#and to be clear on that last point I don’t think there is anything wrong with reading purely for entertainment and enjoyment

[dreamwritesimagines]

Declassified [7] - Whiskey

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves, you are so amazing🩷 I hope you like this chapter as well! 🥰 And please let me know what you think! 🩷

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary: Alcohol leads to honest promises.

Warnings: Explicit language, drinking, angst, yearning.

Word Count: 5050

Series Masterlist

After Bucky’s win, you and the rest of the team had about two months to move to DC.

And needless to say, things were quite chaotic.

“I’m telling you, the best way to get over a relationship is a new city,” Kelsey said while you kept your eyes on the computer screen, and Caleb laid on his back on top of his desk, scrolling on his phone. “So you scheduled your break up perfectly.”

“I did not schedule my break up, Kels,” you muttered and paused for a moment. “Although, it is a good idea if I ever decide to date again.”

“You will date again.”

“Not anytime soon.” You turned the screen to her. “What do we think about this apartment?”

“What are you guys doing here?” Bucky’s voice reached you and you all turned to him, Caleb sitting up as he entered the bullpen to approach your desk. You tried to ignore how fast your heartbeat got when he smiled at you, and you nodded at him before forcing yourself to turn your gaze to the screen again.

Play it cool.

“We figured we’d pay our respects to the office before we closed it down,” Kelsey said. “What are you doing here?”

“Sarah says the boys forgot a toy figurine here somewhere,” Bucky said. “Came to look for it, couldn’t find it—you are not supposed to be working this week.”

“We’re not working.”

“So you decided to come to the office that we’re closing down on your time off just because?”

You tilted your head. “That sounds like judgment from the man who’s standing in the same bullpen as we are.”

“That’s probably because I am judging,” Bucky pointed out. “And I have an actual reason to be here.”

“So do we,” you said. “We were feeling sentimental and the wifi here is better—Kels, the apartment?”

Kelsey took a peek at the screen. “Meh, maybe. Depends on which one would be my room. Caleb?”

“I don’t care as long as the living room is big,” Caleb said and Bucky looked between you, his brows pulling into a frown.

“You’re moving in together?”

“Mm hm.”

“All three of you?”

“You know how people bond in prison and stuff?” Caleb asked. “Turns out, the same thing happens when you work in politics.”

“I don’t know DC, Caleb has student loans and Birdie has just got out of a relationship,” Kelsey said. “We figured all three of us together equal one functional member of society.”

That made Bucky pause for a second, his gaze on you warming your cheeks while you forced yourself to keep your attention on the screen.

 “And are you okay?” he asked. “With the break up?”

…Fine.

Things with Bucky were still a little weird.

He was still dating Hazel, who did not like you, and sailing through this break up while also trying to change cities was not doing your anxiety any favors. Kelsey had a point, you did not think you could stay alone at least for a while, especially when your crush on Bucky was evolving every goddamn day.

Who was, to repeat, in a relationship.

“Yeah,” you said. “Yeah I’m fine, I only cried for like two hours yesterday.”

“That’s why we’re getting you a new guy—”

“Already?”

 That made all of you turn to Bucky and he blinked a couple of times, then cleared his throat.

“I just mean…” He motioned vaguely. “You know, there’s nothing wrong with waiting a little. You just broke up with the guy.”

“I downloaded a bunch of apps after I broke up with my last boyfriend, and we weren’t even together for the quarter of time she was with that asshole,” Kelsey stated and Bucky’s frown deepened.

“You’re on apps now?”

“I’m not on anything except real estate sites,” you announced and if you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought the exhale that left Bucky’s lips was one of relief. “And I’m not dating anyone for a while.”

“Birdie, you need to go on a couple of dates to at least catch up.”

Bucky made a face. “Catch up?”

 “Look at her, she’s like a newborn deer!” Caleb reached out to squeeze your cheeks “All clueless about how hard it is out there!”

You batted his hand away.

“I will kick your ass if I have to,” you grumbled, clicking on another listing while Kelsey nodded solemnly.

“She is a newborn deer and there are wolves out there, Bucky.”

“Don’t ask why they’re like this because I don’t have a good answer,” you told Bucky who scoffed a laugh as you pulled open your drawer to pull out a file. “By the way, I forgot to put it in the boxes and we sent most of them away. Want me to drop it off at your place later on?”

“Would you?”

“Oh yeah, I have to go to the bank around the neighborhood anyway. No problem.”

“You still have my key, right?”

“Mm hm,” you said and checked the time. “You should get going by the way. You have that lunch thing.”

“Hold on, how did you…?”

“Checking your calendar is muscle memory at this point, I do it every day.”

“To repeat, you’re supposed to be relaxing, not working.”

“And you’re supposed to be on your way to lunch.” You shot him a smug grin. “So how about you worry about the material of your own house instead of throwing stones?”  

Bucky held up his hands, gesturing surrender.

“Let me know if you see any toy figurines here?”

“Will do!” you said as he walked away and Caleb laid down on the desk again, then rolled onto his side.

“We all agree that he wants you, right?”

“He wants his girlfriend, Caleb.”

“In his defense, you had a boyfriend when he got himself a girlfriend,” Kelsey said, making your jaw clench. “He can’t just drop her the moment you break up with your boyfriend.”

“He can, actually.” Caleb commented and Kelsey shook her head.

“I was with the guy 24/7 during the election time, so trust me, he won’t. He was raised to be the perfect 40s gentleman, things worked differently when it came to relationships back then, so he thinks he can’t, at least not right now. If we look at it from his perspective—”

“We’re not going to look at anything from his perspective because there’s nothing to look at.” You cut her off, then turned the screen to her again. “Check this out?”

                                                  *

You liked Bucky’s apartment.

You didn’t know if it was because there were many things that looked like they didn’t belong to this century or the scent of him that lingered, but whenever you visited you always felt relaxed.

“Hi Alpine.” You bent down to pet the white furball when she came to greet you at the door with a meow. “Aren’t you the prettiest princess? Hm? Aren't you the cutest kitty?”

She purred, bumping her head on your ankle.

“I got you your favorite treat, just give me one sec,” you said as you made your way to Bucky’s study to put the file on his desk, and Alpine darted back to the hallway. You approached the phonograph at the corner of the room to take a peek at the records, running your fingertips over a Ella Fitzgerald record before the sound of keys jingling reached your ears, making your head whip around when you heard your name being spat in distaste.

“No I’m telling you, I don’t trust her,” Hazel’s voice was clear as the door closed and your eyes widened.

“Shit…” you whispered, looking around in frenzy before you rushed to the desk to get under it, her footsteps going past the study.

Alright.

Maybe you had not thought this through.

There was no way you could just announce your presence now, and judging by how angry she had said your name, you figured it would’ve made things even more awkward than they already were.

Trust Bucky to give his keys three months into the relationship.

“No I just dropped by his place, I forgot my fucking—oh here it is.” Her voice got closer before she entered the study and flung herself on the couch, making you grimace.

Fuck.

Through the small crack, you could see her putting her phone on the small coffee table by the couch before she stretched out.

“I’m so tired.”

“I just think you’re stressed out over nothing,” A female voice said from the speaker and Hazel groaned.

“It’s not nothing,” she insisted. “I’m telling you, she wants him. And if you saw that hug…”

Jesus Christ, what was it with everyone and that hug?

“It was just a hug.”

“He has never hugged me like that,” Hazel replied. “He didn’t even hug me like that that night!”

“I’d say he hugged you plenty for the rest of the night,” A laugh echoed in the room and Hazel scoffed.

“Sex with Bucky…” she trailed off, making your heart skip a beat. “Trust me, that’s a whole new level but that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Great. This was just great.

Not only were you crushing on your boss, you now had to listen to the said boss’s sex life with his girlfriend while you were hiding from the aforementioned girlfriend under his desk.

All because you had to be nice and volunteer to drop that file off while he wasn’t home.

“Bucky has this wall around him.” Hazel’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “And no matter how perfect the sex is, the moment you so much as approach that wall, he just shuts down.”

Your eyes widened when you saw Alpine peek her head around the desk before she happily jumped into your lap, pushing at your folded legs.

“What are you doing?” you mouthed as if she could answer you, but she only head-butted your knee, then blinked up at you, making you run a hand over your face before you started scratching at her head.

This was not what you had imagined when you applied for a job in politics.

“And you know how it is,” she said. “Young female aide gives him puppy dog eyes whenever he’s around and the next thing you know…”

Alpine gave you a quizzical look and you rolled your eyes, then shook your head.

“I get it, but she’s been around him for a while now and nothing happened.”

“She has a boyfriend.”

Ah.

Bucky hadn’t told her about your breakup then.

“And he has a girlfriend,” her friend insisted. “A hot, successful, wealthy girlfriend, he’s not gonna throw that away for some dumb girl. And besides, you’re much hotter.”

The interesting thing was that Kelsey had said the exact same thing about you just a week ago.

“I don’t know,” Hazel said with a sigh. “I feel like I’m trespassing sometimes. Maybe he doesn’t actually like me. I mean, even his cat doesn’t like me.”

You looked down at Alpine who was kneading your leg while purring and ran your fingers through her soft fur.

“It’s a damn cat, Haze.”

Hazel scoffed a laugh. “I know it’s been only three months but I really like him, you know?”

Oh, you definitely knew the feeling.

“And I want to make it work, but I’m not sure if I can if she’s in the picture,” she said. “Not to mention they’ll both be in DC—”

“His whole team is moving there, not just her,” her friend reminded her. “And if she’s bothering you that much, just tell Bucky to fire her.”

That made your hand stop mid-air.

Excuse you?

“I mentioned it to him the other day,” Hazel said, making your jaw drop. “And at first he genuinely thought it was a joke as if even the idea is unthinkable, so he laughed it off but when he saw I was serious, it got kind of…tense.”

“Tense?”

“He just shut it down, refused to even talk about it, and he was so cold that—it’s like she’s his line in the sand. Untouchable.”

“No she’s not,” her friend said. “Honestly, I doubt he even thinks about her outside work. He just wants to keep her because she is good at her job, nothing more.”

Hazel rolled her eyes. “I’m gonna tell you something but you can’t call me paranoid.”

“Shoot.”

“I’m not sure but last night it kind of sounded like he muttered her name in his sleep.”

Her friend’s laugh was loud enough to cover the small gasp that left your lips, making you put your hand over mouth and you closed your eyes shut, half expecting Hazel to approach the table but thankfully, she hadn’t heard it.

“Paranoid.”

“It really sounded like that!”

“As I said, you’re being paranoid,” she said. “Haze, relax. The great Bucky Barnes is all yours, with or without that starry-eyed girl in the picture.”

That made you bite inside your cheek, the familiar ache twisting your stomach and she got up from the couch, making your head whip up.

“Gotta go, I’ll call you later,” she said and hung up, then walked out of the study before you heard the front door open, and close again.

Relief hit you so hard that you felt dizzy, and you let out a breath before carefully lifting Alpine from your lap to come out from under the desk.

“Well that was a new low, wasn’t it?” you muttered and turned to Alpine. “Come on, I’ll give you your food in the kitchen.”

Alpine followed you to the kitchen and jumped on the kitchen island as you rummaged through your purse to take out a can of wet food. You opened it and put it in front of her, and she dug in while you heaved a sigh, trailing your fingers over her fur.

“You know, contrary to what she thinks, I am not dumb,” you said. “I get why she doesn’t like me. I don’t like her either, but mine is because of the jealousy that Bucky is dating her, which I know, I know; that’s very immature and I shouldn’t do it but come on, she wants to get me fired.”

Alpine didn’t even lift her head.

“She asked him to fire me!” you insisted. “There’s a line, seriously. I would never do that, regardless of how jealous I was. You don’t fuck with people’s jobs.”

Unsurprisingly, Alpine was more interested in her food than your rambling.

“Your father doesn’t like me that way, for the record,” you added. “And I do not give anyone puppy dog eyes, okay? That’s just how I look at people.”

She finished her food and raised her head, licking around her mouth and you huffed out, then threw the can in the trash.

“I’ll bring you another one the next time if you promise not to tell your dad.”

“Mrow?”

“Good, you got yourself a deal,” you said and pressed a kiss on the top of her head, then grabbed your purse and walked out of the apartment.

                                                *

Going into the bank, getting stuff done and getting out was supposed to be fast but you could hardly focus on anything, your mind still replaying what Hazel had said about Bucky saying your name in his sleep over and over again. You wondered whether there was even a slight chance it was anything close to your dreams because more than once you had woken up, breathing out Bucky’s name, your whole body on fire, your mind fuzzy—

No way.

Bucky dreaming about you only existed in Hazel’s mind, nothing more.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you barely heard someone calling out your name, but as soon as you did, your head whipped around.

What in the goddamn fuck was with you running into people in this city at the most inconvenient time possible?

“Hi Tessa,” you said, plastering a smile on your face. “What a coincidence.”

“Hi,” she said, shifting her weight from one foot to other. “How have you been? Max mentioned…”

She trailed off, averting her eyes from you and you waved a hand in the air.

“Oh I’m totally fine. How about you?”

“I’m good,” she said. “I saw Barnes won the election, that’s great! I voted for him.”

“Aw thanks,” you said. “Max didn’t but um—I appreciate it.”

“He didn’t?”

“Nope,” you said. “Long story. How about you, how is work?”

“It’s good. So since he won, are you gonna move to DC?”

“Yeah.”

“Should be fun,” she said. “Listen, I know you barely know me but I know how stressful this whole thing can be, so if you need anything about the moving stuff, just let me know.”

“Thank you so much,” you said and she waved a hand in the air, then stepped in to hug you, the heavy perfume tickling the bridge of your nose, making you grimace.

That somehow smelled familiar—

Oh.

Oh, that motherfucker…

You could feel your jaw clench as the realization dawned on you, and she pulled back to smile at you.

“I shouldn’t keep you long, I’m sure you have so much to do,” she said. “But like I said, anything I can do, let me know.”

You gawked at her for a couple of seconds before you took a deep breath.

“Do you mind if I take you up on that offer now?”

“Sure thing!”

“Good. Can you tell me how long Max has been fucking you behind my back?”

That wiped the smile off her face, making her swallow thickly as a nervous laugh spilled from her lips.

“I don’t—I—” she stammered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do,” you said, your voice calm despite the anger burning in your veins, and her chin trembled as if she was on the verge of tears. “Is that why you asked about DC? You think I’ll somehow get him back if I stay here?”

She didn’t answer, just stared at you with tears in her eyes and you scoffed a laugh.

“Unbelievable,” you murmured and shrugged your shoulders. “No need to worry, he’s all yours.”

“It wasn’t my intention to hurt you, I—”

“You can have him.” You managed to grin at her. “I mean it, Tessa. I don’t give a fuck about him. Enjoy your weekly five minutes of missionary while he watches the stock market on his phone beside your pillow.”

 With that, you walked away from her, leaving her there dumbfounded.

                                           *

At this point, you were beginning to feel like this damn office had a hold on you with how you kept finding yourself in it, but you needed a place to hang out until you met with Caleb and Kelsey, so you figured you could do some more research on apartments in DC.

That wasn’t the surprising part. The surprising part was that when you walked in, Bucky’s office light was on and you could hear the shuffling coming from inside. You frowned and looked over your shoulder, then grabbed the nearest file and stepped closer to the office, holding the file over your head, ready to strike any potential burglars but stopped dead in your tracks when you saw Bucky in the office, staring at you like he could hear you coming from a mile away.

Which, he probably could.

“What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” you asked back and he motioned at the office.

“Looking for the goddamn toy. Why are you holding a file?”

“I thought you were a burglar,” you said, lowering the file and Bucky tilted his head.

“You were going to beat the burglar with the clean energy draft meeting minutes?”

“I’m not open to constructive criticism after the day I had, Bucky,” you said and tossed the file on the couch. “Did you find the toy yet?”

“No.”

You furrowed your brows. “Aren’t you supposed to be good at this? You used to be a super soldier spy.”

“A super soldier assassin,” he corrected you. “Finding toys was not my expertise.”

You heaved a sigh, then went over to his drawer to pull it open, making him shake his head.

“I already checked there.”

“And your desk?”

“Yeah.”

You put your hands on your hips to look around the room, then pointed at the couch. “Here?”

“I lifted it, it’s not under it.”

You made your way to the couch to pull at the cushions, then stuck your hand between and felt around before your hand touched something plastic. You curled your fingers around it, pulled it back, and held the small figurine up, grinning at Bucky.

“There we go.”

“Thank you,” he said and you tossed it to him for him to catch it mid-air. He put it into his pocket, then leaned back to his desk.

“You okay?” he asked. “What are you doing here again?”

“I’ll just use the wifi and feel sorry for myself until Caleb and Kels pick me up. So don’t let me keep you.”

“Feeling sorry for yourself?” he repeated. “What happened?”

I hid under your desk from your girlfriend, heard about your sex life, bribed your cat with wet food and then found out my ex was cheating on me. Did you really say my name in your sleep?

That was not a good conversation starter.

“Just a bad day,” you muttered. “But hey, see you later—”

“I’m not letting you feel sorry for yourself all by yourself,” Bucky cut you off and you arched a brow.

“Bucky.”

“No way.”

“Don’t you have stuff to do?”

“It can wait,” he said and you heaved a sigh, then shrugged your shoulders.

“Fine,” you said. “Wanna pregame and raid Paul’s secret stash?”

“Paul has a secret stash?”

You let out a laugh, then wiggled your brows and walked out of his office with him following you.

                                                    *

Paul was an asshole but even you had to admit, he had good taste in booze.

“Is that crack on the ceiling new, or did I just not look at the ceiling the whole time I worked here?” you mused, your eyes fixed on the ceiling as you laid on the floor and Bucky took a swig of whiskey from the bottle, then held it out for you.

“It’s not new.”

“Really?” You sat up and leaned your back to the leg of your desk before taking a sip as well. “Interesting.”

“Birdie.”

“Hm?”

“What happened?” he asked softly and you pouted your lips, then took another sip.

“Do you remember Max?”

Bucky pulled his brows together.

“Your ex whom you broke up with just a month ago?” he asked. “The name does ring a bell.”

“Did you know he’s an asshole?”

“Yeah I did, funnily enough.”

You dragged your tongue over your teeth. “Today I found out he was cheating on me.”

 Bucky frowned. “What?”

“Remember the perfume?” you asked. “The girl he was cheating on me with, I ran into her today, she wears that perfume. That motherfucker gifted me the same perfume so that I wouldn’t notice when he showed up smelling like her.”

He gawked at you and you nodded your head.

“I know, right?”

“He is capable of planning all that?”

“Max can be very clever when it comes to his self-interest,” you said. “I was in a relationship with him for seven years, I—”

“Seven years?” Bucky cut you off and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Yeah.”

“Seven years and no ring?” he asked as if he wanted to make sure and you tilted your head, a huff of laughter escaping you.

“Why hello, senior citizen from Greatest Generation,” you taunted him. “Things work a bit differently nowadays.”

“In my day, seven months was too much.”

“I once spent seven months trying to pick a sofa,” you replied. “That’s not gonna happen. And to repeat, different century.”

Bucky took the bottle to take a sip, then put it down.

“Wait, did you say you ran into the girl?”

“Mm hm,” you said. “And you know what’s weird? I’m not even angry at her, I feel sorry for her.”

“How’s that?”

“Max was—well, he was obviously my first actual serious relationship,” you said. “So now that I think about it, now that I’m not in it, I can see that a lot of things in that relationship were designed to make him feel good and not me. He even—” You let out a laugh. “Okay, I am about to spill a sex secret that will be very traumatizing for your generation, you ready?”

Bucky motioned for you to wait for a second, took another sip of whiskey and nodded at you.

“Yeah, go.”

“You thought I was weird for checking my emails right after sex, right?”

“That is very weird.”

“Listen to this; Max and I would only have sex for five minutes because that was the most he could stay away from work,” you said. “And during those five minutes, his phone would be right beside my pillow so that he could check his investments and see if something was up with work.”

He blinked a couple of times, staring at you.

“One time,” you said and sipped the whiskey. “One time, while his phone was charging, he started a chronometer on his smartwatch so that he could make sure it’d be five minutes—Bucky, you should see your face, you look more traumatized than I was and I actually lived it.”

“Tell me you’re joking,” he managed to say and you shook your head.

“Nope.”

“I can beat this guy up.”

“No.”

“Please let me beat this guy up.”

“No.”

“Birdie—”

“I don’t give a fuck about him, I just can’t believe he made me do all that and then went behind my back and did that. Like what, additional five minutes in a supply closet or something?”

“And you were in love with this prick for seven years?” he asked, dumbfounded, and you grimaced.

“Of course I wasn’t.”

That made his head shoot up and he stared at you in complete silence for a couple of seconds, then licked his lips.

“You told me…” he trailed off, a bitter smile twitching his mouth like he couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea. “You told me you were in love with him.”

“That, my friend, is called overcompensating,” you stated. “I figured if I convinced people, I could convince myself. Funny how it doesn’t work like that.”

He ran a hand over his face, his jaw tightening.

“We were though, at first,” you said. “But I mean, who knows? Maybe it never was good and he was a selfish cheating asshole and I didn’t see it. I don’t know.”

He dropped his head back with a soft thud against the desk, letting out an exasperated breath.

 “For God’s sake, Birdie.”

“And I am not even sad that I broke up with him, I’m just sad that—” You nibbled on your lip, then slid a little on the ground with a huff. “It was easier to ignore it when I was with Max.”

“Ignore what?” Bucky asked and you dug the heels of your palms on your eyes like it could help push back the tears, then dropped your hands.

“I have this voice in my head,” you rasped out. “All the time.”

Bucky’s gaze on you was almost too hot. “What does it say?”

“That…” It felt like you were swallowing coals. “That it’s too difficult. To love me. That—that no one will fall in love with me.”

 A stunned silence fell upon the office. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the confusion on Bucky’s face like he couldn’t tell whether you were serious or not, but realization dawned on him after a couple of seconds, making him exhale. You could still feel his piercing blue eyes on you, but you made yourself busy with peeling the label off the whiskey bottle, sniffling.

His voice was low when he spoke: “I’ve got bad news for that voice.”

You raised your brows, still busy with the label. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Someone will kill it one day.”

That made you huff out a laugh and you rubbed at your eye with the back of your hand before turning to see him watching you with a fond light in his gaze. You scrunched up your nose, then held out your pinky, coaxing a chuckle out of him before he reached out to hook his pinky with yours, a warmth spreading from your hand to your whole body.

“Someone will kill it like an assassin,” you said, determination laced in your tone as you stuck your nose in the air and he gave you a soft smile.

“Someone will kill it,” he repeated. “Like an assassin.”

It felt physically impossible to look away from his handsome face, and you could feel your heartbeat getting faster, but before you could say anything he frowned and turned his head like he—

“Birdie? You here?”

Of course Bucky had heard Caleb before you.

You slowly pulled your hand back and cleared your throat, trying to pull yourself together as you stood up.

“Paul’s office!”  

Caleb’s footsteps came closer before he peeked his head in.

“Hey,” he said, his eyes darting between you two as Bucky stood up as well. “Kels is outside. Bucky, are you joining us? We’re gonna do shots.”

Bucky shook his head.

“I’m gonna go home, but you guys have fun.” He stole a look at you. “And be safe please?”

“Always am,” you said with a small smile and followed Caleb out of the office, then both of you stepped outside to approach Kelsey.

“Did I interrupt something?” Caleb teased you, making Kelsey raise her brows.

“What’s going on?”

“She was drinking whiskey with Bucky in the office.”

Kelsey’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“Anything you’d like to share with the class, Birdie?”

“Oh, not much,” you said as you started walking with them rushing to catch up with you. “Today I found out I have been cheated on, that Hazel hates me and asked Bucky to fire me and that apparently, Bucky is perfect in bed. But hey, how was your day?”   

[area51-escapee]

YOU hate booktok books because you can’t conceptualize what a fantasy is and think these readers need therapy and professional help for enjoying dark topics in explicit material even though it takes exactly .2 seconds to understand the difference between something that is interesting and exciting in fiction and something that would be deeply unpleasant in real life. I hate booktok books because they all feel like overhyped copy and pastes of one another, the amount of bigotry that goes unchecked in these stories is astounding, and I also get tired of this attitude that if something isn’t 🔥spicy🔥 it’s boring and not worth reading. We are not the same.

[maskedbyghost]

Part 2 of fuck buddies with Simon (now with extra emotional damage)

You didn’t text him, you didn’t call, you didn’t chase.

But you did send one final message.

“This is the last time, Simon. I can’t keep doing this. I don’t want to be someone you only need when you’re lonely or angry or tired. I wanted you, not just your time or your hands or your body. You don’t have to say anything—I’m just letting you know I’m done. Please don’t come back. I won’t open the door.”

Then you blocked him.

Phone, socials, everything. And not in some dramatic, screaming, flinging-plates kind of way.

And for the first few days, nothing happened. No messages, no banging on the door, and no surprise visits in the middle of the night. Just silence.

But on Simon’s end?

Hell broke loose.

He didn’t even notice the message right away. He was halfway through watching a game when he opened his phone and saw it sitting there, timestamped four hours ago. He read it once, then again, and then stared at it like maybe if he glared hard enough, the words would disappear.

But they didn’t.

He tried to reply, of course. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard for longer than he’d admit. But when he hit send, the message didn’t go through.

His jaw clicked tight. Something cold and ugly twisted low in his chest. He tossed his phone onto the couch and paced. He thought about showing up at your place but didn’t. Not yet. Not when he didn’t even know what he was going to say.

It hit him, slowly. That you weren’t bluffing. That you meant it this time.

That he fucked it. Bad...

A month later

You’re sitting across from a guy who actually listens when you talk. He laughs at your jokes, asks you questions. He looks at you like he’s interested—not just in your body, but in your thoughts, opinions, and favorite takeout order.

It’s... weird. Not bad weird. Just different. Good, even.

You're at a quiet restaurant, corner booth, tucked into a little space with candlelight and soft jazz playing overhead. You’re just reaching for your drink when you hear it.

The click of a safety being flipped off, before your date goes still.

“Don’t move,” a voice says, low and dark behind him.

You know that voice.

Your blood runs cold before you even look at him.

Simon stands there, one hand is braced on the back of your date’s chair. The other? Holding a gun pointed directly at the side of the poor guy’s head.

“Simon—what the fuck are you doing?” you hiss, scrambling out of the booth.

“I just wanna talk,” he says, voice way too calm for someone with a loaded weapon in hand.

Your date is sweating, hands raised. “Hey, man, I don’t want any trouble—”

“Did I ask you what you wanted?” Simon snaps. Then he smiles. Smiles. “You’re gonna get up and leave. Right now. No questions. Go.”

The guy doesn’t argue. He bolts so fast he almost trips over a chair.

You stand there, staring at Simon like you’re seeing him for the first time. And in a way, you are.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you ask, shoving him back. “Are you insane?”

“I said I just wanted to talk,” he mutters, sliding into the booth like he didn’t just commit a felony in front of three tables.

“Jesus, Simon. You scared the hell out of him. You scared me. You don’t just pull a gun on someone because you’re feeling jealous!”

“I’m not jealous,” he says, lying through his teeth.

“Get out.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“You don’t get to show up here like this. You don’t get to throw a tantrum just because I moved on. You made it clear how you felt—or didn’t feel. Remember that?”

Simon’s hands are curled into fists on the table. He looks like he’s about to explode. But instead of yelling, he just leans forward, jaw clenched so hard.

“I fucked up,” he says. “I know I did.”

“Yeah,” you say coldly. “You really did.”

-

Aftar that, he doesn’t text you. After all, he is still blocked, so he can't.

So he writes notes. Slips them under your door, even though you never respond.

"I miss you." "I keep thinking about what you said. You're right. I treated you like shit. I don’t know how to fix it, but I want to try." "Still can’t sleep. I keep rolling over expecting you to be there. You're not."

You don’t write back.

Then the gifts start showing up. A bouquet of roses, your favorite. A playlist on a USB drive. A book you mentioned once, two years ago, that he somehow remembered.

He shows up to your building sometimes. Just sits on the steps, waiting, but not in a creepy way—he knows to keep his distance. But he’s there. Rain, cold, whatever. He waits.

One night, you come home late, and he stands when he sees you. “I’ll go if you want,” he says quietly. “Just... let me know you’re okay.”

You don’t say anything. Just unlock the door and go inside.

He doesn’t leave for another hour.

Two months in.

He catches you on your way to work.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” he says, walking beside you like he belongs there. “Just... give me a chance to make it right. Let me earn it.”

You stop walking. Look at him.

He looks rough. The beard’s thicker, the eyes are darker, and the weight of regret sits heavy on his shoulders.

“You can’t fix this with flowers and sad eyes,” you say. “I needed you. And you made me feel like a mistake.”

“I know,” he says, voice cracking. “I know I don’t deserve another shot. But I’m still gonna try. Every day. Until you tell me to stop.”

“And what if I never change my mind?”

