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wayeasier · 2 days ago

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COUNT TO TWENTY-TWO — part three

⋆˙⟡ robert (bob) reynolds x reader (thunderbolts*)

summary: You were thankfully not burned alive with the four other strangers. But you still have a burning way to make out of the vault that you are stuck in. Maybe the strangers are not as bad as they seemed at first.

warnings: canon-typical violence, swearing, thunderbolts* spoilers (obviously)

author's note: english is not my native language, so i apologize for all grammatical errors / mistakes in my writing (if there are any!)

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE ...

Across from you, Bob was very nervously pacing around, muttering something to himself right under his breath. He was holding his own hand in his other hand, anxiously gripping and pinching it. He was near where the explosion had occurred a moments back.

John was standing near the shorter blonde woman, Yelena. He was now taking off his unclipped helmet. Ava next to you sighed and pushed herself off the wall, motioning you to follow her as well. You pushed yourself off the wall as well, walking right beside Ava towards the two others who were staring right at the pacing nervous boy in hospital pajamas right in front of them.

"Everyone has a reason to be here... Except this guy," he motioned towards the hospital-clothed man. You and Ava stopped right beside the now helmet-less guy.

"Hey, Bobby! Less talking to yourself, more talking to us!" John loudly announced to the man in front of him, which made Bob look up and stop. But then as quickly as he looked up, he was looking back down and pacing around on his bare feet.Like a little lost animal.

"Bullshit," John reported back after a moment and started walking irritably towards the pacing man in front of him, "alright, you tell me how you got in here. Right goddamn now."

"I swear, man... I—I just woke up in this place," the nervous man stammered, looking up at the bearded man right in front of him. His eyes scared.

John raised his eyesbrows and Bob continued, "one minute I was, you know, getting my blood drawn for this medical study," he raised his hands as if he was showing him something, nervously answering him, "and the next time, I'm here in my pajamas... I don't know what's happening."

"Okay. Then show me where you woke up!" John said loudly into Bob's face.

Bob turned his body and pointed his arm towards the doors, where you had all came from a few minutes before. Inside probably burnt down by now and with everything ripped apart because of the explosion it caused. Bob looked back at the man with his hand still pointing at the doors behind him, "in there..."

"Where everything's on fire!" John snapped and started to walk away from the hospital-clothed man, "that's really convenient!"

"Walker, relax!" Yelena told the man as he stalked back towards where he stood a moments before. You eyed him, his demeanor changed, a lot of angrier than before. You're definitely waiting for when he breaks and snaps at anyone close by him.

"You don't remember anything?" Ava turned to Bob and asked him, "bag over your head? A needle in your neck?"

"No..." Bob awkwardly stood there.

"Chokehold? Nerve pinch?" John turned back towards him, now standing between Yelena and Ava. His arms outstretched as he listed few possible ways he could have gotten here.

"No..." Bob shook his head.

Yelena looked at Bob and then back at John, "I think he's just a civilian."

"If he's a civilian, he knows too much," John pointed his palm at the man, "and if he's an agent, he sucks! Either way, I say we throw him back in the fire."

"Are you insane?" you turned towards the bearded man with disbelief. Brows drawn in together. He didn't even turn his head to your direction and just had his eyes locked ahead on the nervous Bob.

Suddenly, a set of small set of laughs and chuckles came from before you. It cut through the tension in the air. Bob was laughing. He moved on his feet, chuckling. As if something had changed in him, like he was someone else for a moment. His shoulder shook as he chuckled.

"You said you were Captain America," Bob started to laugh again quietly as he spoke to John. He started right at him, almost angrily.

"Why are you laughing?" he asked the other man.

Bob raised his hands in front of him and with a smile he shook his head, "just... you're an asshole, you know?"

John started at him and let out a laugh. A no real laugh. A humourless one. His lauh was short, almost disbelieving. Bob thought he was laughing with him, so he added jokingly, "it's just funny."

Then, without another word. John stepped forward and launched himself at the other man. He stalked right at him and seized him by the hospital pajamas, which he was wearing. In a long strides, he slammed him forcefully against the wall. Bob's back of the head hitting itself against it as his whole body got slammed. John pinned him in the place, his face a few centimeters away from the other man's face. Bob didn't look away, he held the stare with John.

Yelena and you came towards the two men quickly. Yelena started to quickly move and speak to get the two men to calm down, "hey! woah, okay, okay! okay! wait, wait!"

"We swung our tiny dicks! It was a lot of fun! You go there," Yelena said with a loud sarcasm as she pulled off John. Then she jubbed her finger somewhere behind him and nodded towards you to go with him, "Bob, come with me."

John stepped backwards, but kept staring at the leaving pair. You stood beside him and put your hands onto his foreheam and gripped him there to get his attention. His gaze stayed on the man and the woman so you pulled him a bit, "John. Come on, follow me."

He scoffed but turned his gaze away from Bob and Yelena. But then, finally, he scoffed and followed you to where you took him just into the corner a few steps away. His posture was still rigid. You wlaked and he followed. You were glad for that. You kept a steady hand on his arm as you guided him across the debris-littered floor. You didn't look back at him, not until you stopped in the corner. He was looking down at his hands, he looked furious, almost frustrated with something. Maybe with himself or the other guy.

"I should've just punched him—" he stared to say.

"Okay. Absolutely no," you replied, staring up at him. He finally looked up, his eyes flickering strangely, almost as though he was trying to find the right words to say. John leaned against the wall beside you, arms crossed, shoulders still high with tension, his breath uneven. You let your back rest against the wall next to him, watching him in silence for a moment as he frustratedly breathed.

"Okay. Fuck. Sorry," he finally said, shaking his head from side to side, his helmet in his hands. He stared down at it, his fingers flexing and gripping the edges of it, "he just—he's someone totally else. I don't fucking know him. And then he just—" he motioned with his hands in front of his face. Frustrated.

His shoulders slumped then. His gaze drifted toward the far side of the room, where Ava stood by the broken down elevator. John to en ran a hand through his hair, helmet now cradled low at his side, "I'm not good at this shit," he said softly, which sounded weird coming from him.

"Yeah. I see that," you let out a small chuckle and he lifted his head at you. He let out a dry laugh as well.

"Come on, Cap. I think you have enough strength to make a hole in that elevator to get us in," you finally said after a moment of silence and patted his shoulder next to you. His eyes snapped up at you when you said the name. Cap. It made him stop for a moment. You pushed yourself off the wall and motioned your head towards the elevator where Ava stood. He sighed and walked just a step behind you.

"No luck?" you asked the other girl as you stepped just beside her. Behind you, you could feel the presence of John looming just over you.

"Nope. We're stuck," Ava said with a deep sigh, not looking away from the closed doors of the elevator in front of her.

“Think Cap here could put that shield of his to use?” you asked the girl, tilting your head toward the man behind you.

"He can try," she replied, looking up back at you and stepped away from the closed doors. You stepped back as well, letting the man come closer to the doors. Then, he raised his arm with his shield and swung towards the surface. The sound as the shield made contact with the doors rattled around you, a slight dent showing. He raised his arm against and swung it, dust fell out and the crack got even bigger. Then again and the doors shattered, opening a hole inside the closed elevator.

"Augh!" John groaned as the stone of the elevator fell around on the floor, dust collecting around him. He turned around, staring at the two other people who were back in the corner quietly talking, "are you two done with therapy? I think I found the way out!"

You shook your head with a smile. John's gaze flickered to you from the two people and then back onto them. Yelena and Bob exchanged last few words and then Bob was the first to move towards where you three stood. Yelena a few seconds afterwards, she stood by herself for a moment.

"Hey, Bob," you said to the man as he came closer towards you, standing just a step beside you. His haze flickered up to you and a small smile formed itself on his lips.

"Hi... Sorry, we were just talking," he replied with a small smile, staring down at his feet.

"Why are you apologizing? You're allowed to talk with whoever you want, whenever and about whatever. We don't care here, really," you glanced up at him, lips tugging into a small smile. He raised his head back up, his eyes making their way onto yours. A small soft chuckle earning itself out of him. He stood pretty close, you could feel the warmth radiating off him. From the corner of your eye, you noticed Yelena stopping just beside Ava, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Come on. There's an opening on the top. Look!" John commented as he stood inside the now brokenly opened elevator. He opened it with his hands and jumped up through the hole. You walked inside just behind him and he raised his hand down to help you up. He lifted up through the opening and helped you stand on top of the elevator. Then he helped Ava up and next to go up was Bob. Then the last one was Yelena. As the girl was pulled up, John let go off the opening and it slammed itself shut. Trapping you inside a long elevator shaft which leaded into absolute darkness upwards into the sky.

Yelena looked up and let out a long sigh at the sight above her. She turned towards the other four people in front of her and breathed out, "so... None of us can fly?"

"Do we all just punch and shoot?" she looked around at the other people, narrowing eyes at all of them. You shrug at her and look up at the long distance above you. You couldn't definitely make out where the shaft ended, the darkness hiding its end.

"I mean—We can kill you off and you can throw us a rope from the top when you reappear," John turned to you and said. You raised your brows at the man, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Do you have absolutely no concept of time?" you turned to him, disbelief on your face, "we've been stuck down there so much longer—"

"The first thing that comes to your mind is to kill someone?" Ava turned towards John who just snickered and lifted his shoulders in a careless shrug.

"It's okay. Don't worry, I got this," John then stepped forward into the middle of a small circle you all have made as you stood on top of the elevator. He crounched and then jumped. He leaped into the air, disappearing into the darkness. He jumped so high that you coulldn't even see him. Then, suddenly, a loud noise began to make its way down the shaft and a silhouette of a falling man came into the view.

You and others instinctively stepped back as the man neared the elevator's ground. John hit the elevator with a loud noise, the shield rattling against his back as it made contact with the metal of the elevator. A groan left his lips, laying on his back. All four of you stared down at the man in amusement, Bob stared more with a fright.

"You should try that again," Ava looked down at the fallen man. Yelena stared open-mouthed with amusement at his fall right next to the other woman. You chuckled at the woman's words.

"We're pretty far down here," he grumped as he pushed himself off the elevator's top back onto his feet, letting out a pained groan. Yelena was smiling at him with delight, her smile stretching on her face, showing off her teeth.

"Hey, hey! Okay... Why don't you," he started to weirdly motion his hands in front of his face, "walk up through the walls or whatever and just throw us a rope down?"

"Yeah—" Yelena turned to the other woman and started to agree with the shielded man.

Ava snapped her head from John to Yelena, "well, first of all. Someone other than you have to ask me and second of all, I have to know where I'm going. Cause I've never been able to hold it longer than a minute. So, I'd get just lost in the ocean of dirt and then I'll be crushed to death! Alright?" she turned her head from side to side, explaining her situation to the two people on her side. You tried not to chuckle at the situation, standing side by side with Bob in front of them.

"Just a minute?" John asked with a grimace.

"Oh, shut up!" Ava grimaced back at him and snapped at the man with annoyance. You looked up, staring at the darkness above your heads, the never ending elevator shaft rising up. Yelena put her head into her hand, closing her eyes in defeat, "oh my god, we suck."

"We really do," you shrugged your shoulders. But at that, the man beside you moved and cleared his throat awkwardly. You looked up at him and so did the others.

"Uh... I have an idea," he edgily said, unsure with his own idea or pick of the words. Hesitation lingering in the edge of his voice. You furrowed your brows at him and he looked down at you. Awkwardly smiling at you, "okay. What's your idea, Bob?"

"Right. What is your idea, Bob?" John repeated your question irksomely, staring at the other man right in front of him. Glaring at him with an a straight gaze.

And then, before you could fully process how it happened, the five of you were pressed together in the strangest configuration you’d ever found yourself in. In your entire life. It was worse than any of the unusual and weird exercises you had to endure during your stay at the experimental facility back in your country. All of your backs were touching. Backs against backs, legs extended in front of you, arms interlinked, the shape vaguely resembling a starfish if someone saw your situation right now. It was a ridiculous idea, you had to admit. But it was actually working and you were making an actual progress in getting out of there.

You all moved up in slow and steady moves, shoving your feet against the shaft’s slick metal walls, using each other’s weight and friction to make your way higher to the end of the shaft. It was slow and awkward, your boots slipping against the metal walls of the elevator shaft.

"Left, right! Left, right!" the sounds were repeated every few minutes, you don't even bother to recognize which voice is repeating the words now.

"Ew, which one of you is wet?" Yelena groaned in disgust, her arms looped in yours. Bob turned his head and then quicklt turned it back, "I–I run hot, sorry," Bob awkwardly apologized.

"And someone has a weird hard butt!" grunted next to you, his voice breathy. His other arm was looped through yours, his side brushing against yours. You were stuck between Yelena and John.

"It's not my butt! It's my suit," Ava turned her head towards John and muttered angrily.

"Well... You need to get a new suit," Yelena next to you offered an advice to the other woman. You rolled your eyes at their interaction, continuing to hold your weight with your legs against the metal walls in front of you. Sweat slowly dripping between your eyebrows, down your nose.

"Oh, pardon me for the inconvenience! I mean, I've only spent my entire life in it. Hooked on machines, so I could create this physical cage for my material body to stop from disintegrating at all times! Yeah, I'm sorry about that!" Ava snapped back at the John, defending herself and her own suit. Her voice sharp, but very breathy from the climbing.

Yelena started to laugh next to you, "hey! You don't want to start the whole sob-story game. I win!" she proudly said, "enslaved child assassin over here!"

"Well, you were just a kid. So..." John said from beside you, which made Yelena scoff at his words and snap at him, "oh, so that's a good thing now?"

"I just think it might be nice to know that you didn't know you were a one," John quickly added, grunting beaide you as one of his boots slid a bot down.

"Oh, thanks. I feel way better now," Yelena replied with a dry tone.

"Oh, are we really doing this? Well, I have died over hundreds of times and I'm still fucking alive. I've drowned, got shot, got exposed to high radiaton and I could continue until I won't be even able to count my deaths on my fingers!" you grunted as you moved upwards with the others, entering the sob-story game along with others.

Then, John's voice cut through the breatthing of others and the sound of boots against the metal walls, "have you ever fallen down an elevator shaft?" he asked with a sarcastic tone. Then he proceeded to add another remark to it, "because that might be your next death."

Your body stilled for a second and then you turned your head to look at him, eyes narrowing.

"What?" you said, your voice full of disbelief at his words. Yelena groaned beside you and muttured something under her nose, something containing the name of the mentioned man and a cuss word.

The other woman, Ava, turned her head towards John as well, her eyes wide, "what the hell is wrong with you?"

"I’m just saying—she will reappear anyway, so why not—” John started to defend his point but Bob was quick to cut him off before he said anything else.

"No," he sternly said, which made John shut his mouth at the sudden new voice in the conversation, "you don't get to pretend it's painless just because she comes back. She feels every second of it."

"Thanks, Bob," you grunted and turned your head slightly, your eyes catching his. The ones, which are already staring at you from over his own shoulder.

"Quit it!" Ava suddenly chimed loudly, which made everyone stop their climbing. Everyone stopped and let out a long pained groans and breaths. Everyone's boots scraped against the metal walls in the sudden halt. A quick stop.

A chorus of strained breaths followed by. Nearly everyone groaned, low and gruffly. Bob exhaled a long sigh that stretched on. John beside you shifted, adjusting his bent knees. Yelena on your other side huffed out a hot breath and looked down, underneath her body, where the elevator laid on the floor. You were a good few metres above it. Bob looked up, the darkness still sitting in the high, no sight of an exit. Everyone took a moment for another set of breathings and then exchanged few 'okay's' and continued the climbing.

After another few minutes, Ava chimed in as she looked down under his legs, "this is crazy! I cannot even see the floor!"

"We are not talking about how height we are. I'm just not great with heights," Bob quickly stammered, shaking his head as he stared at the wall before him. Your legs were shaking now, your shoulders sore from holding too tight at the people around you.

"Hey! I think I see the door," suddenly sounded from John on your right. Everyone stopped and looked up, breathing like they had run a marathon. Sweat on their faces.

"Ahh... Now, what?" Yelena on your left then said, looking at the opened doors on her side a bit higher. Her face scrunched as she stared at the empty space, thinking of a plan on how to get everyone safely up that door, which dropping anyone down the long height elevator shaft.

"I guess... One of us should go... First?" Ava started to say, her words not right on her tongue. She looked around and down at the looped arms.

"But then the other four immediately fall!" Yelena exclaimed, furrowing her brows. John beside you made a face and stared up at the door, "awh, shit!"

"Ah, um... Sorry. I guess I didn't really think this far," Bob sulked down, glumness in his voice as he apologized.

"Genius plan, Bobby!" John yelled out from beside you, his shoulders trembling against your own. You turned your head slightly to the side to quickly defend the other man, "calm down, John... We—We can work this out."

A very quiet phrase caught your ears from beside you, such a quiet voice that you could nearly not catch it. It was Bob whispering to himself, it tightened at your chest, "always making things worse."

"Those bloody boots... I don't think I can hold on this much longer," Ava roared, her boots slipping against the straight metal wall in front of her.

"Okay. Hand me your baton, I can reach there," John said to Yelena, nodding his head towards the empty space above.

"What? No way! You're just gonna leave us!" Yelena quickly exclaimed loudly, snapping her head towards the aide at John. Her head bumping into your shoulder, "okay... Spin us around and I can latch us on!"

"I'm not spinning us around! Someone has to—" John was quickly cut off by the most random thing that was ever yelled out.

"Cucumber, cucumber, cucumber!"

"What the hell is happening?" Yelena asked, her voice caled with confusion. You turned your head kver your shoulder, seeing Bob tremble in a weird way. You narrowed your eyes at him, "are you okay?"

"Growing up, somebody told me that you could stop a sneeze if you confused your brain. So I always just yell cucumber," Bob quickly explained the situation, shaking his head towards stop the sneeze. Yelena grimaced at that, "okay..."

"I need to sneeze, but you know, if I sneeze I will loose the control," Bob added, his voice higher than before, trying to not let the sneeze come through.

"Okay, I can get us all out of here. I just need to go first!" John hurriedly yelled out, whoch made you groan out beside him, gripping your looped arm through his.

"Absolutely no! You're gonna leave us, John!" you muttured to him, frustration lacing your voice, your arm tightly looped around his. Ava was quickly to jump at John's words as well, "no, no, no, no, no, no! There must be another way!"

Then there was this weird sound coming from Bob. From your peripheral vision, you could see him raising his head and shaking. His face scrunched, his eyes screwed shut. He was about to sneeze!

"Cucumber!" you were the first to yell out. Then Yelena and Ava joined in. Both of the women yelling cucumber on top of their voices, trying to not let Bob sneeze and drop his strength in his legs, which would lead to all five of you to fall down. They had both turned their heads towards Bob, yelling the name of the vegetable at him.

John was the first one to break up from the group, he started to yell and turning around, his hand reaching over to Yelena's strapped batons on her back, "okay! okay! Just give me that! I got it!"

His hand shot towards Yelena’s back, yanking one of her batons out of its strap. The entire human star-fish that you were forming had then crumpled in an instant. John unhooked his arms from yours and Ava's. You cried out as you slid down, your boots sliding down the metal wall. The gravity pulling you down.

Somewhere above you, John launched himself off and slammed the baton across the narrow mouth of the open space of the edge of the door, hooking it over the edge to not let himself fall. But the rest of you were falling. Down the elevator space, soon to hit the ground. Screams errupted all around.

Ava was thankfully the quickest one, she pulled out her weapon and started ripping it down as she started to fall to her death. The end of the weapon making its own grip on the metal wall, letting her not fall down. She yelled out, her whole body clenching around the weapon.

Yelena above twisted her body, falling straight towards the other woman. She flung herself against Ava's back, her arms wrapping themselves around her back. Both of the women yelled out at the contact. Yelena then twisted her body and let herself fall backwards, her legs twisting and looping to hold herself around Ava's own legs. She dropped herself, so she was upside down.

Bob was falling just then. The woman raised one of her grappling shooter darts and shot out towards Bob. It wrapped itself around the man's ankle as he was falling just past the both women. The cord wrapped itself tightly around his ankle and jerked him. Not letting him fall. His body swung but then eased as he stayed innthe air, hanging by the cord wrapped around one of his legs.

Then it was you. You were furthest from all. There was nothing near, nothing under or before your hands. Your hands outstretched. Searching for anything to grab onto. Your legs kicked in the air, trying to catch the wall or at least something near. You tried to reach your arm towards Ava and Yelena as they were etched on the wall as you fell past, but no luck. They were too far.

But then.

A hand reached out.

Bob's hand wrapped itself tightly around your arm. He let out a ragged yell as his fingers tighted their hold on your wrist, both of your bodies jerking at the contact. Him swinging on the cord, "got you!" he yelled out, breathless.

Hit grip was tight. He was hanging upside down by the cord wrapped around his ankle. You were dangling under him, his fingers wrapped around your wrist, your legs underneath you with absolutely nothing underneath them. A pressure built in your shoulder, right where you were shot. You wheezed out and yelled out at the man in instant, "don't let go of me!"

"I won't! I won't!" he repeated, screaming back at you. His eyes wide and mouth opened with a breathless sound leaving his lips. His face red and sweaty, his arm trembling slightly. The ends of his hair sticking to his forehead. Then he scrunched his face and let out a sneeze. Shaking his head as he did so, not letting his grip falter though. Tightly holding your wrist to not let you fall.

Above you, you noticed John was gone. No longer hanging by the edge of the door with the baton. But then, you blinked past where Bob still clung to you and you saw it. A pale streak suddenly dropped from the open doorway above. It was a white fire hose and it dropped right where Ava was.

Just then, John’s face leaned over the edge where the white hose dropped from, "wrap it around yourself!” he yelled down at the four of you, "I’ll pull you guys up!”

Ava reached for the hose with one hand, the other still gripping her staff embedded into the wall, trying to not let go of it. She twisted it around herself tightly, looping it under her arms and across her torso, wrapping it all around herself.

John grunted as he planted his feet and began to haul the women up. Ava’s feet scraped the shaft wall while Yelena clung to her knees, swinging slightly. You and Bob started to raise as well as Yelena was holding the grappling shooter.

As Ava neared the edge, John crouched, reaching down towards her. Then he outstre his hand to her and yanked Ava up. She gripped his hand and held herself up onto the floor past the door. She turned to John and snapped at him through her teeth, "selfish prick!"

"Yeah! You're all safe," he commented, leaning down towards the hole where now was Yelena waiting to be rescued up.

"I made a tactical decision to secure my own safety and then ensure all of yours," he said proudlg as he clasped his hand into Yelena's, pulling her up to the floor. She made a face at him and pulled her baton out of John's reach, where he had it stuck behind his back where his shield was.

He turned towards Yelena at that, "pretty ungrateful if you ask me but..." he sheugged and turned back towards the elevator hole, where you and Bob were hanging. The white hose around Bob's whole torso, the cord no longer around his ankle. The white hose was around you as well, but Bob's fingers were still gripping your wrist. Your legs dangling in the plain air.

"You'll make it, Bobby?" John yelled down towards where the other man was. Bob reached up, holding himself against the white stripe of hose, his other free hand gripping the dge of the floor. He put his whole arm over the edge and John leaned closer to him.

"Look like you might have missed a leg and chest day," John commented sarcastically down at Bob. The mentioned man then looked down at you and slowly let go of your hand, the white hose tightly wrapped around your body. Then above you, John pushed his hand forward, letting Bob clasp it around his. Then the shielded-man pulled him up onto the floor behind the edge.

Bob got onto his feet with a grunt, pushing himself right up. Bob turned around towards you, crouching down and holding out his hand again. You gave him a grateful smile and reached up with your free arm, gripping his hand tightly. With another solid grunt, he pulled you to your feet. You stumbled slightly, your shoulder bumping into John, who didn’t even flinch. He looked like he was lost. Staring ahead at the wall before him.

You blinked at him as you finally stood on the ground, "John?"

