hurt?

it wasn’t the easy kind. not the perfect kind. but the kind that holds you when you break. the kind that waits. the kind that sees the worst in you and chooses you anyway.

because right then, in her arms, you weren’t spidergirl. you weren’t a walking contradiction. you weren’t a promise failing to hold.

you were just a girl, finally safe enough to fall apart. finally brave enough to feel everything. and she held you like she’d never let you go.

and maybe that was enough. maybe for now, just this moment—just her arms around you, just your name whispered softly against your hair—was enough.

you breathed her in like oxygen and held on like you were drowning.

you stayed.

not because the fear left you—it didn’t. it still pulsed beneath your ribs like a second heartbeat. it still crept into your spine when the wind howled just a little too loud through the alleys. but for once, fear didn’t win. love did.

you stayed, even when every instinct told you to run.

even when your hands trembled lacing hers. even when you caught yourself checking over your shoulder every few steps, because danger had never needed an invitation. you stayed. not because you were brave—but because you were tired of running. tired of losing what made you feel alive.

she never asked you to promise again. not in words. not outright. but the way she looked at you—quiet, wide-eyed, waiting—it made something in you ache. not with guilt this time, but with longing. for peace. for something soft. something simple.

you sat with her on her bedroom floor, knees touching. she was playing with the edge of your sleeve like she was scared it would disappear if she stopped. the window was open. the city buzzed beneath you, but for once, it didn’t feel like it needed saving. not right now.

“you’re still here,” she whispered.

you nodded, not trusting your voice.

she touched your face so gently you almost didn’t feel it. fingers warm, brushing the edge of your jaw. you flinched—not out of fear, but disbelief. her touch always made you feel like something fragile. not broken, just precious.

you held her hand against your cheek.

“i’m scared,” you said, finally. “but i’m not going anywhere.”

her smile was small but real. the kind that grew behind the eyes first, not the mouth. “me neither.”

the moment was quiet, but not empty. there was weight in it. meaning. her thumb traced lazy circles into the back of your hand. it grounded you. like gravity—but kinder.

you walked with her after that. to school. to the bakery down the street. to the park where the grass was still damp and the sky was just starting to turn gold. you sat on benches and split pastries and let the sun hit your skin. you watched her laugh with sugar on her lips and thought, i could live in this moment forever.

at night, you didn’t swing alone anymore. not always. sometimes, she waited at the rooftop with a blanket and thermos, just to see you land. sometimes, she fell asleep there, head on your shoulder, the stars above you both like a lullaby in light.

you still fought. you still bled. the city never stopped needing you. but now, when you limped home, there was a light in her window. there was warmth in her arms. there was safety in her silence.

and every time you doubted—even for a second—she would find you. sit beside you in the dark and say nothing until your hands stopped shaking. and when you finally looked at her, scared and small and tired, she’d just say, “i know.”

and somehow, that was enough.

you told her everything. about the night on the rooftop. about your promise to her father. about how much it hurt to love her and still fear her being near you. she listened. she always did. and when you were done, breathless and broken open, she kissed your forehead like it was sacred.

“i choose this,” she said. “even when it’s hard. especially then.”

you rested your head against her shoulder and let the tears fall. you didn’t speak. didn’t move. just breathed. just existed beside her.

that night, when she touched your cheek and pulled you into her arms again, you didn’t tense. you melted.

you stayed.

and it was hard. but it was worth it.

#bombikki 彡☆#newjeans #newjeans x reader #newjeans hanni #hanni pham x reader #hanni x reader

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