“Then I’ll still keep showing up.”

He means it.

You can see it in the way he looks at you now—not hungry, not possessive. Just wrecked. Like he lost something irreplaceable and knows it.

You don’t let him follow you to work.

But for the first time in weeks, you don’t feel as angry. Not because he’s forgiven. Not even close. But because he finally looks like he’s suffering the way you did.

Three months.

You’re out with friends when he shows up again. This time, unarmed thankfully.

You’re tipsy, laughing, leaning into someone else’s shoulder—some other guy’s—and Simon sees it before you do. You turn and there he is, standing just far enough to not make a scene, but close enough to make your heart drop.

You think he’s going to come over. Ruin the night. Scare the guy off again.

He doesn’t.

He just nods at you. One short, respectful tilt of his head. Then he walks away.

No words, nor begging, trying to guilt you into anything.

And that gets to you more than the thousand apologies he could’ve offered.

Four months.

It’s your birthday.

You don’t tell anyone. You keep it lowkey on purpose, like if no one says anything, you can just pretend it’s any other day. You don’t want the reminders. You don’t want the well-meaning texts from people who don’t know what you’ve been dealing with. You definitely don’t want to wonder whether or not Simon remembers.

But he does.

You find out when you get home and there’s a small package sitting at your door. No note. No name. Just your initials written on the wrapping in the handwriting you know better than your own.

You think about throwing it away. You almost do, but curiosity wins, and inside the plain brown paper is a little black box.

You open it and your breath catches.

It’s that necklace you once pointed at in a store window downtown—months ago, maybe even a year. A tiny silver ghost on a chain. You made some stupid joke about how it looked like him: “emotionally unavailable, disappears without warning, weirdly endearing.”

He didn’t laugh at the time. Just rolled his eyes and muttered something like “you’re annoying” under his breath.

You never mentioned it again, but he remembered.

You stare at it for a long time. You don’t cry, don’t smile either. You just sit there on your hallway floor, turning the necklace over in your hands until your legs go numb.

Then you put it back in the box and tuck it in the drawer by your bed.

You don’t wear it, but you decided to keep it.

And the next day, for the first time in months, you catch yourself wondering how he’s doing. Like maybe he’s not just doing this to win, maybe he means it.

Still, you don’t reach out.

Not yet...

Five months.

He finally knocks.

It’s late. Not obscenely so, but enough that you’re in sweats and no bra, and part of you is tempted to pretend you’re not home.

But something in you says open the door.

So you do.

Simon looks like hell. Wet from rain, hair flat to his skull, hands shoved into his jacket like he’s trying to keep himself from reaching for you.

“I wrote it down,” he says, holding out a thick envelope. “Everything I wanted to say. Everything I should’ve said before.”

You stare at it like it might burn you. “Why now?”

His throat bobs. “Because I thought giving you space would be enough. But space doesn’t mean silence. It doesn’t mean I stop showing you I care. I just... I didn’t know how to love you the way you deserved.”

“And now you do?” you ask, arching a brow.

“No,” he says. “But I’m learning. And I’ll keep learning, with or without a second chance.”

You take the envelope. You don’t invite him in. But you do say, “Good night, Simon,” soft and tired.

And he smiles, just barely.

You read the letter that night. You weren’t going to, but you do.

It’s messy. Honest. Full of crossed-out lines and little notes scribbled in the margins. He writes like he talks—short sentences, straight to the point—but you can feel how badly he wants you to understand.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel disposable. That’s not what you are. That’s not what you ever were.”

“I never knew how to show you I gave a fuck. That’s on me.”

“I kept thinking if I didn’t say anything, you wouldn’t expect anything. But you did. And I should’ve met you there.”

“I think about your laugh. I hear it sometimes when I’m dead tired. It makes me hate myself.”

“I’m not asking you to come back. But if you ever do, I swear I’ll never leave you wondering again.”

You fall asleep with the letter in your hands, crumpled a little at the edges.

You don’t message him the next day.

But the next week?

You text one word.

“Coffee?”

PART 3

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

do we still hate him guys??

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay

[kleefkruid]

Guys, I had one of the weirdest 15 minutes of my life yesterday, as if some higher power put me in a jar and shook me around for a very short time and then let me out again.

But before I can tell the story I need to quickly make sure everyone has the context: Kotelet, the stray I took in had 2 bigger kittens and was super pregnant. These are the cutlets 1.0 and 2.0, you’ve mostly seen the second gen as they were born with me. But the two initial kittens went to Danny. They were very wild and we tried to socialize them, but in the process unfortunately one of them got out and was lost forever. This was way back in the beginning of August. The other kitten became Dietzel and recently Danny adopted one of the 2.0 gen to keep him company since we sadly never found the other kitten again… Okay keeping that in mind I can tell my story.

Yesterday around 2 I left my house to go to Danny. While waiting for my tram I was texting someone who is coming to adopt the last kitten. This combined with the nose cold I’ve been having made me a bit inattentive, and I got on the wrong tram. Not too big of a problem, bc this tram also travels close by Danny, I just had to walk one kilometer. A 15 minute walk. What could happen in that time right, I’ve done this route so often.

I get of the tram and I cross a bigger intersection. Open sky above me, as is typical for an intersection. Light goes green, I’m on the crosswalk. Suddenly, and with a loud slap, a pigeon drops dead on the ground in front of me.

I look at the pigeon. I look at the clear sky. I look back at the pigeon. I look back up. I notice the cables of the tram that go over the crosswalk, and realize it must have flown into the cables, and was killed by electrocution. At least it died instantly. Not a bad way to go for a pigeon. One moment it was going “weeeh I’m a bird”, next thing the lights went out.

The crosswalk light had turned red. Normally this would be immediately be followed by irritated honking, but as I make eye contact with the driver perpendicular to me, he also points at the cables and we exchange some “crazy right??” looks while I hurry to the side of the road.

“What’s it called again when people tell fortune by looking at birds?” I think, (it’s Ornithomancy) “the ancients Greeks did it, I remember it from the Odyssey… sure hope it’s not a bad omen!” I imagine a Greek augur predicting a war or whatever when a bird drops straight from the sky and someone going “is that bad?” I chuckle to myself, just a tiny bit nervous, and I continue my walk. Not long to go now.

“Pigeon dropped dead in front of me” I triple text Danny “Crazy. Electrocuted by the tram infrastructure. Super dead in an instance.”

A neighborhood cat cheerfully walks by me. I automatically lean down to pet it, can’t cross a friendly cat without saying hi! It’s a teenage tuxedo.

WAIT.

The cat looks at me. It has a little white moustache. It starts sniffing my boots like crazy.

Could it be…

Squatting on the sidewalk, I go in my pictures folder and frantically search for pictures of the cutlets 1.0 The cat leans against me. I find a picture where the kitten has a distinctive black mark on the back of its otherwise white socks. I stare down.

On the back of its legs it has a distinctive black mark.

“You got to be kidding me” I say. “Sniff sniff” says the cat. He headbutts me again.

I am 350 meters from Danny’s door. Obviously I don’t have anything with me. A car drives close by. I gotta do something, so I pick him up. And he lets me. And I just start walking.

After a 100 meters, he wants to go down again, so holding him in a sitting position, I grasp his hind legs with one hand, like they hold wild birds when ringing them, and my other arm goes across him to squeeze him against my chest and I hold his front paws. He meows a little and bites me so very lightly. He just kinda presses his teeth against my skin to communicate he’s not impressed by my action, but that’s all. He’s still pretty tiny after all.

I ring the doorbell, and Danny buzzes me in. “Bring a carrier!” I yell trough the speaker. “What?? Why??” “Just come down!”

He opens te door and looks confused. “Is that Kotelet??” is his first question, as they look alike. “No, try again” I say. Now Danny’s eyes go wide. “No. It’s not possible…”

It’s been more than 3 months. Danny just starts crying out of shock. I start laughing. Both losing it in different ways about the absurdity of the situation.

We’re in Danny’s living room. The little guy is eating all the wet food he can and promptly passes out. We just stare at him. The other cats are peeking in from the bedroom. I look at its white paws, all grey from the street. He purrs. We sit in silence, kind of forgetting to blink.

“Did you see my text about the pigeon that dropped dead in front of me.”

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ the "dying" wolverine ]❜

ft. logan howlett x gn! reader — xmen, marvel

╰₊✧ taking care of logan when he’s sick┊0.8k words

setting: deadpool & wolverine (2024) worst! logan contains: fluff, established relationship

➤ author's note: i’m feeling like shit so i’m making him suffer with me

what part of regenerative healing don’t you understand? it’s impossible for him to get sick in any capacity as his immune system is stronger than the adamantium in his body, so feel free to read any of the other logan fics written by all the amazing writers on this platform!!

but let’s say that he somehow contracted a special bug that managed to get past all that and managed to make him fall ill, requiring you to take care of him while wade goes on a mission to figure out what’s wrong with him…

this headstrong two-hundred-year mutant who can take stab wounds without flinching and is an invincible tank in battles will be the whinest son of the bitch. he always lets his guard down around you, but he’s the most vulnerable and immature that he’ll ever allow himself to be around anyone since he can’t remember the last time (or if he has ever in his life) felt so shitty. shivering despite being feverish and covered up in blankets which just made him sweaty and uncomfortable, an itchy nose that wouldn’t sneeze when he needed it to, coughing his lungs out every two minutes— it’s so alien to him.

when you finally show up to look after him, he’ll have uncharacteristically big puppy eyes as you gently place your hand on his forehead to gauge how bad it is. “how are you feeling, lo?”

“i feel like i’m going to fucking die.” there are several discarded tissues and water bottles overfilling the nearby trashcan, but it was clear that he had no idea how he was supposed to make himself feel better and suffering.

“i can tell,” you chuckle at how dramatic he sounds and it makes him frown, but he’s just so thankful that you’re here to take care of him (he doesn’t exactly trust al to do it, that woman is a bit too mysterious and cryptic for him, and the medicine she offered smelled funny even to his dulled senses). “let me go make you some soup.”

he doesn’t want you to leave at first because your cold skin feels so good against him, but he’ll lightly doze off for a bit now that he’s more comfortable and feels safer. don’t expect him to stay asleep for long though, he’ll get up from his little while you’re in the middle of cooking chicken vegetable soup to wrap his arms around you and rest his head on top of yours until you finish.

“why are there barely any vegetables in the fridge? i could only find half a carrot and wilted celery.”

“i don’t think anyone here eats that stuff.”

“logan, you need to eat your greens— all you guys do, how are all three of you in such good shape then?!”

“eh.”

he can’t make anything more complicated than butter noodles, wade sets nearly everything on fire, he feels slightly guilty eating the food made by an elderly blind lady when he’s already freeloading at the moment, and constantly ordering take-out becomes expensive. you’ve given some food in tupperware for him to eat up, but it isn’t quite the same. as if being sick didn’t make him miserable enough, he’s so fucking pissed that he couldn’t properly taste your freshly-cooked food and will make it known.

you scoff that it’s just soup and pour it out in a bowl for him to eat, but you’ll quickly find yourself spoon-feeding him. yes, his hands still work with perfectly fine motor functions. no, you’re not passing up the opportunity to baby him while he rolls his eyes (he’ll grunt at most and doesn’t say a word of protest, claiming that he’s merely allowing it since he’s too tired to fight with you over it and very glad no one could see it happening).

“here comes the airplane~”

“i’m a grown-ass man, don’t be ridiculous.”

“a grown-ass man without an ounce of whimsy in his life, open your fucking mouth and eat.”

this is one of the lower points in his life where he doesn’t quite understand why this is happening to him yet, so you obviously have give him as much affection as possible! keeping a cold glass of water nearby and a wet rag to dab on his face, he rests his head upon your thighs and you swear that you can hear him purring like a kitten. there’s not better pillow than his lover, soft, warm, and full of love as you hum a song to lull him to sleep.

“let’s get married one day…” he not sure how that slipped past his lips, it might be the fever talking for him, or the fact that he’s completely relaxed without any tension in his muscles and feeling himself falling in love all over again when you smile so sweetly at him

“okay, but you need to sleep and get better first.” you place a gentle kiss on his forehead until his eyes slowly drift shut, “i love you, logan.”

[minniesfiles]

BLOOM WITH YOU | month 0

After years of heartbreak and disappointment, you and your husband’s dream of starting a family seemed out of reach. But miracle was a beautiful thing.

❧ PAIRING; wonwoo x reader

❧ GENRE; angst, fluff, mild smut

❧ WARNINGS; heavy angst in this chapter, arguing, lots of tears, mention of blood, mention of miscarriages, mention of fertility issues, generally very sad and emotional chapter, wonwoo being a caring hubby :( , penetrative sex, missionary, squirting, creampie, love-making

❧ WORDCOUNT; 8k

▁▁▁▁▁▁

series masterlist

𐚁₊⊹

▍24 MAY 2025 — [present]

You always thought your life was the kind people envied. You had the checklist: a career you enjoyed, a loving husband who kissed your forehead every morning, and a circle of family and friends who were there for every celebration and every stumble. It was the life you dreamed of when you were younger, the one where you imagined adulthood to be a smooth, perfect path.

Yet there was a piece of puzzle that seemed to leave the entire picture of your life incomplete, and without it you couldn’t rest.

You’ve been searching for it for three years, but it was buried somewhere deep in the unknown. And the longer you desperately tried to dig through every corner of the earth, the more exhausted you grew — physically and mentally.

Yet still, you didn’t want to stop. You couldn’t give up.

It was midnight, and you were sitting by the window for hours with your knees to your chest, watching the rain pour heavily. You didn’t bother to turn on more lights or even check the time because your mind was elsewhere. You were waiting for something — anything — to break the silence that had grown deafening over the years.

And just then, you heard the sound of the front door opening. Your body stiffened, and your head snapped towards the source of the noise. He was finally home.

You watched your husband step into the house and noticed that he was slightly soaked. He must have walked from the car to the house in the rain without an umbrella, and for a brief moment, you wondered if he had even cared to shield himself.

But your anger was quicker to rise. Three hours. He finished work three hours ago. You were sitting here, waiting, as you did so many nights before, wondering where he was and why he didn’t come home. The excuses were always the same — delays, errands, last-minute shoots.

But a human could only sit and endure for so long before they reach their breaking point, and tonight was it.

You stood up abruptly and made your way towards him. Your bare feet made no sound against the floor, but your furious presence was loud. “Where the hell were you?” you barked.

Wonwoo stopped in his tracks, his wide shoulders sagging as he let out a tired sigh. He placed his keys on the table by the door, but he didn’t dare to meet your gaze. His exhaustion was imprinted onto his face, in the slight droop of his eyelids, the heaviness in his movements. He rubbed the back of his neck as water dripped from his fingers onto the floor.

“I don’t want to do this right now,” he muttered with his deep voice.

Your eyes narrowed and your anger flared hotter. “You don’t want to do this right now?” you repeated as your voice rose.

“You think I wanted to sit here for hours, wondering where you were? You finished work three hours ago. What the hell were you doing?”

“I was driving around,” he admitted after a moment, his voice barely audible over the rain hitting against the glass windows. “I needed to clear my head.”

Your laugh was short and bitter, and filled with disbelief. “Clear your head? Must be nice, having the luxury to escape whenever you feel like it while I sit here drowning in everything that’s wrong with our lives!”

Wonwoo’s head snapped up at your words, and for the first time, he looked at you directly. His eyes were tired, but there was frustration in there too.

“Don’t make this about me,” he said with a sharp tone. “You think this is easy for me? You think I don’t feel the same things you do?”

“Then why don’t you act like it? Why don’t you talk to me instead of running off and leaving me here to deal with it alone?” you questioned as you stood with a defensive posture.

“Because every time we talk, it turns into this,” he shot back, his voice rising slightly. “A fight. Blaming each other for something neither of us can control.”

As the unspoken truth was finally exposed, the silence that followed was immediate and suffocating. Your once-bright vision of starting a family turned into a relentless cycle of pain and resentment. The hope that had once bound you together now only reminded you of what you both couldn’t have.

Three long years of trying had left its mark — never-ending doctor’s appointments, treatments, and reassurances that never felt enough. Your patience had been tested at every social gathering where friends shared pregnancy announcements, and with each passing year, the gap between your expectations and reality widened.

You both endured the isolation and the pain of waiting together, hoping for something that stubbornly refused to arrive. And now, in the wake of another failed attempt, your shared grief threatened to consume what little remained of your hope and connection.

You felt your throat tighten as your anger threatened to give way to tears. But you refused to cry, refused to let yourself appear weak. “You’ve given up,” you said quietly. You tried to sound firm but your trembling voice betrayed you. “You’ve stopped trying.”

Wonwoo’s expression softened slightly as he stepped closer to meet your eyes properly. “I haven’t given up,” he said. “But what do you want me to do? Keep pushing until we destroy what’s left of us? We’re tearing each other apart over something we can’t change.”

You shook your head, and your hands trembled as you tried to hold onto your anger. However, you knew he was right, so his words struck a deep chord within you. Both of you were worn out and, in your own ways, broken. Neither of you could seem to get around the distance left by the dream that once united you together.

In the end, the tears you were holding back finally spilled over.

“You don’t get it,” you said with a whisper. “I feel like I’ve failed. Like I’m the reason this isn’t happening for us. And every time you pull away, it just makes me feel more alone.”

Wonwoo’s face softened further, and he reached out for your hand, but you stepped back. “Don’t,” your voice cracked. “Don’t act like everything’s fine. It’s not fine.”

“I know it’s not,” he said as his hand dropped to his side. “I’m not pretending it is. But I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to fix us.”

The rain outside seemed to grow louder, and the intensifying storm reflected the emotions between you both. You turned away and wrapped your arms around yourself as your body shook with silent sobs. You felt him watching you, felt the space between you that grew wider as each string of hope was cut off.

“It’s not supposed to be this way,” you whimpered. “We had plans. We had dreams. We were supposed to have a family by now, to be happy. But everything feels…broken.”

Wonwoo stood there for a moment, watching you as if he were searching for the right words. Then, slowly, he dropped the bag he was holding and stepped forward. You didn’t hear him move, didn’t feel him until his arms wrapped around you from behind.

His hold on you was warm and strong, and his muscular arms wrapped around your small frame as if he was trying to hold you together when you couldn’t.

At first, you tensed up, taken by surprise, but then you turned around and melted into him, letting your tears soak his chest. “I’m sorry,” he murmured against your hair, “I’m so sorry baby.”

You shook your head as your sobs muffled against his chest. “I’m scared,” you admitted. “I’m scared we’ll never get to start a family like we dreamed. I’m scared we’re never going to be okay again. That we’re never going to be enough for each other.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, feeling his own tears rolling down his cheeks. “But you’re enough for me my love” he said, his voice breaking. “You’ve always been enough for me. I just…I don’t know how to make this better.”

As much as Wonwoo wanted to comfort you with reassurance, he couldn’t keep his feelings locked away all the time. This was the honest he could get.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him through your tear-streaked face. His red and glistening eyes met yours, and you saw the pain, the love, the desperation in them. Like your own.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you cried silently.

“You won’t,” he promised as his hands cupped your face. “We’re in this together. No matter what. Remember the promise we made on our wedding day?” he asked, and you nodded slowly,

“We’ll be okay”

You went to sleep that night, with your head resting on your husband’s shoulder while his arms were securely wrapped around your waist, thinking back to the day when everything started to fall apart. The memories played over and over like a cruel loop.

How badly you wished it was just a bad dream, a sickening nightmare that you’d shake off upon waking. But it wasn’t. It was real. The pain was too sharp, too vivid to be an illusion. And as much as you wished to escape it, every time you closed your eyes you were forced to face the harshness of it all.

▍1 JUNE 2022 — [3 years ago]

You hummed to yourself as you sliced through a bundle of fresh spring onions. It was a peaceful evening, and you were excited for your husband to come home from his photoshoot. He’d been working so hard lately and you wanted to treat him with his favorite dish — a nice pot of kimchi jjigae.

Cooking has become your comforting hobby lately ever since you found out you were pregnant. While Wonwoo was out for his clients’ photoshoots, you would stay at home to make his favourite meals so he could enjoy them when he returned home.

As you stirred the pot on the stove, your free hand instinctively went to your small, round belly. At twelve weeks pregnant, you had just begun to notice the subtle changes in your body. It was a surprise you didn’t expect, a blessing you both dreamed of.

As you reached for the ladle, a sudden sharp, searing pain shot through your lower abdomen. Your hand flew to your stomach, and you doubled over, gasping for air. The ladle slipped from your hand and clattered onto the floor.

It was just a cramp. That was what you told yourself. The pregnancy books said cramps were normal. You leaned against the counter and tried to breathe through the discomfort. But then it came again, this time sharper, radiating down your lower back. Your knees buckled, and you had to grip the counter to keep yourself upright.

The warmth between your legs came next, and it was unmistakable and terrifying. You staggered back and looked down to see blood staining your leggings. A wave of panic overtook you.

“No, no, no,” you whispered with your trembling voice. Your breathing became ragged, the pain was becoming sharper and incessant. The blood was so red, so graphic against the kitchen tile.

Your phone was on the table, a few feet away. You shuffled toward it with your blurring vision. With your hands shaking uncontrollably, you tapped on Wonwoo’s number and held your breath as the phone rang.

Once. Twice. Six times. No answer.

You knew Wonwoo barely checked his phone while working, but this was urgent. You needed him badly.

Your chest tightened. “Wonwoo, please,” you whimpered, and your voice cracked as the call went to voicemail. You tried again, but the phone rang endlessly. The pain grew worse, and tears blurred your vision almost completely. The world around you felt like it was spinning out of control.

On the third try, he finally answered. “Hey babe, sorry I was busy. What’s up?” Wonwoo said with a casual voice. You tried to speak, but the words were choking inside your throat.

“Babe? Are you okay?” his voice shifted, becoming tense.

“Y/n?”

“I—” your voice was barely a whisper, and the effort it took to speak felt huge.

Another wave of pain crashed over you that pulled a strangled cry from your lips. You couldn’t hold the phone anymore. Your phone slipped from your hand and fell onto the floor. You tried to pick it up, but your vision darkened around the edges, and before you could say anything more, everything went black.

When you woke, the first thing you noticed was the overwhelming brightness. The sharp light in your eyes made you wince and turn your head. Your body felt unnaturally heavy, and your limbs stiff, and a dull ache throbbed in your abdomen. When the sterile smell of antiseptic hit your nostrils, you realised that you weren’t at home.

“Honey?” Wonwoo’s voice was hoarse, and it was filled with a mixture of relief and anguish.

He was sitting beside your bed with his hand wrapped tightly around yours. His face was pale, his eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles. His usual calm and confident demeanor was gone. Instead, it was replaced by a fragile, broken man. Something you haven’t seen in a long time since his grandmother passed away a few years back.

You swallowed hard, but your throat was dry. “Wonwoo?” you rasped.

“Hey, I'm here,” he said quickly and leaned closer. “I'm right here baby. You're okay. You're safe.”

You tried to sit up, but the effort made your head swim. “What…what happened?” you asked.

Wonwoo’s face crumpled, and he squeezed your hand tighter as he used his other hand to brush a strand of hair from your damp forehead.

“You called me,” he began. “I-I didn't know what was wrong, but when you stopped talking, I rushed home. You were on the floor, Y/n. There was blood everywhere” his voice cracked as he spoke, and he looked away, swallowing hard.

“I called an ambulance, and they brought you here.”

The air felt heavy after that. Heavy with something unsaid. You could feel it — his silence, the pain etched into every line of his face. Then, your hand instinctively moved to your stomach, feeling dread creeping into your chest.

“The baby,” you whispered with a trembling voice. “Wonwoo…is the baby okay?”

Wonwoo’s breath hitched as he froze. For a moment, he didn’t answer. He couldn’t meet your eyes. Instead, he let out a choked sob, and his body shook as he leaned forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His tears were warm against your skin, almost like you could feel his grief soaking into your skin.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Your heart stopped, and your whole body went cold as the meaning of his words sank in. “No,” you said, shaking your head. Your voice rose in panic and disbelief.

“No, that’s not true. Don’t say that Wonwoo. Don’t you dare say that.”

He pulled back with his face streaked with tears, and tried to cup your cheeks, but you pushed his hands away. “No!” you cried. “The baby’s fine. The baby has to be fine. Tell me the baby’s fine!”

Your hands moved to your stomach, feeling for something — anything — that would prove him wrong. But there was nothing. The flatness of your abdomen, and the emptiness you felt, confirmed the truth you desperately wanted to deny.

“Y/n,” Wonwoo said softly, his voice pleading, “please…”

“No!” your scream echoed through the hospital room. You began to sob uncontrollably, shaking your head as if doing so could erase the reality of what had happened.

“No, no, no! I can’t…I can’t lose the baby!”

Your husband reached for you and pulled you into his arms as you fell apart. You hit his chest weakly with your fists as your sobs muffled against him.

“It’s not fair,” you cried, “why did this happen? Why?”

Wonwoo’s own grief broke free, and he began to cry loudly, his body shuddering as he held onto you. His cries were unfiltered and guttural, the kind of pain that came from losing something that could never be replaced.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered through his tears. “I’m so sorry my love. I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t save you. I couldn’t save our baby.”

▍31 DECEMBER 2024 — [ 5 months ago]

It felt like deja vu, but worse. You sat on the hospital bed as you blankly stared out of the window. You could hear the monitors beeping and the muffled voices of nurses outside the door. To you, it might as well have been the exact one where your heart had broken all those other times.

You were supposed to be celebrating New Year’s Eve with your friends and family, hoping and praying the new year to come would be filled with joy you deserved with your baby. Yet, here you were, in the same room you were in all these years ago — the same white walls and the same faint scent of disinfectant.

The world outside carried on like nothing happened. The snow continued to drift down from the sky, covering everything in white. Somewhere out there, people were laughing, drinking, counting down the hours until midnight. They were making resolutions, clinking glasses, kissing and hugging their loved ones.

But here in this suffocating space, you felt as if time was frozen. There was no celebration, no fresh start. Just loss.

For the sixth time.

But you didn’t cry. You had no tears left. You didn’t scream or wail or ask why like you did all those other times. The grief settled into your bones so deeply that it didn’t need to be expressed anymore. It became a part of you, as much as your blood and breath.

Across the room, Wonwoo sat in a chair with his face buried in his hands. His body shook as he silently sobbed, and his fingers gripped his hair as though he could somehow pull himself back together. He had always been your rock, the one who always reassured you even when his own voice cracked.

But it all seemed too much to keep himself together. He was completely torn.

“I don’t understand,” he choked out between sobs, “why does this keep happening?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t move. You just kept staring out at the snow with your hands resting limply in your lap.

This was supposed to be the one. The doctors said this pregnancy was strong, that the baby’s heartbeat was steady, that things looked promising. For the first time in years, you allowed yourself to hope — really hope.

And now, that hope was dimmed. Again.

The door opened softly, and Dr. Jung stepped inside. She was your doctor through all six pregnancies. Each time, she was the one to deliver the devastating news, and each time, her expression had grown wearier. Now, she looked almost as broken as you and Wonwoo did.

Wonwoo wiped his face and sat up straighter. His hands were still shaking as he reached for yours, but you didn’t react to his touch.

Dr. Jung hesitated for a moment before speaking, like she was trying to find the right words. But there were no right words.

“Y/n…Wonwoo,” she began gently. “I’m so, so sorry for your loss.”

Wonwoo inhaled a sharp breath and blinked back fresh tears that threatened to fall. But you didn’t blink.

Dr. Jung shifted in her chair as her hands clasped together tightly. “I know you’ve been through this so many times before,” she continued, her voice laced with sorrow. “And I can’t imagine how much pain you’re in right now. But we finally have some answers.”

Wonwoo’s body stiffened, and his grip tightened on your lifeless hand. “What do you mean?” he asked with his hoarse voice.

Dr. Jung exhaled softly. “The tests we ran after your last miscarriage, and the scans we did earlier this time, have given us a clearer picture. Y/n, your womb has an abnormal structure. It’s something we hadn’t been able to see before with certainty, but now we can.”

The words floated in the air like smoke, curling around and suffocating you. Wonwoo frowned and shook his head as if trying to make sense of the given information.

“What kind of abnormality?” he asked, his voice shaking. “Why didn’t anyone see this before?”

Dr. Jung’s expression softened. “It’s not something that always presents clearly in routine scans. But in Y/n’s case, the shape of her uterus makes it difficult for a pregnancy to progress past a certain point. The risk of miscarriage is significantly higher.”

Wonwoo felt his breath get caught in his throat. He the. turned to you and searched your face, but you were still staring out the window. And for the first time since he had known you, It was hard for him to read what you were feeling. And it broke him.

“There are treatment options,” Dr. Jung continued softly.

“In some cases, surgery can help. But…I need to be honest with you both. Even with intervention, the risk of miscarriage will always be there. It may be lower, but it won’t disappear completely.”

Wonwoo let out a shaky breath as his hands tightened into fists. “So you’re saying...it might never happen for us?”

