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kaysfanficcorner · 2 days ago

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The Camgirl and the Millionaire, Part 3

Pairing: Harry Castillo x Camgirl Reader

Summary: Things get more complicated.

Author's Note: Well here we are. I had so much fun writing this chapter and I am incredibly proud of it. These two have captured my heart and I cannot wait to see this little story through to the end. Harry and his camgirl have been the highlight of my summer so far. Thank you for being along for the ride, and please enjoy one of the most explicit things I've written to date.

New note, 6/25: Also, I went back and made one small edit to part 2. In it, Harry said it was June. For the outline I have planned I needed to move things up two months to August, so now I just made Harry make a vague reference to it being summer. You’ll understand when part 4 comes out!

Warnings: Alcohol consumption; Mentions of THC consumption; Cursing; Flirting; Lying, which I assure you hurts to write just as much as it hurts to read; Angst; Fluff; SMUT in the form of unprotected sex, oral, cum eating, anal; A lot of feelings; Reader is thic; Reader is sort of goth; Reader has pierced nipples; Reader is a sex worker; I gave Harry an appendix scar, don't ask me why

18+, Minors DNI

Ao3

*****

Harry can’t quite believe himself, feeling legitimately nervous as he waits for you near the entrance, but still inside the events venue. Women don’t tend to make him nervous, not at this stage of his life at least. Somehow, someway, you make him incredibly nervous. Perhaps it’s because you’re nothing like anyone he’s ever felt attracted to before. With you everything feels strangely different. So different that he let himself go during the concert, not giving a single damn if anyone who he may know was paying any attention to him or not. But now, after coming down from his multiple highs, Harry’s sure he’d overdone it and he’s sure people will be talking come Monday morning. The question is, though, should he really care all that much?

Shortly after you both agreed to get food together, you declared that you needed to use the restroom and grab your things from the employee area in the back. You explained how you and Vanessa were able to get into the event in the first place with the help of that guy, Charles was it? The venue’s owner, evidently. Apparently Vanessa is usually at these events as an employee, which is in all honesty not much of a surprise. It all makes sense. As he stands there thinking about it, the puzzle pieces of how his evening ended up going in this direction have started clicking together. You’re not from this walk of life and you certainly would have never attended this event without the promise of the musical guest. Harry was only able to meet you due to some wild stroke of fate. Or luck. He’s not sure which.

Harry himself doesn’t care, but your lack of status makes things even more scandalous when he really thinks about it. He knows that his brow must be riddled with worry as you’re approaching him once again, looking much more casual than you had when you walked away. When he really sees you, though, the worry in him fades away.

You’ve lost about three inches to the tasteful black Jimmy Choos you’d been wearing, which you’ve now replaced with short ankle-high black socks and a pair of black and white checkered Vans. The classic slip ons, a shoe Harry hasn’t noticed anyone wearing in a long while. He supposes that they are still popular if you’re wearing them, but most of the people he interacts with on a regular basis would not go for skateboarding shoes even in the most dire of circumstances. It’s an intriguing choice, much like the rest of you.

Your hair is back to being drawn up from your neck and shoulders, though the look is much messier than the bun Harry had ruined in the heat of the moment. You’ve got a black sweater slung over your forearm, and the straps of the heels are looped through your index and middle fingers on that same hand. Your free hand comes to rest on his arm as you move in beside him. Somehow being shorter makes you even more adorable to Harry, and he’s once again thanking himself for taking the plunge to enhance his own appearance. Your height difference is exactly what he imagined for himself when the surgery was possibly just a disastrous idea. At his true height the two of you would be nearly eye to eye.

“There you are,” you say with a little grin. “I bid farewell to the lovers back there so I’m good to go when you are. Van says you better not murder me or kidnap me, or she’s gonna come after you. I told her I’d be fine with the latter and she better not try to save me and ruin our good time.”

Harry nearly chokes at the suggestion, the very notion of it shocking, but your giggle at his reaction is enough to calm him. “You really aren’t like other girls,” he says, at a loss for more to say than that.

“The highest compliment a girl can receive,” you agree, leaning into him slightly.

Harry looks around the room, noticing a few eyes on them, and he’s suddenly wildly ready to leave. His driver should be pulling up any minute, but he hasn’t heard the ding of a text or felt the vibration of a notification in his pocket yet. His eyes narrow a little as he regards you seriously.

“Listen, I want you to know that I don’t normally behave like that when I’ve only just met someone. I don’t know if I’ve ever behaved like that, actually. I apologize if I came on too strong on dancing with you, or singing those crass lyrics.” Harry says this with a self conscious little pit in his stomach.

A moment ago he felt very confident that dancing with you in such an erotic way had been the right call, but suddenly he’s not so sure. It’s not enough to throw him off his game completely, but thinking back on how sultry the last hour and a half of his life has been, in a very public place, a wave of true embarrassment surges through him. People like Harry aren’t supposed to act like that, at a charity event no less. He finishes the water in another large gulp, mostly as a way to avoid looking at you directly while you respond. He could really use the next liquid he consumes to have an alcohol content.

The look you send him is clearly one of gratitude. “Harry, you were great. You are great. I appreciate your concern for me, but I truly had the time of my life with you out there. I wouldn’t be standing here right now if you made me uncomfortable. No apology needed.”

What a relief washes over him. “As long as you felt safe and respected,” Harry adds, nodding once.

You’re nodding in return, smiling unfalteringly. “I felt very safe and very respected. A little worshiped, even. Singing those lyrics was absolutely the right call and at your handsiest you were still very respectful. Thank you for being a gentleman. That’s rarer than you may think these days.”

“Mhm, I’m aware that men in general suck,” he agrees, looking around the room nervously again.

Now that his integrity has been cleared up with you, he’s not so sure it will be for anyone else who was paying attention to him tonight. As Harry glances around, he catches the gaze of a haughty looking blonde woman whom he knows he went out with once, but can’t possibly recall the name of. Cynthia? Cheryl? Something with a C? Harry remembers thinking it was a fitting letter because she’d certainly been a bit of a cunt, the way she’d spoken down to their waitress being enough evidence of that. Someone like her is the antithesis of what Harry wants in a life long partner.

The unpleasant woman notices Harry looking and frowns deeply at him, clearly still scorned by his rejection. Then she sees you, how closely you’re pressed to him, and she gives you a once over which suggests exactly what she thinks of you. Her eyes land on your worn pair of streetwear shoes for a long moment, and her upper lip curls in an ugly sneer.

“Some women suck too, though,” he says with distaste, frowning a little. “Wait, that sounds sexist. What I mean to say is: I think most people suck.”

“Sucking as a person encompasses all genders,” you agree.

Your gaze follows his to the woman across the room, and Harry watches your brow raise, but then to his great surprise you blow the woman a kiss and lean into Harry even more as you lift up on your tiptoes to place a chaste peck to his neatly trimmed jaw. He’s certain it was one of his gray patches, and his chest swells a little. Normally he’d be horrified that you just did that, but seeing the other woman huff and walk off strikes a chord within him and that warmth he felt spreading through him earlier on in the evening comes back.

What a curious feeling.

Once you’ve clearly had your fun you ignore the woman completely, looking back at Harry with a sugary sweet smile on your lips as you rub your bare shoulder into his upper arm. “I may have some money compared to most but I’m not one of these stuffy broads. Maybe I’m wrong with this read, but I don’t think you would be hanging out with me if I was.”

“You’re not wrong,” Harry breathes, pleased to know that you’re actually seeing him. That feels new for some reason. “I have a feeling that people like her are going to talk, because we definitely gave them something to talk about…” he trails off, a smile creeping onto his lips as he remembers how your body fit against his so well.

“See, that’s the spirit! We had fun, so fuck those other people. And your reputation is safe with me. I’m not going to run off and tell the ‘who’s who’ that Harry Castillo is an incredibly sexy dancer. Or that his hands were all over me and it was the most amazing I've felt in another’s company since I can’t remember when. Or that his lips are addictive. I won’t even say that he’s quite handsome. Very bite-able.”

As you say that last bit, you’re leaning over to gently nibble at his shoulder through the white dress shirt. Harry could care less that you probably just stained it red with rouge. He’s never met a girl who wants to openly gnaw on him before, and his stomach flutters in response to it.

Harry’s shaking his head, wanting to reassure you that he wasn’t thinking about you like that. “It’s not you I’m worried about when it comes to my reputation, it’s the rest of these sharks. I’m sure at least one of them caught a whiff of blood in the water.”

You grin widely, laughing. “Yeah, well, my favorite character in Jaws is Captain Quint, so let the bastards try and take a chomp at you while I’m around.”

His left brow raises curiously. “Doesn’t the captain get eaten by the shark at the end of that movie?”

“That’s neither here nor there, but if it would make you feel better I’ll change my favorite to Sheriff Brody,” you giggle, then you change the subject. “Is our ride here yet?”

At that moment, Harry feels a vibration against his right thigh a barely audible ding goes off. “Actually, I think it is.”

*****

Harry links arms with you as the two of you descend the stairs leading down to the sidewalk, and the feeling of guilt slowly eating away at your gut gets a little worse. You really like this guy, and starting things out with a lie feels like it’s suddenly a huge mistake. But what if you come clean and he ends the night before you’re ready for it to end? Isn’t it best to see the rest of this night through and then see where things go with him after that? There’s still a good chance that he’ll disappear from your life after tonight and then you will have embarrassed yourself for no reason. And, again, it’s not that you’re embarrassed about your profession, but you’re starting to feel embarrassed for being a liar and a coward. That stings a lot, especially when the spark you’re experiencing with Harry feels like it's not nothing.

Apparently you got so lost feeling guilty and anxious just now, that you completely missed the fact that you and Harry have made it down to the crowded curb. As well as the fact that your favorite musician is no less than twenty feet away as he gets ready to climb into his limo, surely off to some club or afterparty. You also hadn’t realized that you've been staring directly at the handsome celebrity, or that you’re wearing a displeased look on your face, until Harry looks at you with an expression of worry on his own.

What Harry doesn’t realize is that you’re deeply displeased with yourself at this moment, but he must think it has something to do with him. He seems a little self conscious as he looks over at the famous man climbing into the white stretch, frowning as his chocolate eyes meet yours once more. “You know, I can probably find out what party he’s going to.”

Your eyes widen, shocked that he thinks you’re worried about that . “I didn’t even notice him, Harry. I was distracted by something else.”

“What is it? You seem upset all of the sudden.”

This is it. Your chance to tell the truth. Do it, do it, do i-

“The heels killed my feet,” you lie, adding a wince for effect, though your feet really do ache.

Apparently lying is just your fucking thing now, you think, shame filling you for a moment. Coward.

“ Oh ,” he looks utterly relieved, and you can’t help but wonder how he can be so confident at one moment and almost vulnerable at the next. It makes you wonder if he’s been a little deprived of certain things emotionally in his life, thinking that makes two of you if it’s an accurate read.

Just then a sleek black car pulls up behind the leaving limo, and Harry’s opening the door to the back seat for you. “Let’s keep those feet off the ground, then”

“Are you planning to sweep me off of them, Harry?” You flirt effortlessly, feeling a sense of calm wash over you again when he grins handsomely in response, fingers slipping in between yours. That’s it, just get your groove back.

“If you’ll let me,” Harry says, the air of if completely honest.

As he guides you down into the leather seat, your hands remain joined. He leans down to kiss your knuckles once before letting your hand fall down into your lap. Then the door shuts, and a moment later the door on the other side opens. You’re grinning at him as he slides in beside you. Literally right beside you, not just in the other seat. He’s even using that weird middle seatbelt that no one likes, body pressed closely to yours as you buckle yourself in too.

*****

Soon the two of you are instead seated across from one another in a twenty-four seven diner splitting a whole cheesesteak and a couple of cheap beers. Both of you remark that neither of you really eats food like this anymore, and that you’ll both regret it when you feel like shit the next day. But damn does it taste amazing. It also helps that you both took some generous hits on the dab pen again before entering the restaurant, making the greasy subs all the more alluring.

You’re grinning at him between bites and sips, practically moaning. “I’m so glad that they put cheese wiz on this the real Philly way. Fuck, I’m in heaven.”

He nods in agreement, chewing a hefty chomp of his own. “This is very delicious, which means it could definitely kill me. Are you from the Philadelphia area, then?”

“No, the Baltimore area. A dinky town outside of the city. Close enough to Philly, though. I still know a good cheesesteak when I taste one. I just know a good crabcake better.”

“I knew your accent was from one of the two. Philly didn’t feel right though.”

You smirk, “It’s the weird ‘o’ thing we do, isn’t it? I’ve never been able to shake that.”

Harry shrugs into another bite of his sandwich. “I think it’s cute.”

Downing the rest of your beer, you’re blushing as you tell him, “Well I like your voice a lot. It’s handsome and smooth, like rich caramel in my ears.”

Harry snorts into his own beer, shaking his head with a cartoonish grimace. “Caramel in your ears doesn’t sound pleasant. Come on, Miss author . Is that the sexiest thing you could come up with?”

“It sounded like a good phrase in my head,” you’re forcing yourself to laugh, ignoring the sick jolt of anxiety he just caused. There are a few bites of cheesesteak left on your plate, but your appetite is long gone.

Harry seems to notice how fake it sounds, frowning. “You know what? I’m going to quit teasing you about that. We don’t have to talk about your writing unless you bring it up. That was rude of me. Shit . I’m not doing a very good job of earning that trust we talked about, am I?”

Deflect, deflect, deflect. Be fucking cool about it. “It’s okay. I’m not that upset. I’ll admit that wasn’t one of my better turns of phrase, but I can’t help it that amber is the color of your energy, Harry.” Joking as an attempt to re-lighten the mood, you’re grinning when he makes a scrunched face at the reference. But then that lovely face of his morphs into a relieved smile, and your anxiety settles.

“You’re too funny,” he chuckles. “I like your sense of humor. It’s refreshing.”

With a fake scoff, you’re feigning surprise. “You mean to tell me that blondie from the venue back there wasn’t a funny person? I never would have guessed.”

“Shocking, I know,” he agrees, grin handsome as ever.

A wave of emotion rolls over you when you take a moment to really look at his face, at how beautiful he is and how lucky you feel to be here with him in this moment. The need to speak from the heart strikes you, and you let yourself go a little. “I’m having a really good time with you tonight, Harry. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think meeting you is the thing I’ll cherish more than the actual concert.”

“I feel similarly,” Harry says, reaching a hand across the table for you. You slip yours into his easily, and he gives a gentle squeeze. “Do you want me to take you home to your place after this?” Harry asks, eyes darkening a little as he waits for your answer. He looks both nervous and hopeful.

You reply honestly, “If I say no, that I’d like to go home with you instead, will you think I’m an easy slut? I don’t make a habit of going home with strange men, usually.”

Harry shakes his head fervently, laughing. “If anything I’m worried that you think I’m an easy slut. I typically go on a couple of dates before I bring someone home. I’m not twenty-five anymore.”

“Me neither. I can’t explain it, but this feels different for me. You feel different. You keep saying I’m not like most girls, but you’re not like most guys. Do things feel different for you tonight, Harry?”

He nods, “They do. You’re more than welcome to come home with me, if it’s truly what you want.”

“It’s what I want,” you say honestly, scared of what telling the truth in this regard means considering how much you’ve lied about everything else. Every time you’ve had the opportunity to come clean before it’s too late, fear has halted your mouth. Nothing’s stopping your wicked, traitorous tongue this time around, though.

“I like you a lot, Harry.” Confessing this with real emotion behind your words, you’re willingly making this more complicated. It’s as if you’re suddenly uncaring of the consequences you may eventually face for it, stepping blindly into a situation that simply can’t end well because you have to see where it goes regardless. You desperately need Harry Castillo to know exactly what he does to you, and for you to understand what you do to him. You need it more than you need to breathe.

“I like you too,” Harry agrees, smiling at you genuinely as he wipes his hands and discards with his napkin on the empty plate. He downs the rest of his beer, eyes darkening as the slice of lime slides down the neck of the bottle with the final drops of golden liquid. The way he looks at you feels almost predatory for a moment, like he’s deciding when to pounce.

“Now, tell me,” he says your name, letting it melt ever so slowly on his stupidly alluring tongue, “if this were one of your stories, what would happen next when we finally establish that the two main characters like each other?"

*****

Harry’s tongue is buried so deeply in your cunt that the end of his broad nose is simultaneously and unceremoniously kneading into the sensitive, swollen nub begging for attention just above your wanting slit. It occurs to you that you very well could get off from his nose if he keeps this up any longer but just when you think that, his appendages disappear, and the airy chill on your soaked mound is enough to sober you up a little. You’ve half a mind to complain that he stopped, beginning to prop yourself up on your elbows to look down at him.

But then there’s a swift, nonpainful swat to your inner left thigh.

“Lay back down,” Harry commands, growling in a voice dripping with a dominating tone that could send you off to the other side if you let it. “Nowhere near done tasting you yet.”

You’re on the kitchen island in Harry’s insanely lavish apartment, the skirt of your red dress pushed up over your waist to expose the lower half of you. Your black thong is hanging from the faucet on the kitchen sink, where it landed perfectly when Harry threw it behind his head without looking. You’d wanted to laugh at the bullseye, but Harry’s determination to get between your legs stopped you from being silly. Instead, you let him spread you, wailing and moaning as he proceeded to eat you out better than you’ve ever had it in your entire life. That you can confidently say, and you’ve had a handful of mouths bring pleasure to your body over the years.

Harry’s a pro beyond pros, knowing every little nuance to a woman’s most sacred of needs.

He proves that when you follow his orders, laying back down to give him full access. His tongue runs from the base of your slit slowly up to your aching clit, stopping to swirl around it a few times before suckling lightly. Then he stops abruptly, repeating the entire pattern all over again. Each time he shows extra attention to your engorged nub, your body heats up even more and the cries of elation spewing from your wanton mouth echo through the apartment’s high ceilings.

Harry Castillo is secretly a madman, you’re sure of it, and his sexual vigor is right up your alley. The man is still fully dressed. You have no idea what his dick looks like, or the rest of that surely inviting body, and he hasn’t even seen your tits yet. They are still firmly secured in the bodice of your dress.

Upon entering the apartment, Harry told you that if he didn’t get a taste of your pussy before the two of you did anything else, then he was liable to explode.

Hearing him say that as he effortlessly lifted your ass up onto the gorgeously finished wood countertop? That made you start to fall for Harry Castillo before he ever put his mouth to your flesh.

“Been thinking about this all night, sweetheart. Ever since we danced,” Harry says into your folds, hot breath and facial hair causing your back to arch in anticipation. He’s practically nuzzling your vagina with his entire face, spreading your wetness and his own saliva all over himself. You keep yourself neatly trimmed and waxed at all times thanks to your secret profession, and Harry seems to appreciate this immensely. “It’s even better than I imagined. So pretty and soft and wet for me, aren’t you?”

“All for you,” you breathe, pushing your hips forward to try and coax his mouth back onto you. “ Please , Harry,” you’re begging, voice husky and needy, “I was about to cum before you stopped.”

The chuckle Harry lets out is low and handsome, nearly sending you over the edge with the very sound of it. You feel his hands grip your thighs, spreading them even more. Then his tongue starts trailing each of your labia majora, one after the other.

“I’m well aware of that, sweetheart. I just wasn’t ready for you to cum yet.” A kiss to your inner thigh. “Soon, though, I promise. Just be patient for a little longer.” A kiss to the opposite thigh. “Let me take care of you how you deserve to be taken care of.”

Then, without warning, two of his thick fingers enter you at once. They wiggle about a few times, getting fully coated in your fluids, and then he’s pumping slowly.

Wide-eyed, your head tilts up so you can look to where he’s seated between your legs on the footstool he’d pulled up when this encounter began. “ Harry ,” you breathe.

“Yes?” He asks, grinning devilishly up at you.

“You’re amazing,” you say dreamily, grinning widely to yourself as your head lay back down.

Soon your orgasm is steadily building again, core tingling from the combination of his fingers curling sharply into your g-spot, and the darting flicks from left to right of Harry’s expert tongue. This time he doesn’t deny you, boring into your clit with more intensity as a third finger finds your entrance.

“Let go for me, sweetheart. Show me what you can do,” Harry coos lasciviously, then digs into his meal with a ferocity which finally tips you all the way over the edge.

Grunting and shaking, your body convulses with your hands braced against the countertop. It’s as if you’re trying to push all of yourself into Harry as the orgasm rocks through you, and then suddenly everything feels too sensitive and you’re hissing at him to lay off a little bit.

He does, and as you breathe heavily in the aftermath of your bliss, he trails kisses all over your stomach before laying his head down on your belly button. Hands shakily prying themselves from the wood, you snake them into Harry’s soft brown hair and begin to comb your fingers through it.

“You were so lovely,” he remarks, voice almost dreamy. “You came so beautifully for me, sweetheart.”

Your own voice sounds throaty, almost foreign to yourself. This isn’t like the fake voice you put on for work, this is real sexual tranquility. “Thank you, Harry. That might be my best orgasm to date. Not joking. I’ve received oral from a handful of people and I’ve never felt anything remotely close to what you just did."

“Well I will always try to ensure that your next one is still your best to date, then.”

Fuck. He’s talking like this isn’t going to be a one night thing. And after the tonguing of a lifetime, you know you don’t want it to be either. You’re so royally fucked, and he hasn’t even actually fucked you yet.

Realizing this, you begin to sit up a little, causing Harry to lift up from your belly and look at you curiously. So you quickly explain, “I need you, Harry. All of you.”

Harry stands, lifting you to sit up more with your ass sliding off the edge of the counter. He’ll have to clean that massive wet spot in the morning, but you pay that little mind as your bare feet touch the cool ground. Your knees begin to give out as your skirt falls to rest below them. Harry catches you easily as you wobble into him with a soft moan, and then without a word he’s sweeping you up into his arms bridal style. You’re a little nervous, given that you’re a few jean sizes up from someone like Vanessa, but he’s kissing you on the forehead as he easily carries you from the kitchen to the master bedroom with little strain.

There he lays you down on a bed of white satin, a bed so ridiculously huge that you can’t help but giggle at how tiny you feel laying in the center of it.

Harry’s unbuttoning his shirt, smiling down at you fondly. “What’s funny?”

You’re shaking your head, laughing. “This bed is ginormous, Harry, and I haven’t called something ginormous since I was a kid. But it’s an appropriate adjective, this thing is cartoonishly big.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” He asks, smirking. His shirt is gone, now his undershirt. The body hidden beneath is one well maintained with diet and exercise, defined lean muscle tone showing you as much. Naturally tan, with dark body hair and an appendix scar, he looks so utterly beautiful to you. His hands are going for his belt, and suddenly you’re up on your knees, scooting forward towards the edge of the mattress. “Wait, please let me,” you ask sweetly, hands already reaching for the black leather strap and silver buckle as Harry’s hands instead move to find the zipper leading down the right side of your red dress.

As you unbuckle him and slide the belt from its loops, discarding the thing to the side, Harry is simultaneously unzipping you. He lifts the fabric, tugging upwards, and your arms lift to accommodate the rising garment as it’s peeled from your body. Harry, aware of how nice the dress is, gently hangs it over the back of the stylish black accent chair across the room. As he turns to really take in your fully nude appearance, a warm smile so sweet crosses his features. There’s lust in the expression, sure, but his eyes wash over you several times and each time it looks as if he’s almost overwhelmed by what he sees.

