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spearofheaven · 2 days ago

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⋆˚࿔ NO ONE NOTICED — rockstar ex! geto suguru

SUM. After a year of breaking up and making multiple songs about you, he starts to forget. Isn’t that what he wanted though?

CONTENTS. 18+ contents, MDNI. 6.9k words. non canon compliant/au. x fem! reader. some angst. hints of desperate suguru. ex sex. jerking him off. nipple play. cunnilingus. unprotected p in v. riding. doggy. unresolved feelings. some aftercare. reader makes questionable decisions. pet names.

inspired by no one noticed—the marías

Out of all the places that Suguru Geto expected himself to be tonight, your apartment would've been dead last on that list.

In the middle of an ongoing tour.

When he was supposed to be in his hotel room rehearsing the song that he'd promised Ijichi he'd have ready for tonight. A song that a majority of his fans was bound to be expecting.

Though he supposed that maybe Ijichi was the reason that he found himself on your doorstep in the first place. And not the sheer desperation that fueled his actions, that very same desperation that made him get a plane ticket at an absurd price just to see you as soon as possible. To pack up a duffel bag with only a shirt, one pair of pants, and the first pair of shoes he found scattered in his hotel room.

For knocking on your door like a mad man at nearly one in the morning, praying to whatever entity there was above that you wouldn't just shut the door at the first glance of him. Shifting between his feet, waiting to hear for some kind of signal that you were inside. He'd gotten this far, right? That had to count for something.

"Geto, can I talk to you for a second?" Ijichi had waited until all the band members had left, approaching him with an iPad clutched underneath his arm. "Yeah, go ahead," Suguru responded offhandedly, making no effort to stand up just yet, his guitar sitting next to him. All he did was look over at the man with a bored expression on his face, waiting for what he had to say.

Last time Ijichi said he needed to talk to him—he ended up getting called a slut. Well, not precisely in those words. But Ijichi made it a point to get it through Suguru's skull about how hooking up with random groupies on tour wasn't the smartest idea (stuttering over his words when Suguru gave him a sharp glare in response.)

And he had stopped sleeping around with groupies. For the most part, that was. So he wasn't too sure what to expect from this conversation.

Ijichi didn't waste time in getting the iPad from underneath his arm, his fingers frantically typing and swiping across the screen. "I know it's somewhat of a late notice but the fans are somewhat expecting a teaser of a song for the next show," he kept his gaze on the iPad, handing it over to Suguru once he pulled up an array of graphs. An array of graphs that Suguru simply gave a once over to.

"What type of song are they expecting?" Ijichi retracted the iPad once he realized Suguru wouldn't show interest in the same graphs he'd spent hours the night prior coloring, tucking it underneath his arm. "Well, it's been a while since you've written one of those love songs. But please, let me know if you need more time."

"No, it's fine. I'll have it to you by tonight."

Despite how assured Suguru had been in the statement, he found himself prolonging actually having to sit down and work on the song. Cleaning up his space, packing up his bags earlier than usual. Anything that he figured would be the most time consuming. Even going as to cleaning around the hotel room despite that the staff would've done so either way.

It was ridiculous how much effort he took to make sure not an ounce of dust or a food crumb was left by the time he finished. The space was left cleaner than when first stepped foot inside.

Suguru wasn't completely sure why he'd put off the task as long as he did, this type of material came to him naturally. He always used the same muse when it came to writing things like this—you. Even after a year of breaking up, you were the only one he could bring himself to bear his heart out to. He could write another one of these songs, right?

It wasn't like you'd left his mind throughout the past year, anyways. He didn't need to bring himself to lie whenever he composed a new work—everything was a manifestation of what he'd never tell you in person. Choosing instead to express it in his songs. Which he guessed is why his fans ate it up as much as they did. He figured he'd be done before tonight, pulling his notepad out from the depths of his backpack.