His eyes didn't move, like he did not hear you at all. Bob stood just beside you, casting a brief look between you and the shielded man. You sighed and looked bakc at Bob and started to walk away. You were near Ava when Yelena suddenly stopped. She halted and twisted on her heel, staring at the forgotten man. “Walker?” she called out, frowning.

Then he quickly turned around. He flinched at first, confusion showing its hints on his face. He turned towards the sound of Yelena's voice, staring at her. His eyes were different, confused, maybe scared. He didn't speak, just stared at her. Then he looked back, making a step towards where he turned. His feet came to the edge of the elevator, the hole just a small step before him. He stared down at the hole and then quickly flinched, stepping backwards, away from the dark hole below.

"What the hell are you doing?" she pointed her palm at him, confused over his acting. Her eyes narrowed at him. He turned back towards her and gulped. Then he put on a proud confident smirk and said, "I'm fine."

Bob next to you tensed, staring right at John. John caught his eye and stared at him. You felt the hospital clothed man's shoulder graze yours as he shifted on his feet when they both caught an eye contact. Bob was quick to turn away from the gaze of the shielded man. Tension lingering in the air somewhere around.

You stepped forward from beside Bob, his shoulder grazing yours again. You turned towards Ava, who was now opening the first set of the doors by the entrance.

The doors slid open and the strip of hallway light pooled into the room you were in. Ava peeked through, her eyes narrowed at the opening doors in front of her. You crept closer, joining Ava’s side. You leaned just enough to see beyond the hallway. And your stomach dropped at the sight in front of your eyes. Outside the next set of glass doors were people. It was packed. At least half a dozen armored cars lined the far edge. Armed guards stood in formation around the entrance and further away. They were helmed and definitely bulletproof with their weapons ready and raised like they were expecting a monster to come out.

"Oh, shit," you muttured as you looked at the hundreds of bulletproof cars and geared up soldiers outside. The others, Yelena, Bob, John and Ava huddled closer to you, peeking from behind the wall as well. Peering carefully around the corner. Yelena was the first to step away, then Bob, Ava and John. You stayed looking at the scene in front of you for a moment longer, but then moved towards where others stood, hiding behind the wall to not be seen.

"We need to come up with a plan," Yelena ihaled through her teeth, walking around, thinking of a plan.

"This is what we're going to do—" John started, stepping forward with his arms in the air.

"Oh, you're the boss now. Cute," Ava snapped at John before he could finish. John narrowed his eyes at her, tilting his head slightly, "oh, yeah. It's your only chance to get out of here, so..."

"Only chance?" you chuckled at him with a dry laugh, which earned you a sharp side look from the man. John narrowed his eyes at you like he was offended. He looked like he really wanted to snap back a remark at you.

"Oh, I think I might just surrender probably," Bob chimed in with an awkward chuckle at the end of his sentence.

"Okay. Fine. Every man for himself!" John shrugged, smirking slightly at the hospital clothed man before him.

"Why should you be in the charge?" Yelena stepped forward and asked, then she raised her hand and pointed towards the broken down elevator shaft, "you almost killed all of us right there."

"Well. Let's see... I've been in the trenches of every war-torn country on this planet, rescued God knows how many hostages, and shook the hands of two U.S. presidents... What else?" John started to name his achievements to prove himself worthy to be the leader of this small group. You raised your brows at him and frowned up at him, Bob next to you just stared ahead at the man. Ava shook her head in utter disbelief and let out a breath.

"Oh! High school state football champions. Back to back to back! Go bears!" John added a very useless achievement of his to this list, which made you roll your eyes. Bob next to you just sighed and looked down at his feet. Yelena next to him gasped sarcastically at John, "oh, wow!"

"When I was five, I was at a pee-wee soccer team called West Chesapeake Valley Thunderbolts, sponsored by Shane's tire shop! We won zero games and one time this girl called Mindy, she did a poo in mid-field!" Yelena enthusiastically started to talk about her childhood soccer team, more in a sarcastic way. She then turned towards where you and the others stood, "anyone else has a pointless childhood stories to tell?"

"Grew up in a lab prison," Ava, who was leaning herself with her arm against the wall raised her other rhand and shared her childhood experience.

"Meth-addicted sign twirling chicken... It was a summer job," Bob was next to share hit very pointless, but kind of hilarious, childhood story he had experienced.

"My city flew into the sky, exploded when the Avengers tried to save it and then... fell back into the ground and I was trapped in a room and couldn't get out," you smiled at the others as you were the last one ot share your pointless story. Ava nodded a few times during your talk, Yelena smirked at you in amusement.

"Okay. Great! Here's the plan," Yelena hen started to say, which made John shake his head but move closer to the woman to listen to her ideal plan on getting out of there, "we set off an explosion to bring them in—"

John was once again the first to cut her off, "no, no, no, no... Too many variables in the explosion."

"They turn on their night vision. You handle the first wave, but you wait for me after I've blinded the remaining troops," she added, pointing her palm sideaways, explaining her point and plan. John is shaking his head and you raise your brows at him.

"So, I'm just gonna wait for you?" he frowns at the blonde woman. She widens her eyes at him, "it will only work if you wait."

John rolled his eyes and muttured under his nose, "super plan..."

Yelena then turned to the side where Ava was leaning against the wall a moment before and spoke to her, "Ava, you find an escape vehicle..." but she was already phasing away, off to find the vehicle. Yelena's sentence dying in her throat.

Bob turned around and looked at the now-empty space next to him and made a face. He blinked at the empty spot. Then he turned back and his shoulder once again bumping itself against yours. He muttured a small apology but didn't move nor step away. His head raised towards you and then his eyes flickered to Yelena. He asked excitedly with a slight hesitation, "and what about me?"

"You... stay behind me, Bob," Yelena stared forward for a beat but then turned her head to side at the man. She then pulled out a sort of technical bomb out of her vest and pressed a button on it, activating it.

Suddenly, heavy footsteps sounded from before you. John moved towards where you, Bob and Yelena stood. He came right in front of you and pointed a finger at you, his eyes fixated into yours when you lifted your head, "you're coming with me."

It wasn't a question.

Yelena nodded, "Let's do this."

Yelena threw the bomb near the entrance, the blinking red lights flashing. With a sharp toss, she flung it near the glasses closed door at the entrance. Without turning back, she made her way to where the electrical room should be, she glaced over Bob and motioned him to follow her, "come on, Bob."

Bob stiffened slightly beside you, then finally peeled himself away. His shoulder once again grazed your arm. He followed after Yelena, both disappearing into the the vault to find the electrical room and restore power after the bomb explodes in a few moments. After they left, it was just you and Walker.

He stood a few feet away and looked right where Yelena and Bob left. Then he nodded and as well motioned you to follow him deeper into the vault, hide behind one of the walls.

“Oregon all over again, huh?” he said, low and casual, turning his head over his shoulder to catch your gaze. You scoffed and sent him a nasty glare. You moved behind him, "I didn't even know you were on that mission too."

He let out a chuckle and turned towards a wall on the left, hiding behind the corner. As you rounded the corner, standing just beside him. The explosion had came through. The explosion rocked the ground beneath you. A low rumble echoed through the vault halls as the entrance got blown out. The lights went out and it was dark. Just like Yelena wanted.

With one swift motion, you reached down to your thigh, fingers wrapping around the cold metal grip of your gun. You yanked the pistol free from your leg holster. You cocked it and raised it with your arms bent, waiting for the first troops to come through.

John who was just beside you slipped his helmet over his head and quickly buttoned it under his chin. He raised his arm over his back and pulled out his shield, putting it onto his forearm.

You didn't have a helmet. You really didn't need one. If they shot you in the forehead, like the mentioned man with shield did before, you would die and just reappear. Brand new with no shot dripping in the middle of your head.

You had a tactical armor clothing, similar to what they have in military. Really similar to the troops thay are outside right now, but it wasn't that dark black. The fabric was kind of a deep grey rather than a full black. Over it sat a black tactical vest, snug against your chest. Across your waist, a matching black tactical belt held more equipment, better to reach when you need it in a quick matter of a second. On your thigh was a black holster clung tightly, it was sitting empty right now. The gun now in your hand. The grey fabric near your shoulder was darker now. From the blood. Dried into the fabric, the shot you took had left its mark, nearly brown-red against grey.

John shifted beside you, crouched lower behind the wall. His shield was up, angled in front of both of you. You stood just beside him. You squinted your eyes in the darkness, looking for any flicker of a movement.

Then suddenly, you heard footsteps. It was the troops coming. You looked over to John on your side and he nodded at you, letting you know that he hears them as well. You adjusted your grip on your gun, raising it higher in front of you. You kept your eyes in front of you on the hallway, listening. Distant muffled stamp of heavy boots echoing off the vaults hallway walls.

"Wait for Yelena to turn on the lights..." you reminded the man beside you. He angled his head to the side, catching your eye. He sneered quietly, but nodded. He then looked back forward, listening and waiting for them.

Suddenly, a bright red laser flashed onto the wall before you. They wre in the hallway just one away from you. John stood higher now. You waited for the lights, so did John. It was taking her a lot of time. You clenched your jaw and waited, moving slightly backwards to not get caught in the night-vision of the troops.

Another series of loud series of boots against the floor sounded. They were closer than before.

"Turn on the lights, Yelena..." muttered John quietly next to you through his teeth. Frustration lacing his words as he looked at the nearing pointed red lasers of their guns.

"Have to do everything myself," he finally snapped, his eyes snapped up to yours and nodded, "and you as well."

You smirked at him and nodded as well. The guards were just few steps away. He launched himself first into the hallway, you were right behind him.

He slammed into the first two guards like a literal train. His shield making contact with their fronts. One of them got sent flying back, colidding with another one behind him. You darted from behind the shielded man with your gun raised. You jumped onto one of the man's back, your gun coming just on that one small uncovered spot behind his head at his neck. You put the barrel of the gun there and shot him, his knees bending and falling onto the floor.

John slammed his shield into another man's shoulder, who had his gun raised. You jumped off the crumpled man and shot two clean shots at another person in front of you, it hit him into his knees and he as well fell forward. His knees hit the floor and you quickly took a chance to shoot him. Another man jumped at you, his gun shooting at you and you were quickly took dodge the bullets. You dropped behind one of the unconscious man that John had knocked down. You pulled out a knife from your belt and threw it straight at the man. It hit him into his neck and he was quick to put his hand over it and yell out in agony. You launched yourself at him and punched him into stomach, he leaned forward and then you kicked the knife in his neck deeper. John got another two armed troops and sent them flying across the hallway, both of them tumbling onto the floor with their rifles on the floor. You shot the last one into his arm, which made him drop his rifle. John was quick to throw his shield into his head and knocked him out. There were no more conscious defenders left, all of them dead or knocked down on the floor.

"Where the hell are they?" you muttured frustratedly, putting your gun into your other hand. Breathing out a breath as you looked at the man beside you who was as well frustrated as you were.

"Change. Take their suits, so we blend in," he quickly stated and walked towards one of the unconscious man and started to rip of the armor and helmet off him. You moved after him. Unstrapping the chest armor and pulling off the matte black helmet of one of the unconscious men.

Beside you, John was already halfway changed, slipping the guard’s reinforced vest over his own suit. You pulled the suit over your own clothes, strapping the padding over your arms and legs, tightening the helmet strap beneath your chin. John pulled the helmet on as well and strapped his helmet on. You adjusted your new gear and looked over to John, who was waiting for you. You both grabbed the troops' rifles and then moved away from the bodies.

Boots against concrete, armor softly clinking as a new unit approached. You glanced at John. He gave the slightest nod. John pulled slightly away from the wall and began to move with the group. You waited for him to pass, then slid in smoothly behind him. The group turned a sharp corner up ahead towards the very same corridor you just had came from and where their colleagues laid. As you navigated tighter into the middle of the group, John subtly leaned towards you.

"Stay close to me. Don't get lost in them," his voice cut through his helmet, "I don't want you to die here on me."

You smirked underneath the helmet, "Oh, please. I'll just reappear," you whispered to him back.

Suddenly, the few soldiers in the front started to shoot gas-bombs out of their weapons. Gas canisters launched from their rifles and smoke filled the hallway.

You narrowed your eyes as two of the soldiers leading the formation dropped, one after the other. Chaos broke down. Then, through the blur of gas, you caught a glimpse of something. Or rather someone. A flash of movement high above the ground.

It was Yelena.

She overleaped through the smoke filling the hallway and kicked them. Her legs kicking into the geared troops before her. A gas mask was obscuring her face to not inhale anything from the gas. Behind her was Bob. He looked bewildered as he was crounching slightly behind the girl. Shielded by her body. Your chest tightened. Strange tug at your ribs. Relief flooded your system sharper than adrenaline. You started to care for that boy. More than you wanted to admit.

You snapped to the side and grabbed John by his arm. Tugging him sharply to the side.

"This way. Come on, come on,” you muttered, dragging the two of you around the edge of the hallway, away from the fightingn group. You weren’t going to risk getting caught in friendly fire by both of the teams. You heard many shots coming to an end so you pulled him back from where you came from.

You rounded the corner and noticed Yelena and Bob standing with their backs to you. The dead troops around them. Your light on your rifle shined upon them and Yelena quickly snatched the gun from Bob's uncertain hands and turned it towards you. Gunfire errupted. You shrieked when the bullets started to go your way. Violent barks of gunshots streaming right at you. John was quick to jump in front of you and angle his shield in front of the two of you. His body slammed in front of you like a wall.

He started screaming, "no, no! Stop, stop stop!" the bullets falling against the shield in front of you.

"It's me! It's us! John—" he barked loudly, ripping his helmet off his head as the gunfire eased when his voice carried over to the two in front of them.

"Where were you?" Yelena furiously yelled out at the man and then looked at you with wide eyes.

"Where were you?" John barked back at her, throwing his hands into the air. You standing just beside him. You ripped the helmet off your head and shook it. Your face definitely flushed. You caught sight of Bob beside Yelena. He started to take his own gas-mask off and his eyes caught yours. A smile spread on his lips as he noticed you. Then he surprisingly gave you a small awkward wave, which you returned.

"The explosion fried the wires!" Yelena growled angeily at the man. John furiously shook his head and stepped forward, "I told you. Too many variables. I knew it."

Yelena then pointed her finger angrily at him, her face flushed and angry, "and you two didn't wait!"

"We did wait and then—" John started to bark out again, but was cut off as a voice ringed out in the comms, one which he had stolen from the dead soldiers, that he had in his ears.

"We probably have about 60 seconds until they mobilize. If the Ghost-Lady actually did what she was supposed to do. Maybe we'll all get out of here alive," John looked down at you and then back at the two other people in front of him.

"Suit up," you commented and stepped forward. Motioning your rifle at the unconscious soldiers on the floor. Bob looked down puzzledly, a bemused expression on his features as he took in the floor. He hovered uncertainly. Yelena nodded and leaned down to get the gear off them. She dropped beside a soldier, removing his helmet and weapons, checking the comms and any other gears.

Bob gave a grunt on the floor as he tried to buckle himself into a vest that was just slightly too small for his frame. You chuckled at the sight and came over to him, kneeling just beside his crouching form. You zipped it up for him and strapped the straps on his chest, "is it okay?"

He flushed a bit red in his cheeks and nodded few times. You grabbed a helmet off the unconscious man and dragged it onto Bob's head. His curls falling just over his eyes which made him blink a few times. Then, when the helmet was perched on his head just right, you softly lifted his chin. He gulped as your fingers touched his chin. You did it softly. You buckled it under his chin and then smiled down at him.

"Yeah. Y-Yeah. Perfect. Totally f-fine," he nodded too quickly. After a beat passed, he quickly added, "thanks..."

You rose to your feet and offered him your hand to help him stand up from his crouching position. He took it and his fingers brushed yours. He smiled at you shyly and gladly took your hand and stood up onto his full height. Now taller than you.

Bob adjusted his helmet awkwardly. You stood just beside him and then turned towards John and Yelena, who were discussing something. Definitely something about the plan for leaving. John noticed you staring and motioned you and Bob to come closer. You nudged the man beside you with your elbow and the both of you moved forward towards them. Bob falling just a half a step behind you, as if he was hiding like a baby deer.

"Bob. You are hurt and we are taking you out," Yelena explains to Bob, who eagerly nods. Happy to be helping. She then turned towards you, telling you your next position, "you're keeping an eye on us, stay behind us and keep your rifle on you."

You nodded as well and they both reached for Bob. John swung the man's arm over his shoulders and so did Yelena, both of them nearly dragging him. You stood behind them, your helmet back on and your rifle tightly gripped in your fingers.

The four of you stepped outside into the colder night air surrounded by uncountable amount of geared up troops with firearms.

hope you liked this! if yes, comments and feedback are really appreciated! <3

TGALIST: @qardasngan , @one17 , @ren-ni , @werewolfgirl1995 , @mysticdelusionengineer

#bob reynolds #bob reynolds x fem!reader #bob reynolds x oc #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x y/n #bob reynolds x you #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #robert reynolds #bob reynolds fic #robert reynolds x you #robert reynolds x reader #marvel #thunderbolts fanfic #thunderbolts x you #thunderbolts x reader #tumblr writers #thunderbolts x y/n

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beapeas · 2 days ago

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Mission Casualties

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Work Count: 2k

Summary: A failed mission leads to Steve and Reader being in explosion. Bucky is furious that Reader put Steve in danger like that. Or is he really upset that the girl he likes was in danger?

It was supposed to be an easy mission. A simple three person job that only required you, Steve, and Bucky. Get in, get the documents, get out. Nothing you hadn’t done before. But things changed, fast. Nobody was supposed to be there. But the building was full of conspirators ready to fight back. Bucky and Steve fended them off outside, but you saw a way in. You couldn’t have known that you were going to set off an explosion, and you couldn’t have known that Steve would take the brunt of it.

All you remember is the silence after. Listening for Bucky, knowing he would always come find you. The pounding in your head didn’t start until after Steve and Bucky dragged your half-conscious body to the helicopter. Your ears rang. Steve was covered in dust rubble, like the explosion had been right in his face. But he was standing, and he was okay. He took his seat as the helicopter took off for the compound. You sat slumped on the floor, realizing the mission had failed. You waited for Bucky to come sit by you, to make a joke and check on you, like he always did. You needed him to. Bucky had something else going on, though. He stood in the back of the helicopter, arms crossed, staring daggers at you. You can’t think of any time his anger has been pointed at you before. It was jarring.

“Are you out of your damn mind?” He hissed. You just stared back, trying to figure out if he was really talking to you.

“Bucky,” Steve countered, trying to ease the tension. Something rolled down your face. You weren’t sure if it was sweat or blood.

“Why didn’t you stick to the plan? We don’t make plans for entertainment!” Bucky began, his eyes never leaving yours. You shrink into yourself, clutching your throbbing side.

“The plan went out the window the second we got here, I was just trying to complete our mission,” You explained. You kept your voice low, you were so dizzy and speaking any louder just might make you puke. You wouldn’t look weak in front of Bucky, though. Despite your spinning head, you sat up straight and faced him.

“I don’t care about the mission anymore. You basically blew up Steve! Do you have any regard for your teammates? For their safety?”

“He’s a Super Soldier, he’s gonna be fine,” you argued. It was a perfectly valid point, one that was proven just by looking at him. Upright and alert. “I was just doing my job.”

“Yeah, well maybe this isn’t the job for you,” With that, Bucky turned his back to you. There was a pang in your chest, like something inside of you had cracked wide open. Sure, you weren’t close with Bucky in the way that Steve was, but he always treated you with quiet, intentional care. You’d been with the avengers for almost a year, but Bucky made sure you didn’t feel like an outsider, or a newbie. Until now. Your eyes burned, and you couldn’t tell if it was from the ash that had been raining over you only minutes ago, or tears trying to escape. You looked at Steve, wondering if he heard the same thing as you. He gazed down at you sympathetically, silently telling you not to listen to him. You put your head down and stayed silent for the duration of the flight.

The rest of the day was a blur. The adrenaline wore off and suddenly, everything hurt. You were visited by a doctor who declared that you had a concussion and three cracked ribs, along with some other minor cuts and bruises. Steve got you settled in your bed. He made sure there was food and water in reach, as well as a pile of blankets, the TV remote, and your phone so you could reach him for anything else. Meanwhile from Bucky, radio silence. You didn’t have time to dwell though, the pain medicine made you sleepy, and you crashed in record time.

You wake up some time the next morning. Your eyes adjusted to the light coming in through your curtains. You lock eyes with the glass of water Steve had left on your nightstand. As you move to reach for it, you’re reminded of your injuries, feeling as if there was barbed wire wrapped around your waist. You nearly reach the glass, but the pain is too much, and you tip it over instead of grabbing it. It doesn’t break, but the sound of it falling on your nightstand is enough to send someone running in.

“Bucky?” You ask, still unable to fully sit up and see who’s in your room. You hear a familiar voice.

“No,” Steve sighs as he steps into your view. He sits down on the edge of your bed and scans your wound’s for anything concerning. One of your cheeks was covered in a deep purple bruise, little cuts scattered all over your face. A brace sits on top of your tank top, binding your ribs together. You begin to remember the events of yesterday. “How are you feeling?” Steve asks.

“Like a bomb went off next to me,” you tried to joke. Steve lets out a stiff chuckle. “Is Bucky still mad at me?” You were almost afraid of the answer. Even more so when Steve takes his time to respond.

“He’s not mad at you. That whole thing yesterday, that was- misplaced.” Steve stumbled through his explanation. And you saw right through him. Bucky was most certainly mad at you.

Recovery was slow and boring. You read some books, watched some movies, slept a lot. Steve was by your side the whole time. He was the only one by your side. You were fond of him, really. But Bucky had always been your best friend on the team. And he was obviously avoiding you. It had been four days since he berated you for putting Steve in danger. Four days since you had heard anything from him. Every day, you asked Steve why he was so upset with you. Why he went from being so sweet to you to so cold he wouldn’t even come see you when you were bedridden. It hurt.

You didn’t want Steve to see you cry, but on the fifth day of replaying Bucky’s words in your head, you just lost it. “Maybe this isn’t the job for you.” Did he really believe that? You pressed a hand against your broken ribs, trying to control the pain as you heaved with tears.

“Why does he hate me?” You sobbed. Steve didn’t say anything in response. He just looked at you sadly and let you cry on his shoulder. Steve knew exactly what was going on. He knew Bucky better than anyone. He knew how stubborn and guarded he was, and how much he cared about you. He knew how freaked out Bucky was when you were in the explosion. And he knew Bucky took it out on you instead of telling you how he really felt. Most of all, he knew he couldn’t watch it happen any longer. Steve waited until you fell asleep that night, then he slipped out of your room and marched across the hall to Bucky’s. He knocked on the door and let himself in.

Bucky was sitting on the edge of his bed, meticulously cleaning his vibranium arm with a microfiber towel and a bottle of Windex.

“What’s up?” Bucky addresses Steve without looking up.

“Buck, you need to get over yourself.” At that, Bucky’s head shot up.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Y/N. She keeps asking me why you hate her, what’s wrong with her. How the heck am I supposed to respond to that?” Steve stood over Bucky, saying everything he’d been needing to say all week. Bucky just stared back, horrified. He knew she was mad at him, he hadn’t seen her out and about in the compound. But he never thought she was actually blaming herself. “I just spent my third night in a row watching her cry herself to sleep. Do you know how much it hurts to cry like that with three cracked ribs?” Steve went on. Bucky dropped his cleaning supplies and his metal arm onto his bed.

“She broke her ribs? She seemed fine on the helicopter,” He asked, a pang of guilt hitting him in his gut. Steve just nodded.

“And she has a concussion and half a purple face.” He stated matter-of-factly. “And you’d know that if you didn’t berate her then ignore her for a week.” Steve had to stop to catch his breath. Bucky held his head in his hand, processing what he had just heard.