“I’ve never seen pierced nipples in real life before,” he remarks, mesmerized by them as he leans forward to cup both breasts in his hands. The pad of each thumb runs gently over the black barbells, stimulating the raised nubs of flesh nestled between.

For a moment you’re self-conscious about them, frowning a little. “Are they too much? Ex-goth girl, remember? They’re a relic of the past, but I loved them too much to get rid of them. The lip and the eyebrow had to go, though.”

Shaking his head, Harry frowns a little too. “Please don’t be embarrassed. I love them. It’s just a little new for me, that’s all. Will I hurt you if I play with them?”

Relieved, you smile at him with a shake of the head. “No, as long as you’re careful not to yank too hard, obviously.”

Harry takes that as permission to dive in, and both his hands and his mouth spend a good few moments ravishing your ample breasts. Squeezing, pinching, licking, biting.

“You’re so lovely,” Harry says your name, “what a prize you are. Though, I don’t entirely know what I did to win.”

“As if you’re not a prize too,” you say, rolling your eyes a little as finally he moves his crotch back within reach. You make quick work of undoing his trousers, and then he helps you yank them down his legs, stepping out of them. Gripping the elastic waistband of his black boxer briefs, your movements are slow and deliberate as you pull down and forward. The trail of dark hair below his belly button is growing wider and thicker by the inch, trimmed neatly but still prominent. Slowly the base of him becomes visible, and then in one swift move his erection is springing free.

A little gasp escapes your lips at the sight of him, not only pleased to see his foreskin still intact but truly shocked by his size. You’re not entirely sure how long he is, certainly long enough, but the massive girth of him is really what makes your mouth water. The anticipation of that thing stretching your walls is enough to make your core heat up again, ready for round two.

“You like him?” Harry asks, smiling down at you as one of his hands strokes your hair.

“I love him,” you agree, licking your lips as you lean forward to take him into your hand. Harry moans, hips bucking slightly. Having worked with an uncircumcised cock before, you know how to grip him and gently pull downwards, unveiling his swollen head and the delicious little bud of precum waiting for you. “Now this is a prize. You even get to unwrap it,” you say with a flirtatious giggle, adding, “and dare I say it's ginormous . There I go using that word twice in one night.”

When your tongue flicks out to lick that offered drop, Harry’s whole being seems to melt into you a little. Grinning, you widen and slowly take him into your mouth. Adding a little bit of pressure and suction, you slowly begin to work him in and out as the hand gripping him continues its rhythmic pumping. The little whimpers he’s making for you are music to your ears.

“Oh shit , sweetheart, you’re doing great, keep going,” Harry’s encouraging, both hands in your hair now as his eyes slip closed and he throws his head back a little. “ Fuck .”

You’re gagging, trying your best to fit all of him down your throat as a bit of drool dribbles down your chin, when suddenly he’s stopping you. He’s pulled out and he’s trying to push you to lay down. He even leans down to lick at one of your pierced nipples, his hand resting between your breasts as he pushes.

“Wait, I wasn’t done yet,” you pout, reaching for him again.

Harry growls, a primal noise from a refined man such as he, and he’s urging you backwards onto the white bed more. As you lay out below him and the gorgeous man is crawling between your legs, they instinctively bend and come to wrap around his hips a little. Your hands come to rest in the middle of his back, fingers gripping in anticipation of what’s to come. Then you feel the tip of his cock pressing into your entrance and, still slick from Harry’s treatment of you in the kitchen, your cunt welcomes him into your body easily.

A great cry escapes you as the width of his cock stretches you out considerably, the line of pain and pleasure blurred as your walls clench and squeeze, half trying to accommodate him and half trying to expel the painful intrusion.

Three slow, gentle pumps are all it takes for Harry to enter you all the way to the hilt, and when his tip presses painfully into your cervix, the moan you let out is quite guttural.

Then his lips are on yours, and your legs are hooking behind him at the ankles as he really begins to pound into you. His hands come to your ass, sliding below each cheek. With the leverage this gives him, Harry lifts your hips from the mattress completely. Thrust after thrust he’s relentless, and another orgasm is already starting to build deep within your needy core.

“You’re going to make me cum again,” you whine between heavy breaths. Head lifting up to bite into his bicep, the need to cling to him for dear life has taken over completely. The only thing you have left to grab him with is your teeth, and so you do.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Harry’s mouth is against your ear saying, “taking me so well like a good girl. I was right when I sang that to you earlier; Little pussy fits my dick so perfectly.” He pulls your ear lobe into his mouth, nibbling on the soft flesh as you writhe and whine for him. “You’re going to cum again, this time with my cock buried all the way inside you, sweetheart. Need to feel you contract around me. Then, if you’ll let me, I’m going to fill you up with mine.”

Fearful, you practically start to push him off of you, terrified of the consequences if he were to cum in you. “I’m not on the pill! Or anything!”

He stops thrusting for a moment, looking down at you seriously as he brushes hair from your eyes and kisses your forehead. “I had a vasectomy a few years ago. It was my forty-fifth birthday present to myself when I decided I definitely don’t want kids.” After he says that, he begins to slowly gyrate his hips into yours again, and you’re lifting to meet his movements in tandem.

Then you kiss him with everything you’ve got.

“ Fuck, Harry ,” you moan, “I think you might actually be fucking perfect for me.”

And with that, he fucks you until you’re practically braindead, completely stupified by his cock. You ride him a little, and then he’s on his knees taking you from behind off the edge of the bed. For a moment he migrates things to the bathroom, where he props you up on the sink and pounds into you standing up.

Then it's back to the bed with your legs straight up his body, crossed ankles resting on his right shoulder. He’s holding them in place with his right hand, and his left is gripping into your thigh so hard you’re sure to have five small bruises where his fingers are indented into your smooth, damp skin. Harry’s done an expert job of edging you once more, changing positions each time you start to get close, his own stamina and restraint a marvel. It’s starting up again, though, and this time he’s not stopping to switch things around.

“Close again, Harry,” you spout out through thick moans, a small part of you wanting him to prolong this more even though the rest of you is screaming in agony for release.

“Go ahead,” he says sweetly, smiling as he kisses your calf and looks you right in the eyes. “Let me see that face while you cum for me. You look so beautiful stuffed with my cock, sweetheart. Show me .”

Then he bites down on the same spot he just kissed, and your second orgasm overcomes you. Your muscles clench around him so hard, clinging to the very thing causing them to do so. Harry lets out a gorgeous sounding moan, leaning more of his weight into your legs as the pleasure of it seems to take hold of him.

He’s parting your legs as you come down, twitching against him as he readjusts into a more basic missionary position. Your arms come to wrap around his neck, just as your legs move to wrap around his waist. Shortly after that, Harry’s own grunting cries of culminating ecstasy are ringing throughout the high ceilings of the bedroom. He’s convulsing against you and you’re instinctively cradling his head, peppering his cheeks and forehead with little kisses to guide him through it. A few more gentle pumps and he’s eventually sliding out of you with a great sigh. There’s almost instantly a distinct leaking sensation running down the crack of your ass.

He’s kissing your forehead, then looking right into your eyes as he gets comfortable beside you. “You okay?”

“I’m great. How are you?

“I’m perfect, sweetheart. Just perfect.”

“Your body felt so good, Harry,” you’re sputtering out, grunting as your own body is again twitching in a brief aftershock of sexual bliss. “Everything felt so good.”

Harry is nodding in agreement, looking up at the ceiling with this handsome little grin playing at the corner of his mouth. Shaking his head, his eyes are filled with wonder as if looking up at a star splattered night sky. He looks so youthful to you at that moment, de-aged ten years for a split second. “I haven’t had sex that great in- Fuck . I don’t know if I’ve ever had sex that great, and I thought I was having great sex pretty regularly. You’ve single handedly and irrevocably changed my life tonight. I hope you know that.”

You’re also looking up at the ceiling, deep breaths causing your breasts to rise and fall. What Harry just said is so true that it almost hurts to realize it. Things have changed, feeling suddenly like so much more than the one night stand you’d been anticipating. It doesn’t seem like the high endorphins is making you think this way, though. You’re well aware of what that feels like. Something about this night with Harry Castillo feels real. More real than anything you’ve ever felt with another. “Same goes for you, handsome. Ruined all other men for me in a single night together. It’s practically criminal.”

As you look over at Harry, his hair mussed and face flushed, a blush creeps into your cheeks at the notion that the wetness you feel running down you is actually him . Allowing him to finish inside was a genuinely new experience for you, and the thrill if it is so unlike what you were expecting. If anything you assumed it was going to feel gross. Cum always equalled babies in your book, so you never thought it would ever feel this amazing to know some of it is buried deep inside you and the rest of it is dripping onto the bed below. To know it’s the cum of this man in particular? That adds an extra layer to the feeling.

It felt so different to embrace your lover in the heat of his orgasm, being so used to the empty, cold sensation of a pull-out and the inevitable warm spray to some other part of your body. There’s always been this sudden disconnect right before the moment of a man’s climax, but with Harry you got to ride it out with him, completely connected all the way up until the end. Connected in a way you never have been before, not even with a female partner. The notion of this stirs something deep within you, and your heart swells for the man placing kisses to your shoulder while he’s catching his breath.

The most satisfying peacefulness washes over you as you tell him, “I’ve never let anyone cum inside me before.”

His brown eyes darken slightly, and Harry looks both surprised and a little pleased with himself. “Really?”

“Really,” you’re grinning, “I don’t want kids, so that shit was always very off limits. I’m not sure how to explain it in a way that you would understand, but that was very special for me. Thank you, Harry.”

He leans over, grinning like a madman before kissing you passionately. “It was an honor to fill you up, sweetheart. I’d do that every single day if you’d let me.”

*****

You and Harry ended up spending the entire weekend together against your better judgement. The longer time you spent in his company, the more the stupid fucking lie was hanging over your head. But your weekend with Harry proved to be downright magical, and the more the two of you got to know each other, the less easy it started to feel to come clean. You thought about doing it so many times, and each time your anxiety would stop you. What if he truly hates you after he learns the truth? He might not, you never know. But even after so many long talks and lovely sex and shared laughter, the truth is inevitably going to change the way he looks at you. The very thought of that sends your nervous system into an overload, and strikes a deep crack through your already straining heart.

Harry Castillo makes you feel the way the romantic novels that you most certainly do not write make you feel, and your greedy ass wasn’t about to go and fuck up what was turning out to be the best seventy-two hours of your life thus far. Morally gray as it may be, Harry could know the truth after your beautiful weekend together. You felt that you deserved at least that before you light the fuse that will blow this situation to hell whether you want it to or not.

It’s as if you’re using your budding feelings for Harry to bargain with yourself for victory, but either way you’re liable to lose and deep down you know that.

The charity concert was on a Friday, so when the two of you woke up late into the morning on Saturday, Harry asked you if you wanted to stay for a while. He’d already taken the liberty of having his assistant drive over with a few different outfit options for you, and one swimsuit. All correct sizes, and all something you would have picked out for yourself, which gained Harry even more points in your book.��

‘A while’ started with french pressed coffee and a hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs and avocado toast, all made by Harry himself. Then ‘a while’ progressed into having sex again, this time on the living room couch, then once more on top of his washing machine after he’d started a load of laundry. You’d joked about how you could use another load too, and Harry ran with it. He ate his own cum out you while the machine whirled to life under your body, just before filling you up with even more of him.

After that, the two of you went down to the lavish pool in Harry’s building. An over the top extravagant amenity with a gorgeous view of the city, and probably the nicest pool you’ve ever had the pleasure of swimming in. Once the two of you started to horseplay, however, things very quickly took a turn for the sexual once again. Harry’s finger had slipped inside of your tastefully high-waisted bathing suit under the water, and when his hidden erection pressed up against your bare leg, the pool was a thing of the past.

That time he fucked you in his shower, bent over at the waist as hot water cascaded around your already enflamed body. When you begged him to take your ass in lue of your pussy, the man in question had moaned into your shoulder, “you’re a dream come true, sweetheart,” and he delivered what you asked for beautifully.

His assistant also brought you a small handful of basic beauty products to choose from. As you were later lathering on a serum nicer than any brand you’ve ever bought, even with your recently raised standards, it dawned on you that Harry probably spent at least five or six hundred dollars, if not more, on all of these things for you. That kind of casual spending, on you no less, made your head spin a little.

You may pamper yourself all the time, but it’s wildly different when a man like Harry Castillo is the one doing the pampering.

In the evening Harry ordered takeout from his favorite place in Chinatown, and given that the both of you didn’t have a single bodily fluid left to give, the night was filled with conversation, snuggles, and soft touches. He let you pick out a movie, and the two of you fell asleep spooning on his couch (also ginormous, by the way) halfway through Bram Stoker’s Dracula from 1993.

On Sunday, after breakfast and one more go around in the oversized bed, Harry took you to the Central Park Zoo. His almost boyish energy around all of the animals was so endearing to you, especially when he lit up for you around the bats. Given that the winged animals played an integral role in the events which led to your dalliance with Harry, he felt the need to commemorate the weekend by purchasing you a stuffed one from the gift shop. You never even saw him go for the register, preoccupied by a rack of silly t-shirts. So when he presented it to you upon exiting, you’d thrown your arms around his neck and kissed him right there in the middle of central park. All the while your mind was screaming at you to tell him the truth, but you listened to your body instead.

From there he took you to a ridiculously nice Italian restaurant, where he confessed to you over pasta that he’s never been in love and he’s scared that he never will be. That confession had shocked you, even more so when he quickly followed it up with a warning that if you said yes to what he was about to ask, then you were taking on the risk that he’s incapable of the feeling all together. The notion of him being incapable seemed silly, considering how affectionate he’d been with you thus far, but you kept that thought to yourself.

Then Harry reached across the table, and the next confession came pouring out of him. He told you that he wanted to try to feel love, and he felt something with you that he honestly hadn’t before. Not love, not when you barely know each other, but that spark that they talk about in the movies. One little spark, but enough to grab his attention and hold it fast.

After making your head spin with his honesty, he proceeded to say that the last couple of days truly meant a lot to him and, with the deepest sincerity in his chocolate eyes, Harry Castillo asked if you would let him see you again. Seriously, and exclusively.

Your answer was the easiest one to give in the world, and yet instead of shining bright like the sun as it should have been, your heart suddenly felt much more like the moon hanging ominously over the city. While the front facing side of your heart swelled a bright, glorious red for the possibility of a relationship with this man, the side cast in shadow was already starting to shrivel and turn gray with guilt.

*****

As you finish frantically pacing the floor and vividly telling a couch faring Vanessa everything about your weekend with Harry, sparing her the gorier sexual details, your stomach lurches and your heart sinks. While you’ve been wildly wrapping up the story, a great, ugly scowl has been slowly encompassing her normally beautiful features. There’s no hiding from your best friend, that’s just a fact.

“Listen, I know what you’re going to say,” you try to diffuse, hands up.

“Listen my ass ,” she says your name sharply, stabbing you right where she wants to.

You wince .

“I’m glad that got your attention, bitch.” With that, Vanessa pats the cushion beside her. “Sit down, your energy is stressing me the fuck out .”

“Sorry,” you say, complying.

“We are both grown-ups here, so I’m going to speak plainly.” Vanessa bores into you with her dark eyes, making your throat seize up. “You know what you need to do, or you’re going to fuck up what is potentially the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

“I know,” you breathe, frowning. “I’m going to have to finish one of my novels and get it published."

Vanessa groans ferociously, hands clawing over her face. Then she whacks you in the head with a pink throw pillow. “No, you stupid slut! Tell him the fucking truth! If you let this go on too long the damage will be too severe to repair.”

“Yeah, I know that,” you say, hanging your head. You’re going to have to hit the bong several times in order to sleep tonight, the horrid pit in your stomach will make sure of that. “Fuck, Van. I really am stupid aren’t I?”

“You are. But I love you, and maybe if you handle this situation correctly then Daddy Warbucks will love you too,” she says, grinning a little as she uses the silly nickname. You can already tell she’s going to drive that into the grave with over-use.

Her change in mood warms you, and the anxiety melts away a little. Feeling more like yourself, you send her one of your signature, Vanessa exclusive eyerolls. “Are we really going to call him that?”

“If you’re really going to date him I am,” Vanessa giggles.

“What if he really can’t feel love, Van?” You ask her, frowning.

Vanessa shrugs. “If that’s even a real thing. Sounds to me like he just hasn’t been in real love yet, not that he simply can’t feel it. But if it is true, then at least he was an interesting chapter of your life and a good lay. Date him for a few weeks before you worry about that, anyway. What if you’re the one who doesn’t end up loving him?”

As she says this, your phone buzzes against the coffee table. Reaching over to grab it, your eyes bulge a little at the name associated with the text notification. He just dropped you off a few hours ago, surely you’d assumed it would be a few days before you heard from him again. But here he is, making your heart flutter from the other side of the city.

Harry Castillo: Two nights with you beside me and I’m spoiled rotten. You were right. This bed is ginormous. Sleep well, sweetheart.

“I think he’s going to make not loving him incredibly difficult, Vanessa.”

*****

Monday morning Harry’s seated in his office doing the complete opposite of working. He’s on his phone, which makes him a hypocrite considering he recently instructed the management team to start cracking down on that with the associate employees.

He simply can’t help it. You’re literally all he can think about, to the point that he’s a little worried that something is wrong with him. You’d responded to his text last night, but you haven’t said anything to him since and he’s fixating on whether or not it’s appropriate to text you again so soon if you haven’t texted him first.

Fucking cellphones, Harry thinks bitterly, chiding himself for behaving like a teenager as he sits the phone face down on the glass top protecting his cherry desk. He looks at his computer, opens an email, reads the first three words of the subject line, and then he’s picking up his phone again to check it despite the fact that he knows it hasn't gone off.

Nothing. He groans, feeling like an idiot as he reaches for a sip of coffee. He doesn’t put the phone back down, though, instead he pulls up his camera roll and the couple of photos of you he snuck over the weekend.

The first is of you, in nothing but one of his black t-shirts and a lacy black thong, your back mostly to the camera as you sip on a mug of creamy coffee. You’re looking contently at the view from Harry’s kitchen window, sunlight streaming all over you. He loves your profile in that one, and the way the light accentuates your features.

The next is a photo of your naked silhouette in the frosted glass of his shower.

The third photo is of you at the zoo, happily captivated by the animals and paying no mind to the fact that Harry just had to capture how beautiful and carefree you looked in that moment.

He’s never taken candid photos of a lover before, nor has he obsessed over receiving a text from one. He certainly never paid this much mind to when Lucy would or would not contact him, and he’d been prepared to marry the woman for Christ’s sake.

Harry also never once called Lucy ‘sweetheart.’ Or any pet names, now that he thinks about it. Never a ‘baby,’ or a ‘honey.’ Not once. He would always greet her with a simple, somewhat awkward ‘hey you’, and he mostly just called her by her name.

You come into his life and suddenly he’s throwing around the term of endearment like his life depends on it, and somehow not hearing from you yet is driving him mad with anxious energy. Harry Castillo is a man who is very rarely anxious.

What is wrong with him?

There were a lot of people at the charity event, and at the zoo. Maybe he’s coming down with something. Yes, surely he’s getting sick and that’s why his head’s not on straight.

Then the phone vibrates in his hands, and your name flashes just above the image of your grinning face. His heart leaps from his chest, breath hitching. He taps it before it can swoosh away with the rest of his notifications, and a feeling of calm washes over him as he reads the message.

You: Missing your avocado toast this morning. :(

It shows that you’re typing, and then a second message pops up. This one is a photo, however. In it, you’re wearing a black graphic t-shirt advertising what he’s certain is the band Type-O Negative . Your hair looks insane, adorably so, and you’re pouting cutely over a sad looking cup of yogurt.

Harry’s got half a mind to cancel his meeting and take you out for brunch, but before he can even think of a response to text you back with, his younger brother is barging into his office without knocking. He’s the only person besides their mother who can get away with that .

“What, Peter? I’m busy,” Harry says, not looking up from his phone.

“You don’t seem very busy to me. Is that her you’re texting?” His brother’s voice is saying.

Harry looks up sharply, glaring. Words aren’t necessary.

Peter grins, plopping himself into the chair across from Harry’s desk. He takes a long sip of his own black coffee, eyeing Harry the entire time. “I originally came in here to complain that I missed the surprise Bad Bunny show, which I’m very upset about. Charlotte being pregnant is ruining all my fun, but don’t you dare tell her I said that. Anyway, then I heard a rumor that you found yourself a new woman at the show, and that the two of you got to know each other very well on the dance floor. I just had to come hear all about it.”

Harry’s eyes narrow even more at his annoyance of a sibling. He loves him, but he could also strangle him at any given moment. “Get out of my office, Peter. I need to prep for the meeting at eleven.”

“Yeah cause you were doing that so dutifully before I walked in,” Peter laughs, taking another generous sip. “So is that her you’re texting, then? What’s she look like?”

Harry groans, “Yes, it’s her.” Then his eyes flick back down to the open text thread, and when they land on the adorable photo of you with your pathetic yogurt, the joyful little smile which creeps onto his lips simply can’t be helped.

Peter’s jaw drops, “ Oh . Oh fuck , Harry. This is a wild development. I wasn’t expecting this today.”

Harry’s gaze moves back to his brother, eyebrow raising at the look on his face. “What on Earth are you talking about?”

Peter’s sharp laugh is one of disbelief. “She’s the one, man! I’m calling it. You’ve never looked like this before. Not once in my entire life have I seen that fucking look on your face. It’s the only explanation!”

“Bullshit, Peter,” Harry scoffs, looking away but not back down at your image. He has to consciously make himself not, knowing Peter would notice and use the impulse against him. “You know my opinion on that.”

“Whatever, big brother. Suit yourself. As the one of us who has fallen in love, I think I know what I’m talking about. But I’ll let you figure that shit out for yourself. Wait until Charlotte finds out, she’s going to go nuts.” As he says this, Peter is already getting up to leave. “See you in the conference room. Please actually prep for this though. I need you out there. Text her back and then think about her later. Trust me, it gets easier the more you get used to it. Love is fucking weird, man.”

“I am not in love with her,” Harry argues, shaking his head. If anything, what he’s feeling is infatuation more than anything else, right?

“Keep telling yourself that, bro. And for the love of Christ, get your shit together for this meeting.” And with that, Peter is gone as quickly as he came.

Harry looks around his large office, at his view of the city below, and wonders if there’s any validity to what his brother just said. Another vibration goes off in his hand, and the excitement he feels is like a jolt of caffeine straight to his heart.

Only, it’s just his calendar reminder letting him know that his next meeting is in fifteen minutes. The deep disappointment he feels leads him to conclude that Peter doesn’t need to get Harry’s hopes up like that, but there’s a nonzero chance that his baby brother actually knows what he’s talking about for once.