But as soon as he went to press his pen down against the notepad, Suguru found himself second guessing every word that he wanted to write down. A feeling that was extremely foreign to him, considering that he'd usually be able to paint a clear picture of you in his head. The last good day you'd had with him before breaking up. But now he was lost. He simply just didn't know.

The color of your eyes? He couldn't remember. The scent of your perfume? Was it cherry? Bergamot? Or neither. What you looked like waking up in the mornings? Suguru could barely decipher your face in his mind, his memory failing to recall the scene that consoled him throughout most nights.

Isn't this what he wanted, though?

To completely forget about you. To just be able to say that the two of you had a failed relationship and move on, like most people probably would've done in his situation. To be able to be with someone else without the constant reminder that they'd never hold a candle to you, that he wouldn't even bother remembering their name by the time the night was over.

To stop having to take shot after shot so that the dull pain in his chest that never seemed to just go away could be replaced with the sharp pounding in his skull.

Except that Suguru didn't want to forget you, he didn't want to ever forget about what the taste of your lips was like after you'd applied a fresh layer of lip gloss was. Suguru didn't want to forget about the person that made him feel safe, that made him feel like he was at home. He didn't ever want to forget just how happy you'd made him, even if it hadn't lasted for long.

He didn't want to find himself missing you so badly was the problem. But no, he didn't want to forget you. At least he realized that now.

After a year, no less.

The more that he looked at the blank piece of paper in front of him, the sheet almost taunting him, the more that Suguru started to realize that this wasn't what he wanted. "Come on," he muttered to himself, the rest of his bandmates next door oblivious to his obvious struggle. He was starting to grow restless, his leg bouncing against the cold granite of the floor. The memory of you was slipping away despite how much he wanted to cling on.

Suguru looked over at the clock, nearly thirty minutes having passed since he'd taken a seat. And all he had on his page were scribbles and a stick figure on the margin of the page. He balled up the sheet of paper after staring down at it for a couple more seconds, a pile of missed paper balls piling just on the edge of the waste bin. Much to Suguru's annoyance. The work that he promised wouldn't be finished by the end of the month at this rate.

Which is what lead him to book a flight without thinking too much of the consequences, Suguru supposed he could deal with those tomorrow. All that he knew was that he needed to see you, to feel you, to remember what it was like being around you again.

And maybe Suguru should've gone with a phone call first, see if you'd even want to have a conversation for more than five seconds. But whatever brain cells that were still alive in that big head of his decided that this was the best idea. Leaving without so much as giving up a heads up to the rest of the band. All he had going for him was some stupid hope that maybe, just maybe, you didn't hate him completely. That you missed him the same way.

Three loud knocks woke you from the nap you were taking on the living room couch, the movie that you'd picked out still droning on in what you had to assume was the climax. You rubbed a hand over your eyes, hoping that you didn't look as tired as you felt before making your way over to the front door. "Who's there?" You'd meant for it to come out more authoritative, though the words came out groggy as you tried to wake yourself up fully.

You made no effort to move, your foot tapping on the wooden floor while you waited for some kind of response. You let out a scoff, rubbing the bridge of your nose before calling out, "Hel-?"

"Don't come out here to hit me with a baseball bat. Just me, I promise," the very same voice that came from trending songs on the radio (that you skipped with a bitter look on your face) was the same one calling out. Sounding almost desperate. Well, the closest thing to desperate. You opened the door to see Suguru standing there, a duffel bag slung on his arm. If you had to guess, you would say that it's all the man was carrying with him. "Shouldn't you be on tour?"

Suguru shifted awkwardly on your carpet, looking more like a sopping wet dog than the cocky persona you'd grown used to seeing on TV. "I can't explain it, but I just had to see you. Do you mind if I come in?" He threaded carefully, unmoving from his spot. You rubbed your eyes, letting out a sigh before glancing over at the wall clock in the kitchen. "You came here at two in the morning and you can't explain to me why you're here?"

"Exactly."

"And you don't see how that's a little strange?"