“Oh my god, I’m such an asshole,” Bucky admitted. Steve plopped down on the bed next to him.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “And she knows you’re not actually worried about my safety. She just thinks you hate her. I told her a thousand times that that isn’t true, but she won’t take it from me.” Steve stood up and walked to the door. “Fix it.” He said before leaving.

Bucky was up for hours formulating words to say to you. He felt like an idiot. He knew you weren't really leaving your room, but he thought you were avoiding Bucky, not on bedrest. He managed to get a few hours of sleep, and when morning came he was at your door. He knocked softly. You were never much of a morning person, but with training you were finally used to being up early. You managed a soft “Steve?” Bucky cracked the door open and responded.

“Uh, no.” He closed the door behind him and hung back, waiting for you to tell him to leave. You didn’t, you just made your best effort to sit up in bed, wincing at each movement. Bucky took this time to take in the state of you. The bruises were fading, but they were still there. Your torso was wrapped in a tight brace that couldn’t be comfortable to sleep in. Your eyes were sad, sunken in, and tired

“What do you want?” You broke the silence coldly. Bucky sighed, knowing he deserved it. He approached your bedside and knelt beside you, still deciding what to say.

“I’m sorry,” He began. Your demeanor instantly shifted. No longer cold and distant, now sad and small. Your eyes gleamed as they met his. “I shouldn’t have said all those things on the helicopter. I didn’t mean any of it. You made a quick decision, you couldn’t have known there was an explosive. None of it was your fault.” Bucky stared at you, silently begging for a response. But something in your face said you weren’t satisfied.

“So why did you yell at me like that?” Your lips pouted like they always did when you were upset. Bucky tried not to focus on it.

“I was worried. Not about Steve, you were right, he’s a supersoldier. I’ve seen him get blown up so many times. I was worried about you. I don’t remember the last time I liked someone like I like you. And I have to go into missions with you all the time, knowing we’re putting ourselves in danger. It scares the shit out of me. I freaked out.” Bucky anxiously awaited a reaction from you. A counterpoint, a scoff, maybe even a slap in the face. But you laughed. Not a dry or cold laugh, an actual laugh. Bucky nervously smiled, happy that your reaction wasn’t totally vindictive.

“You like me?” You asked, a smile spreading across your face. Bucky smiled back and nodded.

“Yes, I like you.” He laughed this time, and you reached out for his hand.

“Well why didn’t you just say that?"

“Cause I’m a jackass,” he reasoned. This got a chuckle from you, and soon, you two were laughing together. The giggles were cut short when your ribs began to ache through the medicine, causing you to clutch your side and squeeze your eyes shut. Bucky instinctively reached out, resting his metal arm on your broken ribs. The cold vibranium eased some of the pain. He slid into bed next to you, never moving his hand from your side. You sighed contently, leaning back against Bucky’s shoulder.

“Hey Buck?” You asked, sinking into his side. He hummed in response. “I like you too.” You gazed into his eyes as he flashed a soft smile at you. Bucky planted a kiss onto your forehead, and pulled the blankets up over the two of you. As you started to doze back to sleep, you forgot all about the day on the helicopter.

#bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier #steve rogers #captian america #the avengers #thunderbolts

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mapsthewanderer · 3 days ago

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𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙

Details: 2500 words of unhinged venom-sucking debauchery. Heavily inspired by Heaven Official’s Blessing/Tian Guan Ci Fu, with a generous dose of creative liberties and one absolutely guttered brain. This is pure, feral filth. Turn back now if you value your innocence. For my fellow freaky weirdos—you know who you are. Aka 18+ stuff.

Features: fem!reader blood, venom, delirium, biting, dirty talk and two horni freaks who don’t even manage to undress (yeah—you know exactly what that means).

𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙

Bite | Caleb smut

The forest breathes around you—lush and wide and endless. Sun breaks through the canopy in molten streaks that dance across the mossy floor. Every leaf gleams green with life, dew still clinging to their undersides like glass beads. Somewhere above, a bird calls—a long, fluting note—and another answers it deeper in the trees.

Your boots crunch soft bark underfoot. The trail behind you disappeared a while ago, but you’re still moving, still following.

Still following Caleb.

He’s a few steps ahead, stepping over a fallen log, shoving aside branches with the back of his arm. His shirt’s dark with sweat between his shoulder blades, and his curls are sticking to the nape of his neck. He’s grinning—smug, focused, determined to find something.

“You said it was a ‘short detour,’” you call ahead. “We crossed a stream, Caleb. That’s not a detour. That’s a side quest.”

He glances over his shoulder, not slowing. “Detour. Side quest. Spiritual journey. All the same.”

You roll your eyes—but your smile lingers.

The stream wasn’t deep, but it was icy, mountain-fed and fast-moving. Caleb had taken off his boots to cross, held your hand the whole way like he didn’t trust the rocks under your feet. When you slipped anyway, he caught you—chest to chest in the spray, laughing—and then insisted you sit on a log while he found your bandaid tin and made you let him patch a scrape on your shin, even though he was the one who took a branch to the forearm pulling back the brambles for you minutes before.

“You gonna clean that?” you’d asked, pointing to the scratch blooming red along his forearm.

A shrug, careless. A bandaid slapped over it with the grace of a feral cat. “Nature’s kiss,” he’d said, smirking. “You, however, need medical attention.”

You rolled your eyes, but let him do it anyway.

Now, birds flit tree to tree—blue-feathered flashes vanishing between limbs. A deer watched you earlier, still and narrow-legged, half-hidden in the undergrowth. Everything smells like sun-warmed leaves, damp bark, and green.

And Caleb?

Still pushing deeper into the trees.

“You better not be lost,” you call, brushing a branch aside. “Or I swear to god I’m gonna leave you out here and let the moss reclaim your smug body.”

He grins without turning. “You wouldn’t. You’d miss me.”

“I’d sleep great.”

“You’d get halfway back to the trailhead and sob into your hydration tube like a tragic little camel.”

You’re already laughing, lifting a hand to swat him—when suddenly he slows, turns, and presses a kiss to your cheek.

Quick. Warm. Casual in a way that’s not casual at all.

You blink—mid-laugh, flustered, about to say something—

But then—

It happens too fast to understand.

A flash.

A snap.

A sting.

Just above the ankle—burning. White-hot. Sharp.

Everything shifts. The light. The forest. The rhythm of breath and birdsong stops.

“Hey—what? What’s wrong?” Caleb’s voice cuts in—tight, already laced with fear.

He’s there instantly, catching your fall, arms sliding around your waist as the moss rises to meet you. His hands tremble. Panic rides just beneath the calm.

“I’m— I think I—” you try to speak, try to point—but he’s already seen it.

His gaze drops.

Two small puncture marks bloom just above your bootline, purpling fast. Blood wells slow and dark.

Just beyond your heel, something rustles. A glistening tail vanishes into underbrush—thin, silent, coiled death retreating into shadow.

Jaw tight, face gone pale, Caleb tracks it with his eyes.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “It got you.” Then, sharper: “Don’t move. One breath too fast and it spreads.”

No teasing. No hesitation.

He moves—fast. Pack dropped. Knees in the dirt. Hands already on your leg—one braced under the calf, lifting it into his lap, the other securing your knee, grip firm and shaking.

“Caleb—?” The trees spin. Light fractures like stained glass above.

“Stay with me.” His voice—low, raw. “You’re gonna feel it. But don’t flinch. I need you here.”

He pulls his multitool from a side pocket. The blade flicks out with one swift motion—his teeth catching the hinge, hand already lowering toward your skin.

“Shit—sorry,” he mutters, breath hitching. “But I’m not losing you to some backwoods godless reptile.”

A sting. The blade kisses skin. Just below the bite.

And then—

His mouth seals over the wound.

Hot. Immediate. Real.

You gasp—less from pain than from sensation. Lips drag against your skin, suction deep and brutal. Every pull, every slow grind of his jaw echoes down your spine.

He spits. Red. Dark and vivid against the ferns.

Then goes in again.

Wet sounds. Obscene and necessary. One hand keeps you grounded, palm firm against your thigh. His breath is unsteady. Warm air fans across your leg between pulls.

Fingers curl into moss. A twitch runs through you.

He pulls back, flushed and bloodstained.

“Stay still,” Caleb growls.

Your breath falters. Heat’s building now. A pulse—not pain but potential. A hum that coils beneath your skin.

Another spit—quick, ragged. Then another dive. Slower this time. Lips dragging. Tongue brushing.

You shiver. His thumb flexes against your thigh. Breath sharpens.

And on the final pull, when he lifts his head, he doesn’t reach for water.

He leans in again.

And licks.

From the base of the cut up. Slow. Velvet-soft.

Air catches in your throat. It shouldn’t feel like that. But it does.

An exhale slips past his lips. And then—too quiet, not meant for you: “Back by the stream... You let me touch your leg and I—” A swallow. Tension breaking through the heat. ”Wanted to taste you even then.”

Heartbeat stutters. Pupils blown. Cheeks flushed. That same hand still curved around your leg—like it never left. Something’s changing. Inside you. Between you.

Every sense pulls taut.

And Caleb? He’s still staring. Lips stained. Breath broken. Looking like he could do it all again.

And again.

The venom’s in him, too. Visible in the dilation of his gaze. The tremble in his shoulders. That rasp in his voice—lower now. Rougher. “You good?” His hand doesn’t leave your skin. But then, softer—regret slipping in: “…Sorry.”

It’s not about the wound.

Not the knife.

It’s for what he said.

You nod. A lie.

Because the warmth flooding through you isn’t good. It’s thick. Tingling. Crawling from ankle to hips to somewhere deeper.

Wrong. Or too right.

He reaches for his backpack. Fingers fumble on the zipper. The bandage roll tears under uneven hands. He wraps your leg—slow. Careful. Too careful. Hands shake—once, twice. Mouth still wet. Lips flushed. Parted.

And he won’t meet your eyes.

Not until halfway through. Then—just a flick upward. And he lingers. Long enough for heat to bloom in your chest.

Gaze drops. But his palm stays where it is. Curved. Warm. Thumb just a little too gentle.

The forest hums. Distant. Watching. Like it knows something is coming. And Caleb breathes through it. Barely.

He’s trying.

But you’re still in his hands.

Those hands hover—never straying, never quite still. Not gripping. Just present. Like if he lets go, everything breaks loose.

His gaze trails higher. Eyes—wrong. Still violet. But darker.

You see it—the restraint. The fear. The want. “…your eyes,” he mutters. Voice hoarse. “Could be the venom. Pupils are—wow. Okay.”

Your head tilts slowly. “Yours are, too,” you murmur. “Huge.”

He doesn’t answer. Just pats your head—gentle, apologetic—as if that will settle everything he doesn’t know how to say.

Then, steadying your weight with one hand, he moves fast. Guides your back against a wide tree trunk. Moss cool beneath you. Bark rough behind.

The forest holds its breath.

Caleb crouches again. Knees wide, elbows on thighs, scanning everything. Bark. Soil. Shadows. Silence.

“Okay. Think,” he breathes. “Slim neck. Glassy scales. Southern… Veritas viper. Maybe.”

But you’re not listening.

You’re watching him.

Lust slams into you like a wave—sudden and impossible to reason with. He looks too good like this. Wild hair pushed back. Sweat at his collar. Blood drying on his lips. That jaw clenched in focus. The memory of his mouth on your leg, hot and desperate, flashes through your mind and your core clenches hard.

He flips through his field journal—pages shaking in his fingers. “You can rest it out,” he says, not quite meeting your gaze. “A couple hours. It’ll pass.”

Your voice is wrecked.

“I don’t want to rest it out.”

That breaks something.

Eyes snap to yours. He stops breathing. Fingers find his shirt, fisting fabric. Another hand at his neck.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t resist.

And you don’t wait. You climb into his lap. Straddle him there in the moss. Legs open. Hips heavy. A sharp pulse runs through your ankle—your body warns you, but the ache blooming lower drowns it out.

You sink down, grind once—and he gasps. Thighs tense under you. Rigid muscle shifting. The hard line of his cock presses directly where you need it, thick and already damp with pre-release. Fabric to fabric. Heat to heat.

Your hips roll again—slow this time.

And Caleb’s whole body shudders.

“Please—” he exhales, lips barely brushing yours. It’s not a command. It’s not even coherent. It’s a prayer—hoarse and cracked. His eyes flick down to your leg, still bandaged, still pulsing. “Please, you’re hurt,” he whispers, like saying it aloud might stop what’s already happening

You lean in, tongue dragging across his lower lip—blood, sweat, venom still lingering in the taste. He groans—jaw clenched, trying to hold back like it costs him everything.

“God,” he pants. “You don’t know what that does to me.”

A tremor runs through his thigh. One hand fists into the moss. The other grips your leg again, thumb pressing into your skin like it’ll hold him down.

“If it’s a veritas…” he mutters, voice breaking against your mouth, “…it heightens everything. Skin. Heat. Pressure… Venom’s messing with your nerves.”

You grind down—harder.

His head drops. Forehead finds your shoulder. Breath hits your collar in ragged bursts.

“So if you’re feeling it—”

“Then you are too,” you whisper, lips brushing his ear.

Another roll of your hips.

And he breaks.

“I’m—fuck—I’m trying to fight it.”

You kiss him. Soft. Filthy. Hot. Tongues brushing, breath catching.

“Don’t.”

And then it starts.

The rhythm.

Slick fabric. Your soaked shorts dragging just right over your clit. His cock thick beneath his clothes, already leaking, already twitching. The friction’s so wet you feel it in your belly—heat spiking with every grind. His hand slips beneath your shirt—broad, grounding. Fingers splay across your ribs, not groping, just holding like you’ll fly apart without him.

“I’m trying to be good,” he whispers. “Trying not to destroy you.”

You arch against him. “You’re not hurting me.”

“Nn… You keep rubbing,” he groans, hips jerking up into yours. “I can feel you. Dripping. Right through me.”

The drag of your shorts against his cock is torture. And he feels every goddamn inch.

“I could come like this,” he breathes, voice breaking. “Could fuck you through our clothes and lose my mind.”

You whimper into his mouth. He swallows it.

You keep moving.

And he snaps.

“You had your warning—fine.”

You’re lifted—suddenly, entirely—back thudding against the tree as he rises with you in his arms. Bark scrapes your spine, moss forgotten beneath your feet. He cages you there, holding you up like it costs him nothing. One hand braces the tree above your head, the other locks your thigh open, his grip firm and shaking.

“Stay still,” he growls.

You grind anyway.

“I said—shit—stop moving.”

His hips slam forward.

“Trying to be good—trying not to ruin you.”

But his cock is so hard. You feel it pulse through the layers. Every roll makes your clit jump. Every grind smears another wet streak into your already-soaked panties.

And you’re losing it.

He thrusts—not inside, but with everything he’s got. Grinding into you like he needs it to live. Panting. Cursing. Falling apart against your throat.

“This,” he grits out, rutting into you again, “—this is what you want instead of calling for help?”

Another thrust—slower. Cruel.

“You want me to fuck the venom out of you?”

His lips graze your jaw. Your ear. His breath is scalding.

“You think you can take what this does to me?”

You can’t even speak.

“You look like you’d beg,” he rasps, “but you don’t have to. I already want to give you everything.”

His hips drag. Wet. Hard. Rhythmic. You’re gasping now. Whimpering.

He doesn’t stop.

“I’m gonna come,” he growls. “Right through these clothes if you don’t stop clenching like that.”

“I can’t—” you choke. “I’m gonna—”

“Yeah,” he grits. “Do it. I wanna feel it.”

And then—

It hits.

Your whole body locks. Breaks. Burns.

You come—shaking, pulsing around nothing and everything. Back arches, shoulder blades scraping bark, the rough grooves biting into your skin like nature itself is holding you there. You cry out, gasping his name, as your thighs seize around his waist.

He bares his teeth—and sinks them into your neck.

Not enough to break skin—but it’s brutal. It sends you spiraling through the crash as he holds you pinned against the tree.

And the groan he lets out isn’t a word.

It’s a sound—deep, wrecked, something primal torn from his chest. Dragged up from the base of his spine like it was never meant to be heard. Not even human. Just need.

Thrusts don’t stop—they stutter. Grind. Sloppy and frantic as he breaks apart against you. His forehead slams into yours. His whole body shakes. Saliva spills from the corner of his mouth, breath coming in shredded gasps as he moans your name like it’s the last thing he’ll ever say.

He comes hard. Soaking the fabric between you. Every roll of his hips floods more into the mess already smeared between your legs. And behind you—the wood digs deeper. Like the forest itself refuses to let you fall.

Every nerve lit. Every inch claimed.

But the venom?

The venom’s not done.

You’re still wet. Still clenching.

And so is he.

Still thick. Still leaking.

And still hard.

Caleb exhales, shaky and wrecked, then lifts his head slowly, eyes glowing. His hands still hold you in place. His breath hits your lips.

“…It’s not done with us,” he whispers.

You bite your lip.

“Good,” you say.

And he smiles—flushed and far from finished. His gaze flicks past you, toward the trees beyond. Still panting, still pressed against you, he lets out a breathless laugh. “There’s a stream,” he murmurs, voice thick and dark. “Just a short walk that way.”

You blink at him, dazed. “Why?”

He leans in again, lips brushing your ear. “Because we should probably clean up the mess you made.”

A beat.

He presses a slow, filthy grind into you—just enough to remind you exactly where that mess is. “Starting,” he adds, wickedly, “with the cum currently soaking through my shorts.”

𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙

You've got diamonds for teeth, my love

So take a bite of me just once

𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙

Writer’s note: Nobody asked for this, and yet—it has been unleashed upon the universe. I’m sorry. I’m weird. But I finally got to write something vaguely The Offering-coded, and it hit me: Caleb is kinda snake-coded? Apple, Eden, bite bite biiite. Cute snek, though. Love him. Love writing him as a freak. Also, he’s definitely the most likely (of all the LIs) to be totally unfazed by blood, bodily fluids, and sucking venom out of you. (Affectionately). And yes, this entire thing exists because the Heaven Official’s Blessing venom scene rewired my brain. I saw it, blacked out, wrote this and ordered the novels just so I could read it for myself. Zero regrets. Fun fact: I made the snake up. But there are real snakes that can give you a kind of high (and/or make you puke). Less fun fact: venom sucking does not work. Please don’t do it. Call emergency services. Let professionals handle your forest crises. Okay? Okay. I trust you. Thank you for reading 🫶🏻

#this is utter freak filth stay away #this is just for weirdos who resonate with the tags oke #dont cancel me ples #CAN SOMEONE DRAW THIS PLES okey i’ll shut up #love and deepspace #caleb love and deepspace #lnds caleb #lads caleb #you x caleb #non mc x caleb #Tian Guan Ci Fu x caleb #heaven official’s blessing x caleb #love and deepspace smut #caleb smut

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joaosnovia · 3 days ago

Note

hey ho soooo franco gets a frustrating penalty or something goes wrong with the engine, and he’s spiraling a bit. gf is just there being calm, comforting, flipping through a magazine while he decompresses. later they watch a movie together like they always do after race weekends.

bonus idea: maybe she missed the last race because she had to be a replacement bridesmaid, and now that she’s back, they have their own little celebration

❦ - fiesta 4 u.

warnings:: none.

writers notes:: ONLY POSTED THIS BC ITS HIS BDAY 💔. anyways feliz cumpleanos to him!

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp @cherryloveshs

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

the door doesn’t slam.

it crashes.

helmet hits the floor next. loud. rolls once, twice, then thuds into the hallway wall and stops. he’s swearing, under his breath but vicious, like he’s holding onto each word just so he doesn’t fall apart entirely.

you don’t flinch.

you’re sprawled across the couch like nothing’s burning, legs stretched, magazine in hand, hoodie two sizes too big. it’s his. you knew he needed to see you in it. grounded. home. waiting.

‘do you want me to ask what happened,’ you call out, voice low, ‘or do you wanna pretend the universe just personally keyed your car?’

no answer.

you hear him pacing. shoes still on, so every step’s a stomp.

then finally: ‘five seconds. five fucking seconds. for something i didn’t do.’

he storms into view, hair a mess, suit half undone, rage practically vibrating off him.

‘five seconds for what? for existing? for breathing too hard on lap twelve? and then the engine starts coughing like it’s got asthma and i’m just…’ he throws his arms up, spins in a half-circle, ‘i’m out there driving like my life depends on it and for what? for p18 and a stupid fine and nothing else to show for it.’

you set the magazine down. sit up a little. still calm. still watching.

‘that all?’

he glares at you. chest heaving. but the edge in his eyes softens.

you pat the space next to you.

‘come crash. you’re over revving.’

he hesitates.

you tilt your head. ‘don’t make me say it again.’

he comes.

drops onto the couch next to you, body heavy, head in his hands. he’s not talking anymore. just breathing fast, shallow. locked in his own head. you’ve seen it before, not often, but enough. when the pressure builds so bad it leaks into everything.

you reach over. hand on the back of his neck. not soft. firm. grounding. thumb brushing slow just below his ear.

‘you’re allowed to lose it,’ you murmur. ‘just not alone.’

he leans into it. into you.

‘they made me feel invisible,’ he says, voice quieter now. almost cracked. ‘like i could’ve driven blindfolded and it wouldn’t have changed shit. like… i don’t matter.’

you turn to him fully, tucking one leg under the other, both hands now on either side of his face.

‘look at me.’

he does.

‘you do matter. and not just on track. not just when you’re fast. you matter in sweat and flame and fury. and you matter right now, pissed off and exhausted and sitting on this couch like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.’

he stares at you. breathing a little steadier.

‘you’re scary good at this,’ he mutters.

‘that’s because you suck at spiraling in silence. you’re all dramatic about it.’

he actually laughs, a short, surprised huff. you grin, kiss the corner of his mouth.

‘better?’

‘a little.’

‘good. now take a breath. shower. change. and come back out here, because i ordered pizza and we’re watching rush like we always do after race weekends. yes, even when you hate racing.’

he kisses your forehead.

you let him go.

and when he comes back, damp hair, hoodie on, hands wrapped around a slice of pizza and eyes finally soft, he looks at you like you’re the only thing that went right today.

because maybe you are.

BONUS IDEA

you didn’t get to be there last weekend.

you’d tried. fought for it, rearranged everything, packed your bag and printed your pass, and then the call came.

your friend’s bridesmaid caught the flu. one of the main girls. wedding in forty eight hours. you were the backup.

so you put away your alpine pink nails and packed a pastel dress instead. smiled through photos, caught the bouquet, drank the champagne, and watched the race on your phone in a linen suite bathroom with the sound off and your heart clenched.

he hadn’t blamed you. not once.

but he’d felt it.

the silence on the comms. the empty place in the paddock. the missing hand in his hair when he needed it most.

and you’d felt it too.

so when you show up at the door this week, hoodie on, suitcase behind you, wide eyed from the airport, soft grin playing at your lips, franco doesn’t say anything.

he just pulls you in. holds you there.

for a long time.

you spend the whole day inside. no big reunion plans, no parties, no dinners out.

just the two of you.

he’s calmer now. rested. there’s still a flicker of frustration behind his eyes, but it doesn’t own him anymore. it’s quieter.

you eat lunch on the floor. half laughing, half dozing, your leg over his.

he lets you rest your head on his chest like he’s afraid you’ll disappear again if you don’t.

and when the sun starts setting, orange slicing through the window, casting soft stripes across the floor, he disappears into the other room for a second.

when he comes back, he’s holding a tiny pink cupcake.

you blink.

‘what is this?’

‘you missed my worst race weekend of the year,’ he says, crouching in front of you with that sheepish grin. ‘so now that you’re back, we’re celebrating that you’re my good luck charm. and that i’m not letting you out of my sight for the next one.’

you laugh. it catches in your throat.

‘you’re ridiculous.’

‘you love it.’

you do. so much it aches.

you take the cupcake. snap it in half. feed him the bigger piece.

‘you didn’t have to do this,’ you murmur. ‘i’m not… anything special.’

he leans in. eyes locked on yours.

‘yes, you are.’

your face is warm.

‘stop.’