*****

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*****

Taglist: @cheyxfu @notahappystan

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schemmentisimpasours · 2 days ago

Text

Make It Home

Summary: Melissa catches sight of you in the Philly No Kings protest and she is proud and terrified all at the same time. Song inspo: Make It Home by Dezi

Warnings: Mentions of No Kings (Anti-Trump protests), SWAT violence, (small), Small reader injury, Anxious Melissa, Protective! Melissa, Political Anger

PS- This was very self-indulgent. I am angry at the fucking world and I don't care this is political. If you didn't know I was anti- asshole then you do now. The world needs this. I need this. Someone give me a Melissa Schemmenti to fix the world.

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It was lunchtime at Abbott, and Melissa had been following along with the most recent No Kings protest that had finally made its way to Philly. She was stationed at the couch, hand wrapped tightly around her fork, poised over her salad as she watched the news scroll across the TV. Everything had been peaceful so far, but a call for SWAT had been placed, and they were poised to arrive at any moment. The camera scanned the crowd. The frontline of the protest was linked arm in arm and walking down the street at a steady pace. A mass of people following behind them, signs high in the air.

“We should be out there,” Melissa said, looking at Barbara, “We used to do protests all the time back in our day. What that asshole is trying to do is ridiculous! All because some people are afraid of a woman in power. I can’t stand this.”

Barbara let out a small hum before responding, “Those were the days, but I fear that these protests may be a little out of our league. We are getting older, you know.”

“Nah, that SWAT team wouldn’t know what hit 'em,” Melissa joked, but then tilted her head as Barbara’s grin turned into a concerned line, “What is it Barb?”

She pointed towards the TV where the front line had finally made it to the SWAT team. Their shields were up and further back, men stood on vehicles, weapons pointed down at the protestors. The display of power sent a shiver down everyone’s spine. Melissa gasped and Barb reached out to clutch her hand.

“This is a peaceful protest,” Jacob whined, “Why do they already have guns drawn? This isn’t right.”

Melissa went to agree, but there was a sudden movement on the TV. The cameras zoomed in as one person broke from the line and stepped up to the SWAT shields till they were only a handful of feet away. They took measured steps with a lesbian flag waving behind them, the words I Don’t Want To Live In Fear No More written in black Sharpie along the various colored lines. Melissa whooped, throwing her fist in the air.

“Now that is a badass.”

“Isn’t that your name written on her arm?” Janine asked as the camera had finally captured the person standing by themself.

Melissa’s heart dropped as she took you in, standing your ground as the SWAT closed in. Your hair was tied up into a tight bun, but she could still make out your signature highlights. You were wearing a black mask that obscured the lower half of your face, but she would know those goggles anywhere. Your cosplay goggles that you had painstakingly made for a comic convention that you had dragged Melissa to last summer. Along the side band, the older woman could still see where she had signed it with a red paint pen- MACS. You were in dark clothing covering her favorite tattoos that detailed your body, but she was sure that was you on the screen. She was fully out of her seat when the camera caught the lettering on your forearm once again Please Call Melissa Schemmenti if in Emergency with a number scrawled next to it.

Racing back to her classroom, she dug through her purse until she found her phone. It had been a busy morning, and she didn’t have an extra second to check her messages. But at the top was a voicemail from you. The nickname My Everlasting Love glaring back up at her as she clicked on the message.

“Hi Angel, you probably won’t get this message till after I leave our house. I am so sorry to spring it on you, but I am going to that protest today. I won’t have my phone on me, but I promise I’ll find every way to make it home to you. One way or another, I’ll try to ease the pain. Even when it’s unsafe to show you I love you. I’ll stay, and I’ll be the one who holds the weight. Baby, I don’t want to be afraid anymore. You are the only one I want to come home for. I love you Melissa Ann Caterina Schemmenti. Forever and Always.”

Melissa immediately went to call you, but your phone went straight to voicemail. She tried four more times, pacing in front of her desk. Her heart was pounding and her hands were starting to shake. You both were passionate about your protests against the president and had been working to find ways to support any movement he was against as much as you could. But you never once mentioned wanting to go out to the protest. It just didn’t seem your style. Yet there you were on the front line, standing against SWAT. Your bravery made her so proud that she wanted to yell it from the rooftops, but there was also a part of her that was terrified. She should have been out there protecting you. Holding your hand and reminding you that it was going to be okay.

“Melissa! Let’s go,” Ava yelled, rushing in and grabbing the older woman’s purse.

“Go where? I have to get ahold of Y/N,” Melissa protested.

“I know, I just watched your girl get tear gas thrown at her. We are going to find her now,” Ava explained, grabbing Melissa’s elbow, “Mr. Johnson is going to cover. It was only a couple of blocks from here.”

They sprinted down the halls of Abbott and out onto the street. Protestors had scattered around, running to their own safe places. There was a vibrating tension in the air. SWAT cars could be heard rumbling down the street, further away, coming closer by the second. It was absolute chaos. Ava turned towards Melissa, her face filling the older woman’s vision.

“Where was the designated safe place?” Ava asked.

Melissa pulled out her phone frantically looking at the handful of texts you had sent her this morning. She had told you all about her and Barb’s safe places during their protests. The fallout plan had always been to meet at one place together. She let out a sigh of relief when the cafe where you spent weekends was labeled safe. SWAT had just rounded the corner when Melissa pulled up the directions.

“It’s only a five-minute walk from here. But they are blocking the street. No way they are going to let us through,” Melissa groaned.

“Follow me, I know a shortcut,” Ava said and took off down the alley.

Melissa followed Ava through alleyways, shops, and side streets until the cafe was in sight. By the time they burst through the door, Melissa was sweating, and the anxiety was all the way to her throat. She scanned the room, and there you were tucked into the usual corner booth. Your goggles were off, and your mask was half on, displaying your beet-red face. The flag you had been wearing around your neck was folded neatly underneath them. You were nursing a water, and Melissa could see you physically shaking.

“Y/N!” The older woman yelled, and she didn’t care when everyone turned to face her.

You smiled, getting up slowly from your table. Melissa navigated through the tables and barreled into you. Stumbling backwards, you wrapped your arms around your girlfriend, burying into her neck. The smell of lavender, stale cigarettes from the last time she stress smoked, and just a touch of cedar. After hours inside a mask, where the smell of sweat mixed in with small particles of gas you had run from, it was like coming home. You could feel your body relax into her as she held you in a crushing hug.

“You are fucking insane!” Melissa said still wrapped around you, “Idiota (idiot) ! Out there on the television, standing in front of people who would sooner shoot you than ask questions. Cavolo! (Crap) I thought you were gonna die out there. Vaffanculo! (Fuck yourself)”

“I love you too, angel,” You replied, trying to hide the giggle in your voice. Something about her swearing in Italian always brought a smile to your face even if she was telling you to go fuck yourself.

Melissa placed her forehead against yours, “Amore mio, never do something like that without me ever again.”

“I promise,” You reassured her before kissing her forehead and then let out a little gasp as you finally put full pressure on your ankle.

“You are hurt,” Melissa growled, scanning you for your injury, “Those testa di cazzo (dick head) better not have touched my love.”

“I think I sprained my ankle running when they started throwing things,” You sighed and then saw tears spring to the corners of your girlfriend’s eyes, “I really am sorry Mel. I know I scared you but I just couldn’t sit by anymore knowing that man is trying to make it so we can never be together. Taking rights away from our friends and family. It isn’t right.”

“I was scared,” Melissa admitted, “But you standing up for our rights and seeing you on the TV was both extremely badass and extremely sexy. Next time, I just want to be the one holding your hand while we do it together.”

You laughed, leaning up to place a kiss on her lips, “Deal. Now, can we get out of here? I am sweaty, sore, and really hungry.”

“Of course, baby,” Melissa soothed, wrapping one arm over her shoulder so that you could lean against her and stay off your bad ankle, “I got you.”

Ava was standing at the door phone in hand, looking out at the street, “Things seemed to have calmed down, so I ordered y’all an Uber. She should be pulling up now. Yeah, that blue car right there.”

“Thank you, Ava,” Melissa said, patting the principal’s shoulder, “Gonna take girl wonder over here home.”

“You did great, kid,” Ava winked, “Just make sure Red doesn’t go too hard on you.”

Melissa rolled her eyes before helping you into the car. She buckled you in, staying plastered to your side as the streets of Philly passed by. You kept your head on her shoulder, and she sang an old Italian lullaby until your shared house loomed outside the window. She unlocked the door, and you relaxed as the feeling of home washed over you. The older woman gently placed you down on the couch so that you could prop your foot up on the coffee table.

A hiss escaped your lips as she unlaced your Timberland, allowing your ankle to swell. Purple and brown bruising were around the outside, and you flinched at the look of anger that crossed Melissa’s face.

“Those testa di cazzo! I should go out and give them a piece of my mind,” She growled, and you grabbed for her hand.

“Angel, it is a sprained ankle. I am going to be okay…stay here please,” You begged.

The lines across Melissa’s face softened as she leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead, “I love you so much. You hungry?”

“Starving.”

Melissa hesitated as she looked between you and the kitchen that was separated by a wall from the living room. Going in meant that she was going to lose sight of you, and a part of her couldn’t let you go away from her, not after everything that happened today. But you gently pushed her towards the kitchen, promising that you would be fine. She relented, tucking a blanket around you before she left. Within minutes, she was humming in the kitchen, pulling ingredients to make your favorite comfort meal. You relished in the sound of her voice as you adjusted to lie on the couch. Feet propped up on one arm, you relaxed against the cushions, the day finally catching up to you.

Your girlfriend called your name a couple of times as she waited for her pan to heat up, and ran out when you didn’t respond. A small giggle left her lips as your snores filled the air with your arms curled around Melissa’s jacket to use as a pillow. Reaching for your phone on the coffee table, she called her own phone over FaceTime. Muting both phones, she propped yours up so she could see you in the kitchen. With the small comfort, she went back to work making your food. Every couple of moments, she would look over to smile at your sleeping face. The love she had built for you over the two years you had been together was so evident on her face that if anyone else had seen her, they would have called her a sap. Yet she didn’t mind. Not when it came to you.

When your food was done, she woke you up gently before helping you to the table because you insisted that you wanted to have a normal dinner. You sat in your normal spots, talking through the day and everything that had happened. Every couple of moments, Melissa was rubbing her hand over your thigh, moving your hair behind your ear, touching your cheek. She couldn’t get enough of touching you. As if you would completely disappear if she didn’t make sure you were real.

“Angel, are you okay?” You finally asked as she helped you up the stairs to the bedroom.

“Of course,” Melissa confirmed, but she refused to let go of you, her fingers almost leaving bruises on your hip, “You are safe. We are safe. It is okay. You are getting in the bath, and then we are going to bed. You are never going anywhere without me again. Do you understand?”

“Understood.”

She talked through the rest of her plans in the same short and formal way. Like a to-do list, she had to check off. When she sat you on the edge of the bed, you grabbed her wrist, pulling her in between your legs. You wrapped them around the back of her knees, stopping her from escaping as you rested your hands on her hips. Your ankle throbbed, but you didn’t care as you looked up at the green eyes you had spent hours memorizing. There were the tell-tale signs of tears in the corner of her eyes that she tried to push away by blinking rapidly.

“Angel, I am okay. I promise you,” You soothed, “What do I have to do to prove to you that you don’t have to worry?”

A stray tear fell down Melissa’s cheek as she cupped your face, “Oh honey, I know you are okay, but I can’t stop thinking about what you said. I don’t want to live in fear anymore. The world is on fire, and I can’t protect you. Protect us. Protect anyone. I am scared.”

And there it was laid out in the open. Words hanging for a comfort that you couldn’t supply because you were scared too. Scared that you weren’t going to be able to keep your job as more funding cuts were made. That you weren’t going to be able to marry this beautiful woman in front of you, let alone walk down the street holding her hand. That the children you and Melissa had already started to saving to save for would never come to be. The pressure was crushing you and all you could do was breathe in this moment. This comfort that Melissa brought you. That no matter how dark the days got and the way the world burned around you that you would have her. A love that would sit with you until things were okay again.

“I am scared too, my love,” You responded, pulling her even closer, “We will make it through this. Together.”

It wasn’t a promise that everything would be fixed. Or that there was an answer. Only that you would face it together, fingers entangled until your final breath. Melissa nodded, pressing her forehead against yours, whispering I love you over and over again until she had calmed down. She kissed you hard as if to convey all of the words that would never fit into the tense space. Then she filled the bathtub, overfilling it with essential oils and bubbles to soothe your aching muscles. She helped you inside, taking extra care to wash away the dirt that had clumped in your hair.

She hummed as she worked your hair into tight braids that she knew you preferred after your hair was washed, and found the oversized t-shirt you always loved to sleep in. Tucking you into bed, she flicked on the TV, finding your comfort movie and letting it become background noise to the unfolding night. She pulled the covers around you both, melding into you as she draped one arm securely over your hips. She kept her face nuzzled against your neck, repeating the same phrase over and over until you fell asleep.

“I love you, I will never let anything bad happen to you. You are mine. I will always come home to you. Always.”

Taglist

(I took this straight from Monster in My Head sorry for the overlap)

@writerspirit // @casualfoxwitch // @panerasbox // @babytakeittothehead // @milfjuulpod // @yoyo-w // @cupldscntrl // @milfslvr // @liliapleasesteponme // @marvel210 // @derpyavocado // @morgana-larkin // @tsuki-brujita

#Melissa Schemmenti #Abbott Elementary #Melissa Schemmenti x Reader #Melissa Schemmenti x you #Melissa Schemmenti x Original Character #Protective! Melissa Schemmenti #Anxious! Melissa Schemmenti #Make It Home #No Kings #Peaceful protest #working through some shit #Spotify

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gigilovesmovies · 1 day ago

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Pink!

Pairing: Joost Klein x reader

Summary:Joost helps you dye your hair

An:I’ve been thinking about dying my hair pink for so much time but i’m so scared to fry it,also sorry for the grammatical errors there are so many in this one(my first language isn’t English)

Also can you send me requests please 🙏🏼

….

You’ve been feeling a little weird about yourself lately,not insecure just weird and specifically bored about yourself,the same face,features,hair looking back at you from the mirror,it’s not that you didn’t like how you looked,you just grew bored of your usual look.

You needed to add something about yourself,customise your character.

The easiest way to achieve that was to dye your hair,and seeing Joost dying his hair blue only made the want intensify.

So one morning while explaining your boredom about yourself to Joost he decides to helps you like the good boyfriend he is.

“Come on get up let’s go sweetie,we’re going shopping”he says excitedly,getting up from the kitchen chair and stretching.

We arrived at the shop,we were inspecting the hair dye aisle,examining every little bottle of dye and the several choice of colours.

“What colour should I take” You ask joost not looking up from the container full of green hair dye

“What about blue” he says cockily”We could match”he continues handing you a blue hair dye

“Nuh-uh blue is your color Joosti”You answer him smiling,continuing your little investigation.

Then suddenly he gasps and jump excitedly”Pink!let’s dye your hair pink,it would go perfect with your hair”he rambles playing with a rebel strand of your hair

“Yes!pink highlights,pink highlights would look sweet”You answer back as excited as him so much that it made some people turn their head at you and frown

After debating on which shade of pink you should take and if you needed bleach you finally paid and went back home.You gathered all you needed as Joost started to wear his gloves and preparing the bleach.

Joost parted your hair and put them in little buns,so he would be able to bleach and dye comfortably without rebel strands of hair falling on his work.He continued the process calmly and carefully the music on the background creating a calm environment .

“You know I never dyed my hair” you declare looking at joost trough the mirror as if it was the most shameful thing in the world.

“Really? Not even when you were a teenager” he asks locking his eyes on yours through the mirror and smiling.

“Yeah my mom never let it me dye it,she was too scared it would fall out or whatever”you answer,smiling as you remembered all the time your mom scolded you for wanting to dye your hair.

“Well now it’s happening”he says leaning down to peck your cheek,he pulls out with an exaggerated “mwah” sound that made you giggle.

“Ewww you left spit”you say jokingly,wiping the little amount of spit he left.

“You wanna see real spit”he jokes as he wrap his palm on one of you cheek and lick your other cheek,making you wince in disgust, you couldn’t help but laugh,getting on your tip toes to lick him as well.

Loads of kisses and playful teasing later,the alarm rang,it was time to rinse.He sat you on your knees in front of the bathtub and gently dipped your hair and stared rinsing massaging my scalp,when he finished he wrapped my hair in a towel drying it carefully not to hurt you or pull your hair.

“Okay what do we think” he asks you,both standing in front of the mirror.You took a moment to admire his hard work,pink highlights,dyed perfectly all around your hair,just enough to add something new to yourself but not completely change it.

“It’s perfect”You say smiling and touching your hair,you turn to face him”Thank you baby,you’re the best boyfriend ever”I lean to press a kiss on his lips as his hands found your waist pulling you closer to him as he deepened the kiss.

“And you’re the best girlfriend”he answers,kissing you back smiling into the kiss.

Now everytime you looked at the mirror you felt good about yourself.Plus now you and Joost have a new activity to do from time to time,refreshing your pink.

#joost klein fluff #joost klein fanfic #joost klein x reader #joost x reader #rpf #joost klein

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mroddmod · 1 year ago

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omg thank you guys for 9k!!! i can't believe it 😭🙏

#i feel like i just hit 8k omg #thank yall so much for all of your kind replies and tags in your rbs 🫶🫶🫶#it's one of the highlights of my mornings when i get to go through and read all the kind and thoughtful responses to my work :'))#the comments on this app are the most thoughtful and profound of any others i've been on 🫶#so thank you for that!!!#thank you all for your support and love 🫶#oh and thank you for the response on my recent oc!!! i never expecting so many nice comments on him :')#i said thanks in this a lot but it still wasn't enough lol #thanks ❤️‍🔥#mods talks shit

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mrfoox · 2 years ago

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It's 6.30 and I'm prepared and in bed 🫡

#miranda talking shit #It was nice yesterday but like... I slept maybe two or three hours... We went to bed 9.30 and It took forever for me #I dozed off once. 3 AM... Couldn't fall asleep... Doozed off and alarm blast #I was just touching the guy half the night #He was snoring and sleeping and I was rubbing his back and arm and shoulders #I'm so touch starved it's wild how I react when I have gotten open permission to touch someone however #I'm just like... Naw i can't stop now I gotta hold your hand pet your arm and rub your back #I thought I disrtirbed his sleep bc he... Usually breathe pretty deep and slow but I asked in the morning and he was like :) I slept well #Great buddy. I was holding your hand and touching your chest and rubbing your belly and-#Now thinking about it it seems so weird but like....#As someone who just gets hugs from her mom every other week and hugs from one friend I see once per month #I don't get to touch people and no one touches me...#Plus the guy is Big ™ muscles and length and I'm more used to... Ladies who are softer and yeah #Anyway... It was very nice. Many highlight reels to go through in my mind #And he said I could come back so... Believe it Naruto #I'm so easy to please. I get cuddles and hugs and to touch someone...? Bitch I'm coming over asap #I was willing to come by tonight again for it but he wasn't up for it

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fanficgirl429 · 1 month ago

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Jealous Bucky

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Prompt: Bucky gets jealous when Torres flirts with Y/N

The hum of fluorescent lights cast a pale glow over the East Side briefing room of the Helicarrier hangar. Equipment cases lined the walls, gear sorted and labeled with precision, and the scent of metal, oil, and sterilized fabric filled the air. Sam stood at the table in the center, hands braced on either side of a glowing tactical map.

Y/N leaned against the edge, tying her hair back into a messy braid, a black combat vest snug over her base layer. Her movements were quick but unhurried—second nature. Bucky watched her from across the room as he adjusted the shoulder harness of his stealth suit. His fingers moved slowly, distracted. He'd already checked his gear twice.

She caught him looking and gave him a soft, secret smile. The kind of smile that said I'm okay. The corner of his mouth lifted in return, subtle but real.

“You two gonna kiss or kill something?” Sam asked, not even looking up from the map.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “You know which one I’d prefer.”

Y/N rolled her eyes with a half-laugh, walking over to Sam’s side as Joaquín Torres pulled up a holographic overlay from the nearby terminal.

“Guard rotations are clockwork,” Torres said, pointing. “Three-man teams sweep the corridors every twenty minutes. Entry point’s here, west stairwell. You’ll have a five-minute window to get past the security grid.”

“And once we’re inside?” Y/N asked, leaning in, her fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the table. Bucky’s gaze followed the motion.

“Split and sweep,” Sam said, already sliding into briefing mode. “Y/N and I take the server room. Bucky clears the vault corridor. We regroup at extraction in twenty.”

“Sounds clean,” Torres said. Then his eyes flicked to Y/N. “Wish I was going with you guys. Could use someone with your instincts on my team.”

Y/N raised a brow. “You calling me predictable or reckless?”

“Neither,” he replied, a grin tugging at his lips. “Just saying, if I had someone like you watching my six, I might not get shot at so much.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed.

Y/N laughed it off, casually stepping closer to Bucky without seeming to realize she’d done it. But he noticed. He always noticed. The subtle way her body leaned toward him when someone else was around. The way her hand rested on his forearm briefly, grounding both of them.

Torres was still grinning, oblivious. “You ever think about switching teams, Y/N, let me know. I could use a partner who looks that good and knows how to break a guy’s arm in two seconds.”

Bucky’s voice cut through the air. “She’s not switching anything.”

The room stilled for a second too long. Sam looked up, eyebrows raised. Torres blinked and took half a step back, holding his hands up in defense.

Y/N let out a slow breath and gave Bucky a look—half amused, half warning.

“Just saying, man. No offense,” Torres said.

Bucky didn’t answer. Instead, he turned and walked toward the lockers, snapping his gloves tighter than necessary.

Y/N followed.

When they were out of earshot, she leaned against the locker beside him, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“You know I’m not going anywhere, right?” she said softly.

Bucky looked down, then back at her. “Yeah. I know. Doesn’t mean it’s easy watching someone else talk to you like that.”

Y/N tilted her head. “You think I care what Torres thinks? I let you zip my vest this morning.”

His eyes flicked to her chest, then to her face, his voice lower now. “Yeah. That was the highlight of my day.”

A smile played on her lips. “I can give you another highlight, but we’ve got a mission in ten.”

“Damn timing,” Bucky murmured.

She stepped closer, hand brushing lightly against his side—right where his arm met flesh. “I’ll be careful.”

“I know.”

“I mean it,” she whispered. “I don’t want you losing your mind if someone so much as looks at me funny again.”

“Too late for that,” he muttered, then softened. “But I’ll keep it together. Just… stay close. And come back to me.”

She pressed a quick kiss to his lips, unseen from the others. “Always.”

Sam called from across the room, “Time to move out, kids. Jet’s hot and ready. Let’s go look cool and kick ass.”

Y/N turned with a wink. “Let’s go make some noise.”

Bucky watched her walk away—confident, calm, dangerous as hell. And his.

He took a breath, squared his shoulders, and followed.

No one would ever get close enough to take her from him.

Not on his watch.

The mission had ended hours ago.

Madripoor had been chaotic—twisting alleys, cold steel corridors, fire flashing off concrete and bad choices. But they’d made it out. Banged up, bruised, a little breathless, but alive.