Suguru swallowed dryly, looking around before his eyes met yours again. "Please," the word sounded like it was painful to get out, like his pride was getting damaged with every second. Or maybe he wasn't letting his pride come in the way? Whatever the case was, you found yourself getting increasingly curious. "Fine," you relented, moving to the side to let him inside. Suguru almost rushed inside, doing quick work of taking his shoes off.

Before you had the chance to change your mind.

You walked over to the living room, a noticeable gap in between the two of you as you sat on the couch. Blankly staring at the screen, ignoring the obvious elephant. You wanted to approach the situation, you really did, but what exactly were you supposed to say to him? 'How have you been since I broke up with you?' just didn't seem like the perfect conversation starter. If he was as conflicted as you were, you couldn't see it.

From the corner of your eye, you gauged his expression. He almost seemed too composed. Too composed for a man who was just outside your door begging to be let inside. You'd been expecting something more than just having him stare at the anticlimactic movie.

"I missed you, that's why I came here," Suguru spoke up after a couple minutes of sitting in silence, his eyes focused on the screen in front of him. His hands twitched to touch you, to feel your skin underneath his fingertips once more. But he refrained, choosing to stuff them in the pockets of his jeans instead. "Everything feels dull without you around. Music doesn't really feel the same, sleeping isn't that easy for me anymore."

The two of you hadn't exactly ended on bad terms, which only served to make these interactions all the much more painful. You still loved him, he still loved you. But the two of you were at completely different points in your life when you made the decision to end things. While Suguru was out traveling in various different cities, you stayed at home. Occasionally going to some of the local shows nearby.

Your relationship was composed a simple phone call every couple days or a collection of text messages, something that you didn't quite mind at first. Rumors started speculating like wildfire on the shows you didn't go to—pictures taken out of context, falsified interviews. And as much as you didn't want it to get to you, it did. Especially when Suguru didn't want to risk bad publicity by denying these claims.

"You can't just come here every time you feel lonely, though. It's not healthy," you responded, keeping your gaze on him. You could see the way his jaw ticked slightly, the only visible reaction that your words had affected him. "You're not hearing me. I'm telling you that I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. That even after a year, you're still the one that every song is about."

"And you're not hearing me. I'm telling you that you can't just come over every time you decide that you miss me. I'm trying to move on too."

"What are you trying to move on from when you're the one who left me?" Suguru's voice raised as he spoke, desperately running a hand through his hair again, "You left."

The sheer vulnerability in his voice, the way it seemed like he was willing himself to stop it from cracking made whatever remaining pieces of your heart that still belonged to him clench painfully. "I know. But being here isn't exactly doing you any favors, Suguru."

"Tell me to go home. Tell me that you never want to see me again and I'll go," Suguru spoke up after a couple moments of silence, his gaze boring into you. You wanted to say something, say that this the opposite of what you should be doing. Send him on his way back home. But why couldn't you open your mouth to say those things?

Every brain cell practically yelled at you that this was a bad idea. You knew that you had to send him home—that this would only serve to complicate things between the two of you. But what even was there to complicate? And the silence between the two of you spoke louder than any of the other words you'd said to him tonight. "Stay," all you did was just affirm what was already basically implied, "Just for the night."

"Just for the night, I promise," Suguru brought your hand up to his mouth, kissing your knuckles. A silent reassurance between the two of you. Even after all this time, things still felt so.. unfinished. You hadn't been able to move on, either. Even if you'd tried to convince yourself that this was for the best. "But if it's just for the night, then just let me do something stupid."

Every memory that Suguru had been clinging to, trying so desperately to try and remember came rushing to him like a freight train at just having your skin under his fingertips. Every little thing that he'd been having a doubt about came back to the forefront of his mind. And for once, he didn't mind that the only thing in his mind was you. Frankly, he was starting to enjoy it. Wondering why he'd even let you slip away so easily.

Suguru's lips connected with yours in a span of mere seconds, one of his hands coming to rest against your cheek. Holding you as close as he could to himself. "Still taste so good," he whispered against your lips, his teeth gently pulling at your bottom lip. Coaxing you into parting your lips, his tongue slipping inside with little to no resistance. "Just for the night," you said once again, trying to convince yourself.