Dr. Jung hesitated. “I’m saying that it will be much more difficult than for most couples. And I want you both to be prepared for that reality.”

You finally blinked. Your lips parted slightly, but you still didn’t speak.

You should have felt something — anger, sorrow, frustration — but there was only a vast emptiness inside you. You always thought you were cursed the second time it happened, that you were just unlucky, that fate was cruel.

But now that there was a medical explanation, you understood that it was your body. Your own body had been betraying you all these years.

Dr. Jung reached out and placed a hand over your cold one. “I know this is a lot to process. You don’t have to make any decisions right now. Just take the time you need to grieve.”

You slowly turned your head towards the doctor, and your voice finally surfaced after what felt like an eternity. “So, you’re saying I was never meant to be a mother?” you whispered. The words were quiet, but they cut through the room like a knife.

Wonwoo’s face crumpled. “No, honey, don’t say that—”

Dr. Jung shook her head quickly. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. Many women with uterine abnormalities go on to have successful pregnancies. It’s just more complicated, and we would need to explore options very carefully.”

You absorbed the words, but they felt far like they were being spoken through a fog.

Wonwoo reached for your hand again and squeezed it tightly. “We’ll find a way,” he pleaded. “Even if we have to try again, even if it’s hard, we’ll find a way.”

Your eyes met his then, and for the first time all night, you let yourself feel the burden of his sorrow. His hope. His desperation.

“We said that last time,” you murmured.

Wonwoo’s face crinkled, and his body shuddered with another silent sob. He didn’t argue, because he knew you were right. You both said it last time. And the time before. And the time before that.

Dr. Jung sighed softly as she stood up. “I’ll leave you both alone for now. If you need anything, just call.”

She left the room quietly and closed the door behind her. The silence that followed was unbearable.

Wonwoo finally stood up and paced towards the window. He placed a hand against the glass and looked outside at the city below. The sky was glowing with fireworks, filled with explosions of red, blue, and gold painting the night. The world was celebrating the new year that just began.

People were cheering and kissing as they welcomed the new year with laughter and joy. And here you were, drowning in loss and misfortune.

You watched the fireworks for a moment, then turned back to your husband. His shoulders were shaking again while his forehead was pressed against the glass. You should have gone to him, should have wrapped your arms around him.

But you couldn’t move.

“I don’t think I can do this again” your voice came out flat and emotionless.

Wonwoo turned to you with his eyes filled with grief. “Y/n—”

“I can’t Wonwoo” you whispered through your cracked voice. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep hoping just to have it ripped away. I can’t keep watching you fall apart because of me.”

He was in front of you in an instant, kneeling beside the bed as his hands cupped your face. “Baby this isn’t your fault. It’s not because of you.”

Tears finally spilled down your cheeks. “But it is. My body…it’s broken Wonwoo”

His own tears fell freely as he kissed your hands, your forehead, your cheeks, and lastly your pale chapped lips. “You are not broken, my love” he whispered.

“And we will figure this out. Even if it’s different than what we imagined, we will figure it out together, okay? Please don't give up.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe that there was still something to fight for. But as the fireworks exploded outside, all you could feel was the weight of six losses.

You didn’t know how to carry it anymore.

▍30 MAY 2025 — [present]

The sun was warm against your skin, while the gentle breezes swayed your brown locks all over the place. It was a beautiful day, the kind of day that should have made you feel light and at peace. But peace was hard to find for the past few years.

You sat cross-legged on your checkered picnic blanket, your fingers absentmindedly running through your husband’s hair as he lay on his back with his head resting on your lap.

Wonwoo was talking with his deep comforting voice, he was weaving stories from your past. He talked about memories of when you were both younger and happier. He spoke about your first date and how you were nervous as you sat in the tiny café, your hands inches apart as both waited for the other to close the distance. He reminded you of your honeymoon in Singapore, especially when you would both run into the ocean at midnight.

But you weren’t listening.

Your eyes were locked on a family that you noticed walking down the paved path in front of you. A man and a woman were holding hands, and between them were their two children.

The older girl, no more than five, pointed excitedly at something in the distance, and her laughter rang like wind chimes in the warm summer air. The younger boy, perhaps two, held to his mother’s side with his tiny fingers gripping her dress as he looked up at her with wide, adoring eyes.

You felt your chest tighten. It was the kind of family you always dreamed of having for yourself and Wonwoo. But fate had other plans.

Your fingers in your husband's hair came to a halt as your touch grew still.

The familiar suffocating ache settled in your chest, and it made it hard for you to breathe. Your throat felt constricted, and before you could stop it, a single tear rolled down your cheek.

Wonwoo’s voice trailed off. He had been mid-sentence as he told you about some ridiculous thing your neighbour did last week, but when he felt your fingers go still, when he noticed the shift in your breathing, his body tensed.

“Baby?” he called softly, tilting his head slightly to look up at you. But you didn’t respond. Your gaze remained locked on the family with your glassy eyes.

Wonwoo sat up slowly and shifted his weight until he was kneeling in front of you. His hands cupped your face and gently turned you away from the sight before you could spiral again further into pain.

“Hey,” he whispered, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks to wipe away the stray tears that escaped. “Look at me.”

You blinked as your focus shifted to him, but the sadness in your eyes remained. Wonwoo swallowed a hard lump, feeling his own chest tightening. He saw that look too many times before. He had felt that pain too.

The past five months were a battle — a slow, painful process of trying to piece yourselves back together after yet another devastating loss.

Six times. You lost six babies. And this time felt different. It was heavier, as if something inside you shattered beyond repair.

Wonwoo took time off work, just for you. And he planned this picnic in hopes — praying — that it would be a step toward healing. But now, as he looked at the sorrow in your eyes, he knew that no amount of warm sunlight or gentle breezes could erase the pain you carried.

He let out a slow, shaky breath and pressed his forehead against yours. “Please baby,” he murmured. “Talk to me.”

You closed your eyes as more tears slipped free. “I thought I was doing better,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “I thought I was learning how to live with it.”

Wonwoo tightened his hold on your face a little. “You don’t have to pretend with me, love.”

You exhaled shakily. “I see them, and I wonder if that will ever be us.”

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. “I wonder the same thing,” he admitted. “Every single day.”

You let out a soft, broken sound — half sob, half sigh. “I hate feeling like this,” you confessed. “I hate how every happy family feels like a reminder of what we’ve lost.”

Wonwoo’s hands trailed down your waist, squeezing gently. “I know baby, I know.”

You then met his sad gaze, and looked for something — reassurance, hope, anything that could ease the ache inside you. “Do you ever think we should stop trying?”

The question was sharp and straightforward that made Wonwoo mentally wince.

Wonwoo’s jaw tightened. He asked himself that question before in the quiet hours of the night when he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to your soft, uneven breathing beside him. He thought about what it would mean to let go of the dream you had held for so long.

But letting go felt impossible.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I do know that I don’t want to lose us.”

Your breath hitched. “I don’t either.”

Wonwoo reached for your hands and laced your fingers together. “Then we take it one day at a time. We stop thinking about what’s ahead and just focus on now. On us.”

You looked down at your intertwined hands, and then back up at him. “And if we never get there?”

His throat tightened. He didn’t have an answer for that.

But instead of speaking, he leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Then we figure out what ‘there’ looks like for us,” he whispered against your skin.

A fresh wave of tears rolled down your cheeks, but this time, you didn’t try to hold them back. You let yourself lean into him, let yourself be held.

▍1 AUGUST 2025

The motion of the crochet hook moving through the soft pink yarn was almost hypnotic. Over and under, loop and pull. You worked in silence as your fingers moved with precision. It was a hobby that you picked up when you were ten, and you often praised yourself at how good you were at it.

You weren’t making anything for anyone in particular. There was no baby waiting for this tiny cardigan. No expectant nursery filled with soft toys and pastel colors. No little hands that would reach for you, no sleepy eyes that would blink up at you in the dead of night.

But still, you crocheted.

The soft yarn draped and pooled over your lap. The cardigan was small and delicate, made for a child who would never wear it. And yet, you kept going, because what else was there to do?

You stopped counting the days since the last you lost your baby, but the grief never truly left you. It was in everything you did, every thought you had.

When you cooked dinner, you thought about how you would have needed to make something different for a toddler. When you went to bed, you thought about how you would have been waking up to cries in the middle of the night.

Even now, sitting in your quiet home, crocheting, you thought about the tiny fingers that would have reached for the soft wool.

A deep sigh left your lips and your hands paused as you traced the fabric with your fingertips. The baby cardigan was almost finished. Just a few more rows, a few buttons to attach, and it would be complete.

But complete for who?

The unanswerable question kept lingering in your mind.

Before you could let your thoughts settle in too deeply, you heard the sound of footsteps out in the hallway. The door then creaked open, and you looked up, startled.

It was Wonwoo, standing in the doorway with a wide grin on his face. He was wearing a birthday hat that was slightly crooked on his head, and in his hands, he carried a cake. It was small, homemade, and slightly uneven, with a single candle lit on top.

His voice then began to fill the quiet dimmed room as he began to sing. Wonwoo made his way towards you as he sang, and his eyes were twinkling with love.

“Happy birthday to you.”

“Happy birthday to you.”

“Happy birthday my dear Y/n.”

“Happy birthday to you.”

You blinked in confusion, and then realisation. Your birthday. You forgot — of course you did.

When he reached the end of the song, he knelt in front of you and held the cake out with both hands.

“Make a wish, baby,” he murmured softly.

A lump formed in your throat as you looked at the cake. It wasn’t from a bakery — that you knew was obvious by looking at it. The frosting was unequal, some areas were too thick, and others were too thin. There was a smudge of chocolate near the base where he likely tried to fix a mistake.

He made it himself, and it made you tear up even more.

Wonwoo must have noticed, because he shifted a little in slight embarrassment. “I, uh…I did my best,” he admitted with a sheepish chuckle. “I know it’s not perfect, but—”

“It’s perfect,” you cut him off with a broken whisper, and Wonwoo’s expression softened instantly.

You inhaled shakily as you stared at the candle’s flame. You hadn’t made a birthday wish in years. Not since the first miscarriage. Every year, you wished for the same thing. A baby. A chance to be a mother. A chance to keep what you lost so many times.

But the universe didn’t listen.

Your hands trembled a little as you closed your eyes. And then, for the first time in years, you made a different wish.

You wished for peace. For healing. For the strength to move forward, even when it felt impossible.

Opening your eyes, you leaned forward and blew out the candle. The flame flickered once, then disappeared.

Wonwoo carefully placed the cake on the coffee table before turning back to you. He noticed the tears streaming down your cheeks and frowned. Without hesitation, he reached warm hands for you and he cupped your face, wiping your tears away with his thumbs.

His touch was so tender it made you melt into it. He knew exactly what was making you sad. He always knew. His eyes drifted downward for a moment, landing on the small pink cardigan in your lap.

His chest tightened.

You saw the way his expression changed — the way his own pain surfaced.

“Woo…” you started weakly. But he didn’t let you finish.

Instead, he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours in a soft, lingering kiss. It wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was slow, full of love, and full of the things neither of you could always say out loud.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and you felt his breath warm against your slightly swollen lips.

“I hate seeing you sad on your birthday,” he murmured. “I just…I wanted today to be a good day for you.”

You let out a shaky breath. “It is a good day” you replied.

He pulled back a little and stared at your face. “You don’t have to say that.”

You gave him a small, sad smile. “But I mean it. You made it a good day.”

His thumb brushed over your cheek which lingered just beneath your eye. “I just want you to be okay.”

You swallowed hard as you glanced down at the cardigan once more. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay,” you admitted. “Not completely.”

Wonwoo’s hold on you tightened. “Then I’ll stay with you until you are. For however long it takes.”

Tears cascaded down your cheeks again, but this time, they weren’t just from sadness. They were from love. From gratitude. From knowing that, even in the darkest moments, you weren’t alone.

Wonwoo exhaled softly, looking at the half-finished cardigan. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You hesitated, but then nodded. “I just…I don’t know why I keep making them,” you said, running your fingers over the fabric. “It’s not like anyone will wear them.”

Wonwoo was quiet for a moment before reaching down and picking up the cardigan. He turned it over in his hands and studied it carefully.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmured.

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. “It’s unfinished.”

“So?” he lifted it slightly and inspected the delicate stitches. “It still matters.”

“Why?” you looked at him with your heart aching.

Wonwoo met your gaze, “because it’s proof that you love them,” he said simply. “All of them. And that matters.”

You stopped breathing for a second. You never thought about it like that. For so long, you crocheted these tiny garments in silence, never daring to say what they truly meant to you. But Wonwoo always understood.

He placed the cardigan gently back in your lap and kissed your forehead. “We don’t have to figure everything out today,” he whispered. “But whatever happens next…we do it together.”

You nodded slowly as your fingers tightened around the soft fabric.

Together. For the first time in months, the word didn’t feel so heavy.

Wonwoo smiled as he brushed another tear from your cheek. “Now, come on. Let’s eat some of this cake before it completely falls apart.”

You let out a genuine laugh and shook your head. “I think it already has.”

Wonwoo gasped dramatically. “Wow. Rude.”

You smiled, truly smiled, and for the first time in a long time, the weight in your chest felt just a little lighter.

Maybe you were okay just yet. But with your husband by your side, maybe you would be.

▍3 SEPTEMBER 2025

Your body trembled under the weight of his as he slowly sank himself into you. A low grunt could be heard as he pushed past the tightness he felt around your walls, and another whiny moan when he felt his tip kiss your cervix.

“Fuck” he swore under his breath as he adjusted his position while your legs and arms were wrapped around his broad body.

The weather was getting a little cooler these days, and Wonwoo could feel you slightly shivering beneath him. Grabbing the blanket that was discarded on the side of the bed earlier, he threw it over your naked bodies.

“You okay?” he asked, pulling back slightly to look at you. You slowly opened your eyes and gave him a weak nod.

Wonwoo cupped your face and his thumbs traced over your cheekbones, as if he was reassuring himself that you were real, that you were here, together, despite everything.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. Your lips parted slightly, like you wanted to say it back but couldn't find the words. Instead, you answered him with a kiss.

You bucked your hips upwards to motion him to move, and Wonwoo let out a small hiss as his one hand slowly trailed down to your hip while using the other to support himself upright.

Wonwoo pulled out just enough for the head of his cock to remain buried in, and then in one swift motion, he slammed himself right back in. Your mouth gaped, letting out a loud gasp.

He spread your legs wider and repositioned himself to give him better access. He grabbed both of your hands and pinned them above your head, then leaning in to press his sweaty forehead against yours.

He began to thrust in a sickeningly slow pace, deep enough for you to feel his cock brush against your cervix. Wonwoo wanted you to know, to feel, how much he loved you. With every open mouthed kiss he peppered over your lips, every deep rhythmic thrust, he wanted you to understand that nothing in this world would ever separate you from him. That he’d love you till the world ended.

“I love you so much” he whispered against your lips. Silent tears rolled down in the corner of your eyes, both in pleasure and love. But you couldn’t deny the pang of pain you felt either. It followed you like a shadow in everything that you did.

“I l-love you t-too” your voice broke, followed by a moan you couldn’t contain.

“It’s okay sweetheart, don’t hold yourself back” he reassured as he slowly picked up his speed. You intertwined your fingers tighter with his as he leaned in to bury his face in your neck once again.

“M-More” you cried out in pleasure as you squirmed beneath him.

Wonwoo’s eyes darkened, and his thrusts came to a halt as he pulled out completely. He pushed himself up on his knees, the blanket covering your bodies slipping off his back, and hooked his arms under your legs to pull you down closer.

And before you could comprehend anything, you felt him ram inside your tight hole in one go. You felt the air knock out of your lungs as you held onto his arm for dear life. Wonwoo only gave you a second or two to adjust before he began to pound into you mercilessly, the harsh sound of skin slapping and bed creaking filling your confined bedroom.

His fingers dug into your hips as he tried to maintain his pattern, but your cries and moans fed into his desire to go faster than he already was. The way your breasts bounded up and down, he couldn’t resist the urge to fondle with them. His slender fingers gently pinched at your nipple, causing you to let out a louder moan.

“D-Don’t stop b-baby” you whined.

Wonwoo leaned down and pecked your lips, “I wasn’t planning to sweetheart” he grunted.

Wonwoo knew you were starting to get overstimulated when your moans turned into sobs, and the way you pushed at his arms to beg him for a release.

You felt a tight coil form inside of you, ready to snap at any moment. “P-Please, I c-can’t. Fuck! Baby I-I can’t” you cried as you dug your nails into his biceps.

Wonwoo could feel the way your walls were clenching tighter which made it harder for him to control himself. “Let go baby” he said, pressing an open mouthed kiss on your trembling lips.

“Just let go”

And just like that, the coil finally snapped. Wonwoo pulled out just in time as you squirted all over this cock. Your screams filled the room, your hips shuddering as you continued to soak the bed sheets. Your husband watched with his hooded eyes as you unfolded, biting his lip.

It wasn’t often that you’d squirt during sex, but when you did, it was the hottest thing Wonwoo ever saw. And most of the time, he’d lose his sanity completely.

Wonwoo leaned down and gave you a sloppy kiss while his fingers trailed down to your soaked cunt. “Shh, you’re okay baby” he mumbled against your lips as he slowly rubbed your swollen clit in a circular motion.

When you finally calmed down, you let out a small sob, feeling overwhelmed. You never felt so good in a long time.

“You okay?” your husband asked, staring deeply into your eyes with a loving gaze. You gave him a nod and reached your hand out to caress his sweaty face.

With a soft smile and a peck on your lips, Wonwoo spread your legs wide once again. With one hand gripped on his thick shaft and the other resting on your cheek, he gently eased himself back inside you.

Your back arched and your arms flew to wrap around his muscular torso. His thrusts were more relaxed and slow than before, like he wanted you to understand the depth of his love for you.

“I love you” he whispered into your ear.

“And we’ll be okay.”

The world outside didn’t exist at that moment. There was no grief, no shattered dreams, no echoes of what you lost. There was only this — skin against skin, lips tracing, hands rediscovering the familiar dips and curves of each other’s bodies.

Wonwoo trailed kisses down the column of your throat, and paused at the rapid pulse beneath your skin. He lingered there and savoured the proof of life, the reminder that you were still here, still fighting, still capable of loving even after everything.

You let out a shaky breath as your hands roamed over his back, feeling the tension that lived in his muscles for far too long. You pressed soft kisses along his shoulder as a silent reassurance that you weren’t totally broken beyond repair.

This wasn’t just about making love. It was about finding your way back to each other. It was about healing in the only way you knew how.

“We’re okay,” you whispered, your voice trembling but sure.

Wonwoo swallowed hard as he rested his forehead against yours. “Yeah,” he whispered back, his fingers tightening around your waist.

“We are.”

He continued thrusting into you until he felt himself reaching his edge. His moans grew louder the closer he got to his orgasm, his eyes clenching shut as he kept his face buried in your neck.

And then, he finally felt himself snap. His movements stilled as he bursted inside you like fireworks, painting your walls white with his hot sticky cum and filling you up to the brim.

“Fuck!” he dragged on the word as he collapsed over you.

You shut your eyes and and savoured the way his cum still spurted like it was never going to end. And when it did, you felt him slowly pull out. The arousal dripping from your swollen cunt was immediate. But unlike how he always did, Wonwoo didn’t gather his cum with his fingers to push it back in. Instead, he just let it flow.

The hopes of starting a family was dimming, but it didn’t diminish completely. But now, you and Wonwoo knew that you were at a point where you knew you didn’t want to force yourselves into anything. If the universe wanted to answer your prayer, it would.

As much as it hurt, you came to accept that this was what life was. Not every dream is fulfilled, but when you have someone who loves you right next to you, heartbreak and disappointment is a little easier to overcome.

And with Wonwoo by your side, sticking to his promise he made during your wedding, life wasn’t all that miserable. In the end, he was your happiness. He was your answer to your questions. He was your everything, and right now, that mattered to you the most.

a/n; I don’t know what to feel about the smut, it’s lowkey shit but hey I gave it a shot!

[prythiansprincess]

chicken noodle soup.

pairing: mattheo riddle x reader

song inspiration: is it really so strange? by the smiths

author's note: just a soft fluffy comfort fic cause i've been thinking about matty lately and i needed cheering up after the end of kwaf. let's all laugh at the fact that i set a 1k limit on this fic only to fail miserably lmao 😭

Mattheo Riddle was not a fan of Mondays. 

Most of the time, Mattheo spent the first day of the week nursing a hangover and getting higher than a hippogriff at the Astronomy Tower with his friends to achieve equilibrium. The only thing he looked forward to every week was the prospect of riling you up in class. To be fair, it didn’t take much to get under your skin. Being himself seemed to do the trick. 

As he walked through the castle halls, Mattheo smiled to himself as he plotted out all the different ways he could provoke you on this dreadful day. For some sick and twisted reason, he reveled in the fact that only he could manage to rouse such a violent reaction out of you. There was something satisfying about the way your eyes blazed, your rosy cheeks tinged with heat as you told him off.

Maybe he'd flirt with you today. Tell you how good you looked in your short little skirt. Watch as you turned as red as the tie around your neck. His pretty little Gryffindor good girl. In Mattheo's mind, you were his to tease and taunt.

With his usual swagger, Mattheo sauntered into Advanced Transfiguration fully prepared to test out his new tactics on his nemesis, but you were nowhere to be found. 

At first, he figured that you were just running late. Throughout the duration of your rivalry, Mattheo had never once witnessed you skip class. He would’ve bet his entire cigarette supply that you’ve had perfect attendance since first year. When Professor McGonagall started the lesson and you were still missing in action, Mattheo was understandably concerned. 

The uneasy feeling in his stomach didn’t mean that he was worried about you though. This was purely about mutual benefit. Mattheo couldn’t very well have his Transfigurations partner skipping out on lessons. Even though he regularly did so himself. But still, that was different. Everyone knew he was a delinquent. You, on the other hand, were anything but. Until today, you’ve probably never missed a class in your life. 

Mattheo waited. Surprisingly, the two of you had the majority of your classes together. All of which dragged more than usual since you weren’t there to yell at him for dicking around. When you still hadn't turned up for Charms or Herbology, he became convinced that something was horribly wrong. Missing one lesson was alarming, but three in a row? That was entirely out of character for you. 

When Professor Sprout finally dismissed the class, Mattheo sauntered over to Granger’s desk. As always, she was surrounded by her two dimwit friends who immediately tensed the second he loomed near. Potter and Weasley shot him matching menacing glares, but Mattheo ignored them entirely. 

“Granger,” he drawled, leaning against the wooden desk. “Care to tell me where my partner’s been all day?” 

The Gryffindor girl appeared a bit perturbed by the question. “Why do you want to know where Y/N is?” 

Mattheo sighed in exasperation and produced the set of notes he’d taken during class. A first for him. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually listened to an entire lesson, let alone take notes, but he knew that you would have a million questions for him when you returned. The notes were his way of saving himself from your relentless interrogation. 

“Figured the little know-it-all would want my notes.” 

“Y/N is feeling a bit under the weather,” Hermione said cautiously. “I can take the notes to her if you’d like.” 

“No.” Mattheo declared rather suddenly. He cleared his throat and attempted to smooth over the sharp response. “No, McGonagall tasked me with it. I don’t want her docking points from my house when she finds out that you did my dirty work for me.”

Hermione raised a brow. “Sure.” The quirk of her mouth told Mattheo that she wasn’t convinced by his excuse. “Well, Y/N is resting up in the tower if you fancy a visit.” 

After a quick detour to the kitchens, Mattheo made his way over to Gryffindor tower. It was surprisingly easy to gain access to the lion’s den. He simply threatened a third year to let him in and got on with it. They truly needed to upgrade their security measures. One glare was all it took for Creevey to crumble and cave. 

With a satisfied smirk, Mattheo walked past the gaudy common room. For Salazar's sake, hadn't the Gryffindors ever heard of subtlety? The decor consisted solely of crimson and gold and the furnishings looked like something out of that muggle show his nan loved to watch—Antiques Roadshow. Antique was right. The worn out couch that he passed looked older than him.

Merlin, now he was starting to sound like Malfoy. Mattheo hurried along before he caught the urge to fold origami notes and chuck it at Potter's head. Fortunately for him, the place was devoid of the Chosen One or anyone for that matter.

By now, his fellow classmates were all in the Great Hall eating dinner, which he was thankful for. It was no secret that Mattheo’s presence wouldn’t be welcome here and he wasn’t really in the mood to fight his way through the Gryffindors just to deliver a note from the kindness of his black heart. Thank Salazar that there wasn’t a single soul in the tower to bicker with. Until he reached your dorm, of course. 

The relationship between the two of you was volatile to say the least. Despite Mattheo’s reputation, you weren’t shy about telling him off. When you were first assigned as partners, Mattheo had fully intended to let you do all the work while he skipped class to smoke, but he quickly realized that this would not be the case. You hunted him down at his hideout in the Astronomy Tower and discovered him blissfully sharing some premium grade mirthroot with Theo and Draco. When you found him, you were so angry that you dragged him by the ear all the way to the library, much to the amusement of his friends. Needless to say, Mattheo never missed a study session again. 

In a way, Mattheo admired you for it. Aside from his friends, everyone in the castle feared him. It was sort of refreshing to have someone call him out on his shit. Especially if that someone was a funny, feisty, ferocious Gryffindor who he enjoyed pestering every chance that he got. Mattheo always did have a penchant for girls with an attitude problem. 

Even as he knocked on your door, the Slytherin boy couldn’t help but chuckle to himself when he heard you grumbling from the other side. 

“Oh, for Godric’s fucking sake, what is it now?” 

The door swung open, revealing a very pissed off Y/N. Clad in striped pajamas and fuzzy bunny slippers, you placed a hand on your hip and frowned. Even in the throes of sickness, you still somehow managed to inject venom in your glare. Mattheo grinned like an idiot. 

“Nice slippers, princess.” 

You huffed, crossing your arms. “What do you want, Riddle?” 

“To make sure my partner doesn’t slack.” He waved his set of notes around. “Don’t think your sickness excuses you from studying.”

“This is payback for making you revise with me after you fell off your broom and broke your arm, isn’t it?” 

Mattheo cringed as he recalled the quidditch accident that sent him to the infirmary for a week. In true Y/N fashion, you were sitting by his bedside with a stack of books in your lap the second he woke up. Madam Pomfrey hadn't even put his arm in a sling yet before you were drilling him on proper spell enunciation and wand movements.

“You terrorized the infirmary with your mnemonics,” Mattheo said with a dramatic sigh. “It’s my turn now. This is sweet revenge, Y/N.” 

You squinted at his barely legible handwriting. “I’m just surprised you took your head out of your arse long enough to take notes.” 

“Glad to see that illness hasn’t lessened your bite. If anything, those teeth seem a little sharper than usual.” He leaned against the doorframe and smiled down at you. “Feeling a bit feral, princess?” 

“Why don’t you come a little closer and find out?” you quipped, baring your teeth at the aggravating boy. 

The gesture appeared intimidating for a full second until you sniffled and launched into a coughing fit, which made Mattheo frown. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Of course I am. I regularly cough my lungs out on nosy Slytherins whose sole purpose of existence is to make my life a living hell.”

He pressed the back of his hand against your forehead. The way his brow furrowed strangely resembled concern. Mattheo trained his chocolate brown eyes on you, examining the rosiness of your cheeks and the slight pinch of discomfort in your features.

"You're burning up." Mattheo's hand dropped from your forehead to the side of your neck. He pressed his fingers against your pulse point, feeling the erratic beating of your heart underneath his touch. It was strangely intimate. "You have an elevated heart rate."

You flushed and swatted his hand away. "Well, yes. That usually happens when one is ill."

"Come on, you should sit down."

"Don't tell me what to do, Riddle."

Mattheo rolled his eyes before dragging you by the elbow. Your protests fell on deaf ears as he barged his way into your dorm and walked you over to the bed. You watched as he pulled up a chair next to you before rifling through the contents of his backpack. Out of the sordid mess of his belongings, Mattheo produced a small container of soup. With a flick of his wand, he conjured a spoon. 

“Here, have some of this. It should help.”

As soon as he pried the lid open, the heavenly smell of chicken noodle soup filled your senses. Mattheo scooped up an equal amount of soup and noodle and blew on it to cool it down before tilting it towards you. The sight of him offering you food like you were some helpless toddler was only slightly insulting. You swore to Godric that if Mattheo started making airplane sounds, you’d strangle the bloody twat.

 “I can feed myself, you know.” 

“Just eat the damn soup, Y/N.” 

You rolled your eyes in return, but obliged nonetheless. Despite the source, you could never resist comfort food.

“Chicken noodle soup?” 

As soon as you tasted it, you knew that it wasn’t just soup. It was your favorite soup. The very same one that Winky made every third Wednesday of the month. You knew because you looked forward to it every time. It was even marked on your calendar. That’s how much you liked it. 

Mattheo nodded absentmindedly. “Yeah, I know it’s your favorite so I bribed Winky to make some.” 