‘no,’ he says softly, brushing a crumb from your lip. ‘you’re the one thing that makes all of this make sense. the one person who shows up whether i’m p3 or p18. the one who waits, magazine in hand, hoodie on, calm like a lighthouse. and when everything’s chaos, you stay. you choose me.’

you don’t answer right away.

you just press your forehead to his.

and he closes his eyes. exhales like that touch alone fixed him.

because maybe it did.

because maybe this isn’t about podiums or penalties or whatever else broke last sunday.

maybe it’s just this.

you. him. a cupcake. and the quiet feeling of finally, finally coming home.

#f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #franco colapinto x female reader #franco colapinto x you #franco colapinto fic #franco colapinto x reader

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alaiasole · 3 days ago

Text

🍸 welcome back to solè’s bar🍸

tonight’s special: connie springer, one year married, and a yacht you may not survive.

· · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · ·

→ connie springer x black!reader

→ smut | modern au | married, rich & nasty, anniversary

→ tags: f!reader, yacht sex, cunnilingus, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk

· · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · ·

the sea glistened like glass beneath you, sunlight splintering off the mediterranean waves.

italy was showing out. and honestly? so were you.

you lay stretched across a cream sunbed on the deck of your private yacht, body kissed golden from the sun, that little black bikini hugging every curve with disrespectful precision. a mimosa half-empty beside you, unread book face down on your chest, glimmering ring catching every sunbeam. one year married. one whole year with connie springer.

and you still felt like the luckiest woman alive.

footsteps padded up from below deck. you didn’t even have to look. you could feel the shift in the air.

“damn,” connie muttered, grinning down at you. “you tryna get me killed in broad daylight?”

you cracked an eye open, lips curving.

he stood there in nothing but swim trunks, abs glistening with leftover saltwater, gold chain resting on his chest, eyes glued to your thighs.

“you walked up here shirtless,” you said, sitting up slowly,but i’m the problem?”

connie didn’t even try to hide his stare. “look at my wife,” he said under his breath like it was too much. “sittin’ pretty. out here lookin’ all beautiful and shit

you rolled your eyes, grinning. “boy, shut up.”

“nah, don’t ‘boy’ me,” he said, walking over to kiss your forehead, then your shoulder, slow and soft. “and i saw the way you was starin’ at me when i got out that water.”

you scoffed. “so i can’t look at my own husband no more?”

“you can,” he said, laying down beside you on the sunbed, “but them eyes was sayin’ somethin’ else.”

you smirked, but didn’t answer. just stood up, walking to the edge of the deck. the view stretched out in front of you like a dream open water, cliffs in the distance, some rich italian couple on another yacht a few miles away. you leaned on the railing, letting the breeze kiss your skin.

behind you, you could feel his gaze on your body. your ass. your legs. your everything.

connie walked up, standing behind you, warm chest pressing against your back, arms sliding around your waist.

“goddamn,” he murmured, breath brushing your ear. “look at you.”

you melted just a little in his hold. he kissed your temple. “you look so good, baby.”

“do i?” you asked, voice playful.

he squeezed your waist. “stop playin’. all this?” he ran his hands down your hips. “this mine. forever. you know how crazy that makes me?”

you held up your left hand, let the sunlight hit the ring. it gleamed like it had its own spotlight.

“show me that again,” he whispered.

you held your hand higher. he kissed your knuckles, then your palm. “look at that shit. biggest flex of my life.”

you turned around slowly, pressing your body against his. “you bein’ sentimental?”

he smirked. “nah, i’m bein’ real. i got the most beautiful woman alive. and we made it a year. you know what that means?”

you cocked your head, curious. “what?”

“i’m bout to treat you like royalty. again.”

his voice dipped on the last word, and something in your stomach flipped. the hunger in his eyes focused.

you toyed with the waistband of his swim shorts, fingers light, teasing.

he raised an eyebrow. “that what you wanna do?”

“i’m just touchin’,” you said, sweet and innocent.

“uh huh.”

you sank to your knees on the smooth teak deck, sun painting your skin gold. your diamond ring caught the light as you reached up, tugging his shorts down.

his cock was already hard thick, long, that pretty pink tip glistening in the sun.

you looked up at him. smiled. wrapped your hand around him, slow.

and then you kissed the tip.

he hissed through his teeth. “fuck, baby…”

you suck on his tip, slow at first, lips wrapped around that soft pink head while your eyes never leave his. your hands work the rest of his shaft, both of them stroking him with gentle pressure while you take more of him in your mouth.

“just like that,” he groans, voice already hoarse. his fingers twitch at his sides. “there you go. fuck, baby… you doin’ so good.”

you hum around him, tongue swirling, jaw relaxing to take him deeper.

he lets his head fall back for a second, breathing uneven, then looks down at you like you’re unreal.

“shit. baby”he mutters. “you gon make me fall in love with you all over again.”

you blink up at him, eyes wide and warm, spit glistening on your lips. you keep going, sucking him off like he’s the only man that’s ever existed, and it’s driving him wild.

he grips your arms, pulls himself gently from your mouth, and helps you to your feet.

his kiss is messy this time open-mouthed, desperate, tasting himself on your tongue. then he turns you around, guiding you until you’re facing the railing again, the wide open sea sparkling below.

“gonna fuck you to this view,” he says, voice low, rough in your ear. he he looks down at your ass, gives it a slow squeeze before smacking it, palm landing with a loud clap that makes you gasp.

he slides your bikini to the side and groans when he sees how wet you already are.

he chuckles, rubbing his fingers between your folds. “this all from suckin’ my dick, huh? or just the thought of me fuckin’ you right here?”

you whimper when he brushes your clit, hips twitching under his touch.

“you feel that?” he whispers, right by your ear. “she talkin’ to me. real loud too.”

he leans down and kisses your neck, fingers rubbing slow circles on your clit, just enough to make your thighs twitch.

“connie,” you moan, your voice catching in your throat.

he hums like he didn’t hear you, slips two fingers inside you slow, real slow, til they’re buried to the knuckle.

you suck in a breath as he starts to move them—slow curls, dragging against your walls, thumb rubbing your clit like he’s done this a thousand times. and he has.

“shittt… she wet as hell,” he says, pulling his fingers out just to see them glisten. he taps your pussy with them, light little slaps that make you jump. “look how she openin’ up.

you whimper, biting your lip, and he grins.

“nah, don’t start actin’ shy now,” he teases, pushing his fingers back in. “you the one who got on this lil ass bikini wit’ all that ass out… got me walkin’ around this boat hard as shit.

he fucks his fingers into you deeper, faster, curling them up until you whine.

“say that shit,” he mutters. “say whose pussy it is.”

“yours, fuck connie, it’s yours.”

“louder, mama. let everyone know”

“it’s yours!” you cry, voice shaking.

he smirks, thumb back on your clit, rubbing tight circles while his fingers keep fucking you open.

“that’s right,” he groans, breath hot on your ear. “this mine. mine to stretch. mine to taste. mine to ruin.”

your legs start shaking and he notices immediately, holds you tighter.

“you gon’ cum for me?” he whispers. “you gon’ make a fuckin’ mess all over my hand, huh?”

you nod, barely breathing.

“yeah, do it. squirt all over me, mama. let me feel that pretty pussy lose control.”

your body jerks, the orgasm hitting hard and fast, your legs trembling as you squirt on his fingers, loud moans pouring from your mouth.

“fuck yes,” he moans. “there she go. goddamn.”

he pulls out slow, his fingers dripping, then licks them clean right in front of you.

“so sweet,” he murmurs, sucking the last drop from his knuckle. he pulls down his shorts, his cock springs out thick and heavy. he strokes it twice, slow and lazy, eyes locked on you. then he pulls your bikini to the side, aligning himself with your hole.

he pushes in and you both moan at the feeling, the stretch making your eyes flutter.

you brace yourself on the edge of the yacht, back arched, mouth falling open.

“fuck baby… you feel so good,” he groans, hips already meeting yours in deep, slow strokes.

you moan loud, trying to keep yourself steady, but it’s overwhelming. every thrust hits deep, your pussy already clenching around him.

you try to scoot forward, hips twitching, but he grabs your arm and pulls it behind your back.

“nah, don’t run,” he growls in your ear. “take it. that’s it. i know you can.”

“fuck con,” you whine, voice high and needy. your walls clamp down around him and he feels it.

“you hear her talkin to me?” he smirks. “this pussy love me.”

he keeps fucking into you hard and slow, his pace deep, you feel yourself get even wetter, cream leaking around his cock. you squirt out of nowhere, legs shaking.

“there you go. goddamn,” he mutters, pulling out just to slap his tip against your clit, watching the mess you made. “look at this pussy. soaking for me.”

he grabs your hand, guiding you back to the sunbed. he lays down, chest rising, cock slick and hard. you climb on top of him without a word.

you sink down on his dick again, moaning as he stretches you out all over again.

“fuckk,” he groans, head falling back. “that’s it mama, ride your dick.”

you start to bounce, hips moving in slow circles, hands planted on his chest. you bite your lip, eyes low.

“rub her for me,” he breathes.

you reach down, rubbing your clit fast as you ride him. your moans spill out without warning, eyes fluttering shut.

“it feel good huh? look at you,” he groans. “so fuckin beautiful. so sexy.

you lean over, lips brushing his ear, voice low and sweet.

“it’s my dick.”

he groans loud, hands gripping your waist tighter.

“fuck it, it’s your dick. all yours. ride your shit, baby.”

“you gon give me all of it?”

“every drop.”

you bounce harder, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you. your orgasm comes fast and sharp, pussy clenching as you squirt again. your thighs shake, moans spilling out uncontrollably.

“connie, i’m cumming, fuck—”

“cum on it. do that shit. let me feel it.”

he fucks up into you while you ride it out, eyes rolled back. his strokes turn messy as he grabs your ass, holding you down and filling you up, his cum spilling deep inside.

you both breathe heavy, stuck together and slick with heat. you slowly lift off him, his cum dripping out of you, sliding down your thigh.

you giggle, looking down at the mess.

he grins. “you think the captain heard us?”

you shrug, still breathless. “he definitely did.”

and you both laugh, tangled and glowing under the italian sun.

· · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · ·

#solè’s bar ☆#☆ solèafterhours ☆#connie x black reader #connie springer x black reader #connie x reader #connie springer #attack on titan #aot #aot x black reader #aot fanfiction #anime x black!reader #anime #x black oc #x black fem reader #x black reader #x black fem oc

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tsunami-of-tears · 15 hours ago

Text

Birthday Blues

Azriel x Reader

A/N: IS SHE BACK?? No promises! But I am done with school and working a new job that actually gives me free time so... 🤞 I wrote most of this before my birthday last year. Another has crept up on me, and the doom spiral and panic dreams have begun.

Wordcount: 1.7k

Warnings: starts quite angsty but turns to fluff; childhood bullying; depression; alcohol abuse; binging; purging (in my mind, this happens due to overindulging, but it could be self-induced)

I open my eyes to the dim room I share with Azriel. The sheets beside me are tousled and cool to the touch without the warmth of my mate.

He’s always been an early riser, as most days he’s required to be up for training or a mission. I, however, had the luxury of a slower start, waking up when my body deems it’s slept enough.

For a brief moment, I forget what day it is, but not for long as dread slams into me like a ton of bricks.

It’s not just a ‘normal’ day.

It’s my birthday.

Instantly, my mood darkens as I battle with the memories of birthdays past.

I didn’t have many friends before Azriel and his raucous family came along. Though I long for solitude at times, the years have been increasingly lonely. With each passing decade, it’s only gotten harder to keep going. The anniversary of my aging is a stark reminder of my turmoil. That I’ve never been worthy of love, affection or effort.

My mind wanders back to my childhood when I nervously handed out invitations to my party, only to have them thrown back in my face.

“Why would we want to go to your party? Your house is so far away. Why would we travel all that way for a silly birthday?”

Then, years later, there was the time I went out with some friends who invited along a female who was always so nasty to me. She made fun of me and excluded me from conversation all day, and not a single person stepped in.

There were many other disappointments in between, but that was the last time I made a fuss.

No one else seemed to care, so why should I?

From that day on, my birthday was a non-event.

I’d still make sure to schedule a day off, and I’d make myself sick eating a cake by myself and getting drunk on faewine in my little apartment.

Today is my second birthday since Azriel came into my life.

The first one was mortifying, to say the least.

————

One year earlier

I hadn’t told him what day it was, so he’d come over after finishing his work, to find me being violently sick in the toilet.

The chocolate-covered fork and plate, and empty wine bottle told Azriel what had happened, but he couldn’t figure out why.

Azriel was so kind that night. He held my hair and rubbed my back as I emptied the contents of my stomach. Once I was sure I wasn’t going to be sick again, he helped me shower and brush my teeth before carrying me to bed.

He never asked questions and never ridiculed me. He only offered the love and affection I didn’t realise had been so severely lacking.

We’d been lying in bed together for a while, Azriel softly stroking my head as I whispered, “It’s my birthday.”

I could almost hear his heart breaking at my quiet confession.

Azriel held me tighter, kissing the top of my head. “My love, why didn’t you tell me? We could have celebrated.”

I bit down on my lip to keep it from wobbling. My vision blurs as tears well in my eyes, threatening to spill over the edge. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

Opening my mouth was like uncorking a shaken bottle of soda. Everything–all the sadness, all the pain–flooded out. I couldn’t keep back my tears any longer, and I sobbed and sobbed into Azriel’s chest.

Azriel exhaled slowly, bringing his hand to wipe my damp cheek. “Y/N, love, please listen to me,” Azriel said softly. “You will never, ever be a burden to me.”

I nod, gulping for air as I try to calm my breathing. Azriel hands me a handkerchief, which I use to dry my eyes. As my body and mind settled, my eyes fell to Azriel’s shirt, now soaked with my tears.

I’m once again gasping, but this time it’s due to the laughter that’s taken over my body. “I’m sorry for wrecking your shirt,” I say between fits of giggles, once again wiping tears from my eyes.

“Lucky it’s black or I’d be sending you a bill,” he teases back, glad to see me finally smiling.

————

He’d offered to take me out the following day, but I insisted on wanting to forget about it

Azriel reluctantly agreed and let it go.

We didn’t speak of it again. I never brought it up, and he made no mention even as the dreaded date drew nearer once again.

Maybe he forgot?

Good, it’s just another day. Nothing of importance.

I slowly rise from the empty bed. Azriel is already up and gone for the day. I stretch my tight limbs, yawning as I wrap myself in my housecoat. I pad softly to the kitchen to make myself some tea as I always do in the morning.

The kitchen is my favourite room in this apartment. Sage-coloured cabinets, fresh herbs by the window, soft streams of buttery sunlight filtering in through the window where I can see the tree-lined Sidra, a vase of colourful flowers on the counter…

Wait, flowers?

I step closer to the bouquet - a beautiful arrangement of roses, chrysanthemums and anemones in shades of pink, orange and yellow, all my favourites. Next to the vase is a handwritten note and a box from my favourite bakery in Velaris. My eyes well with tears as emotions slam into me. With shaky hands, I pick up the note.

Happy birthday, my love. No, I didn’t forget. I know today is tough for you, but I wanted to remind you how special you are and how much you mean to me. I’ll be back for lunch, and we have the rest of the day to spend together. I love you, Azriel

I truly thought he’d forgotten and I’d been happy to let him. The gesture was so simple and yet no one had ever done that before. Maybe today wouldn’t be so dreadful after all…

Tea in hand, aromas of spices and honey waft to my nose as I sit down at the small table with an almond croissant and my book to wait for Azriel’s return. For the first time since I was a child, I feel excited about the day ahead.

————

Azriel greeted me after midday with a kiss on my head. I had moved from the table to the cozy armchair, and I’d been so enthralled with my book I didn’t notice Azriel’s quiet entrance.

Beaming, I jump up into his outstretched arms.

“Happy birthday, love,” Azriel says softly into my hair.

————

Azriel took me to my favourite restaurant for lunch. The owner, Clove, recognised us immediately and waved us over to our usual table.

“Welcome, Y/N, Azriel, always a pleasure to have you both here.”

I return Clove’s wide smile. “Thank you, you know it’s our favourite place in Velaris.”

Clove chuckles warmly. “You’re too kind, will it be the usual for you both?”

I look towards Azriel for his confirmation. He introduced me to this place early into our courtship and I’ve never strayed from my order.

“Yes please,” Azriel says, “thank you very much.”

“Wonderful,” Clove responds, filling our glasses to the brim with icey water, “Won’t be long.” She turns to leave with a wink towards Azriel.

At the end of the meal, Clove returns with another plate. She smiles as she places it down on the table between us. “Just a little something extra for a special day.”

Before I can object, Clove turns on her heels and strikes up a conversation with another customer. I turn to Azriel, a mix of shock and delight written across my face.

“You’re too sneaky for your own good,” I say, shaking my head and picking up on of the two spoons.

Azriel just grins back at me, digging in to the steaming dessert.

————

After finishing lunch, Azriel surprised me with tickets to a show in the amphitheatre by one of my favourite composers.

The performance was incredible. It made me feel so… alive. The music reached a part of my soul I’d long forgotten about, filling me up and patching over all the broken bits. By the end, my cheeks were stained with tears that I hadn’t noticed shedding.

Chill air hit my face with a whoosh as we exited the theatre into the crisp dusk. My fingers intertwined with Azriel’s and our footsteps tapped against the pavement as we headed back towards the Sidra.

The comfortable silence was interrupted by Azriel clearing his throat. “Y/N, I do have one more surprise for today if you’re up for it.”

I whirl towards Azriel. “More? How could you possibly have more planned?” I exclaim.

Azriel ran a hand through his hair. “Well, it’s actually Rhys and Feyre. See, uh- they wanted to have dinner with everyone tonight,” He rattles. “We don’t have to go if you’re not up to it, but they wanted to celebrate.”

Before I can say a word, Azriel continues.

“Just to be clear, I didn’t tell them anything about last year. But it has been more than a year, so they kinda figured out that they missed your last birthday and wanted to make up for it.”

“Wait Azriel, pause for a second. What do you mean, ‘make up for it?’”

Azriel sighs, pulling me into his chest. “My love, you didn’t tell us. We all went about like it was a normal day. You mean a lot to them, and even more to me, and we didn’t get a chance to show you that.”

I look into Azriel’s hazel eyes and see they’re brimming with tears. The pain in them is unmissable. I’d never even considered how hiding this day would hurt others. I grab his hand and press it to my lips.

“I’m sorry, I never thought… We can go to dinner, but please if we can skip the singing.”

Azriel laughs, pressing his lips to mine. “I can’t guarantee Cassian won’t sing.”

I laugh too. “No, I guess you can’t.”

#azriel angst #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar angst

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gyeomsweetgyeom · 7 hours ago

Text

[1:47 pm]

(cw: f!reader)

tagged! @bluedbliss

Fratboy!Jaemin did a lot of things in university just for the fun of it. Massage class? Sure, why not. Gymnastics? Again, why not. Join a frat? Only because Jeno did. Working at the on campus daycare? Well, that one was because of his mom. He needed a job and she happened to know the head teacher.

So now he spent three of his days here at the daycare, taking care of the young kids with the help of one main teacher and another aide, you. The kids had named you "Pretty Teacher" and he couldn't agree more. You were a full time aide and he found that he could handle some clingy kids and no sense of personal space for a few hours a day when you were helping out beside him.

Right now, you were both leading the kids through circle time outside while the head teacher took a quick break. After some stretches and some calming exercises for the kids, they focused on building with some blocks.

One of the girls, looked up at you, judgement written clearly on her face as she looked between you and Jaemin. Her little voice rang out, "Pretty teacher, is Teacher Na your boyfriend?"

The other kids looked up then, "oohing" at the word "boyfriend." You shook your head with a soft laugh, prying apart two blocks before handing them to the boy sitting beside you, "no, Teacher Na is not my boyfriend."

The kids pouted and even Jaemin found himself fighting back a pout along with the four and five year-olds. He wanted you to be his girlfriend. He thought he'd made that pretty clear when he insisted that he play the role of 'dad neighbor' when you were given the role of 'mom neighbor' or when he brought you snacks or coffee at the before the kids showed up.

Another girl, this time sitting beside Jaemin, squealed with excitement, "he's your husband then! You're married!"

Jaemin coughed awkwardly, "we're not married."

"But you like her?" The girl asks as she cocks her head to the side.

"Yes," Jaemin answers, immediately drawing sounds of excitement from the kids. He even finds that your eyes flicker to meet his gaze before he adds quickly, "because she's my friend."

"My mommy said her and my daddy were friends before they got married!" A boy adds, "my daddy was my mommy's sister's boyfriend! That's why they don't talk no more!"

You bite back a look of shock as you try to guide the conversation away from marriage and parents, or any other topics these kids might have overheard at home. They're stubborn though, insisting that the two of you get married because that's what adult boys and girls do, "duh, teachers!"

You're given a bundle of flower weeds and pushed until you and Jaemin are sitting side by side on the bench. The oldest of the bunch, a five year-old, grins widely and begins the 'vows' going on about love and happiness. She claps her hands, "now you're married! Kiss!"

The kids sound out in a mix of cheers and boos. You laugh softly, choosing instead to hug your coworker swiftly to give into the requests of the students. It's basically nothing, you can barely call it a hug since it's more like two bodies just pressed against each other for a second. Jaemin thinks he just saw heaven. It's the best hug he's ever had and it lasted a full, singular second. It was great.

Somehow that's the only thing on his mind as he finishes off his work day. He grabs his stuff after everything has been wiped down and disinfected, lingering around the gate as you walk toward him.

"Hey, Pretty," he greets you, watching as you laugh softly.

"Hi, Nana, you waiting for me?" You ask as you close the gate behind yourself.

"A good husband waits for his wife doesn't he?" He asks with a gentle smile.

You giggle softly, knocking his elbow with your own, "oh, did we go straight from coworkers to husband and wife?"

He shrugs with an easy smile, "gotta start somewhere, right?"

You shrug, staying silent as you both walk across campus. He comes to a stop, drawing your attention, "actually, I did really want to ask you... do you want to go out some time?"

"Ooh, first date as husband and wife?" You laugh with a wiggle of your brows.

"We have to start somewhere don't we?" Jaemin asks as his smile turns nervous.

You turn to him and notice how he seems less confident, nervous as he waits for her to answer. You reach for his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze, "a date sounds really nice."

"Perfect, I'll text you, Pretty."

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viperifies · 3 days ago

Text

honey. wow. this was everything and so much more.

okay so, first of all—you know how much I appreciate your plots. Like wow, they are so freaking creative????? Wdym landlord's son coming to collect the payment because his father is too lenient??? And then fucking us senseless (WITH DENIED ORGASM!!!!!!!) because we couldn't pay enough again???? Oh my lord, honey. Please, and I am begging you, marry me.

you called her as soon as you’ve received the news that tonight someone other than your kind old landlord will come to collect the rent — his arrogant, stuck-up son. tom riddle was coming tonight.

fuckkk he definitely will be cumming. inside me. godddd arrogant!Tom will forever have my heart. Need him to be all mean with me :((

his sweet boy tommy

oh I bettttt he is all manipulative with his dad n the sweetest soul ever, but then, with other people he's just arrogant Tom again. And if u told his father about it, he'd never believe you. bc it's his sweet boy tommy, after all.

'you may fool my father, but not me.' tom added last time, lips curled into a devious grin, as if he knew something you didn’t, before shutting his notebook close and turning away towards the front door.

okay daddy 🥺 imma be nice (or not, so u can punish me for it.)

“dark romance.” her voice almost cut you off, correcting your improper labelling. “that’s how it usually goes, trust me!”

love your brain, honey. Need me a dark romance with dearest tommy boy <33

tom riddle stood there, with an air of superiority engulfing him, like he owned the entire goddamn building. dark coat, tailored to perfection, ending somewhere close to his knees. collared shirt, unbuttoned just enough to reveal the smooth line of his throat, peeking from underneath his coat. hair slicked back but slightly disheveled, like he’s run a hand through it in frustration.