Trying to convince him in the process. Though you weren't doing a great job at either, your body practically molding into his as his hand went down to your back. Instinctively arching against him as if it were the one place that you belonged. It felt as if Suguru needed to have your lips against his own, needed to engrave the taste of you in his mind again. He didn't dare pull away; your lips seemed more vital than oxygen.

The only time that Suguru pulled away was to have you sit on his lap, your warm cunt resting right against his hardening cock. If the tent in his pants was any indication, anyways. Your hand cupped his cheek, the small contact enough to have him leaning into your touch. Like a man starved. But when you started to shift a little bit too much on his lap, his hands gripped your hips.

"I know I'm the one that put you up here, but we don't have to do anything if you don't want to. I just.. I guess I just wanted to taste you again," Suguru was quick to stop your movements, placing one of his hands above your own. His fingers gently enclosing against your wrist, treating you like a piece of fine china. Treating you the same way he should've done over a year ago.

"I want to, I promise," you assured him, placing your other hand above his own. Amethyst eyes bored into yours, trying to gauge your expression for any trace of uncertainty. For any trace that you didn't want to do this. After finding none, he removed his hand and placed it back on your waist. "Are you sure that you want this?" You questioned. This time it was you analyzing him for any tics or signs he was uncomfortable.

"Yes," he sounded ragged, his fingers drawing small circles against the thin silk material of your nightgown, "More than you know." The last words were spoken as a whisper, almost as if he were thinking out loud. Exposing himself to you in every form. You moved further down, giving yourself enough space to unbutton his jeans. His cock was tenting through his boxers, hitting his stomach when you slipped them down just enough.

The sight was almost pretty to look at. Just like the rest of him. Through the pale moonlight shining in through the window's curtains, you could see a drop of precum dripping along the side of his shaft. The tip an angry shade of red, his cock twitching for whatever attention you would give. "Don't tease me, please. Just want you," Suguru spoke up after you'd been staring at his cock for a couple seconds.

"Don't worry, I won't. But a little patience wouldn't hurt, y'know?" You couldn't help but poke fun at him a bit, a teasing smile on your face as you traced the path of his happy trail. All the way down to where his cock was throbbing to be touched.

"You try being patient when you've been deprived for a yea—"

You wrapped your hand around the base, jerking your fist as you moved up his shaft. "Oh fuck," Suguru let out a huff underneath you, his hips bucking up to meet your hand. "Easy there, let me take care of you," you whispered, keeping one of your hands pressed against his thigh. The muscle flexed with every movement you made, his cheeks flushed as he threw his head back. You started off slow, building up with absolutely no rush.

“So good, so good, don't stop," Suguru all but whined, the man completely unraveling from a couple strokes. Wet sloshes and low groans drowned out the sound of the TV in the background, his cock completely covered in his own precum. "S-Shit, just like that," his words came out as he bit down on his lip, muffling any other moans that threatened to leave him. That was, until an idea came to mind.

Suguru pushed the flimsy straps of your nightgown, your breasts exposed to him in a manner of seconds. He met your gaze when he leaned in, his tongue swirling around your areola before taking it in his mouth. "F-Fuck," a muffled moan escaped from his lips, his other hand going up to your other breast. The combined stimulation of his fingers tweaking your nipple and the small chill in the living room had your nipples hardening in record time.

Suguru dripped like a faucet against your hand, drops of precum helping you glide your hand against his length with ease. Your thumb swirled around his tip, bringing it up to your lips and swirling your tongue around it. The taste of him somewhat salty (presumably from how shitty his diet's gotten through tour), but still bearable. At the sight, Suguru took his hand off your nipple and placed it on your chin.

While the previous kiss had been something out of sheer desperation, this one was much slower. Though just as needy, if not more. His tongue tasting the taste of him and yourself combined, the two of you moving in synchrony. You weren't even sure if his moans were from your hand or the kiss anymore. Probably both. "Missed you, missed you so much," he whispered when you pulled away, holding your face for just a little while longer.