You furrowed your brows in confusion. “How do you know it’s my favorite?” 

For once in his life, Mattheo looked utterly uncomfortable. He averted his gaze and busied himself by stirring through the carrots and celery. “You, uh, mentioned it in class once.” 

You couldn’t help but smile. Maybe it was the fever talking, but you thought that was sweet. “You remembered that?” 

Mattheo looked up, a stray curl kissing the tops of his cheekbones as he met your gaze. The shy smile on his face was alarmingly endearing. Sometimes when you looked at those angelic curls and stupid big, brown eyes, you forgot that you were supposed to loathe him. “Of course. It’s my favorite too.” 

You chuckled, sniffling a little. “It’s like a hug in a cup, right?” 

The curly headed boy nodded. “It totally is.” 

After you finished the soup, you expected Mattheo to take his leave. Instead, he inspected the vials of potions laying out on your night stand. He read through every label, frowning a little. 

“You should really have some pepperup potion in here.” Mattheo remarked as he arranged the vials one by one. “Are you sure this dose is potent enough? Maybe you should ask them to brew something stronger.” 

“Pomfrey prescribed them herself. No offense, but I think I’ll take her years of healing experience over your expert opinion.” Mattheo gasped rather dramatically, which made you chuckle. “As much as I appreciate the notes and the soup, I don't think it's wise for you to stick around. I’m feeling a bit better, but I might still be contagious.” 

Mattheo shrugged. “It’s alright, I’m not scared of a little cold. Besides, I still have to go over the Transfiguration assignment with you.” 

“Aren’t you worried that I’ll get you sick?” 

“Not really,” he said, waving off your concern. “I know you’re going to pester me about everything you missed in class, so I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone.” 

To your surprise, Mattheo’s notes were extremely detailed.  It was a bit hard to read given his boyish scrawl, but with a little help in translation, you were making great progress in becoming fluent in Riddle. The more Mattheo explained the concepts and ideas that were discussed in each class, the more baffled you were. You've always known that he was smarter than he let on, but this was borderline impressive.

“How do you know all of that?” 

“I asked.”

“You asked?” Mattheo stared blankly at your surprised expression. “You never ask questions in class.” 

“I never had to since you're always there interrogating the professor like the little know-it-all that you are. Thanks to your absence, I had to fill your role in class today.”

You grinned. It grew wider and wider, spreading until your cheeks hurt. Mattheo glared at your joyous expression. “What? What’s that shit eating little grin for?” 

“You missed me.”

Color flooded Mattheo’s cheeks. You were surprised to find how well crimson suited him. It was almost the exact shade of your house colors. “Don’t be ridiculous—”

“Riddle, you asked questions in class. You took notes for me. You brought me chicken noodle soup." Mattheo flushed as you pointed out the obvious. "You totally missed me.” 

“If you tell anyone, I’ll hex you.” 

“Admit it, Mattheo. Your day was utterly dull without me.” 

Mattheo rolled his eyes, sighing in defeat. “Fine, you’ve got me. I was bored out of my mind without you around. How else am I supposed to pass the time if you’re not there for me to argue with?” 

“There’s plenty of other people in the castle that you could bicker with.”

“Yeah, but they’re not you.” 

He seemed a little shocked by his own statement, but he didn't try to retract it. In fact, Mattheo almost seemed resigned to it.

“Careful, Riddle. It almost sounds like you have a crush on me.” 

“I’d have to be a bloody idiot to fall for a girl who absolutely despises me.” 

“That wasn’t a denial, you know.” 

He pinched the bridge of his nose like the very idea of it vexed him, but you caught the little smile he hid beneath his fingers. Mattheo snatched the notes from your hands. “Focus on the lesson, will you?” He grimaced as soon as the words left his mouth. “I can’t believe I’ve just said that. Look at what you’re doing to me, Y/N.” 

“You’ll live, Riddle.” You poked a section of his notes that you hadn’t quite deciphered. “Now what in the bloody hell is the Gobstopper Ruffian?” 

“The Goblin Rebellion. Merlin, my handwriting isn't that bad.” 

“Are you kidding? A kindergartner writes more legibly than this.” 

The hours passed while you bickered and bantered. You hated to admit it, but you missed arguing with him too. Laying in bed all day had you positively bored, but yet time passed within the blink of an eye as you went back and forth with Mattheo. Somewhere between discussing the possibility of Longbottom running an underground exotic plant ring and arguing over the best Smiths song, the sun had set over the horizon. Mattheo rubbed his eyes and yawned. 

“You look knackered, Riddle,” you teased, patting the spot beside you. “Do you want to lie down for a bit?”

Chocolate brown eyes widened at you. “Lie down? With you? On your bed?” 

“Yes, that’s typically how people do it.” You smirked as he shot you an apprehensive look. “Unless you’re too scared.”’

Never one to back down from a challenge, Mattheo lifted the covers and gestured for you to make room. “Scoot over, then.” 

The jest seemed to have backfired on you because now Mattheo was crawling into bed and making himself completely at home. All the apprehension from earlier melted as he pulled you against him, his chest pressed against your back as he nuzzled into the crook of your shoulder. You stifled a giggle as Mattheo released a satisfied little sigh. 

Mattheo wrapped his arms around you until you were covered in the scent of amber, cinnamon, and leather. You never expected to unearth the fact that Mattheo Riddle was a great cuddler, but yet here you were, reaping the benefits of this newfound revelation. He slipped his fingers through yours and nuzzled closer. 

"Who would've known that Mattheo Riddle was such a great cuddler?"

"If you tell anyone—"

"You'll hex me. Put a curse on my family. Set my possessions on fire. Yes, I know, Riddle. You keep threatening me, but you never follow through. I'm starting to think that you're losing your touch."

Mattheo squeezed your hip before twining your legs together. "I wouldn't test me, Y/N. You're in a very vulnerable position right now."

You chuckled as he scooted even closer. "Maybe, but you won't do anything."

"Why's that, princess?"

"You like me too much," you retorted, chuckling as Mattheo buried his face in your hair. "One day without me and you're already a needy mess."

"You infuriate me," Mattheo whispered against your ear. "But you're also the best part of my day. I couldn't imagine fighting with anyone else but you, my dear nemesis."

"I totally loathe you, Mattheo Riddle."

He chuckled as you snuggled into him. "I loathe you too, Y/N Y/L/N."

The irony of the statement contrasted with how tangled up you were wasn't lost on you. For two people who supposedly hated each other, cuddling with your enemy had never felt so right. The steady beat of Mattheo's heart lulled you towards sleep. You were slowly succumbing to its hypnotic lullaby until Mattheo's voice broke through the silence.

“Y/N?” He murmured against your hair.

You shifted, your eyes feeling heavy as his warmth enveloped you. “Hmm?” 

Mattheo’s voice was low and gravelly, flowing like honey in your ears. “This is nice.” 

You smiled against the pillow, staring at your intertwined fingers. “Better than chicken noodle soup?” 

You felt him grin against your skin before he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss on your temple. “Way better than soup.” 

TAGLIST

@annaisabookworm @bubybubsters @criesinlies @niktwazny303 @therealallisonspear @athenalikethegoddess @clairesjointshurt @vixzwrites @elle4404

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Hey guys the Worms are coming back so I’m having thoughts,

tw: a/b/o dynamics, major angst no aftercare, panic attacks, past abuse, military

I love the stories where the 141 (in a/b/o context) are all alphas or a mix, but I also haven’t seen much of them being all omegas, which I think would really make sense.

Imagine it, omegas are more sensitive to their surroundings I think, with sharper instincts and reaction time imo, and they’re probably smaller than the stereotypical alpha so they can move faster. They can stay relatively calm under pressure and suppressants deal with the issue of a heat. I’ve always more imagined the 141 as four omegas, but four that stand out, and are used to criticism from people not in the military that don’t understand their team bonds.

So imagine they one day get news of a new transfer onto their team (maybe replacing soap as he’s recovering from his bullet wound HES NOT DEAD MW3 NEVER HAPPENED) and they’re not worried until they’re told it’s an alpha. An American alpha, too, if I let this get really self indulgent. Americans are loud and proud and annoying, so they fear the worst, you could throw off their team bonds, or make fun of them, or mess up their missions, etc, etc.

But in this imaginary world imagine that omegas also have more societal power than alphas, not physical power though, and you happened to be a victim of alpha-abuse. So what if the alpha that comes is shockingly quiet despite your imposing height and strength, and even looks nervous. The 141 would be absolutely ready for a brawl, I think, scents stinking up the room, only for you to stiffen as your nose stings from the potent mix of scents.

They’d observe you the entire time of the initial scenting, your stiff posture, uncomfortable behavior, and most of all the odd texture and scarring of your scent gland on your neck. Not unusual in your line of work.

After that, they made it clear you were an afterthought.

They wouldn’t let you get them food in the mess, or let you enter their shared nesting area, or even linger in Price’s office. If you covered them on a mission they’d nip at you or give you little low growls. They didn’t like the change to it, having to adjust, or just wanted to prove that they didn’t need an alpha, especially not to replace Soap.

You were trying. You knew you had to work your ass off for their respect and trust, and you were trying so hard. They didn’t seem to care.

Before they’d met you, they’d never thought that an alpha could have anything similar to a distress, nothing even close to the physical and psychological damage and pure stress someone had to be put through to reach that point. That was, until, one day when Ghost yanked you down to his scent gland to take a whiff when you ask how he covers the gunpowder from missions in his scent (spoiler: he doesn’t) and you just completely…freak out.

Shoving him away, eyes wide and looking through him, heart rate and breathing too fast. You’d absolutely booked it to your lone, sterile room that was the opposite of their cozy nest. It had taken a good hour just for Price and the rest to drag a medic and find out what the hell was wrong, only for you to be diagnosed with “Cane Baker Condition”,

“It’s, essentially, a form of PTSD related to a secondary gender, or experiences with one in a negative light. Think like a panic attack that lasts until their body is convinced they’re safe. Keep them out of bright light, away from loud noises or anything triggering for them, and give them some recognizable items from the nest, and they’ll snap out of it.”

It was then that they’d realized you had no recognizable items. Because they’d not let you even have a chance to enter their nest, and here they were now. You, lying underneath your piss poor bed in a pitch black room with one blanket in a sad mockery of a nest for comfort, getting as close to a panicked whimper that an alpha could between every breath.

Now they had to figure out how to earn your trust and respect, especially after they’d given absolutely none to you, neglected and abused you, for weeks.

should I make this a series?? (midterms are almost over so I’ll be more active soon, so far I’ve passed all of them!)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

[favefandomimagines]

You’re Losing Me (a.b)

Summary: a simple courtship was not what you wanted from Anthony and you aren’t sure he’s going to give it to you.

AN: more angsty fluff for our fave Viscount!!

Prompts 1,3,4,8 and 14 used! I switched it up a bit to have a happy ending 😉 @lilithlunastark

Anthony Bridgerton was not a man accustomed to hesitation. As the Viscount and head of the Bridgerton family, decisiveness was practically stitched into the fabric of his being. Yet, standing before the grand fireplace of Bridgerton House, his hands clenched into fists, hesitation consumed him.

The letter in his hand had been crumpled and smoothed so many times it barely resembled paper anymore. The words on it, however, were clear: Y/N was leaving London.

He’d read those words countless times since the letter arrived that morning, the ink seared into his mind: I need space, Anthony. I can’t do this anymore.

Y/N had been in his life for months now. Though their relationship had always been complicated, they had settled into a routine—a tentative sort of courtship.

They’d spent time together, attended balls, would promenade in the garden, and had shared quiet conversations in the Bridgerton drawing room.

There were soft, stolen glances, and moments where it felt as if there might be something more between them. But the truth was, Anthony had always kept her at arm’s length.

He’d never made any promises, she always did. Thinking that one day he’d hear her. He never hinted at anything beyond their tentative connection. It wasn’t that he didn’t care for her—no, he cared deeply.

It was that, in his mind, marriage was a far-off thing, a burden he wasn’t prepared to shoulder. His family, his duties, his fears about love—all of these things weighed heavily on him. He had convinced himself that, for all their chemistry, there was no future for him and Y/N.

Yet, Y/N, with her bright, curious eyes and the way she laughed as if nothing in the world could go wrong, had slowly, unknowingly, slipped under his defenses. And now, her letter felt like the knife of reality digging into his chest.

He knew exactly what she meant by "this." Their tumultuous relationship, full of passion and pain, had reached its breaking point. And though he’d always prided himself on being able to command order out of chaos, Anthony felt helpless.

He could still see her face from their last argument, the way her lips trembled as she fought back tears. The way she’d looked at him—like he’d broken her heart—haunted him.

||

The memory of their fight played vividly in his mind as he stormed through the crowded docks.

They had been standing in the drawing room, the light from the evening sun casting long shadows across the space. Y/N had her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her expression both defiant and heartbroken.

“You don’t understand, Anthony,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I can’t keep doing this—this dance where I’m always the one chasing you, waiting for scraps of affection. I need more.”

Anthony, his pride stung, had crossed his own arms in a defensive stance. “And you think I don’t? You think I don’t want to give you everything? Do you have any idea the weight I carry every day, Y/N? The expectations, the responsibilities—”

Her laugh was bitter, cutting him off. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare use your title as an excuse for pushing me away. You don’t think I see it? Every time things get difficult, every time I try to get closer, you retreat. You hide behind that cold, stoic mask like I’m not worth letting in.”

“That’s not fair,” he said, his voice rising. “You know I care for you—”

“Care for me?” she interrupted, her eyes blazing. “You care for your horses, Anthony. You care for the family estate. Don’t patronize me with that word. I wanted you to love me.”

He froze at her words, his throat tightening. Love. He had never said it. He had felt it, burning in his chest every time he saw her, but the words had always felt like a vulnerability he couldn’t afford.

Her silence in the face of his hesitation was louder than any accusation. Finally, she sighed, her shoulders sagging in defeat.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “This courtship, this... this nothing—it’s not enough for me. I deserve more than this half-hearted attempt at love. I deserve someone who doesn’t treat me like a passing interest.”

And with that, she had walked out, leaving him standing in the empty room, the weight of her words suffocating him.

||

The docks were bustling with the noise of carriages and sailors, the cries of seagulls punctuating the cacophony. Anthony scanned the crowd, his heart pounding with a sense of urgency he hadn’t felt in years. If she boarded that ship to Edinburgh, he wasn’t sure he’d ever see her again.

He found her standing at the edge of the pier, her trunk already loaded onto the ship. She wore a pale blue traveling cloak, the color washing her face in soft, muted tones. But even from a distance, Anthony could see the tightness in her jaw, the resolve in her posture.

“Y/N!” he called, his voice cutting through the din.

She turned, surprise flickering across her face before it hardened into something unreadable. “Anthony,” she said flatly. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to stop you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You have no right to stop me.”

He took a step closer, his voice raw with emotion. “You don’t get to walk away from me now, not after everything we’ve been through. Not after everything you promised.”

Her lips parted, but she said nothing. Maybe he really was listening to her. Anthony saw the flicker of doubt in her eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“I can’t stay,” she said after a moment. “This—whatever this is between us—it’s too much. I thought I could handle it, but I’m not strong enough. I can’t fix this, Anthony. I’ve ruined everything.”

How could he expect her to go back to their suffocating routine when she had bared her soul to him the night prior. They simply couldn’t.

“No,” he said fiercely. “You haven’t ruined anything. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. I’ve been a fool, Y/N, and I’ve taken you for granted. But I can’t lose you. I won’t.”

Her laugh was bitter, her arms crossing protectively over her chest. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve hurt, Anthony? If I told you how much I’m hurting right now, would you even care? Or would you just turn away like you always do?”

The accusation stung because it was true. How many times had he withdrawn when things became too difficult, too emotional? How many times had he failed to be the man she needed him to be?

“I care,” he said, his voice trembling. “God help me, Y/N, I care more than you could ever know. And I’m sorry. I should have told you the truth. The truth about how I really felt about you. But I was afraid. I’m sorry for not trusting you.”

She stared at him, her expression unreadable. For a long moment, he thought she might turn and walk away. But then she sighed, her shoulders sagging as if the weight of the world had finally become too much.

“Why now?” she asked quietly. “Why are you only saying this now, when I’m already leaving?”

“Because I’m an idiot,” he admitted. “Because it took the thought of losing you to realize how much you mean to me. Y/N, I love you. I’ve loved you from the moment I met you, and I’ll love you until my dying breath.”

Tears filled her eyes, but she didn’t look away. Slowly, she took a step closer. “Do you mean it, Anthony? Because I can’t do this again. I can’t keep putting myself through this if you’re not serious.”

“I mean it,” he said without hesitation. “I’ll prove it to you every day for the rest of my life, if you’ll let me.”

Her lips trembled, but a small smile broke through. “You’d better. Because if you break my heart again, Anthony Bridgerton, I swear I’ll make you regret it.”

He laughed, relief washing over him as he pulled her into his arms. “You have my word.”

As the ship’s whistle sounded in the background, signaling its imminent departure, Anthony held Y/N tightly, vowing never to let her go again.

[just-aake]

A Feline Connection Part 3

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha gets a temporary roommate and ends up learning about what you’re hiding from her.

Masterlist Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

Warnings: light angst, violence, hurt/comfort, light fluff

Words: 6888

The quinjet touches down on the Compound’s landing pad, bringing Natasha back to the familiar surroundings after yet another frustrating mission. 

She stomps down the ramp, intent on heading straight to her room, needing to recuperate from the weariness of yet another surveillance operation gone wrong.

The USB drive she collected from the target at your apartment building held information about potential weapons locations, but every lead she followed turned out to be a dead end—empty warehouses and useless intel. 

She will need to re-evaluate everything she has to figure out where she went wrong, but for now, she was too exhausted to think about it.

Stepping into the elevator, Natasha presses the button for her floor. As the doors slide shut, FRIDAY’s voice chimes in from the speakers.

“Welcome back, Miss Romanoff. Mr. Stark is requesting your presence in the lab.”

Natasha groans, tipping her head back against the elevator wall. The last thing she wants to do is deal with Tony right now.

“Tell him to wait,” she mutters. “I just got back.” 

A moment of silence passes, and Natasha allows herself a sigh of relief.

But the peace is short-lived, as Tony’s voice suddenly blared through the speaker.

“Now, Romanoff! Get down here now! Your—hey! Don’t touch that, you little—”

Natasha frowns at the abrupt cut-off. She couldn’t help but wonder who he was yelling at this time.

Curiosity wins over her exhaustion, and she presses the button for his floor instead.

When the lab doors open, she is greeted by the sight of a frazzled Tony waving his hands angrily at a small dome-shaped force field on the table.

“How do you like that?” Tony grumbles, glaring at something inside the dome. “This is what happens when you keep touching things that aren’t yours.”

Natasha steps closer, raising a brow when she sees who he is talking to. 

Inside the force field, Widow is pawing at the barrier, her annoyed meows insistent and filled with frustration as if she is arguing back with him.

“Really, Stark?” Natasha says, crossing her arms with an unimpressed look. “You’re fighting with a cat?”

Tony turns to her, relief evident on his face as he grabs her arm and drags her closer to the trapped feline.

“Finally! Get your girlfriend’s pet out of my lab before she destroys something important!” 

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Natasha corrects with a roll of her eyes. 

Ever since Clint had accidentally stumbled upon one of the flirty texts exchanged between you and Natasha, the teasing from the team had been relentless. 

Despite the playful banter, you already made it clear that you weren’t looking for anything more than friendship right now, and Natasha can respect that. 

That’s not to say her current feelings toward you have disappeared, but she can be content with having your company as a friend. 

At least that’s what she tells herself.

Tony waves dismissively, “Yeah, yeah, sure. Just get that little troublemaker out of here.”

Natasha turns her attention back to Widow, who is now lying on her back inside the dome, looking up at her with wide, innocent eyes. 

Widow lets out a soft, adorable meow in greeting, prompting Natasha to place her hand against the surface of the force field with a small, amused smile.

In response, Widow stands and raises her paw, mimicking the motion and meowing softly.

“How did she even get in here?” Natasha asks, wondering if you are still nearby. 

“She took the elevator,” Tony replies flatly.

Natasha shoots him a skeptical look, but he points to the cat defensively.

“I’m serious! FRIDAY didn’t detect the little sneak until the elevator arrived on my floor. I walked in to find her scratching one of my suits.” 

Widow meows indignantly, offering Natasha a cute, pleading look as if to refute Tony’s accusations. 

“Don’t fall for it, Nat. She’s trouble,” Tony warns, glaring at the little creature. 

Shaking her head, Natasha disengages the force field and gives Widow a quick scratch behind the ears before turning to him with her hands on her hips.

“You’re overreacting, Tony. She’s practically harmless.”

At that moment, the sound of shattering glass fills the room.

Natasha turns to find a broken coffee mug on the floor, its contents spilled into a small puddle. Looking up toward the table, Widow is perched nearby, her paw still raised, clearly responsible for the destruction. 

Tony glares at the two of them and points toward the door.

“Out.”

Sighing, Natasha scoops up Widow just as she is about to jump onto another table. 

The cat lets out an offended yowl, but Natasha ignores it as she notices a small, folded piece of paper attached to the cat’s collar. 

“What’s this?” Natasha mutters.

Tony glances over before looking away, uninterested. 

“Don’t know, don’t care. She tries to scratch me whenever I go to grab it. Now, out of my lab.” 

With Widow in her arms, Natasha exits and makes her way to her room. 

Each time she reaches for the paper, the cat playfully swats at her hand, trying to nibble at her fingers. 

“Hey, no biting,” Natasha chastises, lightly tapping Widow on the nose in reprimand. 

After reaching her room, Natasha sets the cat down on the counter and pulls out a treat from the drawer.

She’s been stocking treats for the cat, just in case.

Widow’s eyes light up at the sight, and she begins to move towards it, but Natasha holds it just out of reach. 

“Ah, no, I’ll give you this once you let me grab that paper.” 

After a brief moment’s standoff, Widow releases a meow of surrender and tilts her head, allowing Natasha to retrieve the note. She offers the treat to the cat, who eagerly devours it, while Natasha’s other hand unfolds the paper.

Please take care of Widow for a couple of days There’s a backpack with everything she needs up on the roof Thanks, I owe you one, Miss Black Widow🖤 P.S. Tell Stark his west perimeter needs better security

Natasha couldn’t help but smirk in amusement at the last line.

She glances at Widow, who, after finishing her snack, is now comfortably lounging by the window, soaking in the sunlight.

“Looks like you’re staying with me for a while.”

Widow gives a lazy meow, completely at ease and utterly content in her new favorite spot. 

Natasha smiles at the cat fondly, but it fades as she re-read the note. 

Something didn’t feel right. 

Taking out her phone, she calls your number, only to hear the automated message indicating that the call couldn’t go through. 

Her frown deepens as she opens your recent text conversations—filled with photos of Widow and late-night talks—but nothing suggests you’d been planning for something where you’d need to leave Widow with her.

This must have been a sudden decision.

She quickly types out a message:

“Everything okay?”

The notification appears immediately:

Message not delivered.

Natasha’s concern grows as she stares at the screen, a sinking feeling settling in her chest.

As if sensing her unease, Widow hops down from her sunny perch and nudges Natasha’s leg with her head, purring softly as she rubs against her. 

The simple gesture pulls Natasha from her thoughts, offering a moment of comfort amidst her rising concern. She bends down, stroking the sleek fur along Widow's back in silent thanks.

"Well, you don’t seem too worried," Natasha mutters, her voice low in consideration.

Widow yawns in response, her back arching as she stretches lazily. 

The sight pulls a faint smile from Natasha, though it’s tinged with lingering apprehension. As much as she tries to dismiss her concern, the uneasy feeling still clings to her.

Glancing once more at the note, Natasha tells herself it’s probably fine. After all, you said it was only for a couple of days. 

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Later that night, Natasha steps out of the bathroom, her hair still damp from the quick shower. She absentmindedly dries her hair with a towel as she moves toward her bed, but upon reaching it, she pauses, her hands finding her hips as she takes in the sight before her.

At the foot of her bed, Widow is curled up, comfortably settled into the blankets, her little body rising and falling with the rhythm of sleep.  

Natasha huffs, a smile tugging at her lips.

“What’s the point of making you a cozy bed if you’re just going to sleep on mine?” she asks lightly, though her words are more affectionate than scolding. 

Widow, seemingly fast asleep, doesn’t stir at her words—at least, not right away. 

For a brief second, Natasha catches the subtle twitch of the cat’s ears, causing her to smirk knowingly and shake her head.

“Yeah, I’m not falling for that act again," she mutters, stepping forward and scooping the small cat into her arms. 

Widow’s eyes snap open, narrowing at her in protest. A soft, indignant meow escapes as she squirms, clearly displeased at being caught pretending.

She gives a half-hearted swipe at Natasha’s face, but Natasha easily dodges the playful gesture with a quiet chuckle.

“Nice try,” Natasha teases, holding Widow up to meet her gaze. 

Turning, she carries Widow over to the small, cozy bed she had arranged earlier near the window—a cushioned basket lined with a soft blanket, positioned to catch the warm morning sunlight.

“This is your bed,” Natasha says, setting Widow down on the plush surface.

Widow sniffs at the blanket curiously, circling a few times before settling into the cozy space. She let out a tiny, contented meow as if acknowledging the effort Natasha had put in. 

Satisfied that her new roommate has been adequately situated, Natasha heads to her bed. 

However, before she can take a step, a sharp, insistent meow echoes through the room. 

Natasha turns back to find Widow staring at her expectantly, her golden eyes locked on her. 

“What is it now?” Natasha asks, arching an eyebrow. 

Widow’s gaze shifts to the backpack you had left behind, filled with all her essentials.

Another meow follows, this time directed at the bag.

Curious, Natasha moves to the backpack, kneeling to unzip it. As she rummages through the contents—food, toys, grooming supplies—her fingers brush against something soft, tucked away in one of the inner pockets. 

Pulling it out, Natasha blinks in surprise. 

It was a small plush toy—a miniature Black Widow doll, complete with the signature red hair and black jumpsuit. 

“Seriously?” Natasha mutters to herself, an amused smirk forming on her lips. 

She wishes your phone was receiving messages so that she can tease you about this. It’s cute how you keep denying being a fan of hers.

Widow immediately perks up at the sight of the toy, her eyes wide with excitement. 

The moment Natasha places the small plush near her, the cat pounces on it with a delighted meow, her paws wrapping around it as she hugs the soft toy to her chest.

“Guess I’m your favorite Avenger, huh?” Natasha says softly, smiling warmly. 

Widow responds with a tiny, satisfied purr, her eyelids fluttering shut as she snuggles into the plush toy.

Natasha lingers by the window, watching the little feline drift off to sleep, her heart warmed by the scene. 

Once she is sure Widow has fallen asleep, Natasha returns to her bed, sitting at its edge. 

The exhaustion from the day weighed heavily on her, but something about the sight of Widow contently hugging the tiny plush toy had brought her a slight sense of peace. 

“At least one of us will have a good night’s sleep,” Natasha murmurs, glancing at the peaceful little ball of fur curled up in the basket. 

Stretching out on her bed, Natasha lies back against the cool sheets, her body grateful for the reprieve. 

Yet her mind refuses to relax. 

The day’s frustrations, the failed mission, and the nagging worry about your sudden departure churn restlessly in her thoughts.

She closes her eyes, hoping for the oblivion of sleep, but knowing it wouldn’t come easily.

Eventually, the darkness behind her eyelids pulls her under, but her rest is far from peaceful. 

Like always, her dreams are plagued by old memories—flashes of the Red Room, the harsh lights, the sharp smell of gunpowder and sweat. 

She sees faces, blurred and indistinct, and hears the deafening sound of explosions. 

Blood on her hands.

Her body feels heavy as if trapped, unable to move as the chaos envelopes her. 

With a sudden start, Natasha wakes, shooting up in her bed.

Her heart pounds in her chest as her breaths come out in short, uneven bursts. Sweat clings to her skin, and for a moment, she is disoriented, her mind still lost somewhere between the nightmare and the safety of the Compound. 

After a moment, the quiet room comes into focus around her, familiar but oppressive in the suffocating stillness of the night. 

With a tired sigh, Natasha wipes a hand over her face, trying to shake off the lingering images of the nightmare and regain her composure.

Then, a soft sound reaches her ears in the quiet—a gentle rustling.

Natasha turns her head next to her. 

Widow sits by her side, watching her intently with wide, concerned eyes. 

The little black cat tilts her head slightly, her ears twitching as if sensing Natasha’s turmoil. 

“Hey,” Natasha whispers, her voice rough with exhaustion. “Sorry, did I wake you?” 

She reaches out a hand, but pauses as the nightmare resurfaces—a memory of her hands bloodied. 

Natasha hesitates, pulling her fingers back, but before she can retreat fully, Widow nudges forward, nuzzling against her hand with a comforting purr that reverberates softly in the stillness of the room.