I am horny just imagining this. Your descriptions are always ON TOP and ugh this did something to me.

“are you going somewhere?” his deep voice vibrated across the hallway as he stepped inside without an invitation.

HOT HOT HOT pls take what you need, just be really mean about it <333

“no wonder you’re always late on rent,” tom muttered, brushing past you with a scornful click of his tongue. “too busy playing dress-up for your little boyfriends.”

him implying we are a whore :33

“i asked you a question, doll.” he murmured with that dominant tone of his, turning to face you again. his hands slipped into the inside pocket of his coat as he let his eyes roam your figure a second time — now far slower, far more obvious.

THE NICKNAME MADE ME SO WEAKKKKKKK ugh. yeah look me up and down daddy!! it's all for u, I promise <333

tom registered your reaction and he chuckled — low and dark, somehow amused by your bodily response. the low vibrations in his throat reached your own body too, travelling all the way under your skirt and pinching at your needy clit, making you clench your thighs.

HIS VOICEEE RAHHHHH and the leaning in... whispering in our ear... OH GOOD LORD

the feather-like weight of the envelope in your hand — containing less than required — was a painful reminder that tom will kick you out this evening for sure. every step back towards him felt like walking a tightrope, especially as his cold eyes were tracking your every movement like a predator sizing up a meal.

will he kick us out or fill us up? hmmmm... I wonder. also his eyes on our body... makes me go absolutely feral. take me already pls, bend me over the kitchen counter... whatever.

how tom has actually rolled the sleeves of the shirt up to his elbows, exposing manly, vein-littered forearms to your wandering eyes.

HONEYYYYYY u can't keep doing this to me. I am a WATERFALL. I love veiny hands and arms so muchhhhh you hit the lottery omg.

especially since you dressed so nicely just for him.

THE WAY HE KNOWS IT TOO ARRRGGHHH pls the tension oh my—I can't.

“this isn’t the full amount, doll.” “tried?” he said it like the word offended him. “do i look like someone who accepts partial payments?”

again the nickname. WEFSKNHSWNHCFISFIHSFI

“of course you do.” he leaned down slightly, forcing you to look up at him with those scared eyes of yours. “he probably let you cry and smile and flirt your way out of every consequence. but me?” his hand reached up and, with just a single finger under your chin, he tilted your face higher. “i’m not a fucking charity, doll.”

this did things to me. the way they are so close? how he is teasing her? how he is overpowering her just by the fact that he can n bc she knows she is late with the payment and would do anything to not be kicked out?????? MANIPULATIVE!TOM ON TOP.

he groaned the pet name into your ear, his voiced drenched in lustful satisfaction. tom was visibly enjoying your submissiveness, and his body was proudly showing that through the bulge in his dress pants.

FUUCCKKKKCKK DSJFHSKFIHI I have officially lost it. that imagine in my head will never fucking leave me. good fucking lord. save me. I am abt to combuusssstttt

tom let his other hand trail lightly down your torso, stopping shortly at the hem of your skirt before fully sliding his hands over your ass. “so what are you going to do?”

at this point I could write a whole paragraph for every single line bc wow. I just need him so bad and the way he is so manipulative with it and arrogant and implying that he can just take what he wants???? this is porn but so so so much better UWETIFTFUHSIHFSIUH

“what are you offering in return? because cash clearly isn’t your currency of choice.”

pls lemme suck ur dick, sir. <333

“you’re dressed like you want to be fucked,” he said coldly. “not pitied.”

DAMN RIGHHHTTTTTTTT

“here’s the deal.” his face was inches from yours now. “you give me something worth more than your pitiful rent... or you pack your shit and leave tonight.” his fingers gripped the edge of your skirt, inching it higher and higher on your leg. tom was acting on his own, but such forward actions were merely based on your own little scheme of seduction. he saw through you, saw how you wanted to fuck your way out of this payment.

again again again I love him like this so so much and u did such a great job characterizing him. I don't even know anymore if I love him or you more :(((

“thought so,” he muttered, voice thick with disdain. “fucking whore.”

I passed out. damn. I can picture him saying this AND ITS NOT GOOD FOR MY MENTAL WELLBEING.

“fuck,” he sneered, slowly thrusting the finger in and out of you. “knew you’d be like this. knew that from the moment i walked in. you wanted this, didn’t you?”

I didddd. honey pls sfjsfjsj this is torture.

“it’s sir for you, doll.” he added a second finger, curling them inside you as your body jolted forward, face mushing against his chest. “say that for me like a good girl!”

WHAT THE FUCK YES SIR SDIFNHDSIFNHISHF. Your dirty talk deserves an award bc WHAT THE HELLLLLLL I am drooling. (not only from my mouth.)

“you’re not even trying to resist,” tom murmured darkly, pulling his hand away from your cunt, only to deliver a harsh slap to it. “pathetic.” “turn around. now.”

PUSSY SLAPPING AND THE IMMEDIATE ORDER AFTER!!!!!!!!!!!!! that's the good stuff right FUCKING THERE

tom ordered, yet didn’t allow you to conform. he manhandled you as he wished, pulling his hand on your back and spinning you around, only to shove you forward, pressed down into the counter.

OKAYYYY manhandling too??????? Imma take a thirty minute break from this fic n brb because—

“sloppy fucking pussy.” he groaned behind you, as he undid his belt and shoved his trousers down just enough to free his cock.

AND BC OF WHO IS THAT HUHHHH

the sound of his zipper made you shiver, your heart hammering in your ears. and then you felt him, hot and heavy, sliding between your soaked folds, teasing your entrance with the fat head of his shaft. he smeared the leaking tip through your slick, mixing his precum with your own juices. to torture you even more, he even drew it upwards and formed circles over your puffy clit.

you know exactly what I like, don't you????? ugh honey. this is so delicious.

“payment time, doll.” tom hissed, voice right behind your ear. “a proper payment, for once.” and with no warning, he slammed into you. completely. in one full push.

mmmmmmmhhhhhhmmmmmm. a payment that I like too <33

hard. fast. indifferent towards you.

is it bad that I like this?? esp with manipulative!Tom???? sdfshihfnk

“you like being used, don’t you? like being bent over and ruined like a whore?”

if it's Tom Riddle doing it, defin-fucking-itely.

tom chuckled cruelly at your desperate answer, dragging his cock out almost completely, then slamming back in with a sharp grunt. “you’ll be lucky if you can walk after this.”

RUIN ME PLSSSSSSS SDFOSFSFJNHSOFNH

"don't cum." he bent over your ruined body, sneering into your ear. you seem to be too lost in the feeling — eyes rolled back, mouth agape; you definitely did not hear tom. so he took matters into his own hands and brought you back to reality. by reaching around and slapping your sensitive clit — quick, sharp swats that made your body seize and shake. "you don't get to finish, whore."

I swear, denied orgasms and Tom is just a match made in heaven. It's so fucking hot. and then him calling us a whore again, the CLIT SLAPPING TO BRING US BACK TO REALITY????? good god. I love all of this so so much and I wish I could wrap myself into this fanfic and stay there forever.

“fuck—" he hissed suddenly, thrusts growing erratic. his grip on your hips tightened like a vice. “you're gonna take all my cum. you hear me, doll?”

the thought of him filling us up is so delicious. feeling the warm stickiness of our landlord's son inside me bc I couldn't pay in time... ugh.

thick, hot spurts of cum painted your insides, his cock twitching with every drop released. he stayed buried into your cunt until the very end, panting into your neck as his hands made sure your hips stopped moving. you trembled beneath him, your cunt pulsing around his cock, aching for more. for anything. but he stood still, letting you feel his white sticky release fill you to the brim.

this is exactly what I needed to read IHDRIFUSHWFISHF fuckkkk

“payment accepted,” he said coldly, tucking himself back into his pants and taking a step back.

PLEASE THIS IS SO HOTTTTTT.

“you need what?” he interrupted cruelly as he carefully readjusted his sleeves to put on his coat. “you need me to fuck you stupid? let you come all over my hand like a pathetic little tenant whore?”

umm... yes sir... yes please...

“you get your orgasm when i get my money.” he glanced over his shoulder one last time, with a smirk so toxic it made your knees shake all over again. “next month, doll. don’t be late.”

I love this punishment more than anything. Maybe that's just me being pathetic tho. It probably is. But ugh. the nickname, the denied orgasm, THE IMPLIED NEXT TIME??????????

Honey this fic did things to I cannot explain. Your writing is so freaking good and then you dedicate a tom fic to me???🥺🥺🩷 I am so so so honored. Thank you so much for writing this delicious piece, I will be rereading this forever. UGH. I love how u built so many of my fav kinks in there too. You just know me too well. I am kissing you so hard through my screen because this was so so delicious. and I am veryyy kindly requesting a part two in which he actually makes us cum. 🥺 pls and thank u. <33333

landlord special

synopsis. when your landlord's cruel, impossibly handsome son shows up to collect the rent — rent you don’t have — you decided that flaunting your body will get you out of trouble. but tom riddle wants more than just flashes of skin: an alternative payment, in a far more degrading currency. he may not be the true landlord, but he can give you the special white sticky paint you so desire.

pairing. landlord’s son! tom riddle x reader

content/mdni. DUB-CON. fem!reader, landlord’s son!tom, cruel!tom, stoic!tom, dom!tom, fingering, slight choking, doggy-style (over the counter), slight clit stimulation, clit/cunt slapping, spanking, orgasm denial, implied hand/vein kink, sir kink, teasing, degradation, dirty talk, name-calling (doll, good girl, whore and tenant whore), raw sex, i am down bad

word count. 4.1k

a/n. FIRST TIME WRITING FOR TOM! this one is for my lovely @viperify! i am not that proud of this fic, but oh well! please tell me your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are deeply appreciated! spot the surprise in the right picture

“pans, i am telling you! he will kick me out this time.”

your voice, desperate and anxious, boomed into the phone, reaching pansy’s ears without any interruptions. you called her as soon as you’ve received the news that tonight someone other than your kind old landlord will come to collect the rent — his arrogant, stuck-up son.

tom riddle was coming tonight.

you've met tom before, under similar circumstances: he stopped by your apartment a few months ago to get the payment in his father’s stead. that time, the old man told you his sweet boy tommy will drop by and only bother you for a few minutes for the rent, but should you have any issues with the apartment, you could talk to him too.

sweet boy tommy was not as sweet as his father suggested. when he first arrived at your front door, he barely spared you a glance before forcing his way in. he almost pushed you away with his solid build, but thankfully you evaded his shoulder in time by practically gluing yourself to the closest wall.

tom didn’t apologize, didn’t greet you; heck, if his father hadn’t phoned in before to announce his arrival, you wouldn’t have known the name of the handsome yet infuriating stranger.

what made it worse was that you had to pay more than usual to compensate for the previous month — at that time, you did not have the full sum of money, but your landlord was considerate and allowed you to pay the rest together with the next month’s payment.

tom seemed to not have been informed about that and his reaction was… something.

“last time he was such an ass.”

you remember it all clearly: that bastard crossed his arms, gave you the coldest meanest stare like you were some kind of criminal who’d deliberately planned to screw his father over, then called you out on your behavior. and he did it in the most spiteful way possible, glaring down at you with his dark brown eyes like you were a peasant with no value.

“'keep this up and you’ll find yourself out on the streets.' that’s what he said.” you continued, pacing around the living room while filling pansy in.

your footsteps quickened against the floorboard as you remember that night. you were growing more and more restless because you were sure that demon tom will keep his word and throw you out.

you remembered how goosebumps spread all over your skin at that venomous remark of his.

you remembered how your heart dropped into your stomach at that sly smirk of his.

you remembered how arousal drooled into your panties at that final arrogant gaze of his.

“and 'don’t be late again, doll.'” using your best tom voice, you recounted his threatening goodbye greeting for pansy.

“oh, girl! he was definitely flirting with you!”

what?

“pans, you’re crazy. i just told you that man threatened me, and your first thought is romance?”

“dark romance.” her voice almost cut you off, correcting your improper labelling. “that’s how it usually goes, trust me!”

“you’re of no help. i should’ve just called drac–”

“draco’s advice is ass. listen to me!” pansy continued, ready to present you the best plan of actions. “dress prettily for him, maybe get out that low-cut top you got with me–…”

“oh, so he can call me a broke and a whore? no thank you.”

“stop complaining! you want to at least try to soften his resolve?”

“… yeah.”

“then open your damn camera and show me your wardrobe.”

•••

8 p.m. sharp.

the knock on the front door comes loud and deliberate, echoing through the thin walls of your apartment. although prepared for his arrival, you still flinched in your seat at the sound, nearly falling off the edge of the living room couch.

you got this! it will be fine.

raising from your position, you made your way to the door. with one last look at your reflection in the hallway mirror, checking the provocative outfit pansy insisted you wear for tom, you stepped towards the front door. thrusting the key into the lock with no hesitation, you rotated it twice before the door was completely ajar, revealing your landlord’s son.

probably because of this meeting with you.

his sharp eyes dropped immediately on you — not to your face, no, but lower, taking in the full expense of your bare skin. the valley between your breasts — visible thanks to your top, together with the delicate chain glinting against your sternum. he made a mental note of the flexible material of your top and the way it was swaying at the tiniest movement.

you made an... interesting fashion choice.

tom didn’t stop there though. his eyes traversed even lower, down to your short tight skirt and the visible outline of your panties.

damn, weren’t you a sight for sore eyes?

nonetheless, he didn’t falter like pansy predicted, his expression stone-like, as if a half-naked woman wasn’t right before him. only one of his eyebrows arched, but not in surprise or excitement.

but in ruthless judgement.

“are you going somewhere?” his deep voice vibrated across the hallway as he stepped inside without an invitation.

his tone was accusatory, and it didn’t take you much to understand what was going on in his head: to tom, it seemed like you were planning to shoo him away fast by using an evening outing as an excuse.

“no wonder you’re always late on rent,” tom muttered, brushing past you with a scornful click of his tongue. “too busy playing dress-up for your little boyfriends.”

and with that, the front door shut behind him with a heavy thud, sealing you in with the very man you dreaded most.

boyfriends? he was straight up shaming you, throwing unfounded assumptions at you like darts to a board. just to stir you up. just to make you fall into his trap and sprout more cruelties at you.

so you kept quiet, raising your arms from your sides and instinctively moving to cross them over your chest to show your indignation. unfortunately, such a movement only made matters worse, as it forced your tits to spill further out of your top and aid tom’s assumptions about your promiscuity.

the slutty outfit was definitely a miss, only acting as your weakness, not his.

tom did not turn around to observe the state of your breasts though, as he walked further into your apartment, stepping towards the kitchen section with big strides. you follow him suit, hurrying your pace to catch up to him, while also being more aware of your clothing.

you should be careful not to sway your tits out of the top completely.

still no sign of destabilization.

tom pulled out his notebook — that cursed landlord notebook — and flipped the pages until he found your name.

“or are you ashamed you spent your rent money yet again on useless dates?”

“n–no, i have—” you started, already flustered by the maliciousness his voice. he was so viciously belittling you, yet you couldn’t deny the strong throbbing between your legs.

“n–no?” he mimicked your stuttering, voice low with amusement. “then you have the rent for this month, hm?”

forgetting his notebook on the kitchen island, tom reduced the distance between your two bodies with two small steps. now he was a breath away, his tall frame looming over yours, making you feel small, pathetic, weak.

your knees wanted to give out under the pressure, yet you somehow maintained your position under his merciless gaze. “i just–…”

“go get it.” tom dipped his head lower, reaching your exposed ear and whispering a daunting command and a suggestion tainted with danger. “and hurry, i am not a patient man.”

your breath hitched because of the proximity, his hot breath hitting your ear making your whole body jolt in place.

you parted your lips, ready to agree, but he was already moving away from you — crossing the small kitchen in calculated strides and tossing his coat over one of your chairs. tom then leaned his body against the kitchen island, hip hitting the edge of the notebook and pushing it further into your field of vision.

he didn’t care for an answer. he was just after the money.

“pay up, miss tenant.”

you swallowed thickly and moved away from your spot, reaching for the envelope you had left on the adjacent counter earlier. you did your best to bend your knees rather than hinge at your hips while retrieving the envelope so as to not flash tom with your barely covered pussy.

that was the initial plan – flashing him, but now you needed to play safe and not irritate him.

when you got close to him, you immediately extended the envelope — with trembling fingers, not daring to meet his gaze. your eyes were instead focused on his newly exposed torso: the way the dark button-up was nicely snug against his body, how it was tucked neatly into his dress pants and supported by a leather belt.

how tom has actually rolled the sleeves of the shirt up to his elbows, exposing manly, vein-littered forearms to your wandering eyes.

you were so captivated by the sight, you did not realize he didn’t take the envelope right away. instead, tom was also eyeing you. he looked at your outstretched hand, then up at your loose top flashing him more of your tender skin. if he concentrated more, he could have definitely seen your perky nipples poking at the satin material.

fuck, he would have never thought he’d find you in such a promiscuous outfit, but he was definitely not complaining.

especially since you dressed so nicely just for him.

when tom finally took the envelope, he did so in one swift motion. letting his fingers brush yours for just a second — enough to make your skin thump like it had been electrocuted.

he opened it.

the room felt still. frozen.

then—

he scoffed.

it was soft, low, but somehow it hit harder than any other reaction he could have had. tom flipped through the bills with a single hand before slamming the envelope down on the counter.

“this isn’t the full amount, doll.”

your heart dropped. “i-i know. i tried, but—”

“tried?” he said it like the word offended him. “do i look like someone who accepts partial payments?”

fuck, why did you listen to pansy? why did you get your hopes up knowing what kind of man he is?

“i'll get the rest by next week, i swear—”

tom clicked his tongue again like a disappointed parent. “do you think this is a joke?” he stepped closer. “do you think i'm my father?”

you flinched, taking a step back as tom slowly crept towards you. his jaw was clenched with an unspoken anger, while his dark eyes glimmered with something else.

more primal. more raw.

the corner of his lips raised in a cruel grin, pleased yet again by your cowering reaction. he continued his menacing steps until he backed you all the way into the kitchen isle. and when your ass finally collided with the edge of the counter, he caged you in with his half-exposed arms.

keeping you trapped between the wooden furniture piece and his body.

“i’m not a fucking charity, doll.”

you swallowed.

“i should toss you out on the street tonight. you know that, right?”

“n–no, please...”

“don’t lie to me, doll.” he growled in your face, mouth hovering so close to yours.

his hand removed itself from your chin, snaking lower until it reached the base of your throat. and, with strong and unrestrained fingers, tom latched tightly onto your airpipe.

“you knew what would happen, right?” he asked again, this time putting pressure on your exposed neck.

“y–yes.”

“yes what?”

shit, was this really happening?

“yes, s–sir?!”

“that’s right, doll.”

tom let his other hand trail lightly down your torso, stopping shortly at the hem of your skirt before fully sliding his hands over your ass. “so what are you going to do?”

it was clear as day what he was hinting at, yet he continued to taunt you with feigned ignorance, wishing to see you offer your body on your own.

“what are you offering in return? because cash clearly isn’t your currency of choice.”

your lips parted, but no words came out. his hand was harshly pressing down on your throat, veins popping across his flexed forearm, but that wasn’t the full reason why you couldn’t speak up. with his other hand, tom was groping at the plush of your ass, clawing at the stretchy material and making your brain all hazy.

“nothing to say?” he mused, pulling his lower hand back slightly, only to slap it across your butt cheek.

“you’re dressed like you want to be fucked,” he said coldly. “not pitied.”

you gasped loudly, partially offended, but your thighs pressed further one into the other.

because he was right.

you did it all intentionally and you had to bear the consequences of your scandalous behavior.

“here’s the deal.” his face was inches from yours now. “you give me something worth more than your pitiful rent... or you pack your shit and leave tonight.”

his fingers gripped the edge of your skirt, inching it higher and higher on your leg. tom was acting on his own, but such forward actions were merely based on your own little scheme of seduction. he saw through you, saw how you wanted to fuck your way out of this payment.

he might as well indulge you, no?

“don’t play innocent now, doll. you dressed up for this, didn’t you?”

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t.

your breath was caught somewhere between fear and want, tangled up in the grip tom had around your neck and the arousal soaking your already ruined panties. you were trembling, eyes blown wide, chest heaving — but not backing away.

you didn’t move when he hiked your skirt up fully, baring your panties to the warm air of the kitchen. you didn’t stop him when he hooked a single finger into their waistband and tugged them down your thighs.

“thought so,” he muttered, voice thick with disdain. “fucking whore.”

you whimpered as his hand slid between your legs, thick fingers parting your folds and dragging slowly through the wetness. you were so fucking drenched– his digits got sticky with arousal in one mean swipe.

and your hole, god! his finger prodded against your twitchy entrance and was almost sucked in by your hungry cunt.

“so desperate…”

tom complied to your bodily needs as he dipped one finger inside, pushing knuckle-deep without warning. you gasped, back arching, your ass pressing harder into the counter as your knees caved into one another, threatening to give out.

“fuck,” he sneered, slowly thrusting the finger in and out of you. “knew you’d be like this. knew that from the moment i walked in. you wanted this, didn’t you?”

“t–tom.” you whined his name, voice high and cracking. your walls clenched around his finger, giving him a non-verbal answer.

you wanted this so so bad.

“it’s sir for you, doll.” he added a second finger, curling them inside you as your body jolted forward, face mushing against his chest. “say that for me like a good girl!”

and you did. you were putty in his hands and you couldn’t deny him nor the pleasure you were receiving.

“s–sir, si–ir.”

“that’s right, dirty whore.” tom hissed against your ear as he sped up his movement, his two digits now opening you up with urgency. “shit, you’re dripping down your thighs for a man who threatened to evict you.”

you’d so wish to defend yourself, but only moan came out of your drool-covered lips. it was humiliating how quickly he worked you up — how rough and impatient he was, fingers pumping into you like he wasn’t trying to coax your pleasure, just use it.

and fuck, it was working. your hips were rocking against his hand, desperate, mindless.

“you’re not even trying to resist,” tom murmured darkly, pulling his hand away from your cunt, only to deliver a harsh slap to it. “pathetic.”

“turn around. now.”

tom ordered, yet didn’t allow you to conform. he manhandled you as he wished, pulling his hand on your back and spinning you around, only to shove you forward, pressed down into the counter. your cheek was smushed against the notebook, ink now stretching across the pages due to your sweat.

but it didn’t matter now, really. what was the point of writing down your tabs if you weren’t going to pay the traditional way?

you only gasped as the cold surface met your chest, your tits now spilled out of the satin top and pressed nicely against the wooden counter. one strong hand grabbed your hip, yanking you back, while the other bunched up your skirt around your waist. the sharp edge of the counter dug into your stomach, your legs shaky and parted just for him.

what an obedient little tenant whore you’ve become.

“sloppy fucking pussy.” he groaned behind you, as he undid his belt and shoved his trousers down just enough to free his cock.

all just to watch you squirm beneath him.

“payment time, doll.” tom hissed, voice right behind your ear. “a proper payment, for once.”

and with no warning, he slammed into you.

completely. in one full push.

you cried out, legs nearly buckling as his cock filled you in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. he didn’t pause to let you adjust, no. he just grabbed at your hips, digging his digits into your skin, and started pounding into you.

hard. fast. indifferent towards you.

each thrust shoved your body further into the counter’s edge, making your tits drag all across the surface. the stretch of his cock burned, your walls clenching around him, fluttering helplessly with every ruthless snap of his hips.

“god, listen to that.” he growled, hips jutting into your ass over and over again, the harsh slap of skin to skin filling the kitchen like music. the wet squelches of your cunt were loud and constant, a true indicator of your unmeasurable arousal.

“you like being used, don’t you? like being bent over and ruined like a whore?”