And the moment would've been bittersweet, if he weren't for the slutty moan he let out. "S-Shit, getting close," Suguru let out a louder hiss, his moans starting to become more vocal. You reached down with your other hand, holding his balls in your grasp. You could feel just how heavy they were when you held them in your palm, your fingers rolling over them the way you would dice. "Let go, let go, I'm gonna cum," Suguru all but pleaded, placing his hand on top of yours.

Your hand came to a halt before he came, tapping two of your fingers against his bottom lip. His mind barely registered the action—his cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink and his eyes completely unfocused. His tongue wrapped around your fingers—slick with his precum, before licking them completely clean. "So nasty," you uttered, pulling your fingers away once he was finished.

"Saying that like you don't like it," Suguru clicked his tongue, bringing you into a kiss once more. He really was taking every and opportunity that he could to do it, savoring the taste of you on his tongue. Even if that meant he got a taste of himself in the process. "Let me return the favor, you just sit there and look pretty. Okay?"

Suguru dropped down to his knees in front of you, violet eyes locked on you as he slid his hands across the smooth skin of your legs. His hands were rough, calloused after playing guitar for so long—but his touch still managed to be gentle all the same. "You have no idea how much I've missed you. Missed this," he spoke quietly, his hands coming underneath your silk nightgown. Toying with the hem of your underwear. Teasing you in the same matter you'd done him.

And yet, you did have an idea of how much he missed you. There wasn't a day that had passed by where you hadn't woken up to a drunken ramble from Suguru, where he'd usually express how much he found himself missing you. Voicemails that you deleted right after the first listen—never acknowledging the ever growing collection and pretending as if you'd never received anything in the first place. It was easier.

Suguru started off by your calf, raising up your leg to rest on his shoulder before he started to kiss his way up. His movements were slow, his fingers gently stroking your leg when he did. "So pretty. So perfect. All just for me," he punctuated every sentence with a sloppy open-mouthed kiss, his mouth by your inner thighs. "Just for the night," you reminded, your back already starting to arch into him.

"Yeah, yeah, just for the night," he almost sounded annoyed that you were interrupting him, to say that of all things. Suguru reached your underwear, pressing a kiss on your clothed mound.

He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties, sliding them down with relative ease before letting them fall to the floor. And if he still had the same habit he did when the two of you were dating, you knew that you wouldn't see them again after tonight. His head fit perfectly in between your thighs, the one place where he wouldn't mind staying in permanently.

"I didn't tease you this badly," you let out a small huff, your fingers threading through his hair. Almost wanting to pull him where you needed him most. Almost.

"You're lucky I'm feeling nice."

"Lucky? You're the one on your knees in my apartment."

"And I could easily leave."

“Except for the fact that you won't."

Almost as if proving your point (or wanting you to shut up), Suguru's tongue prodded deeper inside of your cunt. "So pretty when you finally shut up," he mumbled against your folds, messily spitting against them. You could only dig your fingers into his scalp, even if your walls clenched at just the simplest contact. And as if it wasn't enough that your pussy didn't get the memo you were annoyed, he simply laughed. Didn't even wince.

"Fucking slut, of course you'd be into that," you muttered, the sound of his laughter only serving to grate on your nerves even more. "If it makes you feel better, I only like it when you do it," he responded, unable to stop himself from laughing further, "You're the only one that does it like they hate me."

"Wonder why that is," your words died in your tongue when you felt two of his fingers penetrating through the thick layer of muscle, pushing inside your cunt. His tongue swirled around your clit, working in tandem with his fingers. "O-Oh s-shit," your body went completely lax, your hips pushing your cunt all the much more into his mouth. "Not bad for a slut, hm?"

"U-Until you have to open up your mouth to say something," even now, with just how needy you were for him to keep going, you refused to let him have the last word. "Thought you liked my mouth," And the shaky breath that you let out when his tongue started to draw circles on your clit definitely wasn't working in your favor. "J-Just oh fuck, just when you use it for everything else."