The quinjet hummed softly as it cut through clouds somewhere over the Atlantic. Sam had passed out three seats back, his arm thrown over his face, muttering occasionally in his sleep. Bucky sat near the front, freshly bandaged, bruised, quiet.

Y/N sat curled up across from him wearing one of his hoodies and her tactical pants, legs tucked beneath her. She’d changed out of her suit, hair loose now, damp from a quick shower at the airbase. Her eyes had been on Bucky since takeoff—not in worry, but something else. Something quieter. Deeper.

He looked tired.

Not physically—though the gash on his shoulder was proof enough the mission hadn’t gone easy—but emotionally tired. Like he’d been holding onto something all day that still hadn’t been said.

She crossed the aisle and slid into the seat beside him, saying nothing at first. Just letting the silence speak.

He glanced at her, then looked away. “You should sleep.”

“You should talk to me.”

A beat passed.

He exhaled. “You could’ve been killed today.”

“You say that like it’s not part of the job.”

His voice dropped. “It’s different when it’s you.”

Y/N turned in the seat, facing him fully. Her hand reached over, fingers brushing his knuckles—just barely. But he felt it like a jolt.

“You saved me. Again.”

“I shouldn’t have had to.” His jaw flexed. “I should’ve cleared the corner faster. Should’ve—should’ve gotten between you and that guy.”

“Bucky.”

“I saw the way he raised the gun. He wasn’t aiming at me. He wanted you. And all I could think was—”

He stopped himself. Chest rising, falling. The words stuck somewhere between his lungs and his heart.

“All I could think was, what if this is the last time I see you?” he finished, softer now. “What if I lose you before I ever get to tell you…”

Her hand moved to his jaw, thumb tracing the stubble just below his cheekbone.

“Tell me what?” she asked.

He met her eyes, blue and stormy and full of something that cracked her open inside.

“That I love you,” he said. No hesitation now. No fear. Just the truth.

Y/N’s breath hitched. She was already smiling, already blinking away tears she hadn’t realized were there. “Took you long enough.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Guess I’m still learning how to say things before I almost lose them.”

She cupped his face, pulling him in gently, and kissed him—slow and deep. When they parted, her forehead rested against his.

“I love you too,” she whispered. “Even when you’re brooding and jealous and act like you invented angst.”

His lips curved against hers. “I did invent angst, actually. 1943. Patent pending.”

She laughed, and he held her close, letting the sound soak into his skin.

They stayed curled together for the rest of the flight, her head on his shoulder, his fingers tangled in hers. No words needed.

Outside, the storm had passed.

But inside the quinjet, something far more powerful had settled.

Peace. And love.

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adelheidvonschicksal · 1 year ago

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The Love and Deepspace Boys Trying to Get You to Sleep ⋆｡°✩

Tags: Fluff, teasing, needy boys, mild sexual content, gender neutral reader (I had to re-write so please let me know if I messed up.)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Xavier is surprisingly softer than you expected when you first met him on your mission together. He’s an incredibly powerful hunter but possesses a quiet and gentle, almost oblivious, aura when navigating everyday life, like a ghost floating through the space he takes up. It should also be understood that this very nature of his makes him affectionate, so much so, that he won’t unwrap his arms around your waist and stop pressing his head to your shoulder as you sit at the kitchen bar, typing on your laptop.

“Are you planning on staying up later than the stars?” he mumbles.

There’s a gentle yawn against your skin from the sluggish man, highlighting just how long he’s been trying to coax you into going to bed.

“I wanted to finish this report for work.”

“The report will be there tomorrow,” he says. You swat away his hand that reaches for the power button on the laptop causing him to pout. He grumbles. “You should go to bed. Otherwise, I can’t sleep.”

Smiling to yourself, you decide to tease him. “Oh, so you’re really trying to get me to go to bed for your own benefit?”

“Well, you can’t very well expect me to do it by myself anymore.” Xavier nuzzles his head into the slope of your neck, cuddling you. “It’s your responsibility since you ruined my sleeping habits.”

“Ruined?”

“Ramshackled,” he repeats quietly, causing you to giggle. With an airy sigh, he presses his weight into you more. “How do you expect me to sleep when I can’t hold you?”

Defeated, you save your work and close the laptop. You swivel in your chair, enough to meet his eye, and cup a hand to his cheek. It never stops being endearing to you how he cutely closes his eyes and angles his head to snuggle your palm.

“Alright, alright, you don’t have to beg.”

His eyes flutter open, and the smile on his face grows as he wraps his fingers around yours. Carefully, he pulls on your hand to bring it up enough to begin to lace your wrist with affectionate kisses, tracing your pulse.

“I thought you enjoyed my begging.”

“That’s different.”

“It isn’t,” Xavier mutters into your skin, pressing another light kiss.

“It is.”

“So, you're resolute about that position?” he questions “innocently”. There’s something mischievous about the glint in those arctic eyes, which makes your face warm. You find yourself breaking eye contact, or else you’d lose it.

“Yes.”

Xavier chuckles then begins to lead his kisses down your arm. “In that case, care to explain the difference in detail, love?”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Sleep.”

“But—”

“Sleep.”

Zayne narrows his eyes at you from his side of the bed. You can’t blame him for being a little annoyed right now but the movie you put on to fall asleep was much better than you expected; and instead of falling asleep, you were more awake than ever at a very late one in the morning.

“I’m almost done with the movie,” you tell him, hoping he’ll cut you a little slack this one time.

“Everyone dies at the end of their own stupidity,” he bluntly states and grabs the remote. The television turns off with an overly loud click, and you pout. “Now, sleep.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you huff. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m fine with that title if it gets you to rest,” he explains with a smooth yawn. “Poor sleep habits lead to bad decision-making later. You’re more likely to develop high blood pressure, and with your heart in particular—”

“I get it. I get it,” you say, wanting to be spared the lecture. Zayne is a good person and a better doctor, but you wish he didn’t worry about you so much just because you might have a little big heart problem. Sighing, you squiggle onto your back and pull the sheets up to your collar, kicking them a little childishly in the process (totally not to let him know that you were not pleased with his spoiling). “I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

“Very.”

Zayne turns over onto his side, away from you, and you frown at the loneliness. Softly, you poke him in the back, once, then twice then a third time before you finally get a hum in response.

“Am I really not getting a good night kiss?”

“Do you need one to sleep?” he asks, his voice deeper from the lack of sleep, urging you to convince him to kiss you even more.

“Duh,” you explain. Slowly, he turns back over to look at you, propping himself up on one arm with a look that says “Is that so” as you continue to ramble. It makes you a little flustered when he watches you so intently. He’s always had this silent dominance that makes you obedient, but you could get what you want from him just as easily with the exact opposite strategy. Cutely, you puff your bottom lip out at him. “There has to be some health benefit to it. Kissing makes people all happy. Happy is good, right?”

It takes a second for him to take in what you say, those smokey eyes closing in on you with thought before he climbs over you. He places both hands at your sides and quickly boxes in your upper thighs with his knees.

“You’re thinking of dopamine,” he says.

“Huh?”

“That makes you “all happy”,” he explains and presses a deep kiss to your lips, leaving you thoughtless and breathless all at once. He moves to your jaw, and you begin to squirm from the pressure of his impassioned lips.

“And Serotonin.”

Another kiss, lower.

“Oxytocin.”

He’s at your shoulder when he starts to nip your skin, and one of his hands moves to ski up the back of your thigh.

“Reduced cortisol.”

Flustered, you grip his arms.

“Zayne, stop, it tickles,” you whine, but it’s the last thing you actually want as he readjusts his position and hovers above you.

His usually neat hair is messier and his breathing a little heavier judging by how his chest laboriously rises and falls. Groaning, you bite your bottom lip as he knowingly leans in and whispers,

“You need it to help you sleep, isn’t that what you said?”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Why don’t you just say you don’t love me anymore?”

You look up from your phone screen at the sudden accusation. You’re resting on the couch, your back propped up by the armrest and legs splayed out on the other cushion while Rafayel looks down at you with crossed arms and a less-than-pleased scowl on his face. You’re entirely confused as to what you could’ve done to make him think something like that.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been playing video games for what—the last two hours?” he says, uncrossing his arms to grab your phone. It’s too late to warn him as he glances at the screen, clicking a few times. “What are you playing anyway? An…otome? Sheesh, go ahead and say you want me gone. Come on, tell me you actually hate me.”

Holding in your smile, you shake your head and affectionately roll your eyes. It takes an enormous amount of effort to not laugh as he continues to rant. “So, it’s one of those things. I thought I was actually in trouble.”

And by those things, you mean his dramatics.

“Hush, my complaints are perfectly legitimate,” he demands as he pushes your legs aside and sits on the couch. Leaning over, he flashes the screen at you to show the evidence he has that you’re completely unfair, unfaithful, and downright mean. “What’s this game giving you that I’m not? Are my dashing good looks and even better personality not enough? Is that it?”

Gently, you take the phone from his hand and set it down on the end table. “You’re plenty, perfect even.”

He scoffs and refuses to look at you. “Apparently not. Don’t you ever think about anyone else? What if I want to cuddle with you one day but you’re too busy to notice because you’re playing silly games?”

Ah, there it is. His real want. You never know why he can never just come out and say it.

“Rafayel, do you want me to come to bed and cuddle with you?”

“Want is a strong word,” he remarks but you can see his resolve (can you call it that when he planned to give in all along?) crumbling as he slowly turns back to meet your gaze, “but I wouldn’t be opposed to it. Not that you deserve it or care.”

Humming, you sit up, wrap your arms around his shoulders, and pull him down onto you. Lovingly, you snuggle him, stopping to only take in how red his neck and ears start to get when you squeeze him and start to stroke through his hair. You’re not sure if Lumerians can blow happy bubbles like he claims, but he definitely hums and relaxes his entire body weight to lay on top of you like he wants to sink into your skin.

Teasingly, you coo at him. “You’re so needy.”

“I’d rather say you humans aren’t needy enough,” he fires back as he wraps an arm around your waist and kisses the corner of your lips. “Ah, the sweet taste of victory.”

Giving out a gentle and short laugh, you lightly tap his back. “Go to sleep.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

#zayne x reader #xavier x reader #rafayel x reader #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace fluff #love and deepspace smut #adelssmut #notsfw

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whoisraii · 1 month ago

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Even if my heart stops beating...You're the only thing I need with me

F1 MASTERLIST

☆ : Featuring : All of the drivers present in the 2025 grid ☆ : Synopsis : Them around you while they have a crush on you but you are too oblivious...

☆ : word count : 2.1k

🎧Song for this fic : Pretty Boy ( Chip Chorme and the Monotones)...The Neighbourhood

Note : this is actually my first time writing for all 20 of them so if I don't do justic to one of them I'm so sorry 😭😭

☽・Redbull

max verstappen

You never catch Max being openly affectionate.

But the camera crew does—he’s always glancing around until he spots you.

If you’re laughing with another driver? Suddenly he’s there, acting like it’s just coincidence.

Once he said something almost nice about your outfit, then looked away like he didn’t say anything at all.

“That color doesn’t look bad on you.” “Wait, was that a compliment?” “No. Just an observation. Don’t get weird about it.”

Yuki Tsunoda

Loud, dramatic, hilarious.

Yuki will yank you into comming to the races.

“Please you are good luck to me. I need you to be down there watching me”

He brings you your favorite snacks before every race and insists it’s because he “bought too many.” (He didn’t.)

Whole paddock knows he’s crushing. but you? Blissfully unaware...

You will find your favorite candy waiting for you the second you have a bad day..

“They were on sale. Don’t overthink it.”

☽・Mercedes

George Russell

George treats you like his personal planner—even if you’re just a media coordinator or on a logistics team.

Walks you through every weekend plan, sends you the brief before you ask, and gives pre-interview pep talks like you're going on camera instead of him.

When it rains, he will offer you his umbrella...Even if that means he ends up soaked.

“George, you’re getting drenched.”...“Yes, but you’re not. That’s what matters.”

Andrea Kimi Antonelli

He doesn't flirt he just teases the living hell out of you..

You mispronounce an Italian word once—once—and Kimi never lets it go.

The thing is, he’s always around. Not in an obvious way, but in that quiet, lingering in your peripheral vision way.

He stands close—too close—when he’s talking to you. Shoulder brushing yours. Arms almost touching. But if you lean away or give him a look, he just raises an eyebrow like what? am I in your space? could never be me.

He might tease you...but he will remember your everything...and he will take pictures of you candid stuff which you later find out when he sends you one by mistake..A candid. You, mid-laugh, half-blurry from movement. The corner of his jacket sleeve is visible in the frame.

will smile while you talk to him and maybe get lost in your eyes..too lost maybe..

“What?”..“You were looking at me.”..“No, I was—don’t be weird.”..(Pause)..“You had something on your face.”

☽・Ferrari

Charles Leclerc

Holds you hand to subconciously sometimes...

Gets a bit pouty when the fanbase favours you more but he secretly loves it...

knows your coffee order by heart and gets you coffee every morning...

Doesn't accept it and saty quiet if anyone tries to disrespect you or mistreat you...yeah not on his watch...

"Did you drink enough water today? and did you have breakfast? you skip that meal a lot...like a lot..."

Lewis Hamilton

Keeps it professional on camera but insists producers highlight your work and advocacy...

Makes sure to include you in glitzy events but won’t directly talk about his feelings for you.

Wraps an arm around you in press chaos but immediately acts casual if questioned.

Posts a soft photo of you with a vague caption — as if to say

"I’m here, but I won’t say more.”

☽・Mclaren

Lando Norris

Doesn't flirt with you like he does with others...he just becomes a 12 year old with a crush around you...

Will unplug your mic and act shocked when you notice and always standing behind you during group shots, pulling faces.

Starts every day with “don't tell me what to do” and ends it with “text me when you’re home. I get worried if you don't”

Is in more of your posts than in regular ones which makes the PR go mad..

(Later, during media day) “Lando, can you stop photobombing her instagram?”...“Sorry, I’m her emotional support driver.”

Oscar Piastri

He pays attention...will remember anything and everything you tell him about yourself...your coffee order, favorite books, favorite artist...everything.

He wants to listen to music? He wants to listen it with you...will share earbuds without a second thought...

Will sit beside you the second he has the oppurtunity...

If someone raises their voice at you he will polietly but firmly to keep their tone in check...and most of the times not infront of you...

“Oscar went full lawyer on that journo for you.” you would probably find out form someone on the team...

“You never said.” “Didn’t need to. He was wrong. You deserved better.”

Since he remembers almost everything...you will find coffee or something to cheer you up the second you have a bad day...

“You didn’t have to bring me tea…”..“You sounded tired. Figured you wouldn’t stop for yourself.”

☽・Aston Martin

Fernando Alonso

Will subtly shake his head all the time while maintaining eye contact with you while you speak

Also asks you to be there in the garages while he srives because he sees you as his lucky charm...

He would never admit it but things you give him are always kept safely and a keychain you gave him is always on his backpack because it reminds him of you...

If anyone tries to get dissmisive about you job title or say anything bad abt you...He wont think twice before speaking up and sometimes maybe not so politely...

“If you don’t know her role, you shouldn’t be asking questions.”

Lance Stroll

He might be the most nonchalant guy to others but he laughs the hardest the second you make a joke...even if its dumb or stupid...

The one to buy you your favorite snacks in bulk and just keep then with him in case you are ever hungry..

And he will stick to you because to him you are his comfort person...

You might see him scribbling your name in his notes and stuff...its subconcious but its just him...

“You wrote my name?” “It’s not weird! I mean—it’s just for luck. Like… positive manifestation. Or whatever.”

☽・Williams

Alex Albon

He's tall so he walks fast but when you're walking with him...he will slow down his pace to just match with yours so you can walk more comfortably...

If its your first time at a grand prix...he will try his hardest to make sure absolutely nothing goes wrong for you...

Picking at eachother is deffinately the love language between you both...but he would never cross the line...

If he ever notices you skipping breakfast or any meal of the day...he will make sure to carry something with him so that he can hand it to you immediatly when it looks like you're hungry...

If you have anything big comming up for you and you're nervous...he will slide you notes and pretend that they were absolutely not from him...

“‘Knock ‘em dead, superstar’? What happened to ruthless sarcasm?” “Who let you see that? I was trying to be mysterious and emotionally unavailable.” “Too late. Your soft side is showing.” “Damn. I knew I should’ve written ‘Don’t trip on camera.’”

Carlos Sainz

Will run to you the second he feels even a minescule spec of stress...he calls you his 'calming presence' because your voice feels so calm...

Will send you his song recomendations...

Is probably the kind of guy to beg you to get song widgets where you can pick out songs for eachother when it reminds you of eachother...

Would'nt think twice before offering you his jacket with a small smirk and nodd...

“You remembered my favorite artist?” “Of course. I listen when you talk. That’s what friends do...Especially the special ones.”

☽・Haas

Oliver Bearman

He will drop everything and run to you the second he spotts you...unless its very important or work related...

Will repeat the complements you give him under his breath just to relieve the happiness of what you had just said...

He gets visibly happy when you say "see you later" even if its a part of rouine at this point...

He will cling to you like a koala and see you as his comfort person...

Also sees you as his lucky charm so asking you to be his plus one in gps is the most normal thing...

Remembers your orders and your favorite songs by heart...

“Ollie, breathe. It’s just lunch.” “Right. Normal. Casual. Totally regular human food consumption...You know, if it were just us forever, I’d be fine with that.”

Estaban Ocon

Will hold everything for you...the door...the umbrella...your sanity...

Will get you an extra pass so that you can come watch him race..and will panic if he forgets to get you one by any chance

Also knows your coffee order, food orders and schedule like its the back of his hand...

will strict heartedly follow the sidewalk rule...

If you have a bad day and he gets to know about it...expect him to get you your favorite takeout and ask if you want to have a movie night at his with him...

"why do you always make me drink water and get me food?" “Because you forget to eat when you're stressed… and you always leave your water bottle behind.” “So you’re stalking me for hydration purposes?” “Exactly. I'm a very noble stalker.”

☽・Racing bulls

Liam Lawson

Liam will give you nickanames that only he has rights to use...if anyone uses them...he will make sure that he makes it a point that only he can call you that...

He will carry some of your favorite snacks with him always in case you miss a meal or are genuinly hungry...

He will pretend to trip over his feet just so you can check up on him...

Calls you his 'lucky charm' and will cling to you...

Gifts you stuff...and makes sure nothing wrong happens to you...

“Did you seriously bring me gummy bears?” “You said you liked them once. In January. Of last year.” “So this is… thoughtful stalking?” “No! It’s called long-term strategic snacking...…Also I needed an excuse to talk to you today.”

Isack Hadjar

Isack will always be at the corner of your eye...everyone knows if you are somewhere he is nearby...

He wears the friendship bracelet you gave him like its a sacred thread...if anyone tries to touch it...he will yank his hand away...every single picture...its there on his hand...all the time...

Somehow always ends up holding your watter bottle or jacket or lanyard...he will say that you maybe lost it and hes just here to return...but its obvious that he has been holding it for about thirty minutes or so...

Remembers your coffee order and favorite songs...he will share his earbuds with you...

He would never flirt directly...but the second you say that you are cold...his hoodie is in your hands before you can even complete the sentence...

“You okay? You’re twitchier than usual.” “Didn’t sleep much.” “Why not?” “Was trying to figure out how to talk to you without sounding like an idiot.”

☽・Alpine

Peirre Gasly

Is convinced that you are his soulmate...he will flirt with you...and smile at you the entire time you talk with him...

Calls you 'sunshine' because he thinks you bring hope to him...

Will act offended if Simba likes you more but secretly loves you playing with Simba...

He will send you flowers under a fake name but then ask if you liked them...

"Liked the flowers on your doorstep this morning sunshine?" "That was you?"

Jack Doohan

Jack is the defination of 'Act cool. Panic later'

He is all soft smiles and hopeful glances, pretending he’s totally chill around you while in reality...he’s memorized every conversation...rehearsed his jokes, and 100% lies awake replaying the way you laughed at something he said three weeks ago.

Shows up with spare team merch "just lying around" and melts when you wear it

Gets adorably tounge tied if you complement him...say "you look nice today" with that soft smile and watch him trip over a cord or somthing while smiling...

The inside of his notebook has one scribble in the margin that reads: “Ask her out before the season ends. Please.”

You catch him staring sometimes, not in a cocky way, but like he’s just genuinely stunned you exist near him.

“She’s just… I don’t know. She makes everything feel less chaotic.

☽・Kick Sauber

Nico Hulkenberg

Is a little bit grumpy about everything except you....

He will say something like "you again?" but immediately make some space for you so you can sit...

leaves his jacket on your chair by "accident" when ever its cold...

leves you little notes in the jacket pockets...

"media days dont suck if shes there..."

Gabriel Bortoleto

blushes if you talk to him...blushes if you stand close to him...blushes if you smile...blushes if you wave...basically a blushing mss when it comes to you...

Will ask you to be in the garages during the race and reassures himself with a “Breathe. She’s here.”

Will give you his water bottle if you can't find your with two hands like a nervous kid giving yo a flower..

also wears the bracelet you gave him like a sacred thread...

"please come to the race...you help me keep my sanity down there..."

©WHOISRAII 2025 ━ do not copy, steal, post somewhere else or translate my work without my permission.

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norrisidous · 2 months ago

Note

request this would be cool if you could do it but if not totally fine!

Lando x y/n reader have been dating privately for a while but lando comes down really sick for a race week and reader can't not be their to support him so comes and takes care of him very fluffy lol

summary: where yn cames to support her sick bf warnings: nones

In Sickness and in Speed

The text comes in at 5:02 AM.

Can’t breathe through my nose. Feel like death. Plz send help 😩

You blink blearily at your phone, barely making out Lando’s name above the message. You’re curled up in your hotel bed, hundreds of miles away from the paddock. Technically, you were going to fly in tomorrow for the race. Technically, no one’s supposed to know you’re dating him—not even his engineer. But technically… Lando sounds like he’s on death’s door.

And technically, you can break a few rules for the man you love.

It had started months ago. The two of you met through a friend-of-a-friend situation—blame it on a birthday party and one too many rounds of “Never Have I Ever.” You hit it off immediately. He liked that you didn’t fawn over his fame. You liked that he listened—really listened—when you talked.

But privacy was non-negotiable. The media frenzy around his life was a hungry thing, and the thought of throwing you into that chaos had his stomach twisted in guilt before you even had your first kiss.

So you made a pact: lowkey, quiet, private. Texts deleted. Social media ghosted. You had your own life, and he had his. But when you could, you met in the quiet in-betweens.

Now, he’s sick. Really sick, judging by the barely comprehensible text messages he’s been sending all morning.

“Head spinning. My bones feel like paper mache.”

“Oscar keeps throwing tissues at me. Rude.”

“They’re making me do press 😩 I might die live on Sky Sports.”

Your heart twinges. You FaceTime him as you speed-pack a bag and order an earlier flight.

When his face appears, your heart practically sinks through the floor. His eyes are puffy, his nose is red, and he’s swaddled in what looks like three layers of McLaren hoodies.

“Oh, baby,” you coo. “You look like a sad little gremlin.”

“Don’t mock the ill,” he croaks, trying to smile. “It’s abuse.”