The warmth of Widow’s fur under her hand grounds Natasha, pulling her back from the edge of her spiraling thoughts. 

The cat presses closer, gently kneading the bed near Natasha’s arm, before moving into her lap.

For a long moment, Natasha sits there, frozen, focusing on the steady rise and fall of Widow’s tiny breaths. The calm presence of the cat was unexpectedly soothing, quieting the turmoil in her mind.

Widow’s purring intensifies, almost as if she’s trying to wrap Natasha in that sound, as if she understands something is wrong. 

Seeing the cat’s lack of fear and hesitation, Natasha exhales shakily, finally running her hand down Widow’s back in slow, gentle strokes.

“I’m okay,” she murmurs, more to herself than to the cat. “Just a bad dream.”

Widow doesn’t move, though, curling up closer against Natasha’s side, her little body a source of warmth. She lets out a soft, contented meow that vibrates with understanding. 

It’s as though she is telling Natasha that it’s okay not to be okay.

A small smile tugs at Natasha’s lips.

She hadn’t expected this quiet comfort from something so small, yet here it was, easing the weight of her fears and being a soft presence at her side.

“Thanks,” Natasha whispers, running her fingers through Widow’s fur. “I needed this.”

Widow shifts slightly, snuggling closer to her as if accepting the gratitude.

The room, which had felt suffocating just moments before, now seemed a little more bearable.

Natasha leans back onto the pillow, her fingers still idly stroking Widow’s fur, the rhythmic purring lulling her back into a sense of calm.

This time, when her eyes drift shut, the darkness doesn’t feel quite as oppressive. 

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha sits on the couch, her posture relaxed but her mind miles away as she absently scrolls through her tablet. Reports, articles, and data streams pass her eyes as she picks at the remnants of her sandwich. Every lead for the mission had taken her nowhere, leaving her more frustrated than ever. 

As she finishes off the last bite, a headline catches her eye. 

“String of Break-ins Across the City: Police Diverting Resources to Combat Surge of Robberies” 

Her fingers pause mid-scroll, and her brows knit together in suspicion. Clicking on the article, she skims through the details.

Over the course of several nights, high-end neighborhoods had been targeted by a series of well-coordinated robberies. The police were scrambling to refocus their efforts, diverting resources to protect the wealthy districts while struggling to find the culprits.

Noticing something familiar, Natasha pulls up the coordinates of the locations she had previously investigated—the ones that were supposed to link to the weapons she was chasing.

As she compares the areas of the robberies with the sites she had scouted, a pattern begins to form. 

The break-ins and her failed leads overlapped in strange ways, both of them strategically avoiding a particular zone. 

Her suspicion deepens. It can’t be just coincidence.

She glances over at Widow, who is happily munching on her food, blissfully unaware of Natasha’s growing unease. 

The little black cat has kept her company whenever thoughts of your sudden disappearance bother her.

She still hasn’t been able to reach you, which only worsens the feeling that something is wrong. 

Natasha was close to asking FRIDAY to track your phone, but the part of her that respected your privacy hesitated.

But now, a possible explanation about your whereabouts forms in her mind.

Before she can let the idea settle any further, the sound of the elevator doors opening breaks her concentration. Tony’s voice echoes into the room before he even fully steps out.

“Ugh, the cat’s still here? It’s been over a week. At this point, I’m gonna have to start charging her rent.” 

Widow lifts her head from her bowl, her yellow eyes narrowing at Tony. A string of irritated meows escapes her, sounding oddly accusatory.

Tony gasps in offense. “Is she mocking me?” 

Natasha doesn’t bother to respond to his complaints, having grown used to their ongoing squabbles over the past week. 

Instead, she turns her tablet toward him, her mind still focused on the new lead forming in her head. 

“Tony, you sent Peter to check out the docks recently, right?” 

Tony pauses his glaring contest with Widow, glancing at the tablet before leaning back against the couch with a nod. 

“Yeah, the kid didn’t see any weapons being moved in. Why, you got something?”

“Just a hunch,” Natasha replies, standing up with a quick stretch. “I need to check something out, but I need you to watch Widow for me.”

Tony’s face twists in horror as he immediately shakes his head, raising his hands in protest.

“Oh, no. Absolutely not. You take her with you. I am not cat-sitting.”

Sighing, Natasha bends to scoop Widow up from the floor, cradling the small feline against her chest. She runs her fingers under Widow’s chin, giving her a soft scratch. 

“I can’t take her. It could be dangerous.”

Tony eyes the cat warily, keeping his distance.

“Where’s Wanda? She loves this furball.”  

“She’s on a mission,” Natasha answers, stepping closer and holding Widow out toward him. “Like everyone else.” 

Tony crosses his arms and tucks his hands under his sides, stubbornly refusing to take the cat. 

“Well, I’m busy too.” 

Natasha raises an eyebrow, her expression unimpressed. 

“It’s only going to be an hour or two. Besides, you owe me, Stark. Remember Pepper’s birthday?” 

Tony frowns in silence for a moment before groaning loudly in reluctant acceptance. 

“Ugh, fine! But only because I don’t need her bringing that up again. Give me the cat.”

Widow, sensing the impending hand-off, squirms in Natasha’s arms, her tiny paws scrambling as she tries to burrow against Natasha’s body in protest.

Her soft, pitiful cries grow louder, almost as if she were begging Natasha not to leave her with Tony.

“No, no, no,” Natasha murmurs soothingly, running her fingers along Widow’s back. “It’s only for a little while, I promise.”

But Widow wasn’t having it. 

She clings to Natasha, her tiny claws gripping her shirt, her cries growing more desperate.

Natasha sighs, trying to pry the cat away gently, but Widow is surprisingly strong for her size.

“See?” Tony says, pointing an accusing finger at her. “Even she doesn’t want this. You can’t force this on me!” 

Natasha gives him an unimpressed look, clearly unmoved by his dramatic refusal. 

“She’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.”

With one final nuzzle to calm the cat, Natasha manages to transfer Widow into Tony’s reluctant arms. 

The moment the cat lands in his grasp, she goes completely still, her narrowed eyes locking onto Tony with an expression that could only be described as disdainful.

“I’ll be back soon,” Natasha promises, giving Widow one last pat on the head before grabbing her jacket and making her way to the door. 

Tony sighs dramatically, holding the cat awkwardly at arm’s length. 

“You better be. And if she scratches any more of my stuff, we’re gonna have a serious problem.” 

Natasha chuckles softly but doesn’t look back. Her mind is already back on the case, the unease gnawing at her as she steps into the elevator. 

Something about the break-ins, your disappearance, and the misleading intel she had been chasing feels connected in ways she couldn’t yet explain. 

It was too perfect, too coordinated. And Natasha knows better than to believe in coincidences.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha pulls up near the docks, parking her car a few blocks away to avoid drawing any attention.

The dimly lit warehouses loomed large in the night, and her eyes scanned the scene for any movement or signs of activity. 

Despite the late hour, there seems to be an unusual number of people milling around—far too many for a regular night shift. The men guarding the entrance didn't look like typical dock workers either; they were too alert, too stiff.

Looks like her instincts were right about something suspicious happening here. 

As she tries to figure out her approach to investigate, a slight movement from the passenger seat catches her eye.

The half-opened duffel bag in front of her shifts ever so slightly. 

Natasha blinks, her brow furrowing as she stares at the bag, almost unwilling to believe what she knew was coming. 

With a sigh, she reaches over and unzips the bag entirely. 

Sure enough, Widow’s small head pops out from where she had been hiding, her yellow eyes blinking up at Natasha with a soft, innocent meow. 

“At this point, I shouldn’t even be surprised anymore,” Natasha mutters, rubbing the bridge of her nose. She leans over and gives the cat a quick scratch behind the ears. 

“After all, you’re a professional, aren’t you? Just like her.”

Widow purrs, seemingly proud of the comparison, before hopping onto the passenger armrest. 

Before Natasha can react, the cat swats at the buttons on the door, and the distinct click of the car door unlocking fills the air. 

Natasha immediately presses the lock button again, shaking her head in exasperation and amusement. 

“She trained you a little too well, you know that?” 

The cat blinks at her, meowing insistently as she paws at the window, eager to assist. 

Natasha knows there is no point in leaving her in the car—not when Widow is clearly more than capable of finding her way out. 

With a sigh, Natasha relents. 

“Alright, what’s the plan?” 

Moments later, Natasha crouches in the shadows near the entrance to the docks, watching as the guards patrol the area. 

Widow had slipped away almost as soon as they arrived, disappearing into the darkness with the kind of stealth that only a cat could manage. 

Natasha stayed low, blending into the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to make her move. 

Suddenly, one of the guards at the gate straightens, his eyes darting around the area. 

“Hey, did you hear that?” 

“Hear what?” his partner asks lazily, barely glancing up from his phone.

“I don’t know,”  the first guard replies, his frown deepening. “But it sounded like it came from over there.”

“Well, go check it out, genius,” his partner mutters, shoving him in the direction of the noise. 

The first guard grumbles but complies, his flashlight cutting through the dark as he wanders toward the distraction—away from Natasha’s position.

A faint smile tugs at her lips.

Looks like Widow is already making her move.

With the first guard distracted and the second engrossed in his phone, Natasha moves quickly, slipping past the gate and deeper into the docks. 

She hugs the walls, her movements swift and silent, her senses on high alert. 

The deeper she went, the more obvious it became that something was off. 

The workers moving around the docks weren’t just loading and unloading—they were guarding something. 

As she rounds a corner, Natasha freezes. 

Ahead of her, two men stand by an open warehouse door, crates and boxes stacked high inside. She crouches behind a stack of barrels, her eyes narrowing as she listens. 

“Are we sure we should be moving all of this tonight?” one of them asks, his voice low. “What if the cops show up? It’ll look suspicious.”  

“Relax,” the other voice answers. “The boss has that girl keeping the police distracted with those break-ins. They’re so focused on protecting the rich neighborhoods that they won’t even think to check the docks. We’ll move the weapons through here without a hitch.”

Natasha’s blood runs cold as the realization hits her—these were the people using you. 

Her fists clenched in anger. She had to put a stop to this, but just as she prepared to move, a sharp, startled yowl pierced the night. 

Her heart leaps into her throat as her eyes snap toward the sound.

Widow’s small figure was caught in the grip of one of the guards, dangling helplessly as he held her by the scruff. 

“Hey, isn’t this that girl’s cat?” the man remarks, shining his flashlight directly at Widow’s face.

Widow hisses in defiance, her fur standing on end as she swipes at the man’s hand. The man yelps in pain as her claws scratch deep.

“Damn cat!” the man snarls, his temper flaring. With a vicious motion, he flings her violently to the side.

Widow hits the warehouse wall with a sickening thud, her small body letting out a sharp, pained cry as she crumples to the ground.

In a flash, Natasha is on her feet, closing the distance between herself and the guard, her vision blurred with rage.  

Without hesitation, she delivers a brutal kick to his ribs, sending him crashing against the warehouse wall. He slumped to the ground, unconscious before he could react. 

The other guard barely had time to register what was happening before Natasha was on him. A swift punch to his jaw dazes him, and a well-placed elbow to the side of his head knocks him out cold.

Breathing heavily, Natasha turns to where Widow had been thrown. The small cat was now on her feet, limping toward her, clearly hurt but still alert.  

Natasha curses under her breath in regret as she rushes to Widow’s side. She scoops the cat up carefully into her arms, cradling her close.

Widow meows weakly, pressing herself against Natasha’s chest, her small frame trembling slightly. 

Natasha runs her hand gently over Widow’s fur, her touch careful and deliberate as she searches for any signs of injury.

Her fingers still when they brush over a small, raised patch of fur—a spot she hadn’t noticed before. 

It didn’t seem like a wound from the impact when Widow had been thrown against the warehouse wall. It felt old, as though it had been there for some time. 

Shaking off her confusion for now, Natasha lets out a small sigh of relief. 

Widow’s injuries seem mostly minor—a few bruises and a limp, but nothing too serious. 

The cat meows softly, leaning into Natasha’s comforting touch to reassure her that she is okay.

Glancing over her shoulder at the crates stacked inside the warehouse, Natasha knows she can’t afford to stay. More guards could be closing in, and with Widow hurt, she couldn’t risk a full confrontation. 

Making a quick decision, she pulls out a few small, hidden trackers from her gear and discreetly attaches them to several of the boxes. 

Now, at least, she’d be able to track the weapons’ movement. 

With Widow nestled securely in her arms, Natasha slips through the shadows, her movements fluid and silent as she navigates between the towering crates and through narrow alleyways. 

Every sense was on high alert, her focus sharp, her only goal to get them both out safely.

“Hang on, girl. I’ve got you,” she whispers, her voice low and reassuring as she cradles the cat close to her chest. 

Throughout the entire ride back to the Compound, Natasha keeps Widow pressed protectively against her body, her arms wrapped around the small creature as though shielding her from the world. 

The lab doors slide open as Natasha rushes inside, her eyes scanning the room for Tony. She finds him in the middle of a frantic search, tossing tools and devices around, clearly looking for something. 

“Stark!” Natasha calls, her voice sharp with urgency. 

Tony jumps at her voice, spinning around with wide eyes, hands raised defensively. 

“I can explain!” he says quickly. “I put the furball down for one second, and the next thing I know, she’s...” His eyes fall to the cat cradled in Natasha’s arms, and he sags in relief. “...with you.” 

Natasha shoots him an unimpressed glare as she moves toward one of the examination tables. She gently sets Widow down on the surface, stroking the cat’s fur as she tries to comfort her. 

“FRIDAY, can you scan her for any injuries? We ran into some trouble,” Natasha requests. 

“Certainly, Miss Romanoff,” the A.I. responds immediately, and the sensors on the examination table light up, preparing for the scan.

Widow perks up, her curiosity piqued by the glowing lights beneath her paws. She paws at the surface, her small meows filling the lab. 

“I’d just like to point out, for the record, that I did warn you about leaving her with me,” Tony grumbles, grabbing a tablet from the nearby counter to check the scan results. 

“Just tell me if she’s okay,” Natasha deadpans, crossing her arms. 

Tony scrolls through the vitals displayed on the tablet, muttering as he does so. 

“Calm down, Romanoff. I’m sure your girlfriend’s cat is just–” 

Tony’s words abruptly cut off, and Natasha’s attention snaps from Widow to him. 

His face had gone still, his usual smug expression replaced with a deep frown. He stares at the tablet as if seeing something he couldn’t quite believe.

Before Natasha can ask what is wrong, Tony reaches behind him, grabbing a device off one of the nearby tables.

Without warning, he tosses it toward Widow, and within seconds, a force field dome activates around the cat, encasing her in a barrier.

Widow yelps in surprise, jumping slightly before pawing frantically at the shimmering barrier.

Her yellow eyes go wide, and she turns to Natasha, letting out a distressed cry. 

“What the hell, Tony?” Natasha barks, stepping forward to deactivate the force field. 

Tony’s hand shoots out, stopping her. 

“Don’t, Nat,” he says, his voice low and serious. “She’s dangerous.” 

Natasha’s brow furrows in confusion. “What? No, she’s harmless.”

He shows her the screen and reveals grimly,

“There’s a bomb inside of her.”

Natasha freezes, her frown deepening as Tony’s words sink in.

Her eyes shift to Widow, who is now meowing pitifully, her paw pressing against the invisible force field as she looks at Natasha with wide, confused eyes.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha lies on her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, her mind processing the recent discovery. 

Sleep was out of the question—not for the usual reasons this time, but because her thoughts wouldn’t stop racing.

Everything was slowly falling into place, but the weight of it pressed heavily on her chest. 

Earlier, Tony had confirmed it. Hidden beneath Widow’s fur was a small, foreign device—a bomb. Surgically implanted and designed to detonate remotely, it was rigged to explode if tampered with. 

“So that’s what they’ve been using to control you,” Natasha whispers to herself, her fists clenching at her sides as the gravity of the situation settles in. 

It wasn’t just about you—it was about keeping Widow alive. You had been trying to protect her this whole time. 

Her gaze shifts to the corner of her room where Widow’s bed lay empty, the small plush toy resting on top of it.

Widow usually cries out for that toy before she goes to sleep, but now she is locked away in Tony’s lab, trapped inside the force field as a precaution. 

Natasha’s heart ached at the thought of the frightened cat, isolated and alone, with no understanding of the threat she carried.

Unable to bear the thought any longer, Natasha stands, grabs the plush toy, and makes her way to the lab. 

As the doors slide open, she spots Widow curled up beneath the shimmering barrier, her small body trembling, ears flattened against her head.

A soft whine echoes through the room, and Natasha’s heart breaks a little more.

Steeling herself, Natasha approaches the table and deactivates the force field. 

Widow lifts her head slowly, blinking as she adjusts to her newfound freedom. Her wide, yellow eyes search the room before they find Natasha.

With a small, reassuring smile, Natasha holds out the plush toy. 

“Come on,” she coaxes softly, her voice filled with an apologetic tenderness. “I’m not afraid of you.” 

Widow tilts her head, hesitating for a moment before letting out a tiny meow. She moves toward Natasha, nuzzling her hand in forgiveness. 

Natasha feels a rush of warmth, the tension in her chest easing slightly as the cat accepts her apology.

A little while later, Natasha finds herself on the rooftop of the Compound, the cool night air soothing her restless thoughts. 

Widow was curled comfortably in her lap, contentedly gnawing on her plush toy under the vast, open night sky. 

Natasha’s fingers idly stroke through the cat’s fur, her thoughts wandering to what comes next. 

The situation was far more serious than she’d imagined, and it was clear the only way to move forward was to find you.

Her thoughts drift to you as they always do, wondering what you were going through—how much you must be shouldering by yourself.

Suddenly, Widow pauses her playing and stands, her front paws rising to rest on Natasha’s shoulder.

Natasha turns her head slightly to the side to look at the cat. She is about to ask what she is up to when your voice breaks the silence from the other side.

“Staying up late, as usual, I see.”   

Natasha jumps, her body tensing as she whips her head around, heart pounding in her chest. 

You were standing dangerously close—too close—and the sight of your familiar smirk made her pulse quicken even more.

The warmth between you seemed to radiate in the cool night air. 

Widow wastes no time, immediately hopping over Natasha’s shoulder and into your waiting arms.

You chuckle softly, cradling the cat against your chest, fingers brushing through her fur. 

“Hello to you too,” you murmur warmly as Widow nuzzles into you.

For a moment, Natasha allows herself to soften at the sight. There was something undeniably tender in the way you held Widow, in the gentle smile that curved your lips. 

But that moment of softness quickly dissolves as her eyes land on the bandage above your left brow.

Her body tenses again as she stands slowly, brushing herself off while discreetly scanning you for other possible injuries.

"Thanks again for taking care of her," you say, breaking the silence, your gaze meeting hers. Widow is now nestled comfortably in your arms, completely at ease. “I mean it—I owe you. Anything you need, just say the word.”

Natasha takes a step forward, her hand instinctively reaching up to your face. Her fingertips brush delicately near the bandage on your brow, the touch lingering just a second too long as concern flickers in her eyes.

"How about an explanation for this?"

For a moment, you freeze under her touch, your breath catching as her fingers hovered near your skin.

The air around you feels charged, and the space between you seems to narrow further even though neither of you has moved.  

Your hand rises slowly, fingers wrapping gently around her wrist as you guide her hand back down to her side.

The contact is soft but electric, sending a jolt through Natasha as the warmth of your skin ignites something inside her.

"You should see the other guy," you say lightly, trying to brush off her concern with a joke.

But the humor doesn’t quite reach your eyes as your smile fades, replaced by something more cautious, more guarded.

“I did,” Natasha responds seriously, her tone dropping as she locks eyes with you. She nodded toward Widow. "That’s what led me to find out about the bomb inside our little friend here."

Her gaze hardens, pinning you with an intensity that makes the tension between you spike.

“And I’m guessing the USB I left with that night…that was your doing too.”

Your expression falters, lips pressing into a thin, resigned line at her deduction. Eventually, you give her a slight nod. 

“You’re as impressive as people say,” you compliment before tilting your head at her with a wry smile. “I guess I can’t blame the cat this time.”

Natasha’s gaze flicks back and forth between your eyes, searching, her frustration building with each passing second. 

“You’ve already helped them steal the weapons by drawing attention away with those break-ins,” she says, her voice filled with a quiet, simmering anger. “So what now? Was that enough for them to leave you two alone?” 

You look away, guilt flickering across your features before your gaze drops to Widow. 

“It’s just one more job,” you whisper, almost to yourself. “One more, and then I’m done.”

Natasha’s eyes narrow, frustration building in her chest. 

"How many times have you told yourself that?" she exclaims, her voice cutting through the night with a razor-sharp edge. "How many times have you convinced yourself it’s just one more?"  

You give her a glare at her words.

“Oh, please, save the lecture,” you snap, your voice rough, your heart pounding with a mix of emotion. “Not everyone gets the luxury of forgetting their past and becoming a hero. Some of us don’t get a second chance.”

Silence settles between you as the tension grows unbearable, the air heavy with unresolved emotions.

Finally, Natasha reaches out, her fingers lightly gripping the fabric of your jacket, pulling you closer.

Her eyes bore into yours, her proximity sending a shiver down your spine as she steps closer, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper.

“You think I erased my past?” she asks, her breath fanning across your cheek. “You think I just forgot everything I’ve done? I live with that every day. But I chose to be better.” 

She holds your gaze, hoping to convey the truth of her next words. 

“You can too,” she whispers. 

For a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you, the heat between you palpable. Your hand hovers near her arm conflicted between pushing her away or pulling her closer.

Natasha’s eyes flicker with something deeper, a plea hidden behind her frustration as she waits for your response.

After a moment of silence, you finally give her a wry smile, touching her arm gently. 

“That’s what makes you so amazing, Miss Black Widow,” you answer, your breath shallow as her overwhelming presence consumes your thoughts. It takes all your concentration to push through with your next words as you drop your hand from her. 

“But I don’t have time for hope. This is about survival.” 

Natasha’s eyes soften, and she takes another step closer.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” she whispers, her lips inches from yours, sending a shiver down your spine. 

Your gaze locks with hers, the charged tension hanging thickly in the air, unyielding.

You want to believe her, to let her in—but fear holds you back. You break the eye contact, looking away as the weight of your situation presses down on you.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, the words heavy with unspoken regret. 

Natasha’s hand slowly drops from your jacket, and she takes a step back, her heart aching at the refusal in your words.  

In your arms, Widow let out a soft, sympathetic meow, as if sensing the pain in both of you. She turns her head toward Natasha, her wide eyes pleading as if asking her to do something.

The sight of the feline gives her an idea.

“If you don’t want me to help you, at least let me help her,” Natasha says, nodding toward Widow. Her voice is softer now, almost a plea. 

You look down at Widow, considering her words, your teeth worrying your lower lip as you think it over.

Natasha’s eyes linger at the action for just a moment, but she quickly pulls her gaze back up when she remembers the boundary you’ve placed on your relationship.

“Okay,” you finally relent, holding your hand out to her. “For Widow. That’s it.” 

Natasha’s hand meets yours, the warmth spreading between your palms as your fingers intertwine, the tension still simmering beneath the surface.

“For Widow,” she whispers, her eyes locked on yours with an unspoken promise.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

a/n: thanks for reading! Your responses on this series are so nice. I'm glad to see that you are all enjoying it.

If you asked to be tagged and I missed it, please let me know again.

Taglist : @cd-4848, @carifletchersgirl

[pboogerswbb]

TOO LOST IN YOU - pt II

Paige Bueckers x bartender!oc

Warnings: toxic!paige, language, some sexual thoughts but no smut in this one (sorry guys), paige is an asshole fr

Wordcount: 4.9k (sorry)

A/N: i got so much love and so many people asking for more after the first part <3 ty all i'm so grateful! this will likely be around 7 parts so please buckle up lol. ALSO I'M SORRY FOR NO SMUT but let me cook guys it'll get good. the point of this part is to get inside paige's head and understand why she is the way she is, things will speed up in the next part i swear. OK GO READ ILYSM MWAH

-

It’s hard being Paige Bueckers. Not every 23-year-old had to deal with the kind of pressure I did. Most of the time it felt like the whole world was watching me, waiting for me to fail. It used to bother the shit out of me but after all the injuries, everything I’ve been through, I thrived on it. I knew I would prove them wrong - prove that I’m great, that I’m me. Just like my dad would tell me, over and over again. I knew I was great, so greatness was expected. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t come with a great deal of pressure. I always said pressure is a privilege. But sometimes when I lay in bed alone after a game, even a win, the pressure consumed me. I didn’t like to be alone. So I went around different girls’ beds, like they meant nothing. Because they didn’t - they were just a distraction from my own mind. Like I said, it’s hard being Paige Bueckers - hard being me.

“You okay babe?”

I’m shaken out of my thoughts, returning back to earth, back to the small bed I was lying in. The brunette next to me nuzzles her nose into my arm, watching me with that look I knew too well. Like she wanted something from me. I hated when girls looked at me like that.

I clear my throat, trying not to flinch as she wraps her arm around me. “Yeah Zoe, ‘m fine,” I murmur, letting her press herself to my side, her body sticky from our prior activities. Zoe was a cuddler, so she was usually last on my roster. It’s hard to plan your escape when a girl clings to you like a koala and worst of all, wants to sleep like that all night. I never got that, cuddling while sleeping. It gets hot, sweaty and cramped, I find it hard to believe anyone actually enjoys it. People just think they do because they’re in love or something. And I can’t afford to be in love. I had a natty to win.

Zoe’s slender finger brushes through my blonde hair and I can feel that claustrophobic, uncomfortable tightness inside me. Like I had to get out. Her dorm was dim and the air was heavy and slightly humid from the second round I had insisted on. The sheets stuck to my skin uncomfortably and her bed made this annoying sound everytime I moved or even breathed.

I turn my gaze to Zoe who’s looking at me, all googly eyed. Oh God. She smiles wide and presses a kiss to my cheek. The scent of her shampoo lingers in the air, the smell of banana and some kind of citrus. I had never liked banana scented things.

“Uh, anyway that was fun,” I mumble, and sit up on the bed, forcing her off me as gently as I could. “But I got practice early,” I add, reaching for my t-shirt and throwing it on.

I don’t notice the offended look on Zoe’s face. I grab my phone from the floor, checking my texts urgently.

Yo you tryna do a lil sum tonight?

I know ur not workin sooo we could have a lil fun like we did the other day

Valerie?

I sigh, feeling the knot in my stomach tighten as I stare at the read receipt underneath the texts. I tap on the back of my phone case impatiently, wondering if sending a fourth text would make me pathetic. Maybe I should just call her? Nah, I must be trippin.

Since I met her at Ted’s, Valerie was the first I called when being in my bed alone was tearing up my mind. But it didn’t mean anything, she was good in bed, good at making me forget who I was when I needed to. Also, I liked how she smelled, like coconut. And when she tangled her legs with mine I didn’t shutter or pull away. Sometimes I even wrapped my arm around her, pulling her into me. Not because I needed her. But because her body felt good against mine.

“Aw baby really?” Zoe whines in an overtly soft voice, wrapping the blanket around her as she scoots up on the bed. Her plump bottom lip, swollen from the rough kissing earlier turns into a pout. I quickly avoid her gaze, my eyes landing right onto the floor looking for my pants. “I wanted to cuddle.” Figures.

“I know baby, me too,” a lie, she would never know that though. “Can’t keep my hands off you if I stay tho and I need some sleep.” I lie more, never looking at her. She buys it though, like she does every time. It’s not like I liked to lie, but I also didn’t like disappointing people. Especially girls that looked at me like that. It would kill her to know I texted three girls after Valerie didn’t answer, and the only reason I was here was because Zoe was the fastest to reply..

I leave Zoe like that, naked in bed, pleading with her eyes. Sometimes I felt bad, because I could tell she really liked me. But then I remembered how hard it is to be Paige Bueckers, and I didn’t feel so bad. My job was to be great on the court. Everything else was just background noise.

-

I sit by the court, my chest heaving, throwing my head back to down some water. The squeaking of sneakers echo all around me, blending in with the sound of Geno’s voice screaming at some of the girls working on plays. Coach had been killing us today, not happy with how the last game had went. We had still won, but that was merely a reason to celebrate in his eyes. 

All day I’d been missing shots that should’ve been child’s play for me. I couldn’t help but beat myself up. I was distracted, unfocused. I had been killing myself on the court, hoping it would bring me to my senses. Geno had been the one to tap me on the shoulder and force me to take a break I wipe the sweat off my face into the inside of my shirt, and grab my phone.

Bro are u alive?

I’m gettin worried lowkey

i’m fine paige

Five days. For five days Valerie hadn’t texted me back anything but that. I clench my jaw in frustration, shaking my head to myself. It made no sense to me - yeah we had a falling out but that’s what we did. We bickered and then we kissed and made up, and that’s what we had been doing for months so why was she acting like this now? Well… maybe calling her a psycho bitch last week hadn’t been the best move on my part.