Suguru was more of a giver rather than receiver— all that much more evident in the way that he relished in your cunt. Tongue lapping up every single drop of your essence, greedily taking everything you had to give. Every single of drop of alcohol that Suguru had taken a sip of paled in comparison to the sweet taste of your cunt; just one taste was enough to have him drunk off you. Completely intoxicated.

Your back arched up against the couch cushion, your head entangled in his thick hair. He didn't even seem to mind the way you pushed your hips to meet his licks, letting you push his head further in your cunt. He'd gladly die in between your legs if it came down to it if only to get the taste of you ingrained in his taste buds. "Gonna cum, aren't you?" All you could do was nod, your grip on his hair tightening.

"F-Fuck, keep going, keep going," you let out a series of babbles, your toes curling against his shoulders as you approached your orgasm. You could hardly register the fact that he was tracing his name on your clit with the tip of his tongue, only making the connection after the 'g.' By the time he'd finished, your walls clenched around his two fingers before coating them in your release. "That's it, there ya go," Suguru let out a muffled praise, lapping up every drop of your cum.

Some of it dribbling down his mouth and chin when he pulled away. Your grip on his hair loosened, your hands falling by your sides. While you were busy trying to get your chest to stop heaving with every shaky breath that left your lips, Suguru wiped away your release with the back of his thumb.

"Just had to trace your name?"

"I had to, yeah. Don't see why you're complaining if I made you cum. Already more than what anyone after me's probably done," Now you know why you hadn't bothered to contact him earlier. If this was him coming to you, you couldn't imagine how damn cocky he'd be if you were the one to break no contact first. "There hasn't been anyone after you," you muttered reluctantly, sitting up on the couch.

Suguru got up from his spot on the carpet, taking a seat on the couch cushion next to you. And before you had the chance to complain about his bare ass on your expensive couch, he was already pulling you up on his lap again. "No one else could compare?" You looked over to see him biting down on his lip, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "Don't laugh at me," you grumbled, smacking the side of his arm. Not hard enough to hurt. Which only led him to start laughing. Loudly.

"Okay, okay, sorry," your glare had him shutting up immediately, his hands running up and down your thighs. "It's kind of cute, really."

You looked down at his cock, looking more intimidating than before now that you were going to ride him. "Don't worry, we'll take our time. There's no rush, okay?" His reassurance was a stark contrast from just a mere seconds before, though it did help you calm down. Somewhat. You hovered above his cock, your hand wrapping around the thick base as you lined it up before slowly starting to sink down.

"There you go, just take it. You've always done it so well," While his words were meant to be reassuring, the sting in between your legs as you tried to take his cock was almost too much to bear. Suguru's fingers came to rest on your hips, the cold silver of his rings a stark sensation to just how warm the rest of his body felt. You sunk down completely, a combination of a hiss and a moan leaving your lips. You felt so full already, the thickness of his cock stretching your walls.

"That's it, that's my girl," you weren't sure if you wanted to smack him or kiss him.

Probably both.

You looked down to see that the man was already staring up at you, one of those fingers reaching to wipe some tears from your waterline. Tears you hadn't even noticed until now. "Don't force yourself if you're not ready. Take your time, it's okay," his fingers rubbed small mindless circles on your hips. Your cunt clenched and unclenched around his shaft, a low groan leaving Suguru's lips.

The sting subsided enough after a while, your movements slow as you tried to move. "So fucking tight," Suguru leaned his head back against the couch, his eyes still boring into yours. Your ass hit his thighs each time you sunk down, the loud squelch of your wet cunt and the sound of skin clapping against one another echoing throughout the room. Drowning out whatever last bits of the movie remained, if it was even playing.