You grin, soft and fond. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Was cute. Now I’m just a human snot fountain.”

“Hang tight,” you say, grabbing your passport. “I’m coming.”

By the time you arrive at the paddock hotel, it’s early evening. You have your lanyard, your credentials, and just enough insider pull to convince security you’re here “in an unofficial support capacity.”

Lando’s room is a mess of tissues, vitamin packets, and half-empty bottles of water. The TV is playing F1 highlights on mute. The air smells like menthol and misery.

You let yourself in quietly.

He’s passed out on the bed, one arm draped dramatically over his face, tissues stuck between his fingers. He looks like the dictionary definition of pathetic.

You set your bag down gently and tiptoe over.

As you lean down to brush the curls off his damp forehead, his eyes flutter open.

“Y/N?” he rasps.

“Hey, sleepyhead.”

He tries to sit up. “You’re here?”

“I’m here.”

Lando melts back into the pillow, relief washing over his face like warm sunlight. “Thought I was hallucinating.”

“Nope. Very real. And very ready to nurse you back to health.”

“Do nurses usually crawl into bed with the patient?”

You smirk. “Only the really good ones.”

You spend the next few days in a cocoon of tissues and tenderness.

You run to the paddock to get him soup between meetings. You sneak vitamins into his smoothies. You find out that he has a very specific hierarchy of throat lozenges (“the green ones are evil”), and you somehow bribe a hotel chef into making him plain mashed potatoes at midnight.

He groans and whines and calls you his “angel of mercy.” He sneezes on you twice and immediately tries to apologize with sick-boy cuddles. You fake being annoyed, but you wrap yourself around him like a koala every night anyway.

On qualifying day, you wake up to find him sitting up in bed, sipping tea and trying to put on his race suit backwards.

“Lando,” you say, barely stifling laughter. “That’s not how arms work.”

“I’m disoriented,” he mumbles, but he smiles for the first time in days. “Feel a little better though.”

You help him get dressed, comb your fingers through his hair, and press a warm kiss to his cheek. He leans into it like he’s starving for affection.

“You’re gonna be okay,” you whisper. “I’ve got you.”

Later, at the garage, when he pulls off his helmet after a decent quali run, he finds you waiting with a bottle of water and your eyes sparkling with pride. No one questions your presence. You blend in, just another support staffer, clipboard in hand.

But when he looks at you like that—soft, grateful, filled with something unspoken—you know it’s only a matter of time before the secret slips.

And maybe, you think, as he walks past the cameras and sneaks a wink at you…

Maybe you’re okay with that.

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris fic #lando norris x you #formula 1 #ln4 #f1

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northboreas · 2 months ago

Text

Highlights from the Hachetfield Series Recap livestream for those who couldn't make it this morning:

- The Recap of all the Hachetfield lore also came with a game where the cast had to summarize each story, answer trivia questions, and avoid getting tokens

- The chat got to be apart of the game by donating to the kickstarter to help the players

- Each summary or question answered wrong got you one token, and getting 5 tokens made you a Clivesdale Chemist, there were also sudden death rounds

- Mariah Rose Faith listed all of the NPMD characters in her summary and only forgot about Ruth

- Joey Richter forgot the name of the Hachetfield High mascot Zeke despite playing Ezekiel the nighthawk in Nightmare time 2 (he named that bitch chauncy)

- Will Branner said he's a Black Friday stan :)

- During the blackout in one of the NPMD shows Nick Lang was sitting in the audience, when he stood up to address everyone else Angela's friends thought he was just some random guy

- "Jamie, we gotta go to church" --Joey Richter out of context

- Lauren Lopez later joined the stream and called Mariah a misogynist for forgetting about Ruth

- Then James Tolbert chimed in with "I love women"

- Everyone bullied Jon Matteson on stream and accused him of cheating multiple times, #freejon2025

- Curt Mega didnt have pants on during the recording of Nightmare time episode 1 (The Hachetfield Ape Man), he showed off the picture to the livestream

- To the question "Will we ever see Lucy Stockworth again?" Matt Lang said "No, I think her story is finished"

- Joey Richter got every single summary correct, he carried ngl

- Snoozle town (A song in Watcherworld) was recorded by Angela Giarratana in a closet

- During Black friday the cast started a prank club and destroyed Jon's life by giving him a fake cease and desist letter from Andrew Lloyd Webber's estate because Jon was promoting Cats on twitter at the time

- There was talk of Starkid having ideas for an immersive theatre experience based off of Blinky

- Nick lang once did the whole TGWDLM show with blocking entirely by himself just to time the length of the show

- We got MULTIPLE Diane cameos!!!!

- Jeff Blim was the first to get 5 tokens, he got saved from being a Chemist by telling a story about writing the Time Bastard theme

- Everyone teamed up halfway through the game and then still proceeded to get The Witch in the Web summary completely wrong

- There's a cut song from Black Friday called "Everywhere I Look I See My Dad" and the president was going to sing it while in the Black and White

- Jamie Lyn Beatty once pitched an ending for Black Friday where after "What If Tomorrow Comes" all the lights went out and you could hear Santa's sleigh

- They spun the wheel for sudden death and it landed ON THE CHAT. WE BECAME CLIVESDALE CHEMISTS.

- We saved ourselves by raising 415k for the kickstarter and became Nighthawks once again

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iamthatonefangirl · 21 days ago

Text

unexpected - nsfw bucky barnes

ngl I like this one🥺🥺 hope you do too. based on this ask

~~~

the second you ended up in Bucky Barnes' bed, he was completely taken aback.

he had been so used to your soft, quiet demeanor...

~~~

you were one of the administrative people that worked on the first floor of the building.

the first time he saw you, he had been on his way out of the building one day while you had been making photocopies. you had to be new, he determined; there was no way he wouldn't have noticed you before.

the more he paid attention to you from afar, the more he became aware of the way your coworkers always seemed to be socializing, but you were happy to put your earbuds in and keep working through your lunch hour.

thus, Bucky learned fairly early on that you were the kind of person that was quiet, kept to themself.

that was kind of ironic given the fact you worked in a building that screamed extravagance, that practically begged for the attention of not only everyone in New York, but everyone in the world.

the irony intrigued him.

he felt drawn to you, given that he was also the quiet, peer-in-from-the-outside type. but he didn't want to keep to himself when it came to you; he wanted to walk up to you, speak to you, and see if you would be willing to come out of your shell for him, too.

even though he hadn't gone out of his way to speak to a woman since... nearly a century ago, he couldn’t deny his attraction to you. even though you seemed shy, you still managed seem so carefree and unbothered. you were who you were, and that was that.

he admired that about you.

he eventually gathered the courage to come talk to you one morning. with a peace offering of coffee, of course.

as he walked into the building, he wondered, what the fuck do I say? why didn't I think this through before?

he ignored the way all your coworkers stared as he walked past their desks and right up to yours.

"hi," he said. "you probably already know who I am, but-"

"Bucky Barnes," you said softly. "of course I know you."

you proceeded to introduce yourself to him before quietly asking, "what brings you to my desk this morning?"

"it'd be wrong of me not to bring the pretty girl a coffee, don't you think?" it was cheesy and he knew it, but the way you smiled made him relax a bit.

and god, that smile of yours was sweet enough to melt his soul.

he asked you about your work, and you admitted you were shocked he might actually be interested in the kind of boring work you do.

"I'm not a hero like you, or anything," you told him with a self-deprecating laugh.

"oh, come on. your job is more important than anything we do," he told you with a genuine smile.

your flustered reaction made his heart warm. it was the same whenever he gave small compliments like that: you'd just smile, unsure of what to say, and look down as you redirected the conversation, smile still intact.

after a few weeks of watching you get flustered whenever he would compliment your intelligence, your smile, or anything really, he finally asked if you'd join him for dinner.

~~~

the fact that Bucky fucking Barnes of all people was asking you out threw you for a loop.

any time he came up to your desk to visit you, it immediately became the highlight of your day. it drew attention from your coworkers that you didn't necessarily want, constantly asking about him and what it was he wanted from you. dealing with them felt worth it, though, because you were the one on the receiving end of his attention.

you honestly had no clue what you were supposed to say to someone as charming and as handsome as him.

you knew what your mind was thinking whenever you saw him. but those nasty thoughts weren't exactly polite, casual conversation topics, now were they?

somehow, you managed to find the right words, and now you were going to have dinner with him.

you didn't know if you'd ever felt this excited or this nervous in your life.

~~~

you should've known he would be the most chivalrous man on the planet, given the time period he'd grown up in.

picking you up, opening the door for you, pulling out your chair for you...

he noticed how it only made you more flustered.

he paid the bill, obviously, and you knew the second he asked you if you wanted to come to his place, you would say yes.

~~~

the best way he could describe what he felt for you was pure adoration. you were so shocked by his polite gestures, it was truly adorable.

even better, you were so easily impressed. he could say anything about his job, and you would swoon, acting as though he'd just told you he'd solved all the world's problems.

he might have bragged a little too much about himself just to see that flustered reaction of yours, but that was neither here nor there.

every smile on your face, every soft laugh, every little stutter of yours made his heart jump in his chest.

he almost felt like he was imposing when he asked if you wanted to come back to his apartment. he didn't want to push you too far, didn't want to make you think that he expected anything from you. he would be totally fine if you just came over for a drink and a chat before he drove you home.

but the second the front door was shut behind you, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him against you, leaning back against the door.

the sudden confidence took him by surprise.

"you wanna?" you whispered, looking down at his lips as you said it.

his mouth went dry as all his blood rushed south.

"yeah, doll. if you wanna," he whispered back.

he was ready to kiss you gentle and slow, take you back to his bed and make soft, sweet love to you that matched your soft, sweet personality.

your fingers found his hair, your grip tight, and you crashed his lips to yours. he about choked at the sudden motion, but no way was he complaining.

he quickly matched your fervor, kissing you back like his life depended on it. his thoughts went out the window as he focused all his desire into the kiss.

you kept pulling him closer, tugging on his hair hard enough to make him wince.

"shit, too much?" you ask, quickly backing off. you'd gotten ahead of yourself, and you were ready to start apologizing like there was no tomorrow.

"fuck, no, not too much. do that again," he orders, melding his mouth with yours once more, pressing his hips against yours more firmly as he pinned you against the door.

he held you there, keeping you in place and relishing in the delicious feeling of you yanking at his hair and digging your nails into the back of his neck. after a few minutes, though, he began to come back to himself.

"come on, you deserve better than a rough fuck up against the door," he tells you, completely out of breath. he's about to speak again when you interrupt him,

"what if I don't want better?" you utter. his eyes dart up to meet your gaze, and he sees the glassy look in your eyes, looking at him like he's a piece of meat. "what if I want you to take me up against the door, give it to me however you want it, sir?"

if his cock wasn't already hard, it was now.

"shit, you're something else, you know that?" he laughs to himself, considering the weight of your words. he should be a better man, should take you to his bed and hold you close while he takes his time with you.

"is that really what you want?" he questions. everything you're saying sounds like an absolutely devilish wet dream, but that's all he can think about: it sounds like a dream.

he can't fathom the idea of taking you like this just because it's what you think he wants.

"we can go slow. you don't have to-"

he can't even finish his sentence before you're interrupting him again.

"do you really want it slow? 'cause with the way your cock jumped when I called you 'sir,' I'm getting the impression you might want to have your way with me right here, right now," you tell him, your gaze roaming over his face from his mouth to his eyes, still kneading his hair as you say it.

he's rendered speechless.

"you want me to beg for it? get on my knees and convince you?" you mutter to him when he doesn't respond. "pretty please, Bucky?"

your words are about to send him into a spiral. he's about ready to grab you, hold you down while he does exactly what you asked him to and just use you for as long as he wants.

"you really want it that way, huh?" he smirks.

"unless that's not what you want," you backtrack, trying to give him an out.

no way in hell is he going to take it.

suddenly, his hands on your hips grip you so much tighter that you gasp at the pinch on your skin. his whole body is against yours, and you can tell he's not holding back anymore, his innate strength pushing you against the door. you couldn't move if you wanted to.

"you say 'stop' at any point, and I will, got it?" he whispers, his nose brushing against yours, feeling his breath on your upper lip as he speaks. you give an eager nod, and a smirk plasters itself on his face.

he looks you up and down, the necklace dangling on your chest, how pretty you look in your sundress, the sandals strapped to your feet.

"I want it off," he hisses, reaching for the fabric at your waist. "strip. now."

you kick off your sandals and he gives you enough room to yank the dress over your head, revealing the lacy set you're wearing underneath. in navy blue. his color adorning your skin only makes him feel that much more possessive, that much more appreciative.

"you wear this for me, baby?" he asks as he runs a flesh finger over the lace of your panties, slipping under the band and pulling before letting it snap back against your skin. it doesn't hurt, but you're so on edge right now that the motion makes you flinch. "answer me."

your hands have found their way to his shoulders, clinging to him like your lifeline. "yes, sir," you whisper to him, resting your head back against the door.

"good answer," he smirks once more, before continuing, "take off my belt. hand it to me."

your hands are shaky, but you're nothing short of ecstatic to do whatever he says. you look up to his eyes to find him staring back at you, as though trying to read your thoughts. your thighs clench as you maintain eye contact, pulling at the belt buckle and yanking the leather from its place around his hips.

he notices the way your thighs press together as you push the belt into his hands. he brings his hand up and into your line of vision, twirling his finger in the air to direct you to turn around.

"hands behind your back," he tells you once you're facing the door, pressing your cheek up against it. he doesn't give you a single second to follow through on the order before he's grabbing your wrists and yanking your hands behind your back, proceeding to bind them together tightly with the belt.

"next time you don't listen to me, this goes around your neck, got it?" he asks with a rough yank of the leather on your skin.

you barely contain the whine that falls from your mouth before responding, "yes, sir."

he pauses for a moment, assessing the way he has you pressed up against the door, admiring his handiwork where he’s tied your wrists.

"all good?" he asks you.

"I’m good," you affirm.

next thing you know, he's pulling you away from the door and stepping you back until you feel a soft rug under your feet.

"get on your knees."

you don't hesitate, not failing to recognize the plush of the rug under your knees. you silently thank him for it.

and then he appears in front of you, in all his beautiful glory. from the moment you met him, you imagined this, wondering what it would be like to fall to his feet, to be on your knees for him.

"you follow orders well, babygirl," he taunts, hands running through your hair and gently holding your scalp. he pushes your face up against the rough denim over his bulge.

you might come on the spot.

"never would've known you were such a little slut, you know that?" he says, continuing to hold your face against his clothed dick. "I quite like this side of you."

you finally let out a moan against him, your eyes shutting as you let him handle you.

he yanks on your hair suddenly, tilting your head back up to look at him. he seems to be inspecting you, taking in the sight of you on the floor in front of him. he releases one hand from your hair, moving it to press two vibranium fingers against your mouth. you don't hesitate, quickly parting your lips to let him push them inside.

"thought about putting that pretty little mouth on my cock, but I think you like this better, don't you? letting me fuck your face with my fingers probably makes you even more humiliated, even more wet for me, doesn't it?"

your eyes fall shut once more, nodding and moaning shamelessly around his fingers. your hands struggle against the binds behind your back, and the feeling of arousal pulses through you even harder at the reminder that you're truly at his mercy.

he watches you for a few minutes, thrusting his fingers in and out of your mouth as you begin to drool all over yourself, losing yourself more and more with every one of his movements.

"think I'll be nice to you tonight. think I'll fuck you through the bed instead of on the cold, hard floor," he tells you, pulling his fingers from your mouth and taking hold of your chin with his hand coated in your saliva. "what do you say?"

"thank you, sir," you moan out.

"good girl," he tells you, bringing his hands to your arms and helping you to your feet. his hands then dig into the skin at your waist, and you yelp as he tosses you over his shoulder, placing a slap on your ass as he does.

"don't worry, I'm not gonna drop you, pretty girl," he says as he walks, and you think he had to have been reading your mind.

the second you're splayed out on his bed, he's parting your thighs and pulling down the lace of your panties, then pushing a pillow under your hips to put you on perfect display for him.

"look so good for me like this, doll," he groans and begins to shed his own clothes. you watch with glazed eyes as he reveals his beautiful tanned skin, and then-

you're embarrassed by the moan you let out when you see his massive dick.

"don't worry, baby, I'll go slow," he whispers as he leans into your ear, kissing over your neck.

"no," you breathe out, desperation taking over. "just fuck me, Bucky."

"I'm not gonna hurt you," he whispers.

"but you don't know how good it hurts," you say, looking into his eyes. "please, please, I'll tell you if I can't take it. but god, I need it, Bucky. please, sir," you whine out, every last shred of your dignity gone, deliberately laying your soul bare for him.

fuck. he's fucked.

"goddamnit, doll," he tells you as he pushes your legs even further apart, bringing his hips in line with yours. "you really want it? then beg me for it again, or I won't fuck you at all."

you might sob when you hear that. "please, Bucky... wanted this for so long. want you to take what you want from me, please..."

you hear yourself continue a quiet litany of "please" over and over again.

"shit, need a condom," he says, as though he's just thought of it.

"I'm safe," you beg of him, "I need to feel you, Bucky, please..."

and by all means, he can't resist you.

you hear him practically growl, and then he finally presses in.

your noises are animalistic, completely raw and unfiltered at this point. nothing compares to that stretch, you want to tell him, nothing is better than the sting.

he does go slow, still worried about actually hurting you, taking care to watch your face the whole time. you're fucking gorgeous like this, hands bound, sweat dripping down your forehead, begging him to split you open.

"I'm not gonna last, fuck," he breathes into the skin of your neck, barely able to contain himself.

you take a few deep breaths and force the words from your throat, "me neither, it's okay..." the words come out so quiet as you focus on the feeling of him.

he pulls back and forces himself back into you, so fucking tight around him. at this point he's joined in on your cacophony of unabashed moans.

his hands hold your hips in place, letting loose as he fucks you into abandon.

this is exactly what you wanted, you think, as you feel him bury himself in your guts over and over again.

"Bucky, Bucky, I need-"

you don't have to finish your sentence before he's sucking his thumb into his mouth before pressing it to your clit.

"want you to come on my cock, like this, baby. can you do that for me?" he says, his own voice shaky as he loses his own composure.

"yes, sir," you whisper, and then you're bucking your hips up as much as possible to meet his.

you cry out as you come, your whole body having been waiting for this moment, to finally let go at the will of Bucky Barnes.

the view of watching you come for him is more than he can handle, and he's not far behind.

"w-where?" he grits out.

"told you. I'm safe," you whisper to him.

he should be smarter. he should pull out.

he doesn't.

he's letting go only seconds later, the warm feeling filling your stomach as he releases, buried to the hilt inside you.

he barely moves off of you before collapsing into the bed, completely worn.

you both take a minute, catching your breath, before you pipe up.

"my hands, Bucky," you begin, and he quickly sits up to undo the belt bound around your wrists.

you both lay back, and he pulls you in tightly against him, kissing over your forehead.

"I did not see you being the type to like it rough," he admits to you, tracing his fingers over the planes of your face.

you smile a little. "is it even fun if it's not rough?" you tease back.

"don't say that, I might take it as a challenge," he smirks.

"you can prove me wrong in the morning," you offer.

"yeah. in the morning," he confirms, and presses his lips to yours.

you both think the same thing to yourself: it's always the quiet ones.

~~~

masterlist

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ev3rm0re-q · 1 month ago

Text

everything i didn't say ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ ☂︎ ⋆

synopsis: This camping trip was supposed to be a relaxing getaway—just a few days in the woods, swapping scary ghost stories, roasting s'mores by the campfire, maybe even squeezing in some late-night cabin sleepovers. It all sounded so perfect, right? Wrong.

Y/N ends up stuck sharing a cabin with the one person she can't stand. Fucking Choi Soobin—the guy who spent all of high school turning every assignment and exam into some stupid competition to see who's the smartest, who flashed his cocky, infuriating smirk when he beat her at their in-school debate competition she'd spent countless nights preparing for. The same guy who gave her every reason to believe he felt something for her, who blurred all the lines during their senior project—only to ghost her like none of it ever meant a thing. This has to be some kind of joke, right?

pairing: ex-academic rival!soobin x fem!reader

genre: enemies-to-lovers trope, ex-academic rivals to lovers, only one bed trope, forced proximity, angst romance filled with tension, college AU-ish, unresolved feelings

warning/s: lots of swearing, suggestive-ish

wc: 10.1K

September 2017

It had been three hours since I lugged all my stuff into Soobin’s house—project printouts, art supplies, notebooks, and my heavy-ass laptop—all piled into a chaotic mess around me.

The clock on his study desk ticked past 10 PM. I sat cross-legged on a cushion on the bedroom floor, leaning against a small wooden table, surrounded by scattered papers. Some notes were marked up with pink highlighter, others crumpled or stuck with colorful post-its.

Even the little doodles Soobin had drawn on the post-its were pinned around the table here and there, giving the chaos a strange kind of charm.

Our laptops sat perpendicular to each other, their screens casting a soft glow across the clutter. I tapped my red pen lightly against the table, eyes skimming the printed script beside me—covered in scribbles, arrows, and margin notes I could barely even read anymore.

The words were starting to blur together, familiar in that way things get when you’ve stared at them too long.

“Your part on slide nine feels a little rushed.” I said, after a stretch of quiet.

To my right, Soobin sat on a cushion of his own, sleeves of his hoodie pushed up, glasses reflecting the glow of his screen as his eyes flicked over the same PowerPoint slide.

His expression was calm—too calm for someone who was going to have his final presentation the next morning. Then he stretched, arms reaching overhead as he let out a quiet yawn, eyes half-lidded but still focused.

“You were talking too fast in other parts too,” I reminded him, not even looking up.

He let out a quiet groan. “You’ve timed me, what, three times already?”

“I’m just saying,” I replied. “You’re hitting the marks, yeah—but you’re hitting them like a robot.”

He turned to me with a raised brow. “The script’s too long for me not to talk fast, you know.”

“You’re basically rapping through the script, Soobin,” I gave him an unimpressed look.

“I read it aloud earlier. The timing was just right—You’re just the one who keeps starting the timer too early." He argued.

I raised a brow, unimpressed. “I’m not early on anything. You always leave a few seconds on the timer.”

His eyes found mine—and stayed there, just a second too long.

“So,” he said slowly, “you want me to slow down, then?”

“Just this part,” I murmured, pointing to a line with the tip of my pen. He leaned in slowly, just enough for his shoulder to brush mine, eyes following the point of my pen.

I glanced at him without thinking. His hair hung messily over his forehead, brushing the tops of his glasses. He was fiddling with the end of his hoodie string again, fingers curling around it before slipping it between his teeth, chewing on it like he didn’t even notice. All of a sudden, I realized how close our faces had gotten.

“Where?” he asked quietly, the words slightly muffled, the hoodie string still tugged between his lips.

“H-here…” I managed, barely above a whisper. I pointed with my pen to the line he needed to read. He leaned in even closer, eyes narrowing in on the script.

I instinctively pulled back, creating space between us as casually as I could manage, eyes flicking to my laptop screen like it suddenly demanded all of my attention. But I could still feel the heat blooming across my cheeks, spreading too fast to ignore.