I don’t know why the things she did bothered me so much. When she didn’t laugh at my joke, when she didn’t answer my texts. I don’t know why I felt a constant nervousness swirl inside me when she was mad at me, I had no reason to care. I guess the pussy was just that good, it was tricking me into thinking I did.

“Va-le-r- oh that’s the girl from Ted’s!” KK slams her hands on my shoulders, coming up from behind me, peeping at my phone screen. In a panic, I lock my phone, hiding it from her view.

“Bro, you heard of privacy?” I complain, shoving her playfully as she sits next to me on the ground. KK snickers, her nose scrunching a little as she does. 

“Not since you started peeing with the door open,” the shorter girl next to me argues and I scoff loudly, my mouth wide open.

“One time! And I was drunk!!” I groan, my voice rising a little and eyes going wide. CD quickly turns around and shushes us, shaking her head. Me and KK quickly shut our mouths, my cheeks turning a little red from the scolding.

KK looks at me with raised brows, and then at the phone, and then at me again. Most of the team knew how I kept myself busy when I wasn’t training, but KK was the one who had joined me those countless times at Ted’s and sat with me at the corner table as I watched her. Valerie. There was something so intriguing about her I just had to keep coming back. I always thought once I’d get her to my bed and have my way with her, I’d be done with her, which is how it usually goes. Before I realised that one time turned into five, which turned into me being in her bed getting her right, not even caring about my own most of the time. Getting her off got me off. Just thinking about the way she looked when she came, the way her back arched, her perfect mouth fell open - I really had to stop thinking about her. Why was it so goddamn hard?

It won’t be hard to find another Valerie if she’s gonna keep this difficult act up.

“Girl trouble?” KK asks, her tone more genuine and I roll my eyes, looking at her sideways.

“Yea right,” I chuckle sarcastically, leaning my elbows to my knees. “Just need to find a new one is all.”

KK lets out a small laugh, sipping her water bottle. “The five you got not enough?” She jokes.

I smirk a little glancing at her. “Four,” I correct, as if that made it better somehow. “Just need someone… new,” I mumble, knowing it was the best bet to get my mind off Valerie. I’m sure eventually I’d find someone who was just as hot. Someone who also smelled like coconut.

“Then what do I say to Zoe.”

“Wh- Zoe?” 

KK nods and grins at me. “She texted me asking about your shoe size or sum, wanted to get a gift for you.”

“She- she what?” My voice is full of shock and I can feel the claustrophobic tightness quickly grow inside me. I had never given her KK’s number. She was doing too much. KK just nods, clearly finding the situation amusing.

“Bro…” I groan quietly, as to not piss off CD again, and lean my head forward, resting my forehead against my arms. Zoe clearly hadn’t understood what “just fucking around” meant. Sometimes shit slipped out of my mouth, sure, but I never let her think I liked her. I had to be careful with her.

KK kisses the her teeth and is still nodding. “Yeah… probably time to let her go huh?”

“That bitch is crazy I swear,” I murmur and KK laughs out loud again. I punch her arm, reminding her to keep quiet - an impossible task for KK. Before I can stop myself, the words just slip from my mouth.

“Ted’s tonight?” 

KK looks at me pointedly. “Valerie workin’?” she teases but I shake my head sternly.

“No man, fuck Valerie.” The words tasted bitter in my mouth. “Just need to find a new one, k?”

“You sure you’re not just gon’ ogle at her all ni-”

“KK.” I say sternly

KK nods. “Ok,” she repeats but I can tell from her tone she doesn’t buy it. She shuts up though knowing she could tease me about anything but anything about Valerie got under my skin. Truth was Valerie was working today. I just needed to see her just for a second. Just to know if I was overthinking it, or if she was really icing me out.

-

The Friday night had brought many other students to Ted’s as well, the bar pretty packed and the chatter loud over the music. KK had convinced Ice to join us so the three of us made our way in. The best thing about crowds was it made it easy to blend in, even for us. We push our way through to the bar, my eyes immediately searching for a glimpse of Valerie’s golden brown hair or her wide eyes. All I needed was to see her, I told myself. Even for a second. Then the twist in my stomach would straighten out.

“What can I get you?” The perky voice of the redhead asks over the buzzing crowd. I think her name was Natalie or something. Ice looks over the flyers on the bar, advertising a range of new drinks.

“Let’s try some of these,” Ice suggests and I grab the flyer from her hand. I didn’t really come here to drink so I couldn’t have cared less what we ordered. Especially now I realised Valerie wasn’t even here.

“Uhh yea can we get three Aperol Negronis,”

“You won’t like it,” a stern, but sweet voice interrupts the conversation. I’d recognise that voice anywhere.

Valerie steps out from the back, pinning her hair away from her face and for a moment our gazes meet. Her dark, wide eyes make me let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. For a moment I want to jump over the bar and touch her, to make sure she was really there and not just a mirage of my desires.

“W-why not?” I ask, my voice uncharacteristically shaky. Only with her I got like that. Suddenly my throat felt dry and the nervous twist in my stomach was turning into something you could only call butterflies. Of course I knew it couldn’t be butterflies, because that would mean I cared. I couldn’t afford to care. I didn’t have the time for distractions. I had a national championship to win.

Valerie scoffs looking away from me, ignoring me as I chase her gaze. “Because I know you won’t,” she says. The way she thought she knew me that well irked me. Still, I’d be lying if I said a part of me wasn’t beaming at the fact that I had her attention after a week of trying to chase her down.

I can’t help the pout that forms in defiance. She’s still ignoring me, pouring drinks for a group of boys clearly ogling at her - which only irked me more.

“Well… I want three of them,” I say matter of factly, trying to prove a point.

“Whoa Paige, maybe we should just get a shirl-” Ice chuckles but I shake my head.

“Three Aperol Negronis,” I dictate. Valerie’s stern eyes finally look at me. She looks almost a little scary, not pleased with my tone. “... please.” I add urgently, not wanting to get on her bad side. I guess some would say I already had.

Wordlessly, Valerie rolls her wide eyes and gets to mixing the drinks. I allow my eyes to wander for a moment, noticing how the white shirt of the work uniform hugged her body, the curve of her breasts making my mouth water. Just seeing her was enough to ignite the fire deep in my abdomen. The things I would do to leave with her tonight and take her to my bed, like I had so many times before. I would even settle for just some kissing. Just wanted to let my hands wander down her body, squeeze and feel where I wanted, with no urgency. I needed to feel all of her, wanted to drown in her.

“By card orrr…?” Valerie asks, clearly waiting for the payment. My eyes had gone glassy, and my lower lip had a small dent from the way I’d been biting down on it. I blink stupidly at her, struggling to calm myself down.

“I got it,” KK murmurs and slides her card to Valerie. I grab my drink, and the smell is enough to make my face scrunch up in disgust. I swear it smells like battery acid, and as I take a sip I notice - it also tastes like battery acid. I swallow the orange liquor, it burns on its way down making me cough a little. Valerie was watching me amused. I hated when she was right.

“People actually drink this and like it??” Ice asks, her voice hoarse from coughing as well. KK nods agreeing but I’m too stubborn to admit defeat.

“I actually like it,” I lie with a straight face, my fingers twitching around the glass as I try to get over the bitter aftertaste in my mouth.

“Oh right,” Valerie says, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she turns to another group of customers. I can’t help reach over the bar, my hand grabbing her arm. She turns back to face me, icier than I had ever seen. It shocks me enough that I let go of her, taken aback.

“What?” she asks, her voice filled with annoyance.

“You seen my texts?” is all I ask, and it comes out a little too desperate for my liking.

“Yes,” Valerie says matter of factly. I wait for her to continue but she doesn’t.

“Uh… well thought we’d link up or something,” I add, shifting on my feet as I do.

Valerie sighs in frustration and takes a deep breath to compose herself.

“I’m good,” is all she says and flashes me an ice cold smile. I feel a strange pang in my heart. She had iced me out before, but not like this. Usually seeing her face to face was enough for her to forget our petty little arguments, enough to get her on me again. “I have work,” she adds before finally returning to serve the other customers.

I stand there for a moment, astonished. An uncomfortable ache that had been wavering in my chest was growing too intense for me to ignore anymore. Maybe it was all my fault after all. I had told her I wouldn’t sleep with anyone else and in the moment I had meant it. But then I remembered the stakes. Last year to win a national championship, last year to prove my greatness. I wasn’t going to mess it up just because of some girl. A relationship would be nothing more than a distraction, an unnecessary responsibility. I had enough on my plate. Valerie was selfish for wanting me all to herself. She didn’t understand what she was asking for. Maybe calling her a psycho bitch wasn’t so far off.

I feel someone bump into my back and turn around to find a girl, cheeks blushed and apologetic. I see her eyes widen in recognition - it was always that moment when I knew I could have this girl if I wanted. 

“Oh fuck, I’m so sorry, I’m a little drunk,” the girl giggles and I offer her an easy smile. I consider taking this girl home, imagining the way I’d lure her into my bed, just a little bit of sweet talk and a smirk would be enough, a hand on her waist, thumb rubbing her skin and soon she’d get this look on her face like she had to have me. It would be so easy, and I wouldn’t have to think about Valerie at all.

But the pain in my chest doesn’t go away, even when I let my mind wander further, how this girl would look underneath me, whimpering while I fuck her. It did nothing to make the pain go away.

“‘S fine,” i murmur and decide to ignore the way she was blinking at me, biting her bottom lip. I grab my drink from the bar, and push past her, finding KK and Ice sitting at our usual table. They both look at me, but don’t ask where I’d been. They both knew better. I sip my drink, cursing to myself in my head about ordering it. With sheer stubbornness I finish it quickly, finding that easier than taking small sips. 

“You’re never picking what we drink again,” KK scoffs, copying me, her face scrunching involuntarily when she finishes her drink. But I barely register her words, as I lean back in the chair, head tilting back to watch Valerie.

She’s giggling with Natalie, throwing her head back in amusement. The chatter in the bar is deafening, but I swear I could hear her laugh in my head vividly. Like my brain had memorised each tone of her voice. There was something different about Valerie, she always shined the brightest in every room she was in. Even the dingy bar was lit up by her. She wasn’t even necessarily extremely lively. It was her mere presence that just made everything better. 

I noticed it the first time I ever saw her, early september. All she did was walk past me on campus, talking lively into her phone. It was her voice I had heard before even seeing what she looked like. Her voice had been enough to make me have to see her. Of course she hadn’t even looked my way, not even a glance. That was the moment I knew I had to have her.

“You enjoy it?” Valerie asks KK and Ice, fully ignoring me as she walks to our table to clean up. I watch the golden bracelet she always wore dangling on her wrist as she grabs the empty glasses. I lean back and tilt my head to look up at her, needy for her attention. Licking my lips I look her up and down, that usually worked enough to get her naked. But now, she didn’t even glance at me. Annoyance grew within me as she chatted with KK, laughing at her jokes.

It was then when my eyes moved from her lips to her neck that I saw it - a dark bruise underneath her ear, right on the spot where she liked to be kissed. I knew, because I had left many bruises there and gotten scolded for it. But this wasn’t mine. This was someone else’s.

“Okay well see ya around,” Valerie smiles and turns to take the glasses to the back. I feel the pang in my chest quickly flip, turning into anger. I was furious. Who did she think she was? Sleeping around with someone else, not answering my texts, letting someone else mark her like that. I felt my body turn hot, and without a word to KK and Ice I get up from my seat, nearly knocking it over as I take quick strides to reach Valerie, following her into the back, ignoring the STAFF ONLY sign on the door.

My steps are heavy and loud as I reach her, standing by the sink, handling the dirty glasses. I was shaking my head to myself, trying to control my anger. But it was getting the best of me.

“Staff only plea-” Valerie starts and turns to me, unable to miss the redness of my face, the clenched jaw and the way I was biting on the insides of my cheeks. “Paige?” she asks, furrowing her brows, confused.

The pounding in my head grows and I let out a scoff, not feeling in control of myself. My brain was moving faster than I could follow, I felt lightheaded. I felt furious. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask, my voice loud. I didn’t really care about being overheard.

“Huh?” Valerie asks, clearly bewildered, but already getting defensive in response to how I was acting.

“What, you don’t text me, call me or nothing? Because you’ve been too busy fucking some other bitch?” I yell, my hand pointing to her neck. Valerie’s eyes widen in realisation but quickly turn angry too. 

“I- WHAT?” She yells back and takes a step towards me.

“Don’t play dumb. So who is it?” I say sternly, grinning bitterly at her, my eyes looking down at her.

She scoffs and rolls her eyes shaking her head which only infuriates me more.

“I said. Who. Is. It?” I repeat, grabbing her arm. She pushes my hand off her, anger growing on her face as her brows furrowed further.

“How is it any of your business who I sleep with Paige?” She argues.

She had a point. We weren’t exclusive. Matter of fact it was pretty hypocritical of me to be so angry when I had a roster of girls on my phone, ready to answer my calls at any time of day. My anger had taken over though, and the little sense I had when it came to Valerie, was completely gone.

I throw my head back and chuckle bitterly, provoking her further. “See I knew you’re a lotta things but didn’t know you were a slut too,” I hiss, the words slipping out without much thought. I couldn’t think of anything but how furious I felt.

Valerie laughs loud, but it’s not the sweet laugh I was used to. It was a bitter, angry laugh.

“Me?! You’ve slept with every girl that swings your way on campus and even some that don’t! You’re the slut Paige!” she screams, her wide eyes burning with anger, her finger coming up to point at my face. It pissed me off, the way it was assigning blame, like all of this was my fault. Like it wasn’t she who slept with someone.

“I don’t owe you anything!” she declares, her voice revealing a hint of hurt, the way it cracked slightly. “I’m done with you. I’m serious Paige. Done,” she adds, her voice calmer, but more authoritative. “Now get out of my bar.”

My face was hot and red, my chest was heaving and my head spun. The hurt in her voice made me waver, made my chest ache more. I blink at her stupidly as she turns back to the dishes, already missing having her attention. I was fine with the yelling, the fighting, as long as it meant she was looking at me, or talking to me. But now she’s done with me? Fine, so was I. Wouldn’t take me longer than a day to find a new Valerie.

“Pshh whatever,” I murmur and storm out of the back, heading fast towards the exit. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, my chest felt tight and I could taste the bitter Aperol on my tongue still. It made me nauseous,

I’m gasping for air once I feel the chilly breeze of february hitting my skin. The silence outside was overwhelming, forcing me to realise the rapid pace of my own thoughts. My mind was swirling with flashing images of Valerie, on top of someone, looking down at her like she did at me, the idea of her moaning someone else’s name made me sick.

“Fuck!” I shout, unable to control myself. A group of girls near me turn to look at me but return to their conversation when I sit myself down on the curb. What a standard I was setting for student athletes everywhere right now.

My eyes burn and before I notice, a tear rolls down my cheek. I bury my face into my hands and rub my jaw, my anger easing with each exhale. I didn’t know why I was crying, I didn’t understand any of this. I couldn’t believe the things I had said, the way I had acted. I was supposed to be disciplined, in control, but I felt so out of control when it came to Valerie.

“Paigey…” KK murmurs and suddenly I realise her and Ice are standing in front of me, looking down at me sympathetically. Embarrassed, I wipe the tears away and try to steady my breathing.

“Uhh sorry just gimme a sec guys,” I sigh looking at the ground. They sit on either side of me, wrapping their arms around me. I lean into Ice’s shoulder and I’m grateful how they don’t pry, or talk. We just sit there in silence for a while.

I take a deep sigh and lift my head back up, chewing on my bottom lip. I glance at both of the girls sitting next to me, grateful for the friends I had. At least I got one thing right.

“I dunno what just happened,” I sigh, shaking my head thinking back to my behaviour. The shame I felt made my cheeks turn a shade of red.

KK chuckles softly and ruffles my hair affectionately. “I do,” she mumbles.

I furrow my brows and turn to look at her. She looks back at me like whatever was about to come out of her mouth was obvious. KK and Ice glance at each other before KK opens her mouth to speak.

“Bro you have feelings for her.”

Oh?

Oh.

My mouth parts in realisation as I move my gaze from KK to the pavement. It’s just us now, sitting in silence, the sounds of passing cars and the muted sounds of the bar the only noise in the chilly evening.

“C’mon P boogers, let’s go home,” Ice says, standing up and reaching a hand down to lift me up. 

KK hops up and nods. “You need some Tru Fru,” she adds.

With a nod, I let them pull me up, following them to the car. I had feelings for Valerie. Shit. I'd just have to find a way to get over it - I couldn’t afford all this. Not right now. Not with the world watching, waiting for me to fail. Not with a national championship on the line.

-

taglist: @thaatdigitaldiary @wbbismypassion69 @bueckersfive @onlyhereforpazzi @lovegalor333 @mandyvivic @frankoceanlvr303039 @angryflowerwitch @taylynbueckers44 @mamixdanni @rosemariiaa @d3arapril @darkskinchristiandiorpostergirl @vbueckers @sageworld @makethemhoesmad @sierrale8ne @tndaqlifwy @justliketoreadsowhat @oreo2sblog @sftlyortega @slvt4her

NEXT ONE WILL BE HOTTER I PROMISE

[writingbuckets]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞: 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐢

paige bueckers x influencer!reader

wc: 1.7k

synopsis: Y/N and Paige’s relationship evolves from a slow burn to a deep, committed love as they navigate the complexities of their careers and dreams.

warnings: emotional tension, angst, jealousy, explicit sexual content, fluff, relationship growth

a/n: thanks so much for the kind messages on part 1! enjoy <3

You can feel the energy in the arena even from the parking lot. Fans are buzzing, and you catch glimpses of them sporting jerseys and waving signs in support of Paige and her teammates. There’s a spark of excitement mixed with nerves in your stomach as you make your way to the courtside seats Paige promised.

You glance down at the ticket she sent you through DM with a wry smile. It’s a little surreal, actually being here. The back-and-forth messages with Paige left you curious and maybe a little too interested in seeing her play. Overrated, you’d said. Well, tonight she’d get the chance to prove you wrong.

As you settle into your seat, you text Taylor to let her know you’ve arrived. She’s responds in caps “EXCITED FOR YOU���, sending laughing emojis and a “TRY NOT TO FALL IN LOVE, Y/N.”

In the locker room, Paige’s teammates are already in pre-game mode, stretching and reviewing plays, but Azzi catches sight of Paige checking her phone for the third time in five minutes. She grins knowingly, nudging Jana beside her.

“Okay, what’s up with you?” Azzi asks Paige with a teasing tone. “You’ve got that look.”

Paige pretends not to know what she’s talking about, tucking her phone away with a smirk. “What look?”

“Don’t play coy. This is a new level of focus even for you,” Jana chimes in, eyeing her with mock seriousness. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with your biggest critic being courtside tonight, would it?”

Paige rolls her eyes but can’t hide the grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Just trying to make sure she gets her money’s worth,” she says with a shrug. “Not every day you get a ‘critique’ from someone who’s never even seen you play live.”

KK, who’s been stretching nearby, perks up, catching the last part of the conversation. “Wait, is this the podcaster?” She laughs, sitting up and pointing at Paige. “The one who called you overrated? Oh, this is too good.”

“Yeah, we’ve been talking a little,” Paige admits, trying to sound casual but clearly enjoying the reaction from her friends.

Morgan snickers. “Talking, huh? I don’t think she meant that comment as an invitation, Paige.”

Paige gives a mock glare. “Please. She’s practically begging to be impressed.”

Aubrey chuckles, crossing her arms. “Just don’t get too distracted out there, superstar. She might be here to see you crash and burn.”

Paige laughs and waves them off, but there’s an undeniable confidence in her tone. “Oh, trust me. She’s not ready for what she’s about to see.”

**********

You watch the team make their entrance, the crowd roaring as each player is introduced. When Paige is called, the noise is almost deafening, and you find yourself instinctively clapping along, even as you try to stay cool.

Finally, the game starts. Within moments, it’s clear why Paige has all the attention. She commands the court with ease, weaving around defenders with a blend of grace and intensity that makes it hard to look away. Every shot, every pass—it’s like she’s putting on a show, and with each move, she glances your way, her gaze almost daring you to look impressed.

You catch her eye after she lands a particularly smooth three-pointer, and she gives a slight smirk, as if to say, Not bad, huh?

You raise an eyebrow, mouthing back, “Still not impressed.”

In response, she grins and picks up her pace, dominating every play with a flair that seems designed to taunt you. The more you watch, the more you find yourself pulled into the game, barely noticing the time passing. But every so often, her eyes find yours, and it’s like the entire arena fades away for just a moment.

The final buzzer sounds, and Paige’s team wins by a comfortable margin. As the players cool down and talk to the press, she sends a quick look in your direction, clearly reveling in her victory. She approaches the sidelines, her teammates trailing behind and giving her little nudges and knowing looks.

Azzi shoots you a cheeky grin as she passes. “Hey, thanks for coming. Glad Paige had her own personal cheerleader tonight.”

Jana adds with a laugh, “More like underrated, huh?”

Before you can respond, Paige strides up, wiping sweat from her brow and grinning with that signature self-assurance.

“So?” she says, folding her arms and looking at you expectantly. “Any thoughts from my favorite hater?”

You keep your expression neutral, even as your pulse quickens under her direct gaze. “Not bad. You almost looked like you knew what you were doing out there.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Almost? That’s high praise coming from you.”

You shrug, tilting your head thoughtfully. “Guess I’ll have to watch a few more games to make sure it wasn’t a fluke.”

Her eyes light up at that. “Oh, so you’re coming back?”

“Only if you keep up that level of play,” you reply, not missing a beat. “I’d hate to waste my time.”

Her teammates are still hovering nearby, soaking up the banter with matching grins.

KK gives Paige a nudge. “Careful, Bueckers. I think she’s starting to like you.”

“Wouldn’t be the first,” Paige quips, giving you a sidelong glance. “Some people just need a little convincing.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “You think you’ve convinced me?”

“Not yet,” she admits, a teasing challenge in her eyes. “But I think I’m close.”

You can’t help but laugh, enjoying the back-and-forth more than you’d like to admit. She’s good at this—smooth, confident, and annoyingly charming. And the way she keeps looking at you, with that mix of amusement and intrigue, makes it harder to stick to your original opinion.

As the conversation winds down, you start to think about heading out. But before you can make a move, Paige’s voice cuts through your thoughts.

“So, a few of us are grabbing food to celebrate,” she says casually, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “You should come. Unless, of course, you have better things to do?”

Her eyes are challenging, and you can feel her teammates watching you, clearly curious to see what you’ll say. Part of you wants to play it cool, brush it off, but there’s a bigger part that’s intrigued, drawn to the idea of spending more time with her.

“Why not?” you reply, keeping your tone light. “Could be interesting.”

She grins, giving her teammates a triumphant look before gesturing for you to follow.

The group heads to a local spot where they’re regulars, filling up a large booth with laughter and chatter. You find yourself seated next to Paige, who’s now relaxed and fully in her element, her focus entirely on you.

“So, tell me,” she says, leaning in as she sips her drink. “What made you think I wasn’t as good as people say?”

You shrug, pretending to think hard. “I think some players need to be humbled sometimes. Keeps things balanced.”

“Oh, really?” She smirks. “So you’re, like, the self-appointed hype police?”

“If that’s what it takes.” You give her a challenging look. “And, judging by your performance, I think you’re taking my job pretty seriously.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Maybe I just like proving people wrong.”

Aubrey, who’s overheard, chimes in with a grin. “Yeah, Paige is kind of a show-off when it comes to impressing people.”

Paige rolls her eyes, but she’s clearly enjoying the attention. “Hey, I like a challenge.”

You lean back, folding your arms as you meet her gaze. “Good to know. Might have to challenge you more often, then.”

The night goes on, filled with jokes, teasing, and the undeniable chemistry simmering between you and Paige. Her teammates keep throwing her looks, nudging her when she gets too obvious with her attention, but she brushes them off with ease.

By the end of the night, you’re more than a little curious about where this dynamic might lead. Paige, it turns out, isn’t just an incredible player—she’s clever, competitive, and, as much as you hate to admit it, a lot of fun to be around.

As you say your goodbyes and head out, she catches your arm, pulling you back for one last exchange.

“So,” she murmurs, her voice low, “can I ask for your opinion on me now?”

You meet her gaze, a slow smile spreading across your face. “ I’ll tell you when you make an appearance on the show.”

She laughs, nodding as she steps back. “You can count on it.”

You linger a moment, savoring the playfulness in her tone and the easy confidence in her smile. Her teammates start calling her over, and you see her hesitate, glancing between you and her friends. It’s almost as if she’s weighing her next move, and the idea that Paige Bueckers might actually be a little reluctant to end the night brings a grin to your face.

“Better go before they start making up embarrassing stories about you,” you say with a nod toward her friends, who are watching the two of you with unabashed interest.

She chuckles, eyes glinting with something mischievous. “Don’t worry, they don’t have any dirt on me… yet.”

“Oh, so you’re planning on giving them some?” you shoot back.

Paige tilts her head thoughtfully. “Only if it’s worth it.” Her voice is low, suggestive, and you can’t ignore the electric undertone beneath her words. She glances toward the exit, then back at you, taking a small step closer. “But, you know… I wouldn’t mind getting to know my ‘biggest hater” a little better.”

Her words hang in the air, and you feel your pulse quicken. There’s a part of you that wants to keep this light, play it cool, but another part—a part you’re not fully ready to admit yet—is undeniably intrigued by her invitation.

With a playful smile, you shrug. “Maybe you’ll earn that chance. If you’re lucky.”

Her laughter rings out, bright and clear. “I think I make my own luck.”

You offer her a mock salute. “We’ll see about that, superstar.”

As you turn to leave, you feel her gaze on you, lingering, as though she’s already planning her next move. And as you step out of the restaurant, the night air feels different—charged with possibility. You’ve seen a side of Paige that few get to see, and it’s clear this game of wit and challenge between you isn’t over yet.

But for now, you head home, wondering what exactly you’ve gotten yourself into.

[ninisdollie]

Melting - Asakura Jo ✩•̩̩͙*

♫ ͏⠻⢦͏ ✧ ✦

“In which reader is failing one of her most important classes, so she asks the cute nerdy boy for tutoring, no expecting to fall for him”

content: +18MDNI fem! reader x Jo, nerd! Jo, experienced!reader x inexperienced! Jo (although he knows things, because he’s a wise boy), blowjob, soft vanilla sex, a bit of dirty talking, pussy drunk! Jo, he’s a little overwhelmed mess, fluff, happy ending! Protected sex, facial

You looked down at the paper in your hands, your lower lip caught between your teeth. Failed, again. The C- in the corner making fun of you, laughing at you as telling you “Huh, you thought” and the tears threatened to come. Didn't matter how hard you tried, how many hours you spent trying to understand the numbers in your Finance book, you always failed. At this point, you thought about giving up in your degree.

“This is your last chance, Ms. Y/N, you better get a better score next exam, i’m sure you wouldn’t like to see all of your friends graduating except for you”. The professor raised his eyebrow, handing the results to the person behind you.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair, exhausted. You did really try with this one, you almost conviced yourself that finally you had it all figured out. Turns out you were wrong.

Maybe an economics degree wasn’t the option for you, maybe you were just a dumb pretty girl, shallow, nothing beneath your perfect facade, maybe everyone who doubted you were right, you just thought about how you would tell your parents that you failed them, failed yourself. This was bigger than you. These thoughts consumed you as you walked outside of the classroom, heading towards the cafeteria where your friends were waiting for you, your head down, your pace slow, all you’d been doing is literally study, your baggy eyes were the clear evidence of this.

They turned around to face you once they saw your watery eyes.

“Don’t be sad, we know you did really try”. Sana hugged your shoulders, placing a little kiss on your head, and you sighed again, drying your tears with a napkin.

“A C- isn’t really that bad, right?” Harua scratched his neck, trying to ease the tension, it didn’t work.

You buried your face on the table, letting out a sob, you just wanted to get home and cry yourself to sleep, you were already thinking about finding an informal job to return your parents the money they’d spent in your years of college.

“I’m just tired at this point, tell me the truth, am i really that dumb?”

“Of course you’re not” Sana caressed your hair, talking to you with sweet voice.

“My friend Kei was failing Math last year, he asked this guy for tutoring, a complete nerd, perfect grades, maybe he’ll accept if you offer him a few dollars” You raised your head at Harua’s words.

You thought about it a few seconds. You had tried everything, study groups from other colleges, studying by yourself until late hours at night, even listening to online classes until you feel asleep, none of it had worked, the numbers, formulas, complicated problems just wouldn’t get inside your head.

“I don’t know…”

“What can you loose? Just try it, i heard he’s really patient and good at explaining, maybe he could help you finally understand?”

You bit your lip, it was true, you had nothing to loose, one more try could be worth it.

“Give me his number.”

Later that day you were laying on your bed, a quiet night that was only consumed by your thoughts. Maybe you sounded like a privileged girl, but you really didn’t need anything growing up. Your parents worked hard their entire life to give you everything you wanted, always signing you up in the best schools, dressing you with the most expensive designers, making a perfect lifestyle for you to enjoy. You had promised them you’d get into Economics so you could follow their steps and become a succesful business woman.