“y–yes, sir!” you cried out, voice muffled by the countertop, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from pain and pleasure.

tom chuckled cruelly at your desperate answer, dragging his cock out almost completely, then slamming back in with a sharp grunt. “you’ll be lucky if you can walk after this.”

your fingers clawed at the edge of the counter, so so overwhelmed by the way tom was bullying his cock into you. he was hitting all the nice spots and, fuck– this position allowed his tip to kiss your cervix just right.

"don't cum." he bent over your ruined body, sneering into your ear.

you seem to be too lost in the feeling — eyes rolled back, mouth agape; you definitely did not hear tom. so he took matters into his own hands and brought you back to reality. by reaching around and slapping your sensitive clit — quick, sharp swats that made your body seize and shake.

"you don't get to finish, whore."

you sobbed, ecstatic from the thick cock stretching you so good, from the filthy cruel words, from the unbearable heat building in your belly. tom was relentless, drilling into you with contempt, hammering that spot inside you again and again.

“fuck—" he hissed suddenly, thrusts growing erratic. his grip on your hips tightened like a vice. “you're gonna take all my cum. you hear me, doll?”

“yes, sir! please– please–!”

and with a deep growl, he slammed in deep, hips crushing against your ass as he emptied his balls inside you.

you trembled beneath him, your cunt pulsing around his cock, aching for more. for anything. but he stood still, letting you feel his white sticky release fill you to the brim.

then slowly, cruelly, he pulled out.

his cum immediately began to drip out of your swollen cunt, running down your thighs in thick streaks.

no. way. was he really denying your orgasm?

tom looked down at the mess, satisfaction painted all over his face. to see your puffy pussy covered in his cum, all sensitive and begging for release– it almost made his cock sprung back to life. almost.

“payment accepted,” he said coldly, tucking himself back into his pants and taking a step back.

“w–wait, but–?”

“is something the matter, doll?” he muttered with venom, moving away from behind you and walking up to his forgotten coat.

“did you thought i’d make you finish just for begging like a whore?”

“please, sir…” your voice was cracked and breathless, brain hazy with the growing ache between your legs. “please, i-i need–”

you whimpered, nodding rapidly as your hips push back against thin air. “yes, sir… please. please let me cum…”

a beat of silence.

and then tom started buttoning up his coat.

“you didn’t pay the full rent,” he said flatly, voice devoid of any emotion now.

your head whipped around, eyes wide with disbelief, pleading for him to change his mind. but he only grabbed the notebook and the envelope, dropping them inside his pocket. “you thought that desperate performance would buy you an orgasm?”

“what? no– no, please,” you gasped, still bent over, cunt dripping, aching, throbbing. “please, i’ll do anything–”

tom laughed menacingly — a sound devoid of humor but full of cruel satisfaction. “yeah, i know you will. so next time, bring the full fucking payment.”

your mouth hung open, chest heaving with shock and disbelief as he walked towards the door.

“t-tom! please!” your voice cracked, tears of frustration dripping down your cheeks as you stood there, spread over the counter, wrecked and ruined.

he paused at the door, hand on the doorknob.

“you get your orgasm when i get my money.”

he glanced over his shoulder one last time, with a smirk so toxic it made your knees shake all over again.

“next month, doll. don’t be late.”

©dearmisshoney 2025. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

tags: @downbad4reid, @cafechichay, @lov3notts, @nottslove

#viperify recommends <3 #tom riddle #tom riddle smut #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x y/n #landlord's son!tom #tom riddle fic #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle fan fic #tom marvolo riddle #slytherin #slytherin boys #slytherin boys smut #harry potter #favs

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salty-autistic-writer · 16 hours ago

Text

Clothes are annoying.

Buck pulls at Tommy’s shirt in frustration, letting out a happy sigh when it’s finally off and tossed to the side. They stumble from the hallway into the bedroom, kissing and touching and moaning.

It’s dark, and Buck curses when he stubs his toe, but he forgets his pain the second the light is switched on and he has Tommy’s naked chest right in front of him. Oh. Fuck. He’s so hot. Buck stumbles forward, feeling a little drunk, reaching out and putting his hands on Tommy’s warm skin, humming happily at the feeling of firm muscle and hard nipples.

He wants to bury his face between these boobs. He wants to feel these nipples twitch between his lips. He wants to throw Tommy on the bed and kiss every spot on his body. He wants …

Fuck. He wants everything.

He wants everything so much that for the moment, he can just stare and stare and touch in reverence.

“Like what you see?” Tommy asks, raising a teasing brow.

“Yeah. You’re so hot,” Buck groans and runs his hands down Tommy’s hips, “Let me fuck you."

Tommy’s breath hitches. “You’re not wasting any time, are you?” He asks, but his shaky laughter, the way he licks his lips, and his pupils dilate give his hunger away.

“No,” Buck agrees, marvelling at how well Tommy’s ass fits into his hands and giving it a good squeeze. “Not when I see something I really want.”

Ha. Smooth.

He makes their lips collide again, smiling into the gasp that escapes Tommy when Buck pushes and pulls until he can manhandle Tommy right where he wants him: on the bed.

Buck follows, fitting between Tommy’s legs and pressing his thigh against Tommy’s crotch, diving in for another kiss right after Tommy manages a startled “Oh God” and hitches his hips up with a moan.

With a delighted chuckle, Buck pulls back, attacking Tommy’s neck instead, biting at it. Fuck. He smells so good. Feels so good. So warm and soft and thick and - Wait. He really isn't wasting any time, is he? Should he slow down? Maybe?

Buck’s mind has the worst timing ever. Because it suddenly starts to second-guess his approach.

Hey, it doesn't matter how much you want to be Mister Sexy and Confident; because I hope you are aware that you are essentially made of a dozen failed relationships, abandonment issues, and the tendency to rush things?

Maybe you’re already on the way to ruin this relationship too?

No.

No, please, not this one.

The thought of not being with Tommy anymore makes Buck feel cold.

“I’m not going too fast, am I?” he asks, sitting back with a swallow.

Tommy blinks up at him, his lips slightly parted and brows furrowed. “Huh?”

He looks … confused.

Buck takes a deep breath. “If I’m going too fast, you would tell me, right? Because I tend to get carried away, and I was told that I can be a little … overwhelming. A little too much. It’s just … You’re so hot. And this is so much fun. And I want to do everything. With you.

I did research and I watched a lot of gay porn in preparation. And now I have so many things on my list that I want to try. But we didn’t really talk about it and maybe you don’t even want my dick in your ass and I would understand it because I'm not small and the anus isn’t self-lubricating and that one time when I got pegged by one of my girlfriends it felt amazing, don’t get me wrong, but it also gave me a pretty good impression that an ass is very tight and I also know that not everyone likes to be penetrated which is completely alright and I just want you to know that I respect all your boundaries, whatever they are.

I really want to have sex with you. But I want it to be fun for both of us. Because I like you a lot and you’re really important to me.”

Silence.

Buck stares at Tommy. Tommy stares back, wide-eyed and still breathing heavily. Buck feels a hint of dread.

Oh. Oh God. He ruined it, didn’t he? Again. He ruined it again. Stupid. So stupid. Why can’t he think before he talks? Why can’t he be … normal?

“Sorry. My mouth is stupid sometimes,” Buck blurts, his heart pounding.

Tommy clears his throat. He cups Buck’s face in both his hands. “Evan,” he says seriously.

“Yeah?” Buck breathes, hypnotised by the cloudy blue in Tommy’s eyes.

“You're so sweet. And you're doing amazing. Please go on and fuck me like you wanted to,” his boyfriend says, slightly amused. “You can’t tell me about your cock, gay porn, pegging experience and about how you feel about me, only to back-pedal. That would be cruel, look at what you did to me.”

He gestures at his erection - still trapped in his pants - and at the flush covering the already naked part of his body.

Buck chuckles, relief rushing through him together with a fresh wave of arousal. It's okay. He can let go. He can go with the flow. This feels right. “Oh, so you do want it? You want my cock?”

“I want your cock,” Tommy confirms, grinding against said cock with a grin.

Buck moans and leans their foreheads together. “Well, I guess it’s time to give you exactly what you want, then.”

(AO3 Link)

#bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #tevan #bucktommy fanfic #my writing #snippet

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voidsnoir · 2 days ago

Text

your daughter calls me daddy too — woozi x reader

summary: On the way to meet her parents for the first time, Jihoon can’t resist teasing his anxious girlfriend, turning nerves into desire right there in the car. They might be about to smile politely over dinner… but they both know the real heat will come later, behind closed doors.

warning!! nsfw, fingering, pet-names;

notes: the inspo was a trend that i saw on x and one girl did it with woozi! so, this little short story just born

You were all nervous ’cause today was finally the day Jihoon was gonna meet your parents. You knew your boyfriend was charming, polite, basically everything your parents ever wanted in the person you’d choose to love — but that didn’t stop the anxiety from crawling all over you.

You guys were already on your way, and your legs were bouncing like crazy — dead giveaway you were anxious — even though you were just sitting there in the passenger seat.

“Hey, relax… I’m not gonna embarrass you in front of your parents,” Jihoon said, taking his right hand off the wheel just to rest it on your thigh, giving you a little reassuring squeeze.

“I know you won’t… but do you even know how you’re gonna approach them? Especially my dad…”

“Of course! I’ll talk about the stuff we’ve got in common…” Jihoon said, then that mischievous little grin spread across his lips. “Was thinking about starting with something about baseball… at least until I get to the most important part…”

He paused for a second, still smirking. You just knew there was something completely unexpected running through his head with that look.

“Which is…”

“Well, I would say… your daughter calls me daddy too.”

He started laughing as soon as he finished the sentence, but flashes of last night flooded your mind. Jihoon’s hands all over your body, hitting all the right spots… it was impossible not to feel that wave of heat rushing through you. Instinctively, with that little ache low in your belly, your legs pressed together and a blush spread across your cheeks.

Seeing that, Jihoon’s face changed instantly. That playful, teasing expression melted into something darker — pure lust.

“You’re thinking about everything we did last night, aren’t you?” he said, sliding his hand a little higher up your thigh, squeezing you harder this time.

“Yes… daddy,” you breathed out, your voice all soft and needy, barely keeping that shaky sigh from slipping through your lips.

That sound — God — it made Jihoon lose it completely. His right hand, the one that’d been on your thigh, slipped right under your dress, boldly making its way between your legs.

“So wet… and I haven’t even done anything to you yet, babe…”

You bit your lip hard, trying to keep yourself quiet, but the way his fingers brushed over you made it almost impossible. Your breath hitched, your hips instinctively tilting towards his touch, desperate for more even though you were both still in the damn car.

Jihoon let out this low, cocky chuckle, loving every second of how undone you were getting.

“Shit, babe… you’re already this worked up and we’re not even home yet,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire, leaning closer to whisper right against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

You could barely think straight, your fingers gripping the edge of the seat so tight your knuckles went white.

“Jihoon… w-we can’t…” you tried to say, but your voice came out all breathy and weak, completely betraying you.

“Hmm… pretty sure we can,” he smirked, pushing his fingers just a little further, teasing you mercilessly.

The car kept moving down the road, but for you, the whole world had narrowed down to his touch, his voice, and that wicked grin of his.

“Don’t worry, baby… I’ll behave when we get to your parents’,” he promised, but the way his fingers kept playing with you said otherwise.

You gasped, your head falling back against the seat, your body already trembling, knowing damn well that Jihoon always knew exactly how to push you right to the edge… and then some.

His fingers slipped past the thin fabric, finally finding exactly what he was looking for. You let out a sharp gasp, biting down hard on your lip to keep from moaning his name right there in the car.

“Fuck… you’re soaking,” Jihoon growled, his voice low and rough, as if he was barely holding himself back. His fingers moved slow at first, just to tease, making you squirm in your seat, your thighs trembling as you tried — and failed — to keep still.

“Jihoon…” you whimpered, your hand gripping his wrist, not really to stop him, but just because you needed something, anything, to ground yourself.

But he didn’t stop. Of course he didn’t. He leaned in closer, pressing a hot kiss against your neck, then trailing up to your ear.

“Be a good girl and stay quiet for me… we’re almost there,” he whispered, his words sending another pulse of heat straight through you as his fingers kept working you over, slow but relentless.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your breath coming out in shaky little pants, your whole body already on fire for him. But then —

Ding.

Your phone lit up with a notification from your mom: “We’re waiting for you two! Dinner’s almost ready!”

Jihoon glanced at it and let out a dark little laugh, finally pulling his hand away, though not before giving you one last, slow stroke that left you gasping for air.

“Guess we’ll have to finish this later…” he said, smirking as he casually licked his fingers, tasting you with zero shame.

You just stared at him, your cheeks flushed, your whole body still aching for more.

The car slowed to a stop right in front of your parents’ house, the porch light glowing warmly in the evening air. Jihoon leaned over, kissed your cheek sweetly — completely switching gears — and whispered,

“Let’s go say hi to your parents… but tonight, you’re all mine.”

You swallowed hard, trying to pull yourself together as you opened the door, knowing damn well that this night was far from over.

#kpop x reader #kpop x poc reader #kpop imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #woozi x reader #woozi imagines #woozi fanfic

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soleauclub · 3 days ago

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The Mental Health Habits That Made Me Prettier, Calmer, Richer

by Soleau Club / www.soleauclub.com

The mental health glow-up is the realest glow-up of all. You can have the serums, the sculpted abs, the designer coffee table books, but if your nervous system is fried and your brain’s running on vibes and oat milk alone, it shows.

When I started actually tending to my mind, not just my body and bank account, something shifted. I looked better. I felt magnetic. I made better decisions (and more money). Mental health became my prettiest accessory, my softest flex, and my strongest foundation.

Here are the habits that changed everything:

I romanticized slowness

Not the lazy kind. The intentional kind. I stopped rushing through my life like it was a to-do list and started moving like I was the main character in an indie film. Morning matcha rituals, soft Pilates, long skincare routines with jazz in the background; slowing down made me more mindful, present, and dare I say…luxuriously irresistible? lol.

I started journaling like I was scripting a new reality

Not just “dear diary.” I’m talking full manifestation mode, nervous system regulation, reparenting-my-inner-child energy. I wrote like the version of me I wanted to become was already real. And spoiler: she showed up.

I stopped trauma bonding, started vision bonding

Sorry, but gossip sessions and trauma dumps over wine weren’t serving me. I started choosing conversations that felt like future-casting. People who made me feel excited to evolve. We talked investments, love standards, legacy. My circle upgraded with my mindset.

I set boundaries like a rich woman with a facial at 2pm

No is a full sentence. And when I started using it, I had more energy, creativity, and actual joy. Mental peace became my top-tier beauty product.

I gave up multitasking for nervous system regulation

I used to pride myself on doing five things at once. Now I see it for what it was: stress in heels. Single-tasking became my new flex. I got more done, felt calmer, and my face? Less puffy. My vibe? Expensive.

I healed my relationship with rest

The girl who used to feel guilty for relaxing? She’s gone. Now I see rest as productive, sexy, essential. I stopped over-identifying with hustle culture and started seducing my goals with clarity and calm. Trust! Money flows so much easier when you're not constantly in burnout mode.

I started treating my mind like a sacred place

Would you let anyone graffiti all over your dream house? No. So I stopped letting junk content, negative people, and inner critic noise take up space rent-free in my brain. Curated input = elevated output.

Mental wellness isn’t just about being calm. It’s about becoming magnetic. Peaceful. Powerful. Pretty from the inside out. If you want to glow different, start with your mind.

Ready to go hardcore with your clean girl routine? Follow Soleau Club on Tumblr for more daily challenges, catch our YouTube videos every Sunday for new routines, and stay connected with us on TikTok and Instagram (@soleauclub) for all the inspo and accountability you need. For it-girl wellness accessories and free US shipping, shop online at www.soleauclub.com

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everrinsly · 1 day ago

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a/n; thank you for all the sweet, kind comments! i really like this version of suna. i finally finished this i started in uni haha when i had terrible back pain

and also every time i visit the motherland (not often :(, i always have to smuggle back some salonpas (they are for pain relief, comes in spray or patches), also reminds me of when fukunaga says nice toss, salonpas

blurred lines, best friend vibes.

kiss it better... with salonpas with suna. fluff. fem!reader. | not proofread.

post-game suna is exhausted... and needy for salonpas, your touch, and maybe a kiss?

more suna here!

more reads!

જ⁀🏐🖤📱

The front door clicks open just after midnight.

It’s quiet, almost cautious, but so heavy with the weight that always comes home with Suna after a game.

You're curled on the couch, the TV droning quietly with the low hum of some late-night ad reel.

The sports channel had been playing his game earlier—replays, commentary, all the fast cuts and booming excitement worthy of national coverage. But it’s long ended, now reduced to a loop of shampoo commercials and cheap car deals.

Still, you leave it on.

You just liked the noise, the flicker of the screen, the soft glow casting shadows across the apartment. It made the place feel less empty, the sense that the apartment wasn’t completely still, and maybe less like you were waiting (even though you were).

So when you hear heavy footsteps and a duffle bag dropped with a dull thump, your pulse reacts before your mind does.

He doesn’t say anything. He never really does when he’s wrung out from the celebrations, where the adrenaline’s burned out and his body finally realizes how hard it worked.

You wait, heart thrumming quietly. And sure enough, a few seconds later, Suna rounds the corner and pads slowly into the living room.

He’s in his EJP jacket—half-unzipped, exposing the edge of his gold jersey and the wet sheen on his collarbone. His hair is damp and messy, curled slightly at the ends (he probably gave up halfway through drying it).

He smells faintly like locker room sweat, floor resin, that tired musk of post-game exhaustion; but underneath it all, he smells like him, something so distinctly familiar, safe, warm… like home.

His eyes land on you, hazy and unreadable.

“Hey,” you whisper softly, voice barely above the hum of the TV.

“Mm.” He nods and slinks toward you, dropping onto the couch besides you.

You flinch a little when his head tips to the side and lands on your lap, heavy and warm and wholly unbothered by personal space. One arm dangles off the couch beside your legs and the other is awkwardly around your waist, pressed between your back and the cushion.

He exhales long and slow. “Dead,” he mutters into your thigh.

You smile, hand hesitantly moving to brush through his hair, gentle fingers combing out the sweat-dried strands. “Looked like a tough match.”

“My whole body feels like it got hit by a truck,” he grumbles against your skin, lips ghosting where your shorts ride up your thigh. “Everything hurts.”

You scratch his scalp in sympathy. “You did dive into the bench during the third set.”

“Saved the ball,” he deadpans.

“Nearly broke your shoulders.”

“But I looked hot doing it.”

You laugh softly. God, he’s so—you don’t let yourself finish the thought.

(But yeah, he did look hot. There were already fan edits online that you definitely didn’t save to your phone... definitely not).

“You should’ve left that save for Komori. He was lunging for it behind you.”

“He wouldn’t have made it,” he replies, twisting his face to look up at you now, brows furrowed in focus that meant he’s still analyzing, still replaying everyone’s moves in his head. “We had a shitty formation during that play.”

You hum softly, not agreeing or disagreeing, just letting the silence sit between you for a second. Then, with a small sigh, you lift your free hand and smooth it over his forehead, pushing his bangs back.

“Stop thinking so hard,” you say, voice laced with fondness. “It’s just a thought... from lil’ old me, who doesn’t play volleyball and mostly watches games through 4K.”

That earns you a half-smile, lazy and crooked. You continue to run your fingers through his hair, and he closes his eyes for a second, like your touch is heavier than it is, grounding him.

There’s a beat of silence before you pick up the banter again.

“You also didn’t even shower yet, stinky,” you tease.

“You still let me use you as a pillow though.”

“You always use me as a pillow.”

He looks smug. “‘Cause you’re comfy.”

You roll your eyes, fingers drifting lower, brushing along the curve of his neck until they find the thin silver chain resting against his collarbone. You trace it lazily, just touching, feeling.

He groans softly. "Keep doing that."

You know his signs—when he’s too tired to joke, too sore to sit up, too worn out to hide how much his body aches.

So you say, soft and careful, “Want me to put some Salonpas on your back?”

Suna doesn’t answer right away. He just shifts, turning a bit to rest his cheek against your inner thigh, face angled toward your stomach. His eyes are half-lidded, lashes casting shadows.

He breathes you in before he speaks. “Only if you kiss it better.”

Your fingers freeze in his hair. “Absolutely not.”

“Cold.”

Your heart is doing something strange, fluttery and traitorous and too loud for a moment like this.

But you cover it with a scoff and reach for the little drawer on the side table, where you keep all the ‘just-in-case’ things: band-aids, lint rollers, and of course, Salonpas—because of course you do; you’ve lived with him long enough to expect these nights.

You’re halfway through peeling open the box when you hear him murmur, voice low and drowsy. “Not the patches.”

You pause. “Hmm?”

He shifts again, tilting his head just enough to glance up at you from his spot in your lap. His lips curl in that faint smirk that always makes your chest feel tight.

“Use the spray,” he says, voice light. “Feels better when you rub it in.”

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious. “You mean it feels better when I touch you.”

He doesn’t even pretend to deny it, only shrugs. “Don’t be weird about it.”

You let out a quiet, flustered huff, ducking back into the drawer and digging past the clutter for the familiar blue can. Your fingertips close around the cool metal, and you hold it up with a pointed look.

“Gross behavior,” you mutter.

“Not gross,” he mumbles into your thigh. “Just honest.”

You roll your eyes and pat his cheek, signaling for him to fully turn. When he shifts face down on your lap, you tug his jacket and jersey up by the hem.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, just lets you pull it halfway up his back until the cool air hits skin.

And then your breath catches.

His back is a mess of tension—taut lines and overworked muscles, a constellation of bruises blooming faintly across his ribs and shoulder blades, and deep, dull splotches where he must’ve collided, where he must’ve hit the ground hard.

It’s the kind of damage that doesn’t show on the scoreboard.

You swallow, pressing your lips together. You hadn’t realized he’d taken this many hits today.

You hesitate with the can in your hand, eyes scanning the bruised dip of his waist.

And for a second, you forget the banter, the teasing back-and-forth that always makes these nights feel easier. All you can feel is that soft, aching throb in your chest: the part of you that wants to press your hand to every mark and ask if it hurts, the part that always hurts with him, and for him, even when you try not to.

Then, before your brain can catch up with your mouth, something small but so honest slips out.

“…Just one,” you whisper. “One kiss.”

It’s barely louder than a breath. You’re not even sure he hears it.

But then his back rises and falls with a slow exhale, and the smirk in his voice is unmistakable.

“Thought you said absolutely not.”

You glare at the back of his head before softly pinching his ear. “Do you want the kiss or not?”

“I want ten.”

“You’re getting one.”

You lean down before you can change your mind, pressing a soft kiss just beside the worst bruise along his upper back. It’s barely anything, just the lightest warmth of your mouth against his skin, but it's enough for him to let out a sigh.

You shake the can, the rattle filling the space between you, and then spray a gentle stripe down the curve of his spine. He stiffens at the initial contact.

But when your hand meets his skin—gentle, deliberate with care, spreading the spray in soft, gliding circles—you feel it.

The way his breath holds. The way his muscles relax. The way his body eases.

He wants your hands on him even when he doesn’t hurt; he needs your touch more than he lets on.

“You always want to be spoiled,” you murmur, smoothing your palm over the tension at the small of his back. Your voice is quiet, but the affection in it sneaks through anyway, soft around the edges.

“Only by you,” he replies casually. His voice vibrates low against your thigh, slightly muffled, but the weight still lands sharp.

You freeze for a split second, not at what he said because he’s always saying things like that, but at how easily it slips out, how much it doesn’t sound like a joke.

Your hand lingers where it rests, fingers spread lightly over the dip of his spine. His skin is warm beneath your palm, the faint rise and fall of his breath slow, steady, too calm for the way your heart is tripping over itself.

You shouldn’t. You always say that. And then you do it anyway.

You lean forward and press one more kiss—just one—below his shoulder blade. It's slower this time, softer. Your lips drag a little against his skin, and you stay there, lingering for a beat too long.

His breath hitches, just slightly.