“Yeah, these notes are good,” he said after a moment, voice quieter than before. I glanced sideways, then down at the hoodie string still hanging from his mouth.

“Do you really have to chew on that?” I asked, raising a brow, trying for playful but landing somewhere between disbelief and mild concern.

I fiddled with the cap of my pen, letting the soft sound fill the space between us as my other hand hovered over my keyboard, feigning concentration. Instead of snapping back like I expected, he paused.

His eyes flicked toward mine as he slowly let the hoodie string slip from his mouth, the fabric falling softly against his chest. For a moment, he just looked at me—head tilted slightly, like he was trying to piece something together.Then came the smallest twitch of a smile.

“You always pick the smallest fights with me when you’re nervous,” he said, voice low and even.

Not teasing—just stating it, like it was something he’d known for a while. My pen stilled mid-air.

“I’m not nervous,” I muttered, eyes fixed on my screen.

There was a pause. Then, softer, "You are. But it's okay... I'm nervous about it too."

That made me glance at him, and this time, I didn't look away. He leaned back slightly, posture relaxed, like he’d peeled something back—something he didn’t usually let show.

Oh. He was talking about the presentation.

Right.

But there was something in the way he said it. Gentle. Almost like a secret passed between us. It landed in my chest like a held breath I didn’t know I was keeping.

“I’m fine,” I assured him, trying to shake off the weird flutter in my chest.

I turned back to my laptop, leaving my pen resting on the script as I switched to the PowerPoint tab, brows furrowing while I scrolled through the slides for what felt like the hundredth time tonight.

"You’re overthinking again,” Soobin said, voice low and teasing.

I didn’t look at him. “Says the guy who helped me color-code our outline and triple-checked our citations.”

“Yeah, but I hide it better,” he replied, the smirk already audible in his tone.

“I just don’t want it to suck,” I sighed.

He let out a soft laugh. “It doesn’t. We’re fine.”

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

He smiled—genuine this time—and reached across the table to tug my notebook toward him. Our fingers brushed for a moment. Just a graze. Nothing major. But neither of us pulled away right away.

“I don’t get why you stress so much,” he said softly, leaning forward to jot a quick note on the script with my pen.

“You always make everything better.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

He handed the pen back without looking away. “The slides. The project. You just… care more than anyone else I’ve worked with.”

It wasn’t exactly a compliment.

Not really.

But it made something twist inside me anyway.

I looked at him—really looked at him. The way his hair fell into his eyes, the way he always tilted his head when he was thinking, the subtle twitch of a smile he tried to hide whenever I got too worked up over formatting.

He was calm. Too calm. Like he wasn’t falling apart inside the way I was. I swallowed the bitterness tightening in my chest.

"You're weirdly nice when you're tired," I muttered, pretending to fix something on the PowerPoint.

“I’m always nice,” he shot back.

I gave him a skeptical look.

“Okay,” he laughed softly. “Sometimes.”

“You know,” I started, before I could catch myself,

“you’re really hard to read sometimes.”

He blinked, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Some moments you’re open—easy to talk to. But then other times, I can’t figure out what you’re thinking at all.”

The room fell silent. He blinked slowly, like he was choosing his words carefully.

“So are you,” he replied, voice quieter now.

“But I try.”

My heart did a stupid flip in my chest.

“Try what?”

He looked at me again, eyes steady. “To make it obvious.”

Then, it hit me,—all the signs I’d buried, the little things I brushed off as me being dramatic or reading too much into nothing.

Every look, every touch, every word.

My mouth went dry.

What the fuck was he trying to say?

I wanted to ask—God, I wanted to ask—but the pounding in my chest felt deafening, like my heart was trying to drown out the moment.

Oh my god, what if he can hear it too? I wondered.

So I said nothing.

I just stared at him, caught in the pull of it all—panic curling at the edges of my thoughts as hope blooms rapidly in my chest, confusion wrapping around it like a knot I couldn’t untangle.

“I—I…” I faltered, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Before I could think to move, he leaned in, eyes locked on mine. His hand rose slowly—hesitant at first—then steadier as his fingers reached for a loose strand of hair near my cheek.

He brushed it back behind my ear, his fingertips grazing my skin with a softness that sent a chill down my spine. But he didn’t pull away.

His hand lingered near my face, close enough that I could feel his warmth, close enough to see the subtle shift in his expression—something careful, something unreadable, something that made my throat go dry. Neither of us said a word.

His words from earlier hung between us like an unfinished sentence suspended in the air, and I was too afraid that if I spoke now, it would all collapse—too real, too raw.

We’d had moments like this before. Subtle ones. The kind that slipped by unspoken, but never unnoticed. Lingering glances in the hallway, the way his hand brushed mine when he passed notes, how his voice always softened when he would call me over to him.

But this? This felt louder. Closer.

"Y/N… I—" he began, voice low, hesitant.

But then, right on cue, his phone buzzed sharply beside us—the alarm he’d set earlier cutting through the quiet like a crack of thunder.

He flinched. So did I.

The moment shattered.

He moved quickly, fumbling for his phone on the floor beside him. The sound cut off with a single tap, but the silence it left behind was deafening. For a moment, he didn’t look at me. His gaze stayed fixed on the now-dark screen, jaw tight.

Then, voice quieter this time—measured, distant—he said,

“You should probably head back.”

My heart dropped.

He still wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Big day tomorrow,” he added, like that explained everything.

“Right…” I murmured. “Big day.”

I nodded, slowly gathering my things. Papers, pens, laptop. Anything to keep my hands busy, to ignore the weight in my chest. He reached toward my notebook beside me, the same one he’d quietly asked to borrow earlier, but his hand paused halfway—as if hesitating—before he finally picked it up.

He stood too, tidying what was left on the table with methodical care. Like if we didn’t speak on it, whatever almost happened would just fold neatly into the mess of crumpled drafts and unfinished thoughts.

Maybe that was safer.

Maybe that was us.

Almost. Always fucking almost.

I left his room without a word, not even sparing him a glance, as the quiet between us was left hanging heavier than ever.

The next morning, it was raining—a steady drizzle that blurred the campus edges and made the air feel thick with calm. He acted like nothing had ever happened.

He greeted me with that same soft smile he always wore before a presentation, handing me a printed copy of our outline. He even cracked a quiet joke about how I’d probably end up rewriting his part mid-way if I got too nervous.

But just like he said the night before—we nailed it.

The presentation went smoothly—clean, confident, every line delivered exactly as we’d rehearsed. Our professor smiled in satisfaction, expecting nothing less than perfection from us.

Our friends gave us friendly pats on the back, and compliments were thrown around—“Whoa, you guys did such a great job!” They stood by us, sharing the buzz of relief like teammates crossing a finish line.

But afterward?

Fucking nothing.

After school that day, it was like something snapped shut. No texts. No awkward small talk in the hallway.

Not even a stupid silly face thrown at me when the professor announced Soobin had gotten the highest score on our English exam.

Nothing.

He stopped showing up where I used to find him—in the library, the park, even the convenience store where we always bumped into each other.

He just stopped replying. Stopped being there.

It was like I’d never mattered beyond that stupid project. And just like that, he was gone—leaving me tangled in everything I didn’t understand.

June 2019

Two years have passed since everything between us quietly fell apart—the electric connection replaced by a silence thick enough to fill a room.

In that time, everything changed. We went from playful teasing and personal competitions to exchanging little more than sharp looks and truly hurtful remarks. It’s not like we don’t cross paths—our worlds still overlap—but somehow, it’s like we don’t really exist to each other anymore.

Standing here now, I can feel the distance—not just the space between us, but all the things left unsaid, the moments we should’ve shared but didn’t, and the memories that don’t feel warm anymore.

The rain falls in a steady downpour, tapping rhythmically against the wooden porch roof where we stand. The ground grows muddier by the second, as the trees and plants eagerly soak up the long-awaited water they craved. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and pine as tall forest trees towering above us, casting shadows over the clearing.

"I can't believe I managed to get stuck with you," I mutter, groaning at the sight of the tall, raven-haired boy in front of me.

His head is bowed, fingers gliding across his phone screen with quiet concentration.

He doesn’t even look up. "Trust me, the feeling’s mutual."

I roll my eyes at his comment, letting my bag and umbrella drop against the wall with a heavy thump. Digging my hands into my pockets, I glance back at Soobin.

"Do you have the key?"

He sighs annoyingly at the question before reaching into his right pocket, and silently holds out the key to me. I shoot him a pointed look before taking it from his hand and unlocking the door.

It swings open to reveal a small but cozy cabin bedroom—just enough space for two. I step inside with Soobin, opening the door to the only bathroom near the entrance and nodding in satisfaction at the sight. Behind me, I hear him move forward to inspect the rest of the room, followed by the faint sound of a complaint.

"This is a joke, right?" I hear him say.

I step out of the bathroom and find him standing in front of the queen-sized bed, staring at it like it personally offended him. He looks back at me with a disbelief expression. I shrug, casually leaning against the doorframe.

“It was the cheaper option. They were gonna charge way more if we booked each room with double single beds.” He exhales sharply, running a hand down his face. I nod toward the floor.

"The floor's always open, if you want. Though I think the racoon I saw outside might appreciate some company too."

"Haha, funny," he deadpans.

I drop my bag at the foot of the bed and sink down onto the mattress with a sigh, my mind drifting to the conversation I had with Beomgyu earlier today.

“Come on, can’t you switch with me, Gyu? You guys were roommates before, right?”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Beomgyu said, tone apologetic but firm. “but I already talked to Kai earlier. I promised I’d play Cookie Run with him when we got to the room—he’s pretty excited to have me as his roommate.” I stared at him for a second, hoping he would change his mind. He didn't.

I exhale sharply, jaw tight. Of course this shit would happen.

This whole arrangement happened because someone thought it'd be a genius idea to assign roommates by picking straws—completely random, they said. An equal chance for everyone, they said. I rolled my eyes at the thought.

Yeah. Sure.

I had only agreed because, honestly, I mean what are the odds that I'd end up with Choi Soobin? The same boy who’s spent every semester of high school trying to one-up me on test scores and presentations.

The one who ran against me for class representative and won by just a few votes—probably thanks to his crowd of fangirls who couldn’t stop staring at him in class.

The boy kept sending me mixed signals the entire time we worked together on that final major project, only to shut me out right after without a single word.

It was a miracle we were even caught in the same room. Despite having mutual friends and going to the same university, our paths rarely crossed—only seeing each other at social events or the occasional group hangout.

Of course, only Yunjin knew about the mixed signals part. She was the only person I trusted enough to vent to—the poor girl was forced to sit through rants over lunch about how confusing and frustrating he was. But, unbeknownst to me, that same 'poor girl' was actually in on a plan—one orchestrated by none other than Choi Yeonjun himself.

Everyone was in on it except for Soobin and me.

The plan? To finally put an end to all the bickering, snarky remarks, and this endless tension between us.

I remember hearing Yeonjun calling from the living room earlier, telling everyone we’d be picking straws to decide who’d room with whom. Meanwhile, I was in my bedroom, too busy stuffing one last hoodie into my already full backpack.

There were two sets of colored straws—each set pairing two people together.

Taehyun managed to distract Soobin with some 'new workout tip' he was eager to share, flashing his phone in front of him. Soobin's eyes were glued to the screen, interested at this new advice his friend had given him, that he carelessly grabbed a random colored straw from Yeonjun's hand without even sparing a glance at it.

When Soobin held it up, the two boys exchanged a knowing glance. Soobin got the orange straw.

Taehyun gave Yeonjun a slight nod, and Yeonjun then strolled over to the others, quietly whispering which colors to pick to avoid the dreaded orange. Finally, Yeonjun made his way over to me, one last straw pinched between his fingers.

"You're the last one, Y/N. Orange was the only one that was left," he said, holding it out.

"Oh, that's fine. I think the orange is pretty cute anyway," I shrugged, more relieved to be done forcefully shoving that hoodie into my already overflowing backpack than anything else.

He grinned, eyes flicking to the straw in my hand. "Yeah? I think it suits you."

I flashed a quick smile in return. "Thanks, I've always wanted to match with a traffic cone."

Yeonjun chuckled under his breath and nodded toward the living room.

"C’mon, let’s see who fate paired you up with."

I slung my bag over my shoulder and followed him down the hall, completely unaware of the setup I had just walked straight into. We stepped into the living room. Everyone is raising their straws in the air, scanning the room for their partners, and others already finding theirs.

I couldn't help but smile at the sight, catching the moment Yunjin excitedly rushed over to Nari. They shrieked and jumped together with joy as they realized they both pulled the green straws.

On the couch, Beomgyu and Kai compared their blue straws, already deep in conversation about some game Kai insisted on playing in the cabin tonight. Yeonjun scanned the room before casually walking over to Taehyun. He lifted his red straw with a knowing grin before exchanging a 'bro' handshake with him.

Then it hit me. Oh fuck, no.

Then that means... I slowly turned my head, already dreading what I know I would see.

And there he was—Choi Soobin, standing a few feet away with the same orange straw in hand, staring straight at me.

I fucking hate orange.

My phone dings, and I glance down to see a text from Yunjin and Yeonjun.

Yunjin: Sorry about the roommate situation again, babe. Wish it could’ve been the three of us here. We miss you <3 sent at 20:17 pm.

Me: It's okay, it wasn't your fault. Miss you guys too! sent at 20:18 pm.

Yunjin: Think you’ll survive? sent at 20:18 pm.

Me: Yeah, just hoping I make it through the night and the rest of the trip without committing a felony sent at 20:19 pm.

Yunjin: Sending prayers and snacks! Good luck, babe <3 sent at 20:20 pm.

I smile softly at her texts before switching over to my chat with Yeonjun.

Yeonjun: How's orange going for ya right now ;) sent at 20:16 pm.

Me: Die. sent at 20:21 pm.

I glance over at Soobin, who’s already sprawled out on the right side of bed, phone still in hand.

“So, you’re taking the bed?” I ask, arms crossed.

“Yeah,” he replies without looking up. Then, with a perfectly fake smile, he adds, “Just try not to kick me in your sleep, yeah?”

The sass practically oozes from his voice.

"No promises," I mutter under my breath, kicking off my shoes a little more aggressive than necessary—just to piss him off. "Accidents happen."

He snorts quietly, still glued to his phone. “That tends to happen a lot when you’re around.”

I roll my eyes at his comment, "You've chosen the right side of the bed, then?"

“Figured it made sense. You didn’t seem in a rush to claim it.”

"Oh, I didn't realize it was a race."

He lets out a small breath, not quite a laugh. "With you? It usually is."

“Chivalry isn’t dead, after all.” I mumble, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Wow. It's just like high school all over again.

A beat passes. No one says anything and neither of us smiles. The room feels tense but somehow warmer than it did a minute ago. I can't tell if its because he turned on the heater—or because this is the first proper conversation we’ve had in a year. Well, sorta proper.

It was tense, but it felt all too familiar to the both of us. It felt almost too easy to fall back into this rhythm. I don't respond right away, I just sit at the foot of the bed, unzipping my bag—only to find my clothes soaked from the heavy downpour.

I pull out the thick hoodie I had shoved in earlier, raising it in the air as it drips water onto the wooden floor.

"Fuck me."

I hold out the wet hoodie and hurry into the bathroom, draping it over the sink. I walk back into the bedroom again, digging into my bag for clothes that somehow escaped the rain. Luckily, I find some dry jeans, pajama shorts, and t-shirts, though a few items are damp.

Unfortunately, the other sweater I had packed for the trip is completely soaked as well, leaving me with only an oversized tee to keep me warm for the night.

A notification pops up from the group chat. It was Kai sending a blurry selfie with a face mask on, while Beomgyu flips off the camera, green glob smeared across both cheeks. I shake my head at the message, before pulling off my sweatshirt and heading to the bathroom for a quick shower.

I set my things down and peel off the rest of my clothes as the water takes a moment to heat up. When it’s finally hot enough, I step in, letting the steady stream wash over me—washing away the stress of the day: the rain, the long travel, him.

For a moment, everything feels still.

The sound of the shower mixes with the quiet hum of my thoughts and the steam rising from the hot water. I try not to psych myself out about being alone in the same room as Soobin again.

It literally feels like I’m trapped in some strange purgatory of old, burning tension and mountains of unfinished business

Okay, don't overreact.

When I finally step out, towel wrapped around me and hair dripping onto the bathroom tiles, I feel a little calmer than before—like I’m myself again. Or at least a version of me that doesn’t want to peel layers of skin off because of the sweat and rain clinging to me.

A version of me that might actually make it through this trip.

I dry off quickly and throw on some clothes—a loose, oversized shirt and the driest pair of pajama shorts I can find. Not great for warmth, but better than sleeping in damp, smelly jeans.

A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips. Clean feels good.

I open the bathroom door to the soft, warm glow of the bedroom light. Soobin is still there, now sitting on the edge of his side of the bed, phone casting a pale glow on his face. I quietly make my way to my side, keeping my back facing him as I start organizing the rest of my things without a word.

Behind me, the bathroom door clicks shut again, and the sound of the shower starts up. After a few minutes, the water stops, and the door opens once more—Soobin steps out.

“You done sulking yet?” I hear him ask.

“Not even close,” I reply, still facing away.

“Knew you’d say that.” He smirks.

I raise an eyebrow, pausing mid-rummage through my bag. Then I turn around—only to be met with a sight I wasn’t quite prepared for.

"What? You would've done the same if—Jesus, Soobin.”

My words halt as my eyes catch the sight of him standing by the bed. The boy only had a towel slung loosely around his waist and his chest still glistening with droplets from the shower.

His raven hair is tousled, carelessly swept back just enough to keep it from falling into his eyes as beads of water slowly trail down his neck and disappearing beneath the edge of the towel.

"You seriously couldn't have gotten dressed up inside the bathroom?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

He looks up, a t-shirt hanging from one hand, completely unfazed. He shrugs. "Didn't realize it was a crime to dry off in my own room."

I scoff, tearing my gaze away, and forcing myself not to notice the faint flush creeping up my cheeks. This definitely wasn’t the same boy who used to trip over his words just asking to borrow a pen.

No—this version walks around like he owns the fucking air we breathe. I hate that I still notice the difference.

“Idiot,” I mumble, barely audible under my breath.

The rain continues to patter against the windowpane, its steady rhythm growing louder as the storm outside intensifies. He runs a hand through his damp hair, tousling it further, then pulls the clean shirt over his head. The cotton fabric stretches slightly, damp patches from the shower leaving faint gray marks on the white shirt.

I adjust my own shirt, making sure it sits right, before trying to my bury my attention on the mundane task instead of the half-naked—honestly, basically naked, considering it was just a damn towel—boy behind me.

The quiet stretches on, the sound of rain filling the room as I work. Once I'm finally done, I stand, glancing over my shoulder to find him now wearing a hoodie over his shirt, paired with loose pajama pants. I let out sigh in relief and, a tiny bit of disappointment before walking over to the bed.

I pull back the covers and settle into my side, leaning against the headboard. For a moment, I let my eyes fall shut, trying to quiet the mixed nerves and lingering tension still humming under my skin. A few minutes pass before I feel the mattress dip beside me.

I open my eyes slowly and reach for my phone, letting the screen light up my face as I begin scrolling through social media. I come across a few dumb videos that make me snort under my breath, one of them pulling out a soft chuckle.

We don’t look at each other for a while. We don’t need to. There’s an unspoken agreement hanging in the air—we’ll just try to get through this the best we can.

The bedside lamps illuminating the room with warm lighting, cutting through the dimness as the storm outside grows even stronger.

Suddenly, the lights start to flicker abruptly.

My eyes slightly widen as uneasiness starts creeping in just as Soobin and I finally exchange glances at one another.

Then, everything goes black—the power cuts out and the heater falls silent. Now, only the glow from our phone screens lights up the space between us. I softly gasp at the sudden blackout, fingers instinctively tightening around the blanket as I pull it closer to me, attempting to hide the fluttering fear building in my chest.

I watch as Soobin turns on the flashlight on his phone, then standing up from his spot to try flicking the lights on and off again.

"That won't work, you know," I tell him.

"Not bad to try, is it?"

I shift my gaze toward the window, watching the rain clash against the glass as the tree branches sway in the gusts of the storm. Suddenly, a sharp alarm rings from Soobin's phone, making the both of us jump. He scans his device, slowly taking his time to read the alert before looking back at me.

“Heavy rainfall. The power’s out in other parts of the area too. They say it won’t come back until the storm calms down.” I sigh, turning my phone’s flashlight on and sinking into the sounds of rain filling the room.

"Just when it couldn't get any worse" he comments, sitting back down on the bed.

"Right," I say quietly, not looking up. "Because sharing a room with me is clearly the end of the world."

He tilts his head slightly, glancing over. "Didn’t say that."

"You didn’t have to." I exhale, keeping my voice even. "You’re not exactly subtle."

I glance down at my phone, the soft light of the screen casting a faint light across the sheets. After a moment, I move to place it on the bedside table, flashlight facing up to push back some of the dimness hanging in the room.

The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable—just... suspended. Like we’re both waiting to see what the other will do, but not in a hurry to break the stillness.

"How do you think the others are doing?" he asks eventually, voice lower than before.

I pause to think for a moment.

"Beomgyu and Kai are probably trying to see who can scare the other first with stupid ghost stories... or maybe watching some random movie Kai downloaded on his laptop before the trip."

He lets out a quiet laugh. "Yeonjun and Tae are probably having those deep conversations—catching up on life, figuring stuff out."

We share a quick look—something unspoken passing between us, a brief moment of shared understanding.

"Yunjin and Nari are probably the same," I add.

"Except Nari’s definitely curled up next to Yunjin by now, too scared of the thunder and lightning outside to care about the blackout."

I chuckle softly at the thought of my friends using this time to connect with each other better. It’s oddly comforting to think about them all, finding little moments like this despite everything.

A sudden flash of lightning briefly illuminates the window, casting sharp shadows across the room as the rain pounds harder against the glass. My bottom lip trembles ever so slightly, the roaring thunder outside and the blackout still gnawing at my nerves.

I bite down gently, trying to steady myself—trying to keep the spiraling thoughts from dragging me too deep into the what-ifs. Soobin notices. He doesn’t say anything, just quietly gets back into bed, pulling the covers over himself. I can feel his gaze linger as he turns to face me, his eyes settling on the faint shiver I can’t quite hide.

I force myself to stay still, pretending I don’t feel the weight of his gaze. I fix my eyes on the wall ahead, silently counting the seconds between flashes of lightning and the low rumble that follows.

Then, his voice breaks the silence—low, even, careful. "You okay?"

It's simple. Unassuming. But the question makes my chest tighten a little. I nod, almost instinctively.

"Yeah. I’m usually fine with this kind of thing. Just... this one feels different.”

A pause. Then, "You always did hate the dark."

HIs tone isn't teasing. It’s just a memory, held between his words—gentle and matter-of-fact. I glance over at him. He continues to hold his gaze at me—watching, really—not in a way that demands anything. Just... present. Like he's trying to recall a memory too.

"I didn't think you'd remember that." I murmur.