This wasn’t going really well.

You took a deep breath, unwrapping the wrinkled paper and staring at the depressing, humiliating score. Then you took out your phone, typing the number Harua had texted you.

Y/N: Hi, is this Jo’s number?

You locked the screen, throwing the phone by your side, waiting for him to answer. You didn’t have to wait so long.

Jo: Hello. Yes, who’s this?

Taking your phone again, you stared at the message a few seconds, going into his contact and zooming in the picture. You grinned softly, he was cute. He had silky, black hair, his features were soft, he was holding a cat in the photo, glasses perfectly placed over his pointy nose.

Y/N: I’m y/n, from Economics? I heard that you offered tutoring sometimes, i was wondering if you could help me? I’ll pay anything please i’m desperate, don’t wanna graduate at 30 :(

You sounded so embarrassing, but it was true.

Jo: You won’t graduate at 30, that’s actually mathematically impossible.

Of course, you forgot you were talking to a nerd for a second.

Jo: But yes, i could help you. Just tell me when you’re free and we’ll meet at the library.

Y/N: Oh god, thank you so much!

Jo: Left you on read.

Guess you had a tutoring lesson to attend next day.

Asakura Jo was the perfect child. Born from a wealthy family, he was the dream son every parent could ask for. His grades were always the best, his manners impecable, the adoration of the grandmas and annoying aunts. But it was mostly just his family who adored him.

He didn’t have many friends, thanks to his very, very lacking social skills, he was just awkward, didn’t talk much, and when he did his voice was always so low, everyone had to ask for him to repeat what he just said, his father would get angry sometimes and tell him to raise his voice like a man. But he was fine with that, he didn’t need other people, he would just get through college and become a succesful accountant for his parents company.

It wasn’t in his plans to start tutoring, to be honest, but people just started asking for it, and when he had too many study sessions per week for him to handle, he started to charge. Not much, just a bit so he could save money to spend in his other hobbies, such as videogames and comics, his guilty pleasures.

He emersed in his book until he felt a shadow right in front of him, raising his eyesight, he saw you standing there.

Everyone on campus knew who you were, the rich girl that everybody loved, always looking so perfect, so… polished. You had numberous friends, like the complete opposite of him, and your reputation was impecable.

So when you texted him the night before asking for tutoring, to be honest, he was quite surprised.

You swallowed, adjusting the coffee cup in your hand. You hesitated for a second, wondering if this was a terrible idea, but then decided—why not?

You placed the coffee in front of him with a soft clink.

Jo looked up, startled, his eyes wide behind his glasses. "Uh, thanks, but I didn’t—"

“Decided to bring you a coffee,” you cut him off with a smile, trying to act casual. “I figured it’s the least I could do since you're about to help me survive this class.”

Jo blinked a couple of times, his face unreadable. He glanced at the coffee, then back at you, his expression softening just a little. “You didn’t have to. But… thanks.”

You shrugged, dropping into the chair across from him. “It’s no big deal. I figure if I’m going to survive this torture, I should at least try to make it enjoyable.” You paused, then added, “So, you’re the finance guru, huh?”

You always talked too much, and he seem the kind to stay quiet and just listen. You approached people with so much confidence, tossing your hair and smiling with sweetness. It made him nervous for some reason.

Jo gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug. “I wouldn’t say guru. I’m just a person who doesn’t mind spreadsheets.” He took a sip of the coffee, winced slightly as if he didn’t love it, but then pushed the mug closer to himself. “What exactly are we tackling today?”

You took a deep breath. “Compound interest.” Your tone was light, but there was a flicker of panic in your eyes. “You know, the thing that’s going to make my brain explode.”

Jo’s mouth twitched, as if trying to suppress a smile. “That’s a classic. But don’t worry, it’s not as bad as it seems. You just need to think of it like a snowball rolling down a hill.”

You stared at him blankly. “A snowball?”

He nodded, more confident now that he had a starting point. “Yeah. The snowball starts small, but the longer it rolls, the bigger it gets. Compound interest is kind of the same way—it’s interest on both your initial investment and the interest that’s already been added. The longer it compounds, the bigger it gets.”

You leaned back, tapping your acrilic nails on the table thoughtfully. “Okay, I get that. Kind of like… when you let something sit in your savings account and it just grows slowly, right?”

Jo gave you a quick, almost surprised look. “Exactly. I didn’t think you’d get it so quickly.”

You smirked. “What, you think I’m just here for the ride? No way. I’m not totally hopeless. Just a little directionless.” That was a lie. You paused, a little awkwardly. “But really, I’m just hoping this snowball doesn’t crush me in the end.”

He didn’t laugh, just went back to the notes. He wasn’t mean, but he surely was a little bit dry. You didn’t mind, you were there for tutoring anyways, not being friends.

The once-full coffee cups were now empty, sitting off to the side like forgotten relics. The sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting long golden rays through the library windows. Your table, once neat, was now a battlefield of open notebooks, scattered pens, and wadded-up scratch paper—most of it covered your handwriting and crossed-out equations.

You et out a groan and dropped your head dramatically onto your notebook. “This is actually cruel and unusual punishment.”

Jo, still calmly scribbling in the margins of a textbook, raised an eyebrow. “It’s literally just division.”

“It’s division with anxiety,” you shot back, your voice muffled against the paper. “Big difference.”

Jo chuckled under his breath, just a breath, you still heard it, and weirdly, it made your heart do a thing. You peeked up at him through your hair.

“I don’t get how your brain just does this. Like, you actually enjoy this?”

“I enjoy solving problems,” he replied, without looking up. “There’s something satisfying about finding the right answer. It’s clean. Predictable.”

“Wow,” you said, sitting up and stretching your arms above your head. He tried not look at how your tank top tightened around your chest, enchancing your figure. “That must be nice. Nothing in my life is predictable. I mean, I accidentally bought three planners last semester and still didn’t show up to my 9AM.”

Jo looked at your eyes then, an amused smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “Three?”

“They were color-coded, Jo. I had high hopes.”

He let out a real laugh this time—quiet and quick, but real. It caught you off guard. You blinked at him, startled by how much warmer he looked when he wasn’t buried in formulas like an hour ago.

“What?” he said, noticing you staring, a little awkward under your gaze.

“Nothing,” you said too quickly, trying to cover with a shrug. “You laugh. I didn’t think you could. I figured you were like one of those serious, silent types who only speak in finance metaphors.”

“I’m not that bad,” he said, a little defensive but still smiling. “Okay, maybe a little.”

You grinned. “Yeah, well. It’s kind of cute.”

Jo froze, eyes flicking to yours in something close to panic. He wasn’t used to compliments, much less coming from an outgoing, popular girl like you. It made him feel weird.

He cleared his throat, going back to the notes on the table.

“You should try to finish this one before we go.”

You exhaled slowly and refocused, pencil in hand. Your fingers hesitated over the numbers, then moved—slower this time, more carefully.

A minute passed.

Then another.

You put the pencil down.

“…Okay,” you said, tapping the paper with your fingertip. “I think… I think I got it.”

Jo leaned over and glanced at your work. His eyebrows lifted.

“That’s… actually right.”

You blinked. “Wait. What?”

“You did it.” He turned the notebook toward you, pointing at each line. “All the steps are there. You even got the decimal in the right place.”

“Oh my god.” You stared at the paper like it was a miracle. “Jo, I just—I did math. Like, real math. Finance math!”

Jo smiled—proud, and maybe just a little impressed. “Told you it wasn’t impossible.”

You looked at him, your smile lingering. “Thanks. For not giving up on me after the third meltdown.”

“You only had two,” he said dryly. “The third was more of a dramatic sigh.”

You laughed, leaning back in your chair. “Okay, I deserved that.”

You sat in a comfortable silence for a beat, the kind that only comes after a shared struggle—like you two were on the other side of something now. Different than when you started.

Your first session with Jo ended up and you felt good, you felt you could finally understand all of this He gave you some extra problems for you to practice, and you drove to your house that night feeling extra happy because of your advance.

What started as awkward, caffeine-fueled tutoring sessions in the back corner of the library quickly became a routine neither of you wanted to admit you looked forward to.

At first, it was once a week, strictly business. Notes, formulas, practice problems, rinse and repeat. But somehow, it turned into twice a week. Then three. Then random texts at midnight with memes about interest rates or dramatic “HELP” messages from you right before a quiz.

And Jo, who had once been borderline allergic to human interaction, started replying faster than expected. Sometimes with answers. Sometimes with sarcastic gifs. Sometimes just, “You got this.”

You fell into a rhythm.

Jo would bring snacks, quiet ones, like pretzels or gummy bears, because you claimed loud chewing was “the enemy of focus.” You, in turn, made it your mission to guess Jo’s coffee order correctly (after three weeks and seven wrong guesses, you nailed it: iced Americano, light ice, no sugar).

He learned you couldn’t sit still for more than twenty minutes without some kind of movement, so he’d suggest five-minute walks around the library just to reset. You learned he doodled in the margins of his notes when he thought no one was looking, little geometric shapes and abstract lines, always drawn in blue pen.

You teased him less now. Not because he didn’t deserve it, he was still a total finance nerd, but because somewhere along the line, you’d stopped seeing him as just “the tutor.”

He was Jo. Quiet. Steady. Smart in ways that had nothing to do with textbooks. Surprisingly funny when he let his guard down. And kind, like, really kind.

On a random Tuesday, before a final exam, you two were studying late night in your room, turns out the library closed early that day and you were super nervous because you really needed to nail this test, so you suggested your house. At first Jo was a little hesitant, but he ended up accepting, and now you two were laying on the floor, papers, notes and pencils all accross the place, it was a nerd-mess. The soft light of your night lamp being the only source of brightness, making the air a little cozy.

“I can’t i’m literally gonna fail this.” You groaned, closing your eyes into an stressed expression.

He was laying across from you, his hoodie sleeves rolled up, his hair messy, his glasses above his nose, and he chuckled, he did that now more often around you, teasing you back with confidence.

“You won’t, just keep trying, we both know you’ll get it”

“I think my brain just clocked out” You dropped your pencil, dramatically “Like, fully walked off the job. Filed for early retirement”.

He didn’t look up.

“It’s because you haven’t taken a break”.

“That’s literally what i just said.”

He looked up now, raising an eyebrow.

“You said your brain quit. I’m saying it’s unionizing”.

You rolled onto your back, laughing as you stared at the ceiling, you didn’t notice but your shorts lifted a bit, showing more of your soft skin than before.

“Ok, finance boy, that was funny.”

“I have my moments” Jo muttered. “We can take a break, five minutes. You need to finish this one, is essential for your test.”

“Make it 20 pleaaaaase.”

Jo leaned back against the side of your bed, stretching out his long legs. He looked tired, in that soft, late-night kind of way, his hair messier than usual, hoodie wrinkled, glasses pushed slightly down his nose.

So you started talking about different things, things that weren’t math. Like your interests, hobbies, and passions. He told you about his love for video games, and you teased him about it telling him he couldn’t be more of a nerd. And you told him about your frustrated dream of becoming a ballet dancer.

You turned your head to look at him. “You ever wonder why we do this to ourselves? Like, why are we even taking Finance if it makes us miserable?”

“I don’t know,” Jo said. “I guess I like the certainty of it. The numbers always make sense, eventually. People don’t.”

There was a pause. One of those quiet ones that felt heavy.

“Speaking of people…” You said, turning onto your side to face him, “can I ask you something kind of personal?”

He sighed, raising his shoulders. “It depends.”

“Have you ever dated anyone?”

Jo blinked. Of all the things you could’ve asked, that clearly wasn’t what he expected.

“Uh… no. Not really,” he said slowly. “I’ve… liked people, I guess. But I don’t think it ever got that far. Not for me.”

Your gaze lingered on him, intrigued. “Why not?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who really saw me. Most people just see the grades. Or the quiet guy in class who they think will do all the group work.” He gave a small, bitter laugh. “Not exactly rom-com material. Plus, my social skills are nowhere to be found, i could never take the first step.”

You didn’t smile. Instead, you whispered, “I see you.”

Jo looked at you, eyes catching yours in a way that made the room feel warmer, closer.

“What about you?” he asked. “Ever been in love?”

You hesitated. “Once. In high school. I thought it was the real thing. He was charming, said all the right things. But he wasn’t good at showing up when it mattered.”

You looked down at your hands, fingers idly playing with the edge of the rug.

“Since then… I don’t know. I’ve dated, but I think people only see the version of me that’s easy to like. Not the messy parts. Not the parts that panic over exams and cry at car commercials.”

Jo’s voice was soft. “The messy parts aren’t a dealbreaker.”

You glanced up at him, your breath catching slightly at the way he was looking at you, open, gentle, unflinching.

“Yeah?” you said quietly.

He nodded once. “Yeah.”

Silence settled again, but it was different now. Heavier. Charged.

You sat up slowly, your legs crossed in front of you, knees brushing his. You hair falling lazily over your shoulders, your round, bright eyes still locked onto his. Neither of you moved away.

The air between you two buzzed with something unspoken, something that had been building over late nights and half-finished coffees and quiet smiles across textbooks.

And then, from one moment to another, he leaned over, and kissed you. It was small, just a little peck, and you flinched, not out of disgust, but because you were surprised. You widened your eyes, and he looked at you embarrassed, already trying to apologize.

“S-Sorry, i shouldn’t have…”

“If you’re going to steal a kiss from me, Asakura Jo, at least do it properly”. You cut him off, a little smirk on your lips.

He blinked, once, twice, lips parted like trying to catch his breath. And then he leaned over again, now really kissing you.

And you melted into the kiss, immediately placing your hands on his cheeks, which were warm, red with blush, and moved your lips above his in a slow dance. It was a soft, slow, tender kiss, his mouth was sweet, his breath warm as he sighed and tilted his head, as if he had been waiting for this moment. As if he had been wanting you.

And who were you trying to fool, you’d been wanting him too.

So you tangled your fingers in his beautiful, dark hair, and he sighed again, you taking the opportunity to deepen the kiss, stickinv your tongue out and exploring his mouth, both tangling, a crash of hot breaths and saliva, and you could tell he felt overwhelmed a bit, probably never been kissed like this before. You liked that. So you kept going, breaking the kiss just for a second to take off his glasses, placing them on the floor next to you, and you crashed your mouths again, now moving onto his lap, and he grabbed your hips slightly, still a bit hesitant. His body tensed when you moved in top on him, whimpering in the kiss, and he broke it now, slightly shaking.

"Wait, wait..." He was breathing heavy, his voice low "I... I've never..."

You stared at him, resting your forehead over his.

"We don't have to if you don't want to" your voice was sweet, and he sighed deeply, his hands caressing your hips above the thin fabric of your tank top.

He stayed silent for a few seconds.

Then, slowly, he nodded.

"I want to."

Smiling softly, you kissed him again, a little deeper this time, needier. Your tongues were tangling, the sound of your lips crashing along with your shaken breaths, and his hands gripped your waist tighter, making you rock your hips slightly, rubbing yourself against him, making him whimper and tremble, a bulge in his sweatpants starting to built. A shiver went down your spine when you felt it, hard against your crotch covered only by your silky shorts, and you couldn't help but moan low. You grabbed his hands, like giving him permission to touch you and him, with clumsy movements, touched your body, your thighs, your ass, moving up to your torso, squeezing one of your boobs, and the touch made the amusement between your legs bigger, wetness through your panties.

"Let's get into bed." You asked, and he nodded slowly, you getting up from his lap.

His body moved hesitant to the bed, laying, and you locked the door with a little smile, that made him chuckle a bit. You crawled into bed, and placed yourself between his legs, kissing along his jaw and neck, sucking, licking, your warm tongue tracing his burning skin, this made him groan low, tilting his head so you could have more space. Then you placed your hands under his hoodie, and you bit your lip finding a set of perfectly built abs, you traced your fingers along his lines, delighting yourself with his body, and in one movement your slid it out above his head, his bare, milky skin in front of you. You wasted no time in kissin there, going down with your lips, and he was a whimpering mess, his face red, his hair messy. He looked like a whole meal, and you were starving. You lips met with the waistband of his sweats, the bulge inside of them thick, hard, and you looked up at him, like waiting for a confirmation.

He nodded at you, exhaling.

And then you slid down his pants along with his underwear, his thick member in front of you. You didn’t want to sound cheesy, but it was the prettiesr you’d ever seen. Thick, long, veins popping, hard, swollen red tip, your mouth watered at the sight, your eyes sparkly with desire. So you licked, long, slow, from the head to the base, tasting his skin and veins in your wet tongue, and he whimpered loud, shaking, overwhelmed.

You smiled at him.

“You like that?” Your voice was sweet, tender.

“Y-Yeah… please don’t stop” His eyes were sparkly too, and you thought he looked so fucking cute.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

Then you spat, wet saliva falling down his length, and he moaned again as you took him in your mouth, wrapping your plump lips around him, bobbing your head so you could take him deep in your throat until your eyes watered and you had to suppress a gag, then repeated the process, sucking him off with skill, but you put a little extra effort since it was his first time, you wanted him to love this. So you moved sloppy, messy, the dirty sounds of you swallowing his dick and his shaky moans being the only ones in the room, you looked up at him, locking your gazes, and he bit his lip, his cock twitching inside of your mouth.

Oh, so the cute nerdy boy liked eye contact.

You took advantage of that, fluttering your eyelashes and smiling as you took him out of your mouth and smiled, stroking him a little easier this time thanks to the saliva that was covering his length, and took him in again, until the head of his cock has deep in your throat.

And Jo, well, we has a mess. Face all red, his lips parted as he tried to catch his breath, chest moving up and down, eyes watering as the pleasure took over his whole body.

You loved how he looked.

You moved faster, and his whimpers became needier, desperate. You took him out of your mouth and kissed his tip, his legs twitched slightly. Then you kissed him again, placing your thighs in the sides of his hips, sitting straight on his aching length, an rocked your hips as you kissed, rubbing yourself against him, the wetness in your panties imposible to ignore, and he grabbed your hips and lifted just a bit so he would rub himself too.

His hand reached between your legs, and you let out a surprised gasp when his fingers found your clit above the lace of your underwear, tracing circles, making you squirm and moan.

He looked at you, like not wanting to miss any of your expressions.

“Is this ok?” He asked, voice broken, and you nodded, smiling softly.

That made him gain confidence, so he pulled your panties to the side, his warm fingers making contact with your bare, dripping pussy, and he moved them again, spreading your arrousal all across. You hid your face in his neck as he touched you, suprisingly good for being a begginer, but of course he knew things, he was a nerd after all. A moan left your mouth when he slid a finger inside, your walls clenching around it, needy.

“I-Is this ok?” He asked again, and you chuckled breathless, nodding.

“Yes, baby. It’s perfect.”

So he slid another one, thrusting them in and out of you, creating a wet sound, and you moaned louder, rocking your hips until his knuckles disappeared inside of you. He curled his fingers, and that made you tremble, teasing your g-spot, a jolt of pleasure showering you. So good.

“Fuck, that’s it…” You moaned in his ear and his skin jumped, his fingers moving faster “Need you so bad…”

He moaned at your words, cock twitching beneath you. Then he slid his fingers out, your aching, needy pussy clenching around nothing, then his hands took your tank top and slid it out of you, your bare breasts in front of him, and his eyes shined with lust.

“You are so pretty…” He cupped your breasts, and you whined as he squeezed them. “Is this—

You chuckled again.

“Jo, it is ok. You can touch me all you want, i want you to.”

He smiled softly, a little ashamed, and squeezed your breasts even more, rubbing his thumb in your nipples, and they hardened at the touch, your rocked your hips again, and he groaned low.

Now you took your bottoms off, and stood there, bare, naked in front of him, and the look in his eyes made your whole body shiver, he looked at you as if you were the most beautiful thing in the world.

You got on top of him again, kissing him, and he let you do it. You wrapped your hand around his cock, and he whimpered above your lips.

“Wait.” He licked his lips, his face red again. “Do you…? I mean, i’m not trying to offend you or anything i swear, it’s just, could we use… protection? I think it’s safer that way, i-if you don’t mind…”

His nervousness made you melt, and you laughed softly, nodding. Of course, protection, always important. You bent over the bed and stretched your arm, searching inside the cabinet of your nightstand, and put out a condom.

He raised an eyebrow at you, and you lifted your shoulders. “What? I’m a cautious girl” He chuckled, rolling his eyes, and you pecked his lips.

You slid the condom around his length easily, and he hissed at the feeling, grabbing your hips tight. Then you grabbed him, and rubbed the tip between your wet, dripping, needy folds, teasing you both. You looked at him again, he was biting his lip, anticipation in his pretty face.

You let yourself fall around him, his cock stretching your walls so good that you had to grab his shoulder for balance, and he moaned too. Your pussy clenched around him, he was big, so it took you a few seconds to adjust to his size, but it felt so good, his thick, throbbing length inside of you.

“F-Fuck…” he whispered, trembling, and you sighed deeply before starting to move your hips, up and down, slowly, your breasts bouncing at the movement.

“Feels good?” You asked, weak voice as whimpers left your lips.

He nodded fast, and you smiled again, biting your lip.

“S-So good… you’re so warm and tight.” His eyes were sparkly, filled with desire and pleasure.

And you started moving faster, jumping up and down on his length, burying deep inside of you, fucking yourself, and he could only moan louder and grab you tighter, his fingers marking the skin of your hips, your skins crashing, sweaty.

He kept groping your body, hands shaky, overwhelmed by the pleasure as you bounced on him over and over, your legs trembling because you were feeling so much pleasure too, everytime he slammed your insides so good, cock so deep, your wetness dripping between your thighs. Jo then kissed your neck, licking while you kept moving, and you moaned and whimpered, loving his lips on your skin.

“You’re so thick, you feel so good inside of me…” He groaned louder at your words, and you jumped, harder, now really riding him.

You breasts bounced with every move, your forehead bathed in sweat, your hair sticked to it. He lifted his hand and removed it, kissing your lips.

“You want to switch?” You talked between gasps, and he bit his lips, nodding.

So you did, you got up from his lap and laid on the bed, legs spread, glistening pussy dripping and he sighed at the view, groaning before holding your legs to your chest, and he slid inside of you again, and you screamed, not caring if your parents would hear. His thrusts were messy, not a clear rythym, but you didn’t care, it felt so good, he stretched you so good. His body was heavy above you, his hips crashing with yours, his groans and moans in your ears.

“I-I can’t… it feels so good, so good” his voice was completely broken, and you moaned and grabbed his hair, feeling him bury his cock deep inside of you.

“I know, baby. Feels so good, you’re so deep and good inside of me.” you talked sweet, whining, staring at his watery eyes.

He looked completely destroyed, his cheeks red, his hair sweaty, his body trembling, his thrusts sloppy but hitting every spot, making you shake and whine and moan his name time and time again. Your hands caressed his body again, touching, burning skin beneath your fingertips, his heart was racing, bumping against his chest. You felt like you were dreaming, your body floating as he fucked you.

“I’ve never felt this… i-i” He was mumbling nonsense, his brain completely shut down, pussy drunk. You just felt so good around him, he never wanted to stop, he wanted to die inside of you.

Then your hand went between your legs, your own fingers finding your aching, swollen clit, and you rubbed them against it, fast, at the pace of his erratic thrusts.

“You’re doing so good baby, fucking me so good…” you praised and he moaned, his head thrown back, slamming in and out of you until his thighs crashed with the back of yours.

You didn’t know why, but you came so fast. The knot on your lower belly exploding in a strong, earth shaking orgasm that made you scream high-pitched and arch your back, walls of your pussy clenching so tight around him, face completely teared apart by the pleasure. And his movements became completely nonsense, sloppy, so you knew he was so close too.

So you pushed his chest, making him stop, and he looked at you a bit confused, but you wasted no time in pushing him onto his back, removing the condom from his member and he knew what you wanted, so he stroked himself fast, whining, hissing, low moans and lip between his teeth as he masturbated in front of your face.

“I’m gonna… fuck, i’m…”

And you felt it. Warm, sticky, wet strings falling on your face, you opened your mouth, tasting him, swallowing his cum as he arched his back and groaned loud, covering you with his orgasm.

Then he stayed still, immobile, chest moving up and down.

You took the leftovers from your cheeks and forehead, licking your fingers clean, and he blushed completely, hiding his face in the pillows.

You chuckled, laying by his side, kissing his face.

“You’re so cute.”

“Shut up.” He said against the silk of your pillowcase, and you laughed loud, clinging to him.

It didn’t take much for you two to fall asleep. Naked, bodies against each other, a silly smile on both of your faces.

You had a good feeling about tomorrow’s exam.

The professor started to hand out the results, and you bit your nail harder, your legs shaking, your heart racing.

This was the final test, this was the moment for you to prove yourself, to prove that weeks and weeks of studying until late night were worth it, that you didn’t waste your time.

That you didn’t waste Jo’s time.

Of course, you did this for yourself, for you career. But a small part of you, really wanted him to be proud of you.

So your heart stopped when the professor stood by your desk, an eyebrow raised. You swallowed, blinking at him.

Then he handed the result, a smirk on his face.

“Good job, Ms.Y/N, looks like you really did put effort”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, and you looked at the paper. A bright, happy, big, red pen A in the corner.

You almost jumped from your seat. A gasp leaving your mouth. There were no words to describe how you were feeling, finally, finally you did something for yourself, you proved that you weren’t just a dumb pretty girl, that you had infinate potential.

All of your friends were waiting for you as you ran into the cafeteria, waving the paper in your hand and the all cheered you up, wide smiles as they congratulated you.

Then you saw him, he was chewing on a rice ball, eyes sticked to a comic in his hand. You hesitated, but the excitement got you.

So you ran to him, Jo looked up as he saw you approaching, but you gave him no time to react, jumping in his arms and almost making you both fall from the chair, his eyes widened, grabbing you by your waist helping you gain balance.

“I fucking did it!” You screamed, and he laughed, cheeks full of food.

You stared at him, so happy.

And you kissed him. Right there.

His face turned all red, and he glanced at your friends, their faces full of surprise, jaws to the floor. You didn’t care.

Then he chuckled, finally swallowing.

“If you’re going to steal a kiss from me, Y/N, at least do it properly.”

So you did. At the end, he was the cute nerdy boy that not only helped you finally master finances, but the cute nerdy boy who melted your heart.

Jo drabble we cheered!!

i’ll fix the mistakes tomorrow i’m sleeeeepy <3

hope you liked it !!

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Naked (Wolverine) (1/3)

Description: After a mission, Logan accidentally sees Y/N naked.

Word Count: 534

Warning: Dirty Talking

Author’s Note: I had a request to do POLY! Logan and Wade walking in on their crush naked but I decided I will do them separate and together.

Y/N had a long day and needed to relax. Dealing with Wade was a lot sometimes but she still loved him. Luckily Logan was there and things went easy but a mission when Wade wouldn’t shut the fuck up? Yeah that can be annoying. She was covered in the blood of her enemies and smelt like guts. She needed a shower real bad and also needed to wash her suit.

She peeled it off her sticky body and sighed, that was a lot of work. Her mind kept going back to how Logan looked after the mission. He looked so hot and she felt naughty for thinking that. Luckily Wade hadn’t caught on to her crush so it hasn’t been exposed yet. She would kill the taco loving merc with a mouth if he ever said anything.

She grabbed her PJs and headed to the bathroom completely forgetting her towel and that she was naked until she was in the bathroom. “Dammit.” She huffed and opened the door to see the hallway was empty. Hopefully she could sneak in the closet across the hall and grab a towel and not be seen. She already got to the bathroom like this. She definitely didn’t want Wade to see her naked.

It was also quiet which was weird for the house. Wade never shut up but maybe he left to grab food. She sighed but took her chance and quickly walked to the closet to grab a towel. She shut the door and turned around to see Logan with his jaw dropped. “Oh my god.” She said and covered herself with the towel. “It was so quiet I didn’t think anyone was home.” She said and Logan chuckled, “So you walk around naked when you don’t think we are home?” He asked, teasing her.

Her face was red at this point, she didn’t know what to say. “I uh..” He laughed. “I’m just teasing. Though feel free to do it more often.” He said. Wow he was bold. She shook her head and looked down. “Oh come on, Unless i’m reading all this wrong I know you like me.” She looked at him with wide eyes, “H-how?” She didn’t even deny it. “You look at me like you wanna fuck my brains out.” He said now closer to her.

She gripped the towel around her more tighter now and cleared her throat, “Sorry.” She mumbled. “Don’t be. I just wish that you would do something about it instead of teasing me.” She let out a shaking breath at his words. He walked closer until she was looking up at him, “Honestly, If you would let me, I would just fuck you right here.” He said and she gasped.

She didn’t think she looked pleasant. She was covered in blood. “But I'm covered in blood.” She states. He backed her up against the closet door. “Yeah and so am I. We would be fucking like animals after a nice kill.” He growled the last part and she felt herself get wet at his comment. She stared up at him with want in her eyes and dropped her towel. Leaving her bare in front of him once more.