“Fuck yes, angel,” Suna mumbles, voice a little hoarse, like it caught in his throat.

You pull back, cheeks warm, and immediately reach for his hair again—fingers threading through the dark strands before giving a firm tug in retaliation, not too hard but just enough to make a point.

"I'm gonna rip you bald."

"...Kinky."

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enchantressiren · 2 days ago

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❝𝐏𝐀𝐂: 𝐌𝐲 𝐣𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞. 𝐈𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐞. 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥.❞

How to heal from your sexual trauma? (Very detailed + Channeled songs)

Masterlist.

Author’s note,

This is part two.

Divider.

Pile 01.

Trigger warning: short mention of suicide and depression.

She took a step down from the rusty stairs, almost falling off because of her wobbly, pale knees. She looked around and saw no one and secretly walked down to the path of her village. She wanted something easygoing, something delicious to gorge on, hoping to fill her appetite. Everyone was so busy with their jobs in the market that they failed to notice this stranger until they heard soft panting and looked up. She looked like an oddity—human? She did not appear human-like; uncanny would fit.. though people have heard of wood makers crafting voodoo dolls and making them come to life. But those were made up and only what male figures would tell their family members as a bedtime story. It would not fit here, would it?

But then again, how could a voodoo doll bleed like a human being—her body has bruises and a bloody wound—it dripped down to her wobbly knees and caused her hardship with walking. She walked like a doll, looked like a doll, but acted human-like. A mere illusion to trick the king and his people, or was she truly human and simply looked like those rumors?

The villagers could not tell the difference, and it started to scare them. They looked at each other and thought about the best way to make the lady leave or make herself turn herself in through manipulation—it was the only logical choice after all. She waved at everyone with a cheerful smile, unbothered by her injuries, and asked politely, ‘’can someone please bake me bread? I’m so—‘’ she pauses, struggling to say anything else. The pain was slowly getting to her, but for some reason, the villagers could see that it didn’t hurt her in the way others would feel in this said situation.

One of them, a courageous young man, walked up to her and tried to give her his share of food but was pushed back by his wife as she lectured him not to trust a criminal. He looked confused trying to work out a situation, but his wife would not have it and blamed him if they were executed.

The wife pointed at the girl and yelled, ‘’do you see this bloody mess? This is done because she was raped and deserved it. Don’t get yourself in the same mess and just let her die!’’ The man’s wife's words echoed throughout his ear, and instant disgust etched onto his face as he slapped his wife, grabbed the “doll’s” hand, and led her to somewhere safe. He asked her, ‘’are you okay? Here, you can have my chicken. My wife—I suppose I would not consider her a wife any longer, but we did kill a chicken today and cooked it above the firespot. I hope it restores your health.’’ He tried to divert the tension and humiliation that happened with his wife and make sure the girl was okay.

He leaned forward and whispered something only to be interrupted by the girl’s coughing—blood dripped down her lips, and he acted immediately. He started to feed her herbal medication and tended to her wounds in hopes of her survival. ‘’This will make you feel a bit drowsy—I do apologize in advance. But I will be here watching your back, so you should not worry.’’

As the girl fell asleep from the medicine, the man sat on a rock and watched for any intruders to invade so he could protect their injured girl. But as nightfall came, his mind became slightly drowsy; he yawned and looked back at the girl and smiled—his smile was hollow and uncanny.

This scene depicts everything that has happened to you, my dear. You are the uncanny “voodoo doll” or the girl. You come from a rich family or have had rich, greedy family members who passed, and their will went to your family. You never got anything out of the will, only becoming the black sheep of the family. Sometimes it feels peaceful to be alone, and sometimes it feels lonely to be so misunderstood and tarnished for nothing but scrapes.

Your family has a reputation to uphold: talented and intelligent. And yet you do not fit this category at all—you have talent in the world of books, poetry, writing, singing, opera, etc., but this is not what they are looking for, so simply put, you are not talented or intelligent; in fact, you are clumsy and useless. A lot of you have a desire to become an opera singer, a songwriter and/or singer, a librarian, an author, an artist, a clay maker, a wood maker, or a motivational speaker (or for orphans/disabled kids to teens). or being a teacher working with disabled kids. But this is not good enough for them, and your dreams should be pushed aside to follow the family tradition.

Your mind adores the world of books—to live in your favorite book by your favorite authors would be a dream come true. Some of you still fantasized about this as a kid, and some of you are trying to enter the void state, reality shifting, or shift to it by lucid dreaming. Sometimes you want to give up, and sometimes you remind yourself to keep going because you are so close—hold that dream and make it true because it will happen through the love you have for yourself. Because of your past, you are determined to help others even if it’s an act through something small—you have this belief that a good act keeps your inner heart stronger and keeps you alive. Meaning, you romanticize your life because it fights out who you were in the past and how you were suicidal and depressed. To become like them scares you, so being good and doing better is your healthy coping mechanism.

You believe you got raped by your lack of traditions and following what your family wanted. You believe you got raped because you fucked up your family’s reputation by being different. You believe you got raped because it was a means to an end, and deep down in your heart, you believe God (or something/someone/it? you worship) did it for a reason—to make your family love and appreciate you. But none of these are true, and you should become aware. Take off your rosy glasses and be honest with yourself. It is okay to hurt yourself if you are going to be honest and help yourself heal. Lying and romanticizing your rape journey or life is not ideal and dangerous. You have a healthy coping mechanism, but it’s becoming toxic. Don’t let others step over you, and thank you for being a compassionate person—I love you for that, but do better for yourself, or else you will get raped again and think it is okay.

When you got raped, you did not know who it was because it was dark. A lot of you put the blame on your mother and believe she raped you because she had a miscarriage or had a child after doing it with you, while others blame a stranger that got into the house and did it because they were just horny. Both are wrong.

¼ of you were raped by your greedy, pathetic, fucking asshole of an uncle. You rejected his advances, and that was his last straw. The thing is you were oblivious to them and didn’t know any better…. As a kid.

¼ of you were raped by your father who has been off putting with you for the longest time, or because you remind him of your last mother or his ex.

¼ of you were raped by a woman in her mid-30s and a friend of your mother. She just had a child and craved sex, but her lover would not give it to her, so she fed into her intrusive thoughts and had it with you, but with the help of someone.

¼ of you were raped by your co-workers or male friends during a bonfire or a party that was held through midnight. All three of you (or four) had a lot to drink, wasn’t even alcohol, but someone fucked with it on purpose (and he is still your friend. Yes, yes, you have a feeling that he had something to do with it—trust your gut even if it is scary) to rape you because they wanted to taste you.

But why was all of this done? I mean, you were pretty young at the time, so shouldn’t it be impossible to get raped? You dress modestly, you do your best to stay out of dangerous things—even now, so why?

Simple answer. You tarnished the family’s name, and someone had to get back at you. Had to toughen you up. Couldn’t be done right without raping, then you would follow through and become better. I mean, you did do that after all, didn’t you? You became like them for the longest time, disrespected yourself throughout, and made it hard for yourself to be your authentic self when you were getting out—relapsing into it again. But even then, you got out, and here you are—look at how far you've come. You must be proud, because I would be if I were in your place.

So how can you heal from your sexual trauma? You cannot if you already did. And I know that you think you have not because the effects are still affecting you, but being self-aware is being healed. You became self-aware with your thoughts; you came here to heal despite questioning if you should read it. A little voice in your head said not to out of fear and yet you still came. You read it through, even through breaks (if you did), isn’t that being healed already? Whenever you have anxiety about the night, do you act on it and hurt someone else? Intrusive thoughts and trauma thoughts do not define us, our actions do. So I am going to ask again, do you act on your thoughts when you are remembering the night? Nope. Instead, what do you do? Say it with me. You do everything in your power to make sure you are okay. That is being healed.

You don’t have to be insanely self-aware to be healed. You don’t have to heal all of your trauma effects to be healed. You don’t have to be perfect to be healed. You just have to become slightly self-aware and do better for yourself, and you're healed. And no, this is not based on what I assume, this is based on intuition. And you trust others’ intuition all the time, so why don’t you start trusting yourself and see where life takes you? You never know, it might take you on a life of adventure, and you might fall in love with a good king and live happily ever after. After all, a fairy tale can be created through the magic we see through the lens of our eyes. You still believe in magic, right? Why don’t you go on a merry ride to Harry Potter and see your favorite characters, go on a dragon and fight the prince to save the princess yourself, or maybe become the villain of the story and make all the readers in love with you?

Go make yourself your own fairytale by accepting that you are finally healed and your healing journey has ended. The real question is: what now?

Who do you want to be? How do you want your life to begin? How does it end? What’s the plot? Who do you want to become? How do they act? You have to start the new chapter of your life, and what better way to do it than to become the author?

What is your author name, and how does your story end? I would love to know.

Channeled songs:

Hurt incantation - Mandy Moore

Healing incantation - Mandy Moore

When will my life begin - Mandy Moore

Masterlist.

Pile 02.

Sometimes the love you have for someone can take a drastic change and turn your life upside down. Sometimes the same love reverses back to you in the most negative ways. Sometimes, you will think this love adores you because they spoil you and brag about you. And sometimes, you think this love is going to be your happy ending—your perfect love story.. the one thing that will bring you immense joy. But this is not a fairytale, it’s not fiction where the author will scratch their pages and type something new—it’s not an artist drawing something magical and then making a new sketch because they finish yours. This is your life, and something you had no control over—something that should not have happened to you. Something you did not deserve. They say the kindest, most loving type of people die early—their life taken away from them; others blame the harsh world, and others blame the kind person. Either way, the person is dead, so why should it matter?

They say that men don’t deserve salvation when they have an eating disorder, that they cannot have one because they caused women to have it. They say that men cannot become skinny because it’s not manly enough, and yet, what about those that never did a thing? Why put that stigmatization into a concept that was never meant for them?

They say that black women have to act a certain way. That they should straighten their hair, act mature, and remain calm. They should only love black men to keep up their line, and yet what about those who don’t want to follow societal terms and live their own lives?

They say south asian women cannot be real because they follow men’s views on everything—that they focus on arranged marriages and are simply slaves. And yet what of those who cannot do anything about it but suck it up because this is their life? What of those that suffer with this or rebel, do they deserve the same treatment? Is it justified?

They say white women have a name for everything—that they don’t know how to clean themselves properly. That they don’t deserve to learn about other cultures and try it out for themselves respectfully. That they cannot try others’ cultural foods and show appreciation—that they are acting on a trend or being racist. What of them causes others to be so negative to hurt them for being a good person? What makes it special for people to tell others how to live their lives?

When people say all of these things, you are the type to defend them without a second thought—you don’t think about it, you just do it, yet when it came to others accusing you.. you just stood there and let it happen. This is your deepest regret, and now others see you as a shitty rapist even if you did not do anything, even if you asked their consent during sex, even.. even. There are so many things that each and every one of you has done to make her comfortable, and yet.. it didn’t matter. Why did it not matter?

Because you were being used from the start. She was jealous that others adored you, that you cared for others without expecting anything in return. She was jealous that others would have a crush on you from how genuine you were—you cannot fake being genuine, it’s simply impossible. She wore a mask, you didn’t. You can break a mask, but you cannot break being genuine and devoted to helping others. You cannot. So stop killing yourself about how genuine and loving you are, stop gaslighting yourself. She was jealous that you were open-minded and she wasn’t. She tried for so long to become a better person, but she could never comprehend how to. Her upbringing was awful, but remember, that does not condone what she did, so stop excusing her behavior.

You were framed into something that you are not. Read that again. You were framed for something that you are not. You need to take a step back and fully grasp that you did not do that, that you didn’t rape her. She did. She raped you out of your life, she fucking destroyed your sense of love for yourself because she was greedy for what you had. And no, you did not let her. Read it again. You did not let her. It was stolen. That is the difference. You are the victim here, don’t let her play that card. You don’t have to weep if you cannot, you don’t have to act numb either as if it does not bother you—it does and that is okay. This is your life. You don’t have to move away because if you do, that regret will turn into self-pity and emotional outbursts. You have to make yourself wake up and realize that she is the villain here. She is the one in the wrong, and yeah, I agree with your inner thoughts: she is a fucking asshole, and I hope karma eats her. But she cannot get it, if you don’t defend yourself.

You need to gather your evidence and clear your name. I know that some of you have thought about it, so do it and don’t hold back. In this case, don’t be so lenient with her or in court. But don’t go down the same path as her and make yourself look awful. Keep your morals intact, show anger through your words without cursing, and allow yourself to feel it when the truth comes out. And one word of advice: When you get your name cleared, don’t celebrate with anyone, not even your family. Celebrate it with yourself because you did that—you did all the work, did they help?

I know that some of you are uncomfortable with that idea because they did help you in some way, but this advice is from my intuition. You need to celebrate alone because you won this war alone. You worked so hard to gain the courage and fight her and win back your name, or life. You broke free from gaslighting, from killing yourself over something you didn’t. And I know some of you had family who had your back, and I love that for you, but remember what I said about others—how you protect them? I know that you do it alone and you are the first one to do that. So, treat yourself as you would with others by protecting them. You have to celebrate alone to protect yourself from an emotional outburst. People scare you right now, whether or not you have noticed; if you don’t, everything will break down and go back to the same situation.

And I also know that some of you use your family as a coping mechanism, but I need you to celebrate alone. Your thoughts will not hurt you, especially for those with an anxious attachment style or those who have a hybrid of anxious and dependent. You have to celebrate your wins alone sometimes, and this is where you have to do it—let your family know, and remember they won’t be hurt, rather proud of you.

Please take care of yourself throughout everything and be genuinely kind to yourself as you would with others. It’s something you deserve and something I would want you to do, okay? Okay. Thank you for taking care of YOU tonight and every part of the day.

Channeled songs:

I kissed a girl - Katy Perry Dollhouse - Melanie Martinez

After you do my last advice:

Hello - Aqyila

Masterlist.

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ofstarsandvibranium · 2 days ago

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Baked Like A Cake

Fandom: The Last of Us

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: You bake weed muffins for Gail...and Joel accidentally eats some.

A/N: in the same universe as A Happy Ending? and this is before Eugene's death.

The Last of Us Masterlist

Because you were one of the resident bakers in Jackson, Gail requested for something....special.

After Eugene passed by with a bag of weed, you now had everything you needed to make Gail's special baked goods.

It didn't take you long. Eugene had already prepped the weed for you so now all you had to do was bake it into muffins.

You toss in the weed along with the dry ingredients and then pour the wet ingredients in. You mix everything together so that they're a smooth, harmonious batter.

It doesn't take you long to pour them into the muffin tins and slide them into the oven. Thirty minutes later, they're on the resting rack and you've decided to take a nap on the couch.

By the time you wake up, there's a blanket on you and you hear voices in the kitchen.

You sit up, stretching your arms up, "James?" you call out for your son.

"Here, mom!" he calls from the kitchen. You stand from the couch with a groan and slowly make your way to the kitchen, waiting for the rest of your body to get in gear.

When you enter the threshold, your entire body feels like it's been dumped in cold water, "No!"

James, as well as Joel, are munching the muffins you made, but freeze at your outburst.

"What? What's wrong?"

You rush to Joel and James, swatting the muffins out of their hands, "How many did you guys eat?"

"Two each, I think," Joel answers in his usual gruff voice, "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

You groan and pinch the bridge of your nose, "Those were weed muffins for Gail."

Joel's brows raise and eyes widen, "Weed muf-baby, why the hell are you making weed muffins?"

"Because Gail asked me to! I figured it'd be a way to pay her back for the trades I've done with her and Eugene." You sigh and run your hands down your face, "Fucking hell, guys." You then turn to James, holding his face, "How do you feel, honey?"

He shrugs, "Fine so far. How long does it usually take for the effects to set in?"

"Depends. Can be thirty minutes, can be two hours. I need to keep an eye on you boys."

James rolls his eyes, "Relax, this isn't the first time I've had weed."

You look at him with a cocked brow and he holds his hands up, "I smoked with Jesse and Eugene a few years ago! That was when I slept over his and said it because we were playing cards all night."

"James Ezra L/N, I swear," you stop and shake your head, "Fine. Fine. But just stay home for the rest of the day, okay? Don't want you 'causing trouble."

"Mom, I'll be-" you give him The Look and he immediately shuts up. The man may be thirty, but he still finds you scary sometimes.

He then excuses himself and heads to his room, leaving you with Joel. You fully turn to face him, "And you?"

He gives you a lazy smile, "Not my first time either, sweetheart, but I'm old, so who knows how this'll effect me this time around."

You snort and peck his lips, "You can stay here if you want so I can watch you, or go back to yours. I don't mind either."

His hands go to your hips and pulls you close, his mouth hovering over yours, "Hmmm...kinda like the idea of you takin' care of me." He closes the distance, pressing his lips to yours.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders to keep him close as you kiss him back. He breaks away with a gasp to start peppering kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

His fingers start playing with the buttons of your flannel, "Can I-"

BAM!

Your front door slams open and, "Hey, Joel!" Tommy bursts into your home.

"Uncle Joooeeel!" Ben hollers out and you hear Ellie chuckling. You can't help but snicker at Joel's immediate frown that appears on his face.

Tommy enters the kitchen with Ellie, Ben in her arms, "Yeah figured you'd be here," the younger brother says with a smirk. He nods to you, "How you doin', Y/N?"

"Fine, Tommy. Here to steal Joel away from me?"

"Yeah, sorry, but Maria and I need to talk to him about reinforcing certain areas of the town."

Ellie puts Ben down and zeroes in on the muffins, "Oh nice!" she picks one up, "Can I-"

"NO!" you and Joel yell out, startling Ellie, Tommy, and Ben.

Ellie looks at you two confused, "Shit, sorry. They're just muffins." She places it back down onto the rack.

You clear your throat, "Those are special muffins for Gail."

The teen looks at you confused, "Special? What the hell does that-ooohhh." She looks back at the muffins in surprise, "These are weed muffins?!"

"Yes," you bring your attention to Tommy, "And I don't think you should have that discussion with Joel today considering that he and James unknowingly indulged themselves in said weed muffins," you gesture to the remaining ones.

Tommy bursts out laughing, "Oh god. You serious? I didn't think you cared for that stuff anymore, brother."

Joel gave his younger brother his usual grumpy frown, "I didn't know they had weed in them when I ate them. But I feel fine, we can have that meeting."

Tommy shakes his head, "Nah, it's fine. Go, uh, relax and vibe or whatever."

Joel make his usual pose, hip popped out and hands on his hips, "Tommy, I'm fine. Come on."

"No, no, I'm starting to see your eyes get a little red and hazy. Don't think you'd be in the right state to discuss important matters," he picks up Ben, "We'll talk tomorrow when, hopefully, you're more sober." He whispers into Ben's ear and Ben says, "Bye Uncle Pothead!" and waves at Joel as Tommy carries him out.

You and Ellie burst into a fit of giggles while Joel continues to stand there looking like his grumpy self.

You wrap your arms around him again, "Relax, honey. Go lay down. I'm going to deliver these to Gail before anyone else," you eye Ellie who holds her hands up, "eats one."

You grab a container from the cabinet and place the remaining muffins inside. Ellie watches as Joel grumbles to himself, marching over to your couch and plopping onto it.

Once he's settled, she whispers to you, "Can you teach me how to make them?"

You snort, "Absolutely not."

"Oh come on!" she whines, "Why not?"

"Joel will kill me."

It's her turn to snort and roll her eyes, "Please, you know he'd never do that. I've already smoked weed before and yes, Joel knows, but still! I hate the smell of it, so if I can still have without the smell, it'd be great."

You shake your head, "You have to ask Joel about it."

"I'm seventeen years old!"

"Which means you're not an adult yet, so you need his permission."

"That's such bullshit and you know it!" she says much louder, loud enough for Joel to hear.

"Hey! Why're you yellin' at her like that?"

You walk into the living room with Ellie in tow, "She wants me to teach her how to made weed muffins."

"Nope."

"What the fuck you guys?!"

You shrug and Joel remains silent and unrelenting. With neither of you budging, Ellie storms out of your house cursing under her breath.

Joel groans leaning further into the couch, "I don't want to deal with that today."

You go over to him and kiss him on the head, "You can talk to her tomorrow."

"All this teenager shit is giving me whiplash."

You laugh, "Congrats. That's what happens when you're a parent. Although, I'm glad James wasn't as chaotic as Ellie is."

"Not helpful, darlin'."

"Didn't say I was helping," you shoot him a wink, "Be back in a few."

"Alright," Joel sighs as he slowly starts melting into the couch, his body growing limp.

It doesn't take you long to head over to Gail and Eugene's. The walk was also nice, considering it's almost fall. The air getting a lot more cool now. No more sweltering summers.

Both Eugene and Gail are sitting on their porch smoking when you appear, "I come bearing gifts."

"Already?" Eugene sets his blunt onto the ash tray beside him. You go up the few steps that lead up to their porch and you hand him the container.

"There's some missing because James and Joel unknowingly ate a few while I was napping."

Gail cackles, "How are they?"

"It's not their first time, but when I left James was in his room and Joel was melting into the couch."

"Could do him some good," Gail murmurs, and opens the container, immediately taking a bite into a muffin.

She nods, "This is delicious. Can't even taste the weed."

Eugene takes a bite from Gail's muffin and chews. It takes him a moment but then he also nods in approval, "Good shit, sweetheart. We'll definitely be inquiring for more soon."

You laugh, "Sounds good. You two have a good rest of your night," you give them a wave and exit their porch, heading back to your home.

When you re-enter your home, you check on Joel. You sit by him and run your fingers through his hair, "Baby? You okay?"

"I don't want to open my eyes or else it'll feel like I'm flying." he mumbles and you muffle your laughter behind your hand.

"Okay. Have the munchies hit you yet?"

"Not yet, but can I get some water?"

"Sure. Lemme check on James first."

"'Kay," he mumbles and you go up to check on James. You peer into his room and he's laying on his bed, reading. Seemingly unaffected.

"You good, honey?"

"Yup" he gives you a thumbs up without looking up from his book, "Just feel a little floaty but alright overall."

You giggle, "Sounds good."

"How's Joel?"

"He also feels floaty and has merged into the couch."

That gets your son's attention, "Really?!" He stands and grabs the polaroid camera that he found on patrol a few weeks ago, "I need to take a picture of this."

You follow him to the living room with a shake of your head, "He's going to scold you."

You stand aside as James aims the camera towards Joel who's very sprawled into the couch and looking so...calm.

At the flash, Joel winces, "The fuck is that?"

He opens his eyes, only squinting, to see James shaking the photo, "Did you take a picture?"

James beams down at the older man, "Yup. Ellie's gonna get a kick outta this."

"Jesus Christ," Joel mumbles and hiding his face, "I don't like this."

You quickly get him a glass of water and hand it to him, "Well, you have to ride through the symptoms, honey. And let this be a lesson, ask before you eat anything I make."

"Yeah, yeah," Joel grumbles as he sits up and gulps the water down.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us imagine

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alwaysyeppi · 3 days ago

Text

SEVEN SUMMERS AFTER

"i wasn't chasing the feeling anymore—i was living it."

𖦹 pairing: childhoodfriend!sungho × glowedup!reader 𖦹 genre: non-idol au, university au, reunion au, summer nostalgia, slow burn, fluff, angst, smut (mdni) 𖦹 word count: ~4k words (one-shot) 𖦹 featuring: jaehyun, taesan, jiyu 𖦹 warnings: explicit smut, unprotected sex, emotional confrontation, mature themes, first-time intimacy 𖦹 a/n: heavily inspired by the summer i turned pretty! i watched the show recently and thought there were similarities between conrad and sungho. i wanted to make my version, but with a better version of conrad... 𖦹 lowercase intended

synopsis: seven summers ago, you left the sea breeze, childhood memories, and sungho—your best friend—without a real goodbye. now you’re back, grown and changed, only to find the past waiting at the shoreline. what begins as a quiet reunion stirs everything you tried to leave behind: the what-ifs, the unspoken words, and a love that never really faded. between shared memories and stolen glances, you both realize some summers never truly end.