And suddenly I’m brought back to a moment during one of our late project nights, two years ago. I’d mentioned it without much thought, embarrassed as I admitted to keeping a nightlight on before I fell sleep well into high school. I’d expected him to laugh, maybe even tease and poke fun at me for it. But he didn't.

He’d just listened.

This moment feels like that version of him again. Before everything got so messy.

Soobin shifts slightly under the blanket, his voice softer when it returns. “I didn’t forget much, you know. Even when it felt like I did.”

He doesn’t elaborate, but he doesn’t need to. A moment of silence lingers between us.

"You can borrow my hoodie, if you want." he suddenly offers, already tugging at the sleeve like he’s ready to hand it over. "Might help you warm up a bit."

“No, it’s fine. I’m not that cold,” I say, trying to wave it off.

He shakes his head lightly, already starting to pull the hoodie over his head. “I don’t mind. I was next to the heater earlier, so I'm still warm anyway.”

“No, really. I’m okay,” I insist, even as I curl the blanket a little tighter around myself.

He gives me an unimpressed look. “Y/N, you’re literally shivering.”

"So?" I ask. He rolls his eyes before siting up from his previous position, slipping the hoodie over his head. The fabric shifts with the motion, briefly lifting his shirt and revealing a glimpse of his waist before settling into place again.

“Stop.”

He smirks slightly, holding the hoodie out again.

“Stop what?” he replies, raising an eyebrow.

“Being nice to me,” He shakes his head with an amused expression on his face, like he couldn't believe I was still thinking about that right now.

He tosses the hoodie toward me, the fabric landing softly on the bed between us before I can argue again. I can’t help but smile, feeling that familiar push-pull between us again—the unspoken acknowledgment that beneath the bickering, there’s something... softer.

“Just take it,” he says casually, settling back into his side of the bed like the conversation’s over.

“Don’t make me regret being nice.”

I stare at the hoodie for a second before slowly picking it up. It’s still warm. I hesitate—less because of pride now, more because it smells like him, familiar and oddly comforting. Like something I didn’t know I missed.

“Thanks,” I murmur, slipping it on. The sleeves are long, brushing against my fingertips, and the fabric is soft from too many washes.

But even as I settle into it, a little voice in my head starts nagging. What are you doing? Don’t let yourself fall for his bullshit again.

I try to play it cool, pushing that voice to the deepest part of my mind. But I can’t help the way I slow down just a little as I pull the hoodie tighter around me. I know to myself I shouldn't be letting it matter this much. But here I am, sitting in a dark room, wrapped in Soobin’s sweatshirt like it’s some kind of fragile, borrowed comfort, trying to make up for the years of unfinished business.

The same guy I’d been quietly pining over for years back in high school—the one who stood up for me whenever someone made dumb comments about me, the one who—

Okay, we get it.

Holy shit, I need to get a grip.

“You know, this reminds me of that time in junior year—when the power went out during finals week?” He cuts off my train of thought.

I blink, thrown for a second by the sudden shift. “What, in the middle of exam prep?”

He nods, a small laugh slipping out. “Yeah. You were freaking out because your notes got soaked in the rain, and the library shut early. You barged into the classroom like you were ready to fight someone.”

I let out a quiet groan, covering my face with one hand. “God, don’t remind me.”

“I remember you made the whole friend group take turns sharing notes with you. Bossed everyone around like it was your birthright.”

I peek through my fingers at him, trying not to smile. “Well, I was desperate. And it worked, didn’t it?”

“I mean, yeah. I didn’t mind.” He shrugs. His tone shifts slightly—quieter, softer. And something about it makes me glance up again.

“You never really did know how many people wanted to help you,” he adds. “I don’t think you let yourself see it.”

My throat tightens a little at that. I don’t have anything clever to say back. So I just look at him. And for a second, there’s nothing but the sound of the rain and something quietly settling between us. Something that’s been there for a long time.

"I remember when you used to ‘borrow’ my notes during our study sessions, and somehow they’d never make it back to me.” I say, a teasing edge in my voice.

Soobin casts me a glance I can’t quite read, then shifts his eyes upward to the ceiling. “They made it back… eventually.”

I raise an eyebrow. “After like two months. They were all crumpled by the time they came back to me, especially that one time you spilled banana milk on the cover of my notebook.”

“It was still readable.” He chuckles, unbothered.

"Barely. My color coded notes and neat handwriting deserved better."

Soobin smiles a little at that. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have let me sit next to you in class. That’s on you.”

I shake my head, lips twitching. “Unbelievable.”

“Resourceful,” he corrects, tapping his fingers lightly on the blanket.

I shift my body to completely face him, "You're still the same, Choi Soobin.." I chuckle softly.

Soobin mirrors my movement, turning just enough so we’re facing each other now, the space between us dim and quiet except for the rain outside and the faint hush of our breaths.

After a beat, he asks quietly, his voice softer than before, almost careful. “So… what are you thinking right now? Just between us.”

I offer a small, almost shy smile—less teasing, more real. “And what makes you think I’d just spill everything that easily?”

“Maybe because it’s just the two of us here, might as well keep things peaceful instead of turning this into another argument.”" He says, his voice soft but steady.

I’m not even sure when it all started—this endless back-and-forth between us, like kids fighting over the last piece of cake. What began as silent, resentful looks slowly turned into quiet digs, and now it’s just occasional sharp remarks whenever we cross paths.

It’s feels almost automatic now—like a reflex to sink into that sour mood when he’s around, the weight of all those old grudges clouding, filling me with disgust at the thought of Choi Soobin. But tonight, I'll take a slow breath and try to let it all go. I want to focus on staying civil, pushing all those unspoken frustrations aside, pretending for now that the tension between us doesn’t exist.

I let out a sigh. “Honestly? I’m just counting down the minutes ‘til the storm lets up and the power come back on.”

"Really?"

"Really." I lift an eyebrow, giving him a look.

"That’s all that’s on your mind?"

"What, were you expecting a secret confession or something?"

Fuck.

He lets out a quiet chuckle. “I don’t know... it just looked like your brain was running a marathon.” His voice is gentle, but there’s something curious laced in it—like he’s hoping I’ll prove him right.

I offer a small smile. “Well, I was also trying to figure out how we’re supposed to survive the next few days without driving each other insane.”

He laughs under his breath, shaking his head slightly. “That’s fair.”

A quiet moment stretches between us, the steady tap of rain against the window filling the space.

“But so far… I think we’re doing okay,” he says, voice thoughtful.

Then he glances over, meeting my eyes with a hint of hesitation. "Right?"

I hold his gaze for a moment, surprised by the softness in his voice—genuine, almost unsure. The kind of tone I wasn’t used to hearing from him anymore. A small part of me wants to scoff, to brush it off with another sarcastic remark. But instead, I find myself nodding—just barely.

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I think we are.”

We both exchange soft smiles before breaking eye contact, the moment passing like a quiet truce.

"How about you?" I ask, voice softer now.

"Hm?" he responds, barely turning his head.

"What’s on your mind, right now?" I press gently, tilting my head slightly as I study his profile.

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Thinking about..." he trails on.

"How many points I lost in my game when the blackout kicked me out mid-match.”

I laugh softly, playfully smacking his arm. “I’m serious!”

“I am too! Do you know how hard it was to build up that streak?” He winces dramatically, rubbing the imaginary spot I hit. I roll my eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

“Yeah, I’m sure your streak is definitely the top priority right now" He chuckles at my comment, the corners of his mouth twitching in that familiar, slightly smug way.

I glance up at him, locking eyes—steady, deliberate. His expression shifts just slightly, something unreadable passing through, but I don’t look away. Not this time.

"Really." I murmur.

He pauses for a moment, just long enough to stir my curiosity. Something about the hesitation feels deliberate—but I don’t push. I stay quiet, waiting.

"I guess...” he starts, eyes fixed on the ceiling instead of me. “I was just thinking about how this feels a little like... high school again.”

I feel his words like a pang in my chest, old memories stirring just beneath the surface—unwelcome but familiar.

“Yeah,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. “It does feel like that.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then, more carefully, “Do you… still think about that time?”

“Sometimes,” I admit, eyes fixed on some spot beyond him.

“When I start missing how easy everything used to be. Before college got... complicated”

Before it got complicated between us, too.

"I think about it sometimes too, you know.."

"Yeah?"

“Yeah. I mean, I probably shouldn’t admit it, but part of me did enjoy the whole back-and-forth thing between us." he says quietly, almost sheepishly.

"Don't go soft on me now, Choi." I say, a teasing edge in my voice.

He grins, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Me? Never."

"Yeah. Keep telling yourself that, buddy."

We both let out quiet chuckles, the tension between us easing just a little. Before I can stop myself, the words slip out,

“Do you think about what happened between us?”

He freezes, just slightly. It’s quick—almost like a flinch—but I catch it. He doesn’t look at me right away. Instead, his gaze drops to the blanket, fingers absently tugging at a loose thread on the blanket.

“…I-I don’t know.” His voice is low, uncertain.

“I haven’t really thought about it in a while.”

It’s not cruel, not even cold—just distant in a way that feels practiced. Like he’s been telling himself that for so long it’s starting to sound like the truth.

“Right.” I nod slowly, even if it feels like something inside me just cracked a little.

“Seems like forgetting stuff like that doesn’t take much for you.” I try to keep my voice even.

That finally makes him look at me. His eyes search mine like he wants to argue—but doesn’t know how to without proving my point.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says, quietly.

“Then what did you mean?”

He hesitates.

I can see him trying to come up with the right thing to say—something that won’t make this worse—but he doesn’t land on anything.

So I say it for him. “Don’t do that.”

His brows draw together, confused. “Do what?”

"I don't know... Be nice to me, and when you finally let me in, you just shut me out again."

“I.. I don’t really know what you want me to say.”

“I just want you to…” I trail off, frustration tightening in my chest. “I just want you to tell the truth. For once.”

I sit up from where I was lying, the weight of the moment pressing down on me.

“I am telling the truth,” he says, sitting up as well, his voice firm.

I shake my head. “Bullshit.”

His lips part, but I cut him off before he can say anything. I don’t want to hear the excuses.

“I get it. It’s easier to pretend nothing ever happened, right? Like we can just go back to how things were.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean, exactly?”

He looks at me—really looks at me. His eyes trace my face like he’s trying to make sense of me.

“Do you want me to say you didn’t mean anything to me?” I freeze. I want to meet his gaze, but I can’t bring myself to look at him.

“Is that what you think?”

He doesn’t answer. The silence between us feels heavy, like we’re underwater. I finally look up, meeting his eyes—and there it is: a flicker of something, maybe pain.

"Don't act like you know what's going on inside my head" he mumbles.

"Then just fucking tell me."

He hesitates, jaw tightening. For a long moment, nothing but the sound of our breathing fills the space between us. Then he exhales, looking away as his voice drops, rough around the edges.

“You act like you’re the only one who got hurt.”

That throws me. My shoulders tense, heart stuttering.“What are you talking about?”

He laughs once, a bitter sound that only makes my irritation flare hotter.

“You’re really going to play dumb now?” he asks, turning back to me, eyes sharp and unrelenting.

I don’t back down, my voice shaking with frustration. “No, Soobin. Fuck—I don't even know what you're talking about right now.”

He narrows his eyes, voice sharp and cutting through the tension.“What? You think I was just some asshole who ghosted you because I felt like it? That I woke up one day and decided to cut you out for no reason?”

“Yes!” I snap, louder than I mean to. “That’s exactly what it looked like! You shut me out—no call, no text, nothing. You left me to figure it out on my own.”

His face hardens, but something flickers beneath the anger—something that looks a lot like hurt.

“Stop acting so damn oblivious about it, Y/N!” he snaps, the anger bubbling beneath his tone.

“Oblivious about what?” I demand, my voice rising.

“The fucking letter!” he spits out, voice raw and desperate.

I blink, caught off guard.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, my heart pounding.

His expression tightens, confusion mixing with disbelief.

“The note I left in your notebook—the one where I tried to tell you that I…” His voice falters, trailing off before he can finish.

I look at him, confusion twisting in my chest, my heart pounding louder. He didn't even need to say it. We both knew what he meant. Silence falls—long and suffocating—like the calm before a storm. Neither of us moves or speaks. It feels like the air itself is holding its breath, waiting for something to break the tension. I could hear my heart thump in my chest so loudly I’m sure he can hear it too. Then, like a spark to dry tinder, the tension ignites.

“So you thought I was just supposed to know?” I burst out, voice sharp and trembling.

“That I’d just magically find your stupid note and feel the same—when you never even gave it to me?”

“I did give it to you, Y/N!” he snaps.

“I left the damn notebook on top of your locker before our final presentation that morning. You can’t tell me you didn’t see it.” he explains.

I go quiet, trying to pull the memory from the haze of that day. It was raining—I remember that. I was soaked, rushing through the hallway, trying to dry myself off. I’d thrown my umbrella carelessly on top of the locker… never even looked. His voice cuts in again, bitter.

“I found it the next day,” he says quietly, “In the trash bin. Not just the note—the whole damn notebook. Like you were trying to erase everything I said in that stupid letter, like I never mattered to you.”

He continues, "And you never said a damn thing! How was I supposed to read your mind? You shut me out just as much as I did!” His eyes flashing with anger again.

What?

“Shut you out?” I scoff, stepping closer. “You fucking disappeared! Left me in the dark. And now you act like I’m the villain?”

He scoffs back, voice low and bitter. “Maybe you threw everything away the moment you decided I wasn’t worth your fucking time.”

The air between us grows tighter, heavy with resentment and repressed frustrations. The heavy pressure building in my chest is matched with the rising intensity of the rainstorm outside. The atmosphere feels even more heated, caused by the swirling mixed emotions of hurt, frustration, and something else—something electric.

Without a second thought, my hand grips the collar of his shirt, yanking him toward me. His eyes widen in surprise for just a second—then I crash my lips onto his. His hand immediately finds my face, the other wrapping itself around my waist, pulling me even closer against him like he was afraid I'd disappear. The kiss felt raw, unfiltered, like the argument had just shifted into rougher means of showing our anger toward one another.

The taste of his minty toothpaste still lingers on his lips, breathing in the familiar scent of his shampoo, silently begging to let it drown out every logical thought as we pour all our frustrations we had been dragging for too long into the kiss. I move instinctively, sliding into his lap, my fingers tangling in his hair.

It all felt so messy, so chaotic.

I can almost hear a tiny voice in the back of my head saying we should talk this out like rational adults—that we shouldn’t be tearing into each other like this.

Fuck that.

I don’t stop. I know I don’t want to. Not when he's kissing me like this.

His hand slides from my waist to grip one of my thighs, anchoring me to him as I shift deeper into his lap, craving the friction. He catches my bottom lip gently between his teeth, and I gasp—just enough for him to deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping into my mouth. My whole body reacts, heat pooling in my chest as my heart thunders louder than the storm outside. When we finally pull apart, breathless, neither of us moves.

Our foreheads pressed against each other, our breathing uneven, as our eyes lock into one another like we were trying our best to make sense of the situation I had pulled both of us into, not uttering a single word. Maybe we were both too afraid to break whatever this is—to say something that would snap us back into reality. A reality where we call this a mistake and pretend like this never happened, like we’ll be switching rooms tomorrow and going back to whatever we were before.

Quiet. Resentful. Or maybe.. we just don't know what the hell to say at all.

His fingers twitch slightly against my thigh before slowly loosening their grip. A flicker of disappointment stirs in me, my thoughts racing at the possibility that he might actually pull away. His eyes search mine, like he’s trying to find the right version of me—one that isn’t clouded by all the assumptions he’s built up over time.

"I… I didn't know you didn't get it," he finally says, voice low and hoarse. "The letter."

I nod gently, swallowing hard. "I didn't. I would've said something if I had."

"Would you?" he asks with no accusation in his tone. Just uncertainty. His voice is wrapped in hesitation, like he's bracing himself for something.

"Yeah," I whisper. "I would've."

He exhales sharply, eyes closing for a second like something inside him just gave way. The tension hadn't disappeared. It was just softer now. Everything between us feeling a little more fragile now, like we’re standing at the edge of something that could finally make sense.

“You really didn’t know,” he says, more to himself than to me.

I shake my head. "No. I think it got tossed before I even noticed it was there."

A beat passes as we continue to hold onto each other, like we're soaking in each other's presence for the first time without all the static.

“Then everything I thought… all this time…” His voice fades, but I know what he means. I feel it too.

All the distance, the biting remarks, the resentment (as much as they were all bullshit)—it wasn’t for nothing. It was built on misunderstandings we never cleared up. Feelings we were too scared to admit out loud, even to ourselves. We’d been stuck in denial, hiding behind the label of rivals—enemies, even—just to bury whatever this was… whatever it’s always really been.

“I thought you didn’t feel the same. That you never would,” he admits quietly.

“And I thought you never cared at all,” I say. The silence returns, but it’s different now. Warmer. Less hostile. There’s a tenderness in the space between us that wasn’t there before.

I start to feel a strange warm fuzziness blooming in my chest, unfamiliar but not unwelcome. His dark brown eyes lock onto mine as he brushes a loose strand of hair from my face, his fingers barely grazing my skin.

“I always did,” he whispers. My heart flutters at his confession.

This time, when I lean in, it’s slower. Softer. Soon, our lips meet again, it’s not rushed or angry. It’s quiet. Vulnerable. It’s everything we never said, everything we were too afraid to feel, poured into something that finally makes sense.

We hold each other tightly—like we’re learning how to, for the first time.

The next morning, the rain finally lets up. The air is crisp, the ground outside still damp and dark beneath the trees. Inside the cabin, the quiet is soft and unfamiliar, broken only by the rustle of clothes and the occasional creak of the floorboards.

I stir at the sound, blinking against the pale gray light filtering through the curtains. Soobin’s already up—half-dressed, moving carefully around the room like he’s trying not to wake me. Or maybe like he doesn’t know what to say if I do.

He doesn’t say anything. Neither do I.

There’s no bitterness in the silence—just a heaviness. Like the weight of everything we let slip last night hasn’t quite settled. He moves around the room quietly, slipping on a shirt, brushing his fingers through his hair. I watch him from the bed, the blanket pulled loosely around my waist, heart still beating slower than usual—like it’s unsure what rhythm to follow now.

He doesn’t meet my eyes. Not once.

Something about the way he avoids my gaze makes my chest tighten. Last night had felt like something cracked open. But now, in the soft gray light of morning, I’m not sure either of us knows what to do with the pieces.

Soon, we both step out of the cabin together, walking in silence toward the shared dining area. But the silence isn’t biting today—it’s just… tense. Like we both said too much last night and didn’t say nearly enough.

When we arrive, the others are already gathered around the long wooden table. Kai is in the middle of attempting to roll a grape down from his forehead into his mouth, much to Nari’s delight. She sits beside him, another grape pinched between her fingers, cheering him on like it was a sport.

The table erupts with laughter and exaggerated complaints about who snores the loudest. I smile at the sight.

“Look who finally made it,” Beomgyu grins, raising his cup of coffee. I roll my eyes, grabbing a seat beside Yeonjun. Soobin wordlessly takes the one across from me.

“Did you guys sleep in, or were you just avoiding us?” he adds.

I force a tired smile and settle into my seat. Soobin just nods. “Yeah. Just tired.”

"Last night’s storm kept us up pretty late.” I add.

“We didn’t sleep much either!” Yunjin jumps in. “Nari wouldn’t stop talking about the possibility of the lightning hitting one of the cabins that it got me fearing for my life too."

“I was being realistic,” Nari protests, and the table erupts again.

I laugh softly, eyes flicking to Soobin without thinking. The memory of our conversation the night before lingered at the edge of my thoughts.

I knew I made the right guess.

“We were talking about the storm earlier too,” Kai says, reaching for a slice of toast. “What did you two end up doing when the power went out?”

I see Beomgyu wiggle his eyebrows from the corner of my eye.

“Soobin lost his mind for a bit,” I say, voice light. "He got disconnected mid-game and wouldn’t shut up about some ranked streak,”

“And Y/N kept hogging the blanket,” Soobin adds, not missing a beat. “I don’t even know how she managed to wrestle with me while dead asleep.”

Groans erupt around us—dramatic and exaggerated. But underneath the teasing, something subtle lingers. A shift. They’re watching us now.

Not the way they usually do. Like they’re waiting for something. Like they know something’s changed—and they’re waiting for us to confirm it. Soobin stands abruptly and brushes crumbs off his shirt. “I’m gonna get some orange juice. You want anything?”

It’s casual. But the silence that follows isn’t. I glance up, just in time to catch how heads turn—slight, slow, like they’re trying not to make it obvious. But it is. Too fucking obvious.

They weren’t expecting that.

“Apple juice,” I reply, voice even. He nods once and walks off.

Taehyun leans in just enough to lower his voice. “You two okay?”

“Yeah. Just tired,” I repeat, too fast. Too practiced.

"Riiight," The boy hums, unimpressed, dragging the word out a little. His gaze lingers longer than it should. I don’t meet it.

I busy myself with the glass of water in front of me, pretending not to notice how the table feels quieter around me. Even Hueningkai, who’s usually the first to fill silences, pauses mid-bite to glance back and forth between us. It’s subtle, but they can tell. Everyone can.

The air between me and Soobin is heavier, different—like something broke open last night and we haven’t figured out how to patch it up again.

We don’t bicker. We don’t talk.

We were just stuck in this strange, unspoken truce, careful not to look too long or say too much.

Nari cheers suddenly, loud and triumphant.

“I did it! It actually landed in my mouth!” She beams, holding her hands in the air like she’d won a medal. Everyone laughs and claps, the attention shifting with relief. The tension breaks—but not for me.

Because a second later, I feel someone lean in from my left, too close to be casual. His voice lands soft and deliberate right at my ear.

"Orange does suit you, Y/N." Yeonjun murmurs, his voice low and teasing.

My gaze snaps to him, confused—until I see where he’s looking. Not at me. Not at my face. But at the purple mark hidden just behind my neck. Faint. Barely there. Not invisible, though.

Oh.

My heart skips, and I swallow. Across the table, Soobin sets down the two glasses—one in front of me, the other by his seat. His fingers brush the rim of mine for just a second longer than needed.

When I meet his eyes, he’s already looking at me.

There’s a quiet intensity in his gaze—something unspoken hanging between us. But instead of holding his stare, I look away first.

It feels easier this way.

a/n: heyyyy!! :D uhh im backkk akjsbfjasbf. I want to start posting wayy more like actually, like legit i promise. i'll also start replying to my requests and will open them soon again!!

anywayy, i still don't know how to feel about this fic since this is my first time writing something thats not a research paper in a hot minutee, but i hoped u guys like itt!!

(im also still trying to get comfortable writing a bit more suggestive fics, so this is my first entry on that!!)

also,, the way i kept giggling a bit to myself at the thought of Nari with her head just tilted up, mouth agape, moving around trying to catch that grape while everyone at the table sat in silence HELPP i find her soo cutee!!

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postgamevibes · 2 months ago

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Summary: A sweet, stolen moment between you and Jack at a café goes viral on TikTok and suddenly, the internet is obsessed with how soft Jack Hughes is for his girlfriend. The teasing from teammates ramps up and your private relationship feels a little more public than you intended, Jack proves there’s no hiding how much he loves you even if the whole world is watching.