[bitchinbarzal]

Breaking Point | B Faber

summary: after a brutal accident and years of silence. everything you tried to forget comes rushing back—and maybe, this time, you’ll get to choose each other again.

—

You weren’t supposed to fall in love with him. Not like this.

Not when you were supposed to be focused on early admissions interviews and med school scholarships. Not when you’d spent your whole life chasing perfection—grades, internships, summer programs. Not when your father had made it clear that nothing, nothing, should come before your future.

But Brock Faber was the exception to every rule.

He picked you up from the library with an energy drink and a bag of gummy bears. He walked you to class even when he had to sprint to practice afterward. He was steady, patient, and so damn proud of you that it made your chest ache.

Everyone told you it wouldn’t last. They said it was high school. Puppy love. But none of them saw the way he looked at you like you hung the stars. Or how it felt to have him press a kiss to your temple and say, “I’m your biggest fan, always.”

And then you started talking about taking a gap year. Just one. Just long enough to go where he was drafted, maybe do a pre-med program nearby. It wasn’t crazy. It wasn’t reckless.

But your dad didn’t see it that way.

“You’re throwing everything away for a boy who hits people with a stick for a living.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He never did. That somehow made it worse.

You stood your ground in the kitchen, trying to keep your hands from shaking. “He’s not a distraction. He supports me more than anyone.”

“He’s pulling you off course.”

“I chose this. I want to be with him.”

“And what happens when he’s halfway across the country and you’re stuck in some hotel room instead of a lecture hall?”

You swallowed hard. “He’s not asking me to give anything up.”

“No,” your dad said, folding his arms. “But maybe he should.”

You didn’t know about the conversation he had with Brock in the parking lot.

Didn’t know your dad waited by Brock’s truck after practice, leaning against the hood like he had every right in the world to interfere.

“If you care about her at all,” your father said, low and sharp, “you’ll let her go.”

You weren’t there to see Brock’s jaw clench or his fists curl at his sides. Weren’t there to hear the shake in his voice when he said, “I would never hurt her.”

“Then walk away,” your dad replied. “Before you do.”

He asked you to meet him at the overlook. The place you used to sit in the bed of his truck and talk about everything—college, the draft, what life would look like if you actually got to keep each other.

You could tell something was wrong the second you got there.

He didn’t look at you when he spoke. “I think we need to slow down.”

Your heart dropped. “What?”

“I don’t want to be the reason you don’t go to med school.”

You stared at him. “Brock, we’ve talked about this—”

“I don’t want you to give anything up for me.”

“You’re not!” Your voice cracked. “Why are you doing this?”

And then it just—erupted.

Ugly, desperate words, the kind you didn’t even know you were capable of saying to him. You’d never fought like this before. Not really. Not like this.

“You don’t get to decide what’s best for me,” you snapped, the tears already welling behind your eyes. “You don’t get to stand there and pretend like you’re being noble when what you’re really doing is running away.”

His face twisted, jaw clenched like he was holding back something that hurt. “I’m not running away.”

“You are. You’re scared. You’re scared because things are real now. Because I love you enough to stay, and that freaks you out—”

“I don’t want to ruin your life!” he burst out. “Is that what you want to hear? That every day, I wonder if I’m the reason you’re not gonna end up in some Ivy League lab, curing cancer or something?!”

You flinched like he hit you.

“Brock—” your voice cracked.

He looked at you then. Really looked at you. Eyes glassy, lips parted like he wanted to say something else. But instead, he whispered the one sentence that shattered everything.

“Maybe I’m not supposed to be in your future at all.”

The silence that followed was louder than the shouting.

You stood there for a beat too long, waiting—praying—for him to say he didn’t mean it. That it was just panic, or fear, or your father’s voice in his head. That he still loved you.

But he didn’t say anything else.

So you nodded, just once. A small, sharp motion.

And then you turned.

You didn’t even look back.

You slid into your car, hands trembling as you gripped the wheel. The second the engine roared to life, so did the tears. Hot, fast, blinding. You barely saw the road as you pulled away, white-knuckling your way down the winding hill, trying to breathe through the weight on your chest.

You don’t even remember turning onto the highway. You just remember the sound of your heartbeat in your ears, the way the world blurred around you.

And the way your phone buzzed in the cupholder—his name on the screen.

Too late.

You never saw the car coming.

You wake up to the sound of a heart monitor and the kind of pain that doesn’t have a name.

Your body doesn’t feel like yours. It’s heavy. Broken. Wrapped in wires and tubes. Your mouth is dry. Your chest aches. You can’t move your legs.

You panic. The machines panic with you.

The nurse rushes in. She’s calm. You are not.

“Sweetheart,” she says gently, her hands on your arm, “you’re okay. You’re in the hospital. You were in a car accident.”

You blink at her through tears and bloodshot eyes.

The days blur together.

Surgery. Recovery. More surgery. Pain meds that make the ceiling spin. Your mother’s soft reassurances. Your father’s silence. The room filled with flowers and cards—none of them signed Brock.

Your heart is broken long before you understand how badly your body is.

It takes two weeks before you’re told you’ll need to relearn how to walk. That there’s damage to your spine. That things may never be exactly the same.

It takes three before you ask again where Brock is.

Your sister won’t meet your eyes when she says, “He’s gone.”

Gone.

You find his text days later.

Your mom gives you your phone with shaking hands. Says she thought maybe you were ready. That maybe it would help.

There’s only one message from him.

I’m sorry. I love you. Please be okay.

You stare at it until your eyes blur. You go to reply—but the message doesn’t send.

Blocked.

You cry in physical therapy the first time you stand upright with help.

Not from the pain.

But because the last time you stood without help was the moment you walked away from him.

Summer comes. The draft hits the news.

“Brock Faber selected in the second round by the Los Angeles Kings.”

There’s footage of him at the table, hugging his family, shaking hands, smiling.

He looks happy. Like he made it.

You turn the TV off.

Months pass. Your hair grows back where they shaved it for surgery. Your body starts to feel like yours again. You learn how to balance, how to climb stairs, how to walk down the hallway without assistance.

But your heart? That never really heals.

Not from him.

Because no one told you he tried to come.

No one told you your dad found him in the hallway outside your room, holding flowers and shaking, eyes red like he hadn’t slept in days.

No one told you about the argument.

Or the ultimatum.

Or the way Brock left because he was just a seventeen-year-old boy with too much pressure on his back and too much love in his heart.

You don’t know that part.

All you know is he left.

And he never came back.

He didn’t sleep for two days after the accident.

He found out from your best friend—three frantic calls, her voice breaking apart with every word. Car crash. ICU. It’s bad.

He left his house without telling anyone. Drove straight to the hospital like the roads didn’t matter, like the world wasn’t spinning out from under him.

He didn’t make it past the third floor.

Your dad was waiting in the hallway.

“You’ve done enough, Brock.”

Mr. Perfect-Future. Mr. Everything’s-Planned. He said it without even raising his voice. Just stood there, blocking the door, arms crossed like he owned the pain on the other side.

“You being here doesn’t help her,” he added. “She needs space. Peace. A future that doesn’t have your name attached to it.”

“I love her.” Brock’s voice cracked. He didn’t care. “I need to see her.”

“She needed you not to be the reason she got behind the wheel in the first place.”

That one cut too deep.

Your dad didn’t even flinch. “If you care about her at all, you’ll walk away.”

He could have fought. He wanted to fight. Every part of him screamed to shove past the man and get to you—to apologize, to hold your hand, to tell you he didn’t mean any of it.

But he looked through the little window in the door and saw you unconscious. Pale. Tubes down your throat.

He saw your mom crying in the corner.

And for the first time in his life, Brock walked away from something he didn’t want to lose.

He didn’t go home.

He sat in his truck in the hospital parking lot until the sun came up.

He stared at your contact in his phone for over an hour.

Eventually, he just typed:

I’m sorry. I love you. Please be okay.

Then he blocked your number.

Because if you texted him back, he knew he wouldn’t survive it.

He got drafted six weeks later.

There’s a video of him online—smiling, hugging his dad, fist-bumping the GM like his life’s just begun.

But no one sees the part where he goes back to the hotel room and stares at the ceiling in the dark, wondering if you watched.

Wondering if you cried.

Wondering if he made the biggest mistake of his life.

He asks about you sometimes.

Not directly. Never directly.

Your sister posts graduation photos and he zooms in on your smile. Your best friend mentions “the hospital” once in a group of Instagram stories, and he watches them until they expire.

He doesn’t know if you’re happy.

But he knows you’re out there.

And somehow, that’s worse.

You finished physical therapy two weeks before move-in day.

You’d circled the date on your calendar for years—your first day of college. You were supposed to be packing a car full of notebooks and dorm decorations, making nervous playlists and arguing with your mom about how many towels to bring.

Instead, you sat in your childhood bedroom surrounded by medical bills and rejection letters.

Deferred.

You hadn’t recovered fast enough. And even if you had… your brain wasn’t ready. Your body had learned to walk again. Your heart hadn’t caught up.

So you stayed. One more year. On pause while the world kept moving.

And Brock? He moved.

You saw his name in the news again a month later. University of Minnesota.

Home ice. Close enough to sting.

He looked happy in the press photos. Stronger. Older. But not untouchable yet—not like he would be.

You watched his first game on mute in the dark, your knees pulled to your chest and your breath caught in your throat every time the announcers said his name.

You kept the score app on your phone. You never followed, but you always knew.

When he got drafted, you cried.

Not because he made it. You knew he would.

You just wished he still knew how proud you were.

The Wild picked him up in a trade just before his debut.

Home again. Full circle.

You weren’t even sure what made you do it—maybe it was the closure, or the nostalgia, or the piece of your heart that never really moved on—but you bought a ticket to the game.

Just one.

Section 108. Row 10.

You didn’t wear a jersey. Just a hoodie. Neutral. Unnoticeable.

But when the lights went down and the players took the ice, your eyes went straight to him. You hadn’t seen him in person in years, and yet your heart still found him like it always had.

He skated out with that calm focus he always carried, like nothing in the world could rattle him.

For a moment, he hesitated. Glanced up toward your section like something tugged at him.

You held your breath.

He didn’t see you.

And maybe that was safer.

You didn’t stay for the third period.

You walked out while he was on the bench, towel around his neck, laughing with teammates.

You didn’t know his sister saw you. Peyton. Two rows back, seated between her mom and her boyfriend.

She waited until after the game, back in the family section, when Brock came up still flushed from the win.

“I think I saw her.”

He froze. “What?”

Peyton shrugged, nervous. “I’m not sure. Just for a second. I thought—I thought it was her.”

He didn’t speak for a long time.

Then, quietly, he muttered, “She doesn’t care about me enough to be here.”

Peyton didn’t argue.

But when she looked at her camera roll later, there was a blurry photo she’d taken during warmups.

And in the background—just barely in frame—was you.

You never thought he’d walk through your hospital.

Not after everything. Not in this city. Not after all the distance you put between you and the person you used to be—the girl in love, the girl with a broken spine and a worse heartache.

You built something steady here. A life where no one knows the whole story. A place where you’re Doctor, not “the girl who got in that accident” or “Brock Faber’s high school girlfriend.”

But life doesn’t warn you before it cracks open.

And tonight—it does.

It’s supposed to be a normal shift. Friday night. Busy but manageable. You’ve got a headache building behind your eyes, and the vending machine ate your last dollar without mercy.

You’re reviewing vitals at the nurse’s station when you hear it.

“Uh—hey. He probably needs stitches.”

You don’t look up right away. That sentence is routine.

But the voice?

That voice cuts you in half.

You raise your head.

And the world stops.

He’s standing just inside the ER doors, a tall guy next to him holding a bloodied towel to his eyebrow. But you don’t see the teammate. You barely register the injury.

All you can see is Brock.

Older now. More muscle, sharper features. But still him.

Still Brock.

Still the boy you’ve spent years trying to forget and never quite managing to.

His gaze locks on yours like gravity—like he didn’t know where you were all this time but now that he does, he’s not letting go.

You can’t breathe.

You blink. Once. Twice. It doesn’t change.

He’s real.

He’s here.

“Room four,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. “A nurse will be in soon.”

You don’t wait for him to speak. You turn and walk away before your heart has the chance to give you away.

You make it as far as the back hallway before the sob rises in your throat, unshakable. You swallow it down like you’ve swallowed his name a thousand times.

He was never supposed to come back into your orbit.

But he just did.

You’re restocking gauze in the supply room—hands shaking, brain not working—when you feel it.

That quiet shift in the air. That feeling you used to know by heart.

He’s behind you.

You don’t turn.

“I didn’t know you were here,” he says, voice rough, like he’s speaking through years of dust and silence.

“I just moved back,” you say, keeping your back to him. “Out of state for med school. Residency brought me home.”

“Back to Minnesota?”

You nod. “I thought I could handle it this time.”

You don’t say what you really mean: I thought maybe you wouldn’t be here anymore.

But of course he is. Because he belongs here. And you were the one who ran.

“Why’d you leave?” he asks, even though you’re sure he already knows the answer.

You finally turn, heart hammering. “Because I couldn’t open my front door without seeing your name on a billboard. Because my dad watched every Wild game on TV with the volume all the way up. Because every time someone wore your jersey at Target, I wanted to scream.”

Brock swallows hard.

“I was proud of you,” you say, quieter now. “But I couldn’t be close to it. Not when I couldn’t tell you.”

There’s a long, aching silence. He’s standing there, just a few feet away, and yet it still feels like there’s an entire lifetime between you.

“I thought you were gone for good,” he admits. “That you wanted to be far from me.”

“I did,” you whisper. “But it never worked.”

The words hang there—honest, unpolished, bleeding. You hate how your voice cracks. You hate how he still makes your chest ache with just a look. You hate how badly you missed him, even when you told yourself you were fine.

He takes a step closer, cautious like you’re a wild animal and he’s not sure if you’ll let him pet you or bite.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he says, soft but steady. “Even when I tried.”

You meet his eyes. You used to know them like your own reflection. And for a second, you see the boy you loved under all that grown-up weight and Wild hockey fame.

“Why didn’t you ever reach out?” you ask.

His lips part like he might lie—but then he just shakes his head. “Because I didn’t think I deserved to. I thought… maybe you built something better without me. And I didn’t want to wreck it.”

The breath you let out sounds too much like a sob. You turn away again—not to run, but because it’s too much, too fast.

“Everything reminded me of you,” you say quietly. “I’d walk past a rink and want to puke. I’d hear someone say your name and go numb. So I left. I ran as far as I could. And still, nothing worked.”

He nods, almost like he’s grateful. Not because you hurt—but because he wasn’t the only one who did.

“I saw you once,” you admit. “At your debut. I bought a single ticket. Didn’t tell anyone.”

His eyebrows raise, stunned. “You came?”

You nod. “I left after the second period.”

“I—I thought I imagined it. Peyton swore she saw you. I told her there was no way.”

Your lips twitch. “There was a way. I just… wasn’t brave enough.”

He steps forward again. You don’t stop him this time.

“You are now.”

You meet his gaze. “I think so.”

“Then let me try again.”

It’s not dramatic. Not a grand gesture. Just a quiet offering, handed to you with trembling hands and years of regret stitched into the seams.

You nod.

And for the first time in years, something inside you unclenches.

You meet him for coffee two days later.

You almost cancel twice.

The first time is when you catch yourself changing your outfit for the third time, hair up, hair down, sweater or hoodie or something nicer, your heart pounding like it’s senior prom instead of a Tuesday morning at a half-empty café.

The second time is when your dad calls out of nowhere, asking if you want to come over for dinner. You say no. You don’t explain why.

You owe yourself this.

Closure. Or something that looks like it.

But when you walk in and see Brock already at a table in the corner, baseball cap low, hands wrapped around a mug that’s too big for his palms, you know the truth:

This was never going to be just closure.

Not when your heart still recognizes him like a favorite song.

“You ordered already?” you ask, sliding into the seat across from him.

He looks up—and for a second, the whole world softens.

“I got your old order,” he says. “Medium vanilla oat milk latte. Two sugars. Please tell me you haven’t gone all espresso snob on me.”

You blink. Swallow. “I… still drink it like that.”

His smile is small but real. “Muscle memory.”

You wrap your hands around the warm to-go cup in front of you. His fingers are so close you can feel the heat of them across the table. You don’t touch. Not yet.

The conversation starts light. Safe.

Work. Hockey. Cities you’ve lived in. He talks about the Wild, about road games and hotel room dinners and how his sister still kicks his ass at Mario Kart when he visits home.

You tell him about your residency. Long nights. The way you sometimes leave the hospital so wired you forget how to sleep. You don’t tell him how many of those nights you used to lie awake wondering what would’ve happened if you’d stayed. If he’d come back.

But eventually, the surface breaks.

“I saw you on the ice that night,” you admit.

He glances at you, eyes sharp with surprise. “The game?”

You nod. “You skated out and looked straight at my section. I thought… maybe you saw me.”

He exhales slowly. “I thought I felt you.”

Silence.

“I’ve never been more proud of anyone in my life than I was watching you walk across that stage at graduation,” he says. “I saw the photo. You looked… unstoppable.”

You blink fast. “I wasn’t. But I wanted to be.”

“You are now.”

It comes out so sure, so certain, that you have to look away before the tears win.

“I hated you,” you whisper. “Not because you left. Because I understood why.”

He’s quiet for a long moment. Then he reaches out.

His pinky brushes against yours across the table. Barely there. Barely anything.

But you feel it in every nerve.

“I’d do everything differently now,” he says. “If you let me.”

You take a shaky breath. Let your pinky curl around his.

“I’m not seventeen anymore.”

His eyes meet yours. “Neither am I.”

And for the first time in years, the world doesn’t feel so broken.

It starts slow.

One message. Then another.

That night after coffee, he texts you when he gets home.

Got home safe. Thanks for meeting me today. You look good. Really good.

You don’t answer right away.

You type: You too.

Then delete it.

Then type: It was nice seeing you.

Then delete that too.

You settle on:

Thanks for the latte.

The next morning, he sends you a picture of Charlie, the golden retriever his family rescued a few years back.

Still hates baths. Still loves you.

You laugh out loud, alone in your kitchen, and text back before you can second-guess:

He always liked me more than you.

And just like that, it begins.

Late-night check-ins. Good luck before games. “Tell me something funny that happened at work” texts. Spotify playlists shared at 1am. Photos of his coffee. A selfie of your stethoscope wrapped around your neck. Casual. Harmless.

Except it’s not.

Because you feel yourself softening.

And you can tell—so is he.

Two weeks later, you go to another game.

This time, you tell him you’re coming.

He doesn’t say much beforehand. But when you check your phone after the final buzzer, there’s one message:

Outside, by the players’ lot. If you want.

You find him leaning against his car, suit back on.

Neither of you says anything right away.

Then, like it’s nothing, he says, “Wanna walk?”

You nod. And you do.

It’s freezing. Your breath fogs in the air between you. He offers you his glove—just one—and you take it, your fingers sliding into the warmth where his hand just was.

You don’t hold hands. But he bumps your arm with his shoulder once. You bump back.

You talk about dumb things. Childhood pets. Which teammate takes the longest showers. What coffee place you still haven’t tried. But the whole time, the real conversation is humming underneath.

We used to do this.

This still feels right.

Do you feel it too?

He walks you to your car, and you wait for him to kiss you.

But he doesn’t.

He just says, “Text me when you’re home?”

You nod. “Yeah. I will.”

He opens your door. You get in. He closes it gently.

You drive away wondering how it’s possible for your heart to hurt and heal at the same time.

A few days later, he picks you up after your shift.

You’re exhausted, but you said yes anyway because something in you needed to see him tonight. Not at a café. Not at the rink. Just… him.

You don’t even go anywhere.

He drives aimlessly with the windows cracked and music low. You talk. You laugh. You drift into silence that feels familiar, not awkward.

Eventually, he parks.

Just a random overlook you haven’t been to since high school.

Since that night.

You both recognize it the second you pull up—but neither of you says it.

He turns off the car, and you sit in the quiet for a beat too long.

Then you turn to him. “Why didn’t you ever date anyone after me?”

His mouth quirks, sad and a little amused. “Who says I didn’t?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Did you?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

You nod, like that answer makes sense. Because it does.

Then:

“You were my favorite chapter,” he says softly. “I didn’t want anyone else to feel like the ending.”

Your breath catches.

The space between you shrinks.

You’re both leaning in before you realize it. Slow, soft. Your nose grazes his. Your lips part—

And then your phone buzzes in your pocket.

The moment breaks.

You pull away, exhaling shakily, heart pounding.

He swallows hard. “I should get you home.”

You nod.

But in your heart, you know—

It’s only a matter of time.

It comes out one night, quiet and unplanned.

You’re sitting on his couch, legs tucked beneath you, flipping through old photos on your phone when he shifts beside you and says, almost too softly—

“I never stopped keeping tabs on you.”

You glance up.

He’s staring at his hands like they’re confessing something for him.

“I used to ask your sister how you were doing. And I followed your college’s Twitter account. When you matched with the hospital out of state, I saw it before anyone told me.”

Your heart stutters.

“I didn’t reach out,” he says, “because I thought you hated me. But I couldn’t stop… caring. I just wanted to know you were okay.”

You swallow hard, throat tight.

“Then why didn’t you ever tell me the truth?” you whisper. “Why didn’t you tell me what my dad said?”

Brock looks up, eyes suddenly sharp with guilt.

“I wanted to protect you,” he says. “I thought if I told you, you’d fight to stay. And you were already hurting. Your dad… he said I’d wreck everything. That if I stayed, I’d be the reason you didn’t recover.”

“And you believed him.”

The words come out like a slap.

He flinches. “I didn’t want to. But I was seventeen. And I’d already almost lost you.”

You stand.

You’re not angry. Not exactly.

You’re shattered all over again.

“Do you know what it felt like?” you ask, voice shaking. “Lying in that hospital bed, asking for you, waiting for you—and no one telling me you came?”

He doesn’t answer. His face is broken open, wide and full of regret.

“I thought I wasn’t enough for you,” you say. “I thought I ruined everything.”

“No,” he says, standing too. “No, it was never that. I thought I was the one ruining everything.”

You’re both standing too close and too far.

You press your hands to your eyes. “You should’ve let me choose.”

“I know,” he says.

You lower your hands. Your eyes meet. You both look wrecked.

“But I’m here now,” he says. “I’m here. And I swear I’ll never let anyone take that choice from you again.”

Silence.

Then, quietly: “I don’t know if I can fall in love with you again.”

He nods. “That’s okay.”

“But I think I already am.”

He nods again, lips trembling with something like hope.

It’s not fast. It’s not easy.

But it’s real.

Coffee becomes dinner. Dinner becomes a Sunday morning walk. His hoodie ends up in your laundry again. You bring him takeout after late practices. He texts you good luck before every shift. You kiss him once in the hallway outside your apartment and then don’t stop thinking about it for days.

And the next time your dad asks if you want to come by for dinner, you bring Brock.

Your dad doesn’t speak when he first sees him.

The room is too quiet. Your mom fidgets with the napkins. Your sister holds her breath.

But you don’t look away.

“Hi, sir,” Brock says, his voice steady. “Thanks for having me.”

Your dad doesn’t reply.

Later, when it’s just the two of you in the kitchen, your father sighs.

“You’ve changed.”

“I had to,” you reply. “You tried to make my decisions for me. And it broke something in me. But I put it back together. I did.”

He nods slowly.

“Do you love him?” he asks.

You smile, soft but sure. “I never stopped.”

He looks down at the counter.

And then, quietly, “He’s not a boy anymore.”

“No,” you say. “And I’m not your little girl, either.”

He nods again. And it’s not quite approval—but it’s no longer resistance.

It’s enough.

You’ve just finished a long shift. The kind that drags and hums and leaves your feet aching and your eyes barely open. The kind that used to end with silence and a cold apartment.

Now, it ends with him.

He’s waiting outside the hospital when you step through the doors. Same hoodie. Same baseball cap. Same boy who broke your heart—and then came back to build a new one with you.

Only now he’s not just Brock who used to love you.

He’s Brock who never stopped.

And the man standing in the golden haze of the setting sun isn’t a memory.

He’s yours.

“Rough day?” he asks, stepping forward as you reach him.

You nod, leaning into his chest, breathing in the scent of his cologne and laundry detergent and something warm you’ve never been able to name.

“Better now,” you murmur.

He wraps his arms around you, resting his chin on top of your head like he always does.

There’s a dog in the backseat—Charlie, older now, tail thumping against the window at the sight of you. There’s a takeout bag in Brock’s hand. Your favorite order. No onions.

“Let’s go home,” he says.

And it hits you:

You’re not running anymore.

You’re not waiting for him to show up.

You’re not wondering if it’ll all fall apart again.

You’re here.

You’re home.

And when he looks at you like that—like he still can’t believe you’re real—you know:

It was always going to be him.

[wisteria-blooms]

PATENT // PARADISE!

PAIRING: Bill Weasley & You  WARNINGS: smut, sex pollen trope **MINORS DNI** SUMMARY: You and Bill find out you may have unknowingly taken part in a clinical trial... of sorts. (762 words)

A/N: Just a little follow-up to Paradise Potions! Sorry I've been so MIA.

LINK TO PARADISE POTIONS

PATENT PARADISE!

That August night was a dream. You fantasised about it often, usually at night and under your sheets, one hand fondling your breast and the other inside yourself, trying to emulate what Bill had done to you. 

Neither you or Bill were experts when it came to the world of potions and remedies, but you agreed on one thing: there was a third-party operator involved in this ordeal. 

“Physiologically,” Bill remarked the next afternoon, hand stroking his chin. “This was impossible.”

You were both completely spent. The effects of whatever possessed his body carried into the morning and finally tapered off by early afternoon. You had lost track of how many times Bill needed to satiate himself. All you knew was that you were literally hobbling down the stairs the next day in search of breakfast. The pursuit of pleasure had left both you and Bill ravenous.

“Really, I don’t think it’s physiologically possible for me to have come as much as I did,” Bill continued, setting his tea down on the saucer. “What vast stores I must have.” He was trying to topple the tension that aggregated between two people who barely knew each other who just had sex, and hours of it.

Instead of laughing, you reddened. You thought about the copious mess he’d left inside you and all over your face, breasts, your hair, and the bed. And when you thought he was finally done, his cock would harden again. Before you could comment on the absurdity of it all, Bill would have found his way inside you again. 

You nodded, shifting in your chair. Your nipples (that Bill paid great attention to) chafed against your shirt every time you moved. You squeezed your legs together and winced. You were so fucking sore.

But you would do it all again in a literal fucking heartbeat. 

So, that was why, when Christmas rolled around, you, with suspiciously great enthusiasm, accepted Percy’s invitation to join his family for dinner. You excused yourself for a “nap” after your arrival. Despite crystal clear instructions from Molly about where you’d be sleeping, you somehow took a wrong turn and found yourself in Bill’s room. Again. Oops! 

“I’ve missed this.” Bill crooned from underneath you between throaty pants, breaking a kiss in the process. “I thought about it in Egypt.. all the fucking time… what I was going to do to this pretty pussy when I saw you again.”

He had been thrusting into you in slow, controlled motions, his abdomen taut from the strain. As much as it pained him not to just slam into you, he didn’t dare to tempt any extraneous noise lest his mother hear. 

“Me too.” You grimaced when the bed creaked slightly. “I wish everyone were gone just like last time.”

“You won’t wish that.” Bill smiled deviously against your ear. “Because then I won’t have to hold back.”

You giggled. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

You both paused when you heard voices downstairs. 

“Arthur, honey, I’m heading out to the store. Do you need anything?”

“No, but I could go with you.”

“Well, let’s get going now before the store closes.”

You bit your lip, giddy at the prospect of an empty house. Bill echoed your sentiments with a kiss and a statement: “As much as I’d like to be inside you like this all day, I want to feel you come on me at some point.”

You nodded hungrily, prompting Bill to snap his hips up and push a sharp moan from your chest. He captured the tail end of sound by clamping his hand over his mouth. “Sh—” he chastised gently. “Not so loud yet, they’re not gone just yet..”

“HEY MUM! DAD!” 

Both your and Bill’s faces, at the same time, morphed from pleasure to utter annoyance in a millisecond.

“Fuck!” hissed Bill, throwing his head back on the pillow in defeat. Just when you thought you were in the clear, disaster presented itself in pairs.

“Fred, George! You’re early.”

“Well, we couldn’t wait to tell you the news..."

“You’re going to be utterly chuffed. We’ll be your favourite children after this.”

“And what news is that?”

“We were offered the largest contract in centuries by an apothecary for our latest product. The one you almost beheaded us for in the summer, remember? We couldn’t quite tweak it appropriately to suit our shop’s offerings, but the potion review board’s saying it’s a miracle drug. We won’t tell you in what way to spare the scolding, but let’s just say… there are plenty of satisfied wizards and witches as a result.”

END!