—

“park sungho!” i called out, breathless but grinning as i stumbled behind him, the soles of my sandals slapping wildly against the boardwalk.

the boy in question didn’t stop running, but he did glance back with a smirk — hair ruffled by the sea wind, glasses crooked from how fast he’d taken off. even with them halfway down his nose, he looked like the lead in a summer drama.

“you're not even trying!” he called, laughter threading through every word.

“i am!” i shouted, already winded. i had the legs of a runway model and the stamina of a potted plant.

the others — jaehyun, taesan, and jiyu — had already shot past us, racing each other toward the surf like they were auditioning for a sports drink commercial. i trailed behind them like a tragic afterthought.

“hey, y/n!” sungho twisted mid-run, jogging backward now like this was light work. “how’s the tallest girl in town running the slowest?”

“how’s a boy with glasses so cocky?!” i shot back.

he only laughed — bright, full, unapologetic. that laugh that always made my stomach do weird things, even when i didn’t understand why.

sungho caught up with jaehyun at the water first. i finally arrived at least three minutes later, half-dead and dramatically panting.

i barely had time to breathe before jaehyun launched a splash of cold seawater right into my face.

“what the hell, mj?!” i shrieked, wiping salt from my eyes.

he grinned like the menace he was. sungho let out a full-body laugh, the kind that curled at the corners of his mouth before it broke free. then he joined the attack, flinging water like he was born in it.

jiyu screamed. taesan scoffed but didn’t move fast enough. the water war began.

in the middle of the chaos, i heard him.

“y/n! stay behind me!” sungho shouted over the waves, spinning to block an ambush splash from jaehyun with his own body.

he grabbed my wrist — warm, steady — and pulled me in behind him like it was instinct.

that moment — his back shielding me from water, the breeze curling through our hair, laughter ringing like music — stayed burned into my memory like a sunprint.

that was what summer felt like back then.

not a season.

a feeling. a place.

him.

until it wasn’t.

—

“y/n! how’s a tall girl running so slow?!”

he said it again, just like always.

but that time, it didn’t feel funny. it didn’t even feel like teasing. it felt like goodbye wearing an old joke’s clothes.

we ran toward the beach — again. but the air was different. like the sand knew. like the ocean was pulling us into one last memory before it let us go.

sungho turned around when i called him. he threw the race. he smiled like none of it mattered.

but it did.

it mattered so much, i thought my chest might split open from it.

that evening, while the others played volleyball and stuffed their faces with barbecue, i sat at the shoreline, twisting the hem of my shirt, rehearsing my lines.

i’m leaving.

the flight is tonight.

i won’t be back for a long time.

but i never got to say them.

because he found me first.

“y/n.”

his voice was soft. familiar. i turned, and there he was — hands in his pockets, the sea breeze tugging at his shirt, eyes red in that way that meant he’d been holding something in too long.

“i overheard our parents,” he said simply, sitting beside me.

just like that, every word i’d practiced disintegrated.

“you’re moving,” he continued. “australia, right? tonight?”

i nodded.

he didn’t cry.

but his voice cracked.

“i was gonna win that race, you know,” he said with a broken grin. “but then you said my name.”

“you’re such an idiot,” i whispered, an attempt to hide the tears welling up.

then he hugged me.

tighter than ever before. no pat on the back. no shy distance. just... all of him, around all of me. like he didn’t care how long we stayed like that.

like he needed to remember what i felt like.

his chin rested on my shoulder, and i felt it — the tiny breath, the slight tremble.

he didn’t cry.

but i think his heart did.

—

he didn’t come to the airport.

he didn’t have to.

that hug was goodbye.

and it was too much already.

i watched the shoreline disappear through the plane window and wondered if memories could make it through customs. if you could pack them in your shoes, in the corners of your suitcase, between a seashell necklace and a summer you never wanted to end.

australia wasn’t just far.

it was other.

the people moved fast. talked loud. laughed differently. i was too tall, too quiet, too foreign. i spent weeks feeling like a misplaced postcard.

but time has this way of remaking you.

the braces came off.

someone asked me to model for a local brand because they “needed a tall girl.”

that one shoot turned into another. then another.

i learned how to hold my posture. how to smile with my eyes when i wanted to cry. how to wear confidence like lipstick.

i learned how to shine for strangers.

but i never changed my number.

never blocked his account.

never stopped checking those tagged photos.

every summer, i’d scroll through the blur of my camera roll and wonder:

did he still remember?

did he ever look back?

did he miss me?

seven years blurred by. but the beach—that beach—never left me.

—

the night before my flight, my room was a tornado of memories. half-packed suitcases, campaign polaroids, old sketchbooks, childhood tokens. i found a seashell necklace. i couldn’t wear it. but i couldn’t leave it behind either.

then, a ping.

jiyu: can you believe it? we all got into the same uni. i’m starting to think our moms cast some kind of friendship spell.

a winking emoji.

i stared at it like a prophecy.

my fingers didn’t type a response.

they didn’t have to.

the plane ticket was printed.

the dorm assignment was emailed.

my heart was already halfway home.

i was going back.

to my friends.

to my memories.

to him.

—

“i’m nervous. why am i nervous? jiyu. seriously. feel this.” i grabbed her wrist and pressed it over my chest. “tell me i’m not dying.”

jiyu didn’t even blink. “if you die, can i have your shoes?”

i groaned and flopped dramatically in my seat, the citrus-scented air freshener swinging like it, too, was judging me.

“you’d think after seven years, i’d be cooler about this.”

“you? cool? since when?” jiyu said with a perfectly-timed side eye. “also, chill out or i’m swerving into that tree over there.”

“you’re too calm for this.”

“one of us has to be,” she smirked. “besides, i already talked to the boys. wanna see what sungho oppa said?”

she passed me her phone like it held state secrets.

sungho: i’ll try, but i can’t promise i’ll be there.

“ugh,” i rolled my eyes. “sorry, did architecture plates gain sentience and start biting people?”

“right?!” she screeched. “everyone else sent party emojis. this man sent a vague ‘maybe’ like we’re applying to his calendar.”

i scrolled up. jaehyun: five fire emojis. taesan: “if jaehyun gets dramatic again, i’m swimming home.”

classic.

but sungho’s message—it stung. even if it was casual. even if i’d changed.

“he’s still like that,” i murmured.

“like what?”

“like… soft. but confusing. the worst combination.”

“you mean your type.”

i didn’t argue.

“he’s gonna feel so stupid when he sees you now,” jiyu said, narrowing her eyes at me like i was a transformation montage.

“yeah, okay,” i rolled my eyes. “relax.”

“i’m serious,” she said, poking my arm. “braces off, glow up applied, height maintained—you’re the main event, y/n.”

when we reached the campus gate, it hit me all at once: the nerves, the memories, the weight of everything i didn’t say seven years ago.

our dorm was on the second floor. sunlit, cozy, and already half-unpacked thanks to jiyu’s early arrival. she’d claimed the bed near the window. of course.

we dumped our luggage and collapsed for a moment of fake peace.

then she sat up abruptly. “guess where the architecture building is.”

i didn’t answer. i knew.

she pointed dramatically toward the glass pane. “right across from here.”

still, i said nothing.

“you’re not even pretending to be cool.”

“i’m extremely cool,” i lied.

“you’re sweating through your hoodie.”

before i could defend myself, she gasped. “oh my god.”

“what?” i sat up straight.

“he’s down there. hair in the breeze like a sad ballad. i’m going downstairs.”

“jiyu, no—”

but she was already halfway to the door. i tripped over my own panic trying to follow her.

we rushed down the stairwell, my heart pounding faster with every step. i made it to the landing just in time to see her step outside.

“hey! sungho!”

my soul left my body.

i ducked behind the doorway, mortified.

“make him leave!” i whisper-yelled. “say it was a different sungho. lie. invent a twin!”

she turned toward him, made a weak shooing gesture. “oops. go away.”

he looked up, squinting, confused—and then smirked.

his gaze lifted to the entrance where i was barely peeking around the corner.

“i see you, y/n.”

my breath caught.

his voice still had that tone—low, warm, familiar—like velvet laced with amusement.

“come out.”

i did.

slowly.

his eyes scanned me, top to bottom, and something unreadable passed across his face. then—

a smile.

crooked. soft.

“look who made it back from the land down under,” he said.

“look who almost didn’t show up,” i replied.

he held up his hands in defense. “plates. i’m swamped.”

“tragic. is your professor gonna draw blood?”

he chuckled, then actually sighed through his smile. “you’re still the same.”

“i’ve changed a lot,” i said quietly.

“i can see that,” he replied, eyes lingering for a second longer than they should have.

the silence that followed felt charged. like the pause between a question and its answer.

then, gently, he reached out and ruffled my hair.

“good thing we’ve got a whole year to catch up.”

—

the beach smelled the same.

salt. sun. a little bit like vanilla from the melted sunscreen in our bags.

jiyu and i got there early, lugging chairs, snacks, and a bluetooth speaker that only worked when you smacked it. we laid out the old blanket with the faded sunflowers—our moms’ legacy.

but i wasn’t focused on the setup.

i was watching the road.

waiting.

hoping.

“what the hell!” jaehyun’s voice shattered the quiet as he barreled down the path, dragging a cooler behind him like a trophy.

“who’s this goddess?!” he yelled, arms outstretched. “y/n, you eat vitamins or vengeance?! you look criminally hot.”

“and you’re criminally loud,” taesan said from behind him, cringing.

i rolled my eyes. “hello to you, too, mj.”

jaehyun threw an arm over my shoulder like nothing had changed. “still the prettiest girl here.”

“and the most deaf,” jiyu muttered. “volume control, jaehyun.”

“y/n, i’m gonna say this once,” jaehyun whispered. “if he doesn’t show up tonight, i will punch him. and then i’ll cry about it in the group chat.”

i laughed. but my eyes were back on the road.

he wasn’t here.

until my phone lit up.

sungho: come out for a bit. i’m at the parking lot.

sungho: don’t tell the others yet.

“restroom,” i said to the others, already grabbing my phone and walking.

—

the sun was sinking low, bathing the parking lot in amber. only three cars sat under the slanted light. his was the one with the windows down, engine still humming like it knew i was coming.

he didn’t look up right away. just rested his cheek on his palm, elbow on the windowsill like he had time to wait forever.

“hi,” he said, smiling like it was the most natural thing in the world. “get in.”

i slid into the seat, closing the door with a soft click.

“you came,” i said.

“i did,” he replied.

i leaned back, stealing a glance at him. still that same maddening smirk.

“what?” i asked, half-laughing.

“nothing.” he shrugged, then reached over and gently pinched my cheek. “i missed you.”

i blinked.

he reached over again — so casually i didn’t flinch — and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

then, before i could say a word, he raised his phone.

click.

“did you just take a picture of me?”

“yup,” he said unapologetically, angling his phone again. click.

“sungho! stop!”

he dodged my hand like a child, shifting seats just to get another shot.

“delete it.”

“no. it’s for me.” he angled the phone away, grinning. “you always look different in candid light. realer. not the you in magazines. just... you.”

i stilled.

it was so simple. so sincere. and it made my chest twist in a way i wasn’t ready for.

he leaned back, folded one leg under the other, and gave me the kind of smile that made you forget what language was.

“you’re not gonna face me?”

i turned, just enough to meet his eyes.

his tone softened. “you’ve been quiet since i saw you. not like... funny quiet. more like ‘processing everything at once’ quiet.”

“i’m fine,” i lied.

he didn’t push. he just let it hang.

“remember that summer you scraped your leg and screamed like it was the end?”

“you’re never gonna drop that story, are you?”

“you called me first,” he said. “not your mom. not your dad. me. you always did.”

he looked at me again — longer, this time.

“even when you hated asking for help, you still trusted me first. i never forgot that.”

the air in the car turned too quiet.

“sungho.”

he tilted his head.

“sungho oppa,” i corrected, softer.

he smiled. “you stopped calling me that.”

“what are you doing?”

“hm?”

i hesitated. “you’re acting like... like you like me? and i—” i swallowed. “i can’t tell if it’s real. or if it’s just nostalgia playing tricks on both of us.”

he blinked.

then his smile faded.

“you think i’m playing?”

“i think you’re being... careless with the way you look at me. like you still know how i felt and you’re testing if i still feel that way.”

he didn’t flinch.

but the hurt in his eyes was clear. not loud. not dramatic. just... there.

“i’m not testing anything.” his voice was soft. “but i guess you’d rather believe that than admit what you already know.”

“and what’s that?”

he stared straight ahead now.

“that i’ve always cared about you in a way i couldn’t explain when we were younger. and now that i finally can, you're acting like i’m still the same boy who never said anything.”

silence. thick. awkward.

then—he opened the door and stepped out.

but he didn’t leave.

he just stood by the hood, his back to me, hands shoved in his pockets.

like he didn’t want to go.

but didn’t know if he was still welcome to stay.

—

i couldn’t sleep.

jiyu’s even breathing filled the room. the fan clicked every few seconds. the waves were louder than usual tonight — or maybe it was just my heart.

i stared at my phone for a long time before typing.

you: are you still up?

you: can we talk?

his response came quickly.

sungho: at the beach.

i slipped out into the night.

the beach was quiet. the tide low. a soft breeze skimmed across the sand like a secret.

he was standing by the water, barefoot, hands in his pockets, staring at the horizon like it owed him answers.

i stopped a few feet behind him.

“sungho.”

he didn’t turn.

but he spoke.

“i don’t like fighting with you.”

that almost broke me right there.

i stepped beside him.

“i’m sorry.”

still, he didn’t look at me.

so i kept going.

“i panicked. i didn’t know what to do with the way you’ve been acting. it felt like you knew you had the upper hand.”

he turned, slowly. “there is no upper hand. not with you.”

his voice cracked slightly. just enough.

i stared at him. at this boy — this man — who was always so calm, so composed.

“so why now? why flirt? why bring it all back?”

he took a breath.

then another.

“because i thought you might be strong enough now to handle it.”

i blinked.

“handle what?”

his eyes glistened.

“me. wanting you.”

silence.

“i didn’t tell you before because i knew you had to leave. you were young. you cried when your flip-flops broke.” a faint smile tugged at his lips.

“but you were also the first person i ever wanted to protect. even from myself.”

he stepped closer.

“i waited, y/n. i didn’t say it before because it didn’t feel right. and then when it finally could’ve been — when we grew up — you were already gone.”

i said nothing. my throat had closed around the words i wanted to say.

“and now you’re here. and i don’t know how to be casual with you. i don’t know how to go back to being a childhood friend when i never stopped seeing you as something more.”

tears pricked at my eyes.

“why didn’t you say anything?” i whispered.

his voice softened.

“because i didn’t want to say it too late. or too early. or too loud. or not loud enough. i just... i didn’t want to ruin you for me.”

i looked at him — really looked.

his face was the same and different. like mine. changed in quiet ways, but holding onto the same core.

“do it now,” i said. “say it now.”

his gaze flicked to my mouth, then back to my eyes.

and he did.

“i love you. i’ve always loved you. i just didn’t know how to say it then.”

i choked out a laugh, tears slipping.

and then he kissed me.

and the world quieted.

it was everything.

—

his lips didn’t rush.

they pressed against mine like they were meant to. like he wasn’t just kissing me — he was holding me in it.

we were standing under moonlight, the ocean folding behind us, quiet and steady. i leaned into his chest, fingers curled into the soft cotton of his shirt. my pulse buzzed.

then he pulled back slightly, just to speak.

“let me know if we're going too fast.”

i nodded. my voice had disappeared somewhere between his breath and my skin.

his hand found mine. no hesitation. just warmth and quiet assurance.

he guided us down slowly onto the blanket — the same one from years ago, only now it felt like new ground. he sat first, then gently pulled me into his lap, arms wrapping around my waist, our foreheads brushing.

“i’ve wanted this,” i whispered, almost afraid to say it.

he looked up at me, so steady. “me too.”

i leaned in and kissed him again — and this time, i didn’t hold back.

i shifted to straddle him, our hips aligning, the heat between us sparking fast. his hands slipped beneath my shirt, his touch soft and open-palmed, warming every inch he touched.

when his fingers paused at the clasp of my bra, i met his eyes and gave a single nod.

he smiled.

not smug — tender.

his hands moved with care, unhooking the clasp, peeling my top up and over my head. the fabric joined the sand beside us, and i watched his eyes drag across my bare chest, like he couldn’t believe i was real.

like he refused to forget this view.

“you’re...” he started, but trailed off, breath hitching.

i blushed, arms instinctively moving to cover myself, but he stopped me — one hand gently guiding mine back down.

“don’t hide,” he said softly. “please don’t.”

and then he kissed me there — my collarbone, the center of my chest, one breast, then the other.

he didn’t rush.

his mouth was warm and slow, his tongue teasing as he sucked gently, his fingers caressing where his lips weren’t. he learned my reactions like they were sacred. what made me gasp. what made me writhe. what made my fingers clutch at his hair and beg for more.

when i arched into him, he moaned — like the sound was pulled straight from his chest.

i pulled him closer, whispering his name, and that seemed to unravel something in him. he shifted, laying me back on the blanket, the soft dip of sand beneath cushioning my body.

his lips traced a path down my stomach, each kiss lighting sparks under my skin.

and when he reached my shorts, he looked up at me one more time.

“yes,” i whispered.

he pulled them down slowly, sliding my underwear with them. my legs trembled beneath his touch — not from fear, but from how seen i felt.

he kissed the inside of my thigh first.

then again, closer.

and then his mouth was on me.

i gasped, hand flying to his hair, hips twitching at the sudden heat and pressure of his tongue. he worked me open like he wanted to, not just to make me feel good — but to know me this way, too.

every moan from me pulled a deeper one from him. he hummed into me. whispered my name against me. and when he slid two fingers inside and curled them just right — i broke apart.

“sungho—”

he didn’t stop until i was shaking, thighs clenching, eyes shut tight as pleasure rolled through me in waves.

only when i was breathless did he kiss his way back up to my mouth, tasting like salt and something sweeter.

i tugged at his shirt. he sat up and pulled it over his head in one easy motion.

and god —

i had seen him laugh a thousand times, but i had never seen him like this.

shirtless, chest flushed, eyes darker now. his body was lean and sculpted, not bulky — the kind of strength that looked lived-in. my fingers trailed over his chest, down his abs, and he shivered under my touch.

he looked at me like i was doing things to him i didn’t even know i was doing.

“can i... be with you?” he asked. not like he didn’t know i wanted it — but because he cared about the asking.

i nodded.

and it was everything.

he stood briefly, pushing his pants down, then came back down over me, aligning himself slowly, one hand cradling the back of my neck as he kissed me again — gentle, deep, certain.

the first stretch was tight. new. real.

he paused.

“you okay?”

“yes. don’t stop.”

and he didn’t.

he was moving inside me slow at first — deep, steady strokes that lit up every nerve.

his hands cradled my hips, keeping me close. his forehead pressed against mine, breath warm against my cheek.

we didn’t speak.

we didn’t need to.

but i could feel it — the way his body stuttered just slightly when i tightened around him. the way he swallowed back a moan every time i whimpered his name.

“you’re driving me insane,” he whispered, voice rough with restraint.

i cupped his cheek, guiding his lips back to mine.

“then lose your mind a little,” i breathed into him.

and he did.

he picked up the pace, his hips snapping harder, deeper. the change in rhythm made me gasp, my nails digging into his back. he groaned — low and desperate — like every thrust was pulling something deeper out of him.

my legs wrapped tighter around his waist.

“you feel...” he couldn’t even finish.

just a choked-off sound in his throat as he rocked into me.

every push hit deeper. every slide was wetter. my whole body was buzzing, legs trembling, breath catching with every roll of his hips.

“sungho...” i moaned. “i’m close.”

he nodded, kissing the corner of my mouth, down my neck, then back to my lips like he couldn’t bear to stop touching me.

“come with me,” he whispered, like a plea.

his hand slipped between us, fingers finding that spot that already throbbed from everything he’d done to me. he circled gently — once, twice — and that was all it took.

i broke.

my back arched off the blanket, a cry escaping me as i clenched around him, body pulsing, wave after wave crashing through me until i couldn’t breathe. my hands scrambled for something — his arms, his hair, the air.

“i’ve got you,” he whispered, breathless.

then he followed.

with one last thrust, deep and hard, he groaned my name against my mouth — voice cracking open with it. his body trembled above me, hips twitching as he spilled into me, face buried in my neck.

he stayed there for a long second, breathing hard, sweat at the nape of his neck, heartbeat thudding against mine.

then he pulled back slightly, kissing my cheek, then my collarbone, then the space over my heart.

“still okay?” he asked softly.

i nodded, still dazed, still floating.

he smiled, brushing hair from my face. “you look wrecked.”

“you’re not exactly looking steady either,” i whispered.

we both laughed — breathless and warm and so, so full.

he kissed me one last time — not rushed, not hungry.

just whole.

then he laid down beside me, pulled me into his arms, and held me like i was the only thing that mattered.

because in that moment, i think i was.

—

a few days later, we found ourselves on the beach again — all five of us.

the sun was higher this time, but the breeze still carried the same salt, the same laugh-soft air. the blanket was the same, too — faded sunflowers, sand tangled in the fabric, just like always.

i sat curled up beside jiyu, watching jaehyun try to build a sand tower taller than taesan’s. it kept collapsing. he kept yelling.

“that was sabotage!”

“that was gravity, idiot,” taesan muttered, not even glancing up from his own tower.

“you two are literally children,” jiyu sighed, pulling her sunglasses down her nose just to give them her mom-glare.

and next to me — sitting so close our knees touched, our fingers linked over the sand — was sungho.

he looked over, smiling at the chaos, then leaned in and said, “this is weirdly romantic. in a fourth-grade field trip kind of way.”

i snorted. “better than when jaehyun used to throw seaweed in my hair.”

“i still can.” jaehyun threatened, grinning like a gremlin.

jiyu casually lifted a sandal. “try it and i’ll launch you into orbit.”

we all laughed. for a second, it really did feel like nothing had changed.

but i had.

so had they.

so had he.

later, when the sun began to dip and we all lay scattered like driftwood, i turned toward the ocean. the waves rolled in quietly, the same way they had all those years ago.

“it feels different,” i whispered.

sungho glanced over. “yeah?”

“like it’s still the same beach, the same air, the same people. but we’re not the same kids anymore.”

he hummed. “no. we’re not.”

“do you miss it?”

he thought for a moment. “i think i did. for a long time. but now? now i think i like this version of us better.”

i looked down at our hands — how his thumb rubbed circles over my skin without thinking.

“we grew up.”

“and glowed up,” he added helpfully.

i laughed. “yeah, speak for yourself.”

“i am.”

then he kissed the back of my hand. quick. simple. warm.

jiyu caught it and made the most dramatic gagging noise in history.

“no pda while i’m eating, i beg.”

taesan didn’t even look up. “have you forgotten you’ve been rooting for them?”

“let me have layers, taesan.”

jaehyun tossed his unfinished tower at her feet. “here, i’ll help you have layers—”

“finish that and you’ll find sand in your cereal.”

it was stupid. ridiculous. perfect.

later, we all stayed to watch the sunset — wrapped in blankets, passing around half-warm snacks, sharing stories we didn’t know we remembered until someone brought them up.

and somewhere between taesan roasting jiyu and jaehyun’s failed attempt at a group selfie, i realized:

i wasn’t just back.

i wasn’t lost anymore.

this was more than a return.

it was a start.

a start with sungho — the boy who turned into a man i could fall in love with again.

a start with the friends who saw all the awkward, uneven years and still stayed.

a start with me — the girl who once tripped over her own legs and now walked tall, unafraid.

seven summers had passed.

and this time...

i wasn’t chasing the feeling anymore.

i was living it.

"hey, sungho, race you to shore?"

—

written with love by @alwaysyeppi. please don’t repost or steal! ♡

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