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The café was quiet rare for a Saturday in Hoboken, especially after a Devils win.

You and Jack had scored a little corner booth, sunlight filtering across half-finished pastries and your shared iced coffee. He was in full “soft boyfriend” mode: backwards hat, hoodie sleeves pushed up, fingers tapping gently on your thigh under the table.

“You’re staring,” you teased, sipping through your straw.

Jack just blinked slowly. “So?”

“You’re so obvious.”

He leaned forward. “Don’t care who sees anymore.”

Unbeknownst to you both someone was seeing.

A few tables away, a fan sat half-hidden behind a plant and an iced matcha, recording you and Jack from behind her phone screen. It was just a short clip Jack laughing as you stole a bite of his muffin, brushing a crumb from your lip, kissing your hand like he was in a rom-com.

You didn’t know it yet, but the internet was about to fall in love with your relationship.

You found out later that night.

Jack was flipping through his phone, lounging on the couch with you wrapped up in his hoodie blanket combo, when Luke texted him a TikTok.

@user1: not me crying in public because jack hughes is literally the softest boyfriend ever 😭💘 🎵: “Until I Found You” – Stephen Sanchez

You watched the clip play.

The way Jack looked at you like the rest of the world melted away. The way you smiled, easy and happy. The gentle kiss to your knuckles.

Top comment:

you can always tell when a man loves his girl. this? this is love.

You blinked. “Well. That’s definitely us.”

Jack just laughed. “We are pretty cute.”

You groaned and buried your face in his shoulder. “Jack, we’re going to go viral.”

He just shrugged. “You mad?”

“No just kinda liked it being ours.”

“It still is,” he said quietly. “They only get the highlight reel. They don’t get the sleepy morning you. Or the you that steals the covers. Or the you who cried over my split lip.”

“I did not cry”

“Sure,” Jack grinned. “Definitely didn’t.”

The next few days? Chaos.

The TikTok crossed a million views in 48 hours.

The Devils reposted it. Buzzfeed wrote a listicle. Your name started trending. People in your DMs asked for skincare routines and “how to land a hockey player.” One girl wanted to buy Jack’s hoodie for $20.

Jack’s teammates were merciless.

“I didn’t know you were auditioning for The Bachelor, bro.” “Did she spoon-feed you too?” “Hey lover boy, want me to play ‘Your Body Is a Wonderland’ in the locker room next time?”

Jack took it in stride. “Y’all just jealous,” he’d say, totally unbothered.

You? A little less so.

It was sweet, sure. Nothing negative. But still your thing with Jack had always felt like a quiet corner of the world. And now it was getting blasted with ring lights and love song edits.

It all peaked one afternoon when you dropped off Jack’s water bottle at practice.

As you passed the glass, someone on the ice yelled:

“Don’t forget to blow her a kiss, TikTok boyfriend!”

Jack skated past, smirking. Met your eyes and winked.

You mouthed I’m going to kill you.

He mouthed back love you too.

That night, after the teasing and reposts and chaos, things felt quiet again.

Jack came out of the shower, damp hair curling over his forehead, sweats low on his hips, hoodie sleeves bunched at the wrists. He dropped beside you on the couch with a sigh and pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

“You ever wish we’d kept this quieter?” you asked.

He looked at you. Thought about it. Then shook his head.

“Nah.”

You tilted your head. “No?”

“I mean yeah, it’s a lot. The guys are gonna roast me forever. But—”

His voice lowered.

“I’m not gonna pretend I don’t love you just because someone’s watching.”

You blinked.

“I love you. On the record. Off the record. Online. Offline. I love you when you steal my hoodies and when you call me out for leaving my stuff everywhere . I love you when you roll your eyes and when you kiss me with muffin crumbs on your lip.”

“Jack…”

“You okay, though? Really?”

You nodded, slowly. “Yeah, just weird, but not bad.”

He kissed you again, and again, like he had all the time in the world.

“Next time we get caught on camera,” he murmured, “I’ll try to make it even cuter.”

You laughed. “You better not, I can’t go viral again.”

Jack grinned. “Too late, already planning the sequel.”

#nhl #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #hockey #nhl hockey #nhl x oc #jack hughes #new jersey devils #nhl fic #jh86 imagine #jh86 x reader #jack hughes fanfiction #jack hughes fic #jh86 #nhl fanfiction #nhl fluff #nj devils

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cherry-coffees · 3 months ago

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Roommates!Caitvi x reader hcs ♡

Caitvi version of my roommate!Caitlyn AU as requested by @chaos1stuff! Take some pure fluff while I cook up some more academic rival!Caitlyn for y'all ;)

roommate!Caitlyn who wakes early every morning without fail. She claims it's because she doesn't like to waste the day by sleeping late, but it's really so she can have some quiet moments with her tea and the sunrise before she has a hectic day of classes and studying and whatever else she has to do in her schedule

roommate!Vi who sleeps late every day. She rolls out of bed with messy hair and a raspy voice, putting on her headphones before doing anything else. She'll just throw on a hoodie and some sweats, barely pausing to brush her teeth before she's out the door and off to her classes or the gym

roommate!Caitlyn who finishes her classes and heads off to the library to study. She has a cute pencil pouch with all of her different colored gel pens and highlighters, and her bag is extremely heavy because she carries around all her books. She's always at the silent floor of the library because "if I wanted to study with noise, I'd just go home and listen to Vi yelling at her video games."

roommate!Vi who does, indeed, love yelling at her video games. Her room features a specific gaming PC that she finally got after wanting it for ages, an ultra-comfortable gaming chair, and good-quality headphones that Caitlyn gifted to her for her birthday (half as a gift for Vi, and half as a gift for herself so Vi wouldn't play her movies so loudly)

roommate!Caitlyn who mothers you just a little bit. She'll make you tea in the mornings if she's still at home when you wake up, give you opinions on which outfits she thinks you look the cutest in, and ask you what happened the second she sees your expression drop. She sits with you quietly until you're ready to talk about what happened, listens when you tell her about your day, then holds you for as long as you need. Her heart breaks a little if she ever sees tears streaming down your cheeks. "Hey, what happened? Don't cry...please don't cry. Whatever it is, I'll fix it for you."

roommate!Vi who gets home from the gym in a happy mood most days. Working out makes her feel good, and she always tries to rope you into her workout sessions in hopes that it'll make you as happy as it makes her. Regardless, she'll set her phone down and play some music when she gets home, rummaging through the fridge to see what she can make. Vi's a good cook, though people may not expect that of her. When you come out of your room to greet her, she twirls you around the kitchen just to make you giggle as she whips up something for you and Caitlyn

roommate!Caitlyn who insists that you, Vi, and her have dinner together every night. She thinks of the three of you as a little family, and therefore, your dinners together as like family dinners. She and Vi will sometimes bicker over whatever they disagree on today, but it's always lighthearted. It usually ends with Vi leaning her chin on her palms and teasing her with a: "you know you love me." Caitlyn, for her part, rolls her eyes instead of saying anything back because she really can't argue with that

roommate!Vi who loves pissing Caitlyn off. You hear a soft knock on the door of your room one night, and when you open it, Vi's standing there with a bottle of black hair dye. "C'mon," she whines, and you can't deny her when she gives you those puppy eyes that always make you go weak for her. "It'll be so funny, and she deserves it for vacuuming the apartment at 8am on a Sunday. She knew I was sleeping!" And, because you're also kind of pissed at Caitlyn for doing that, you're painting Vi's pink hair with the black dye in the bathroom twenty minutes later

roommate!Caitlyn who always surprises you with gifts. Whatever you want, she's already ordered it for same-day delivery to your shared apartment. You're watching TV together one night, and you see expensive sunglasses from a designer brand that you make a passing comment able. It's as simple as: "oh, I like the shape of those." It doesn't matter what you say — there's a wrapped box on your pillow the next morning. You recognize Caitlyn's wrapping because it's all smooth and neat, the corners tucked in perfectly and a navy ribbon that ties it all together. You protest the first few times, citing that you really don't need all the things she's buying you. But Caitlyn just shakes her head. "Nonsense. It's my money, and I can buy whatever I please. If I want to gift you something, then I will." Though, despite how matter-of-fact she is about it, you see the soft smile that graces Caitlyn's features when you try on whatever she's bought you

roommate!Vi who adores touch. She's constantly seeking out physical contact in small ways: throwing an arm around your shoulder when you're watching a movie together, leaning her head on your lap when she gets tired, pulling you into a hug when she's all sweaty after the gym. She laughs when you whine in protest, telling her at least take a shower first. Sometimes, when Vi's past memories get brought up, she gets extra clingy. It's not her fault she's touch-starved. She'll come into your room and stand awkwardly by the doorway until you notice her. When you sigh and open your arms, already knowing what she needs, Vi is more than happy to embrace you to her heart's content. She's muscular and strong when she holds you, but she's like an eager puppy at heart, and the contrast makes her really good at hugging

roommates!Caitvi who start acting weird one day. You catch them mumbling to each other a few times, though they immediately stop and smile when they notice you, asking about your day. They look at each other a little too long sometimes, exchanging thoughts with just glances. You don't understand how they do it. This, combined with their increase in being touchy with each other, leads you to the conclusion that they're in a relationship. They must be trying to figure out how to tell you, is the thought that occurs to you while laying in bed one night. Your heart sinks a little, and you can't fall asleep for a long time after that

roommates!Caitvi who immediately get concerned when you start avoiding them. You come home late most nights, citing various excuses like studying at the library or grabbing coffee with a friend as reasons to why you've been out of the apartment so much. You don't hang out in the common area as much, either, preferring to stay in your room and watch movie on your laptop. It's easier than worrying about if they're making out on the couch or exchanging secret whispers that you never seem to be in on

roommates!Caitvi who corner you one day. After you get home from yet another late night out, they're both sitting at the kitchen table with their arms crossed, both pairs of blue eyes trained on you. "You want to tell us why you've barely talked to either of us the past few weeks?" Caitlyn narrows her eyes. She's not one to be afraid of confrontation. Vi's slightly softer, though her expression mirrors Caitlyn's worry. "If we've done something to upset you, princess, just tell us. You can't avoid us forever."

roommates!Caitvi whose jaws drop when you finally let your thoughts spill from your lips. "Fine!" you huff. "I'm sick of you two pretending you're not hiding something from me! I've seen all of your secret conversations and how touchy you are with each other! Why won't you just tell me you're together? Do you— do you not trust me?"

roommate!Vi who's the first to cut you off. "Woah, woah," she holds both her hands up. "We're not together. Just give us a second to explain, yeah? We have a good explanation for the secrets."

roommate!Caitlyn whose expression immediately softens. "We're not together. Well, we want to be—" she pauses when your face falls. "But we actually just weren't sure how to tell you that we want you, too. That we've fallen for you just as much."

roommates!Caitvi who don't leave your side for the rest of the night. They sandwich you in between them the second you return their confession with your body crumpling in relief. The three of you sleep in Caitlyn's bed that night: the king-sized canopy more than big enough to accommodate them on either side of you. Caitlyn, true to form, wakes up early the next day. But instead of getting up, she pats a sleeping Vi's cheek and brushes some loose hair out of your eyes. Vi, also true to form, wakes up late. Only this time, she pulls you closer into her chest and falls right back asleep. And when Caitlyn wakes you two up with cups of tea and a kiss to each of your foreheads, you've never felt happier.

My first time writing a Caitvi x reader sooo hope you guys enjoyed! I wrote this at 2am while doing a sheet mask teehee <3

~Cherry 🍒

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galaxywannabe · 3 months ago

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Munch O'Clock

Joaquín Torres x Fem!Reader

Summary: Joaquín comes back from his morning run hungry. He really should just let you sleep, but how else is he supposed to make sure his day starts off on the right track?

Warnings: 18+ contains smut mdni. Joaquín being the goofball boyfriend we all deserve. Reader identifies as a woman and has a vagina but there are no other physical descriptors as far as I'm aware!

Word Count: Roughly 2.5k

A/N: Ahhhh okay! So the idea for this came from this post and my addition to it, and then I said fuck it and gave it my best go! And this is that! Constructive criticism is always welcome, and if you have something nice to say about it or you liked it please let me know! It feeds my soul and keeps me writing! Anyways I'm done yammering your ear off, enjoy!

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Joaquín gets up for his daily run stupid early, like, before the sun is even all the way up early, even on his days off. So naturally, when he arrives back at your apartment roughly 45 minutes after he left it, thoroughly sweating through his cutoff t-shirt despite the early spring chill, you're still fast asleep.

You are decidedly not an early riser, even on the days that you really should be, and accordingly your alarm isn't set to go off for another 3 hours - hours you intend to spend blissfully unconscious, dead to the world. That is, until you're startled awake with a yelp as your boyfriend tugs you by the ankles down to the foot of the bed.

The transition from sleep to wakefulness is an abrupt one, the peace of unconsciousness ripped from your grasp in the span of a single second, and as you lift your head to meet the rich, brown puppy dog eyes of your boyfriend, you know there's only one culprit responsible.

“Joaquín, I was sleeping,” you grumble, reaching up to rub the grit from your eyes as his expression turns sheepish.

“I know, mi amor, I'm sorry. You just kicked all the covers off yourself, and you looked so pretty laying there, and then before I knew it…”

He gives you those innocent eyes again, like it was by complete accident that he ended up kneeling at the foot of your bed, your body dragged down the length of the mattress so your pelvis was directly in front of his face. You sigh, already knowing what's about to happen and resigning to your fate - as if it's such a chore being constantly lusted after by your beautiful boyfriend.

“Was there something you needed at-” you turn your head to the alarm clock on your nightstand, the glaring red numbers a cruel reminder of the sleep you should be getting right now, “-5:56 in the morning?”

He hesitates for a moment, chewing his lip as he flicks his eyes between your face and the space between your legs, obviously conflicted. You can tell that he desperately wants to ask, but he's not sure if he should.

He really does look guilty for waking you up, and you feel bad as you watch him actively consider suppressing his desire so he doesn't inconvenience you. You were only being grouchy in a playful way, not actually trying to dissuade him.

You reach down for his hand resting on the mattress by your hip, taking it and squeezing reassuringly. “If you do need something, you can ask me, angel. I was just teasing, I won't be mad.”

He looks up at you, his gaze holding yours as if he's searching for the truth in your words. When he finds it, he seems to relax. His shoulders loosen a little, and there's a more obvious glint of excitement in his eyes as he looks back down at the part of your anatomy hidden by the gusset of your little sleep shorts.

He looks so gorgeous right now, even moreso than usual despite the high standard he sets. The sun is starting to rise, soft rays of light breaking through the blinds of your window and reflecting off his deep brown irises, highlighting the desperation there. He's still absolutely soaked through with sweat from his morning run, dark patches in the grey fabric around his chest and armpits from the exertion, and you can smell the musky tang of it from here, sharp and masculine in your nostrils, 100% Joaquín.

Setting off the whole image, the perfect cherry on top to his already devastating appearance, is the backwards baseball cap on his head, a few dark, sweaty curls flopping through the opening in the front and touching his forehead.

The slightly shy smirk he gives you as he finally decides to make his request is absolutely panty-melting, one big hand coming up to grip your inner thigh beneath the hem of your shorts, warm and possessive. “Breakfast?”

You almost let out a groan, but you don't want him to misinterpret it as anything other than completely positive, so you suppress it. Instead you just give him an amused little smile, anticipation fluttering in your gut as you raise one brow skeptically.

“That's what you want for breakfast, Joaquín?”

He nods enthusiastically, his eyes dancing with humor as he bows to kiss the exposed skin of your thigh gently. “Absolutely. I wanna start my day off right, angel. Gotta get in my fuckin’ Wheaties or whatever, so I can go crush the rest of my day.”

You laugh, shoulders shaking at the ridiculousness of that entire statement, your gaze fond even as you roll your eyes. “Is that what you're gonna tell Sam later, when you meet him down at the ring for sparring? That you've got an extra spring in your step because you ate your girl's pussy this morning?”

“If it means you'll let me do it right now, then yes, I absolutely will tell him that,” he answers, the look in his eyes completely serious despite his smile.

Horrified at just the mental image of such an exchange, you shudder, wrinkling your nose but still finding your boyfriend's desperation amusing. “Ew, no, please no, do not tell him that. I'll let you have it, just please don't tell Sam anything about our sex life ever.”

Joaquín’s eyes light up, a dog with a bone as his fingers skate up your hips to hook in the waistband of both your shorts and panties, stopping short of removing them until he has explicit permission. “Yeah? Deal.”

You can't help but snort, completely enamored by both the excited glint in his eye and the way he's willing to agree to whatever the hell you want as long as it gets his mouth on you. If you were a more scheming woman, perhaps you'd use that to your advantage, but as it stands you can never deny him anything when he looks at you like this.

Some days it's hard to believe you have a partner who wants you so badly all the time, but then you have a moment like this one, where he's on his knees by the end of the bed, still soaked in sweat from his workout but too desperate to wait another second, and you know it's genuine. He couldn't fake that pussy-drunk look in his eyes if he tried.

“Alright then, deal. Go ahead, take what you want. It belongs to you anyways, you know that.”

You'd think you just offered him the keys to the city the way he's looking at you right now, a visible shudder wracking down his spine at your dirty words. He tugs your shorts and underwear down your legs like he's worried you'll change your mind, though over the course of your entire relationship you don't think you've ever given him reason to suspect you would.

The room air is a little cold against the heated, damp flesh between your legs, but in an instant he's so close that his warm breath is there on your skin, chasing away any chill. He looks up at you, waiting like he's giving you one more chance to back out. Like you ever would when there's head from Joaquín Torres on the table.

“Go ahead, amor, have your breakfast. I think we both could call this a great start to our day, yeah?”

It's all the permission he needs, but he doesn't dive in the way he so clearly wants to, the way a person might be expected to given the slightly crazed look in his eyes. Even in a heightened state of arousal, Joaquín is all about savoring things, especially where you're concerned.

He starts with soft kisses on your plush inner thighs, scattering them sweetly on each side, slowly approaching his ultimate goal. Your legs instinctively part further for him, falling open on the mattress in an involuntary reaction to his touch, and he pats the outside of your thigh in approval as he continues to work his way up, his pace unhurried.

Even when he gets there, he still doesn't partake quite yet, pausing to take in a slow inhale, a satisfied rumble going off in his chest at the scent of you. You can’t help but let out a small, flustered whimper, a blush rising to your cheeks; having a man be so unabashedly enthralled by your body is simultaneously incredibly flattering and a little embarrassing. There’s no shame on Joaquín’s face, though, just his half-lidded, hazy stare as he turns his eyes up to meet yours, dragging out the moment as you wait with anticipation for him to begin. Jesus.

Your boyfriend’s a bit of a hyperactive guy, always jumping around with boundless energy, but nothing shuts off his brain faster than eating your pussy. That’s not to say that he’s thoughtless about it - he’s not - or that he's not incredibly skilled at it - he definitely is. It’s just that when he’s doing this, it’s all he’s thinking about, and something about that sets every inch of your body on fire every time.

Either unwilling or unable to hold himself back anymore, your boyfriend lowers his face carefully to your center and licks a long, hot stripe from your hole to your clit, collecting the ample moisture you’ve already produced along the way, tasting it on his tongue. You know he makes a noise of satisfaction because you can feel the vibrations spread pleasantly through your skin, but you can’t hear it over the loud gasp that tears from your lungs, nor over your heartbeat thudding in your ears.

This burst of pleasure should not come as a surprise to you - Joaquín has probably eaten you out more just over the course of your relationship than most women experience in their entire lives, and it’s always incredible - but somehow despite their familiarity, his ministrations on your swollen flesh feel brand new. Rather than dipping low again for another taste, he lingers at the top of you, his tongue flicking against your clit this way and that, quick but gentle, careful not to overwhelm you. It’s a nice sentiment, but when he’s on you like this, it’s pretty much inevitable.

As he starts to work on you in earnest, suckling gently at your bundle of nerves and then shifting down to probe at your entrance to give you a moment of reprieve, you hit an infuriating conundrum. As is your instinct when in the throes of passion, you reach down to tangle your fingers in your boyfriend's hair, both to ground yourself and as an outlet for the restless energy thrumming through your veins. But just when your fingertips should be making direct contact with the soft, silky curls at the top of his head, you feel fabric beneath them instead, and you frown.

An indignant whine breaks from your lips and, god help you, your ever-attentive angel of a boyfriend catches it even in the midst of his favorite activity. His eyes flit up to yours, and his face pulls back just a hair so he can speak without muffling his voice against your folds.

“Okay, querida?” he checks, his voice rough as his tongue flicks out subconsciously to gather some of the nectar shining on his lips.

You're about to grouse and tell him that the stupid damn hat needs to come off, to get it out of your way so you can hold on the way you like, but now that you're actually looking at him you feel indecision rising in your chest. Shit. He looks goddamn incredible like this. His lower face is glinting slightly in the early morning light with your arousal, which is obviously a sight to behold all on its own.

But when you take in the rest of him - the residual beads of sweat from his morning run still dripping down the side of his face, the workout clothes that he's too occupied to notice are sticking to his skin - it's even worse. And that damned hat, as inconvenient as its presence might be, is the most important part of this picture.

It's just some old cap with the air force logo on it, probably pulled from the back of his closet and plopped backwards over his bedhead haphazardly before he left for his run. But goddamn, something about the fact that he's still got it on as he makes out sloppily with your cunt? It's debauched, it's filthy, and it's so incredibly hot.

Your mind spirals over this observation for several long seconds, wheeling between wanting his hair freed and needing the cap to stay on for the rest of his damn life, but to Joaquín it must seem like hesitation because he starts to pull away with concern. You shake your head urgently, reaching out in panic for the back of his head as if to keep his face back where it belongs.

“Shit, no- I mean yes, everything is great! Sorry, I just looked down and got distracted by how pretty you are for a second. Please keep going.”

It's the truth, but you decide not to mention the hat specifically in case he gets self-conscious about it and tries to take it off. He quirks an amused brow at you like you're the biggest weirdo on the planet - which is rich given he's the one who literally woke you up just to eat you out first thing in the morning - but he seems comforted by your reassurance, and with a huff through his nose he obliges your request, getting back to work without another word.

As you watch him fall back into his rhythm, that damned ballcap perched tauntingly over his sweaty curls, you resign yourself to gripping the sheets instead to keep you grounded through the onslaught of pleasure, just this once.

Joaquín makes you come hard on his lips and tongue twice before he's satisfied with his “breakfast”, and then he's dashing off to the shower to rinse off his workout, not even asking you to return the favor like the gentleman he is. As you listen to the water running in the other room, along with the muffled sounds of Joaquín singing off key, you reach your trembling fingertips out for your cell phone.

Despite your whole body still buzzing with the aftershocks of your orgasms, you hastily add about 10 new baseball caps to your shopping cart, making a mental note to order them while he's away on his next mission. Your poor, unsuspecting boyfriend has no idea there's about to be a new staple in his wardrobe, though you have a feeling if he knew the reason, there wouldn't be any complaints.

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#marvel #mcu #captain america brave new world #cabnw #joaquin torres #joaquín torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquín torres x reader #danny ramirez #falcon

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