Your hips swiveled as you tried to find a steady rhythm, Suguru's breath hitching at the motion. His fingers gripping onto your hips all the much tighter, holding onto you like a lifeline. "So so fucking good," he let out a groan, his head killing forward to bury his face in your neck. Pressing a couple kisses in whatever skin he could reach, leaving spit trails in his wake. He bit down onto your shoulder, sucking on the skin to leave a hickey behind.

"N-Not so obvious," you let out a mix between a hiss and a moan at the feeling of his teeth nipping at your neck. Your nails dug into his shoulders, using them to keep yourself balanced while you tried to establish some sort of pace. "Got other hoes that mind seeing you with them?" Suguru let out a sharp hiss when your walls tightened around his cock, almost making him swallow his words.

"N-No. A-Already told you there's no one else," you let out a shaky laugh, barely managing to get it out as you impaled yourself on his cock, "Not everyone's a w-whore like you."

And he didn't even give you a chance to regret your words before his hips started moving against yours, his cock filling you up faster and deeper in a span of seconds. (The very same thing you'd been trying to do for the past ten minutes.) Your nails dug into the couch cushion in front of you, your head buried into a decorative pillow. "Ah ah, fuck Suguru," your moans came out muffled, your body jerking forward with each thrust.

Whatever delicacy Suguru had granted you at the beginning of your night together was completely stripped away—his hips snapping into yours. His balls smacked against your ass with every thrust, his fingers digging into the flesh. Sure enough to leave indents for a couple days. Like he just needed you to remember this night as much as he did. "Feel how fucking deep I am?" He pressed down on the bulge prodding through your lower tummy, putting some pressure behind it.

You could start to feel him at your throat in this position. Not that you'd ever admit that, of course. "D-Don't think you're deep enough, really," you babbled, the drool dripping from the corner of your lips and the cockdrunk look on your face completely betraying that statement.

Each thrust had you regretting even opening your mouth, each one getting deeper and deeper than the last. Your cunt practically swallowed him in, your walls clenching around his length like a vice. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," you whined out, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Suguru placed a leg up on the couch, the new angle allowing him to go even deeper. "Too deep, too deep," you relented, his thrusts slowing down the slightest bit.

"Thought it was what you wanted," Suguru clicked his tongue, one of his hands going down in between your legs. His pointer finger began to rub small circles against your clit, moving in tandem with his hips. "It's good, it's good, I swear," you practically let out a whine, your hips moving back to meet his. Your ass jiggling with every movement, the sight only serving to entice Suguru even further.

"L-Love you so much. Missed you so bad," And every fiber of your being was telling you to just let his words slide—that it was just a mindless admission made. But you couldn't help the way that both your heart and your pussy clenched afterwards, the latter squeezing around his cock like it never wanted to let go. "Got so tight, you like hearin' me say that?" Suguru whispered by your ear, his chest resting against your sweaty back.

"Like hearing how much I miss you? How much I missed your pussy?" You could practically see the shit eating grin on his face—yet you couldn't exactly bring yourself to care. Not while you were so close to your second orgasm of the night.

All you could do was nod, your whines muffled by the couch cushion underneath. "D-Don't stop, Sugu. Please! Missed your cock!" You babbled, your pussy squelching around his length. Coating it with your arousal, making it slide in with ease. The tip of his cock prodded against your g-spot, your nails digging into the couch. "How much? Come on, tell me."

"So so much," you managed to get out, your chest heaving with every breath that you tried to take. Your walls clenched tighter around him, your cunt snuggling around his cock like a vice. "Gonna c-cum," you managed to get out, the coil in your lower belly tightening and tightening with each of his sloppy thrusts. "That's it, there you go," Suguru continued rubbing at your clit in circles, that coil inside of you snapping. Your walls unclenched, your release coating his length and forming a creamy white ring around his base.

Suguru barely managed to pull out of the tight vice you had his cock in, rope after rope of cum shooting onto your back. "Fuck, fuck," he groaned, the wet sloshing sound of his hand combining his moans as he came all over you. "I'll clean you up in a bit, let me just catch my breath," Suguru laid on top of you, not seeming to mind the fact that his cum was rubbing all on his chest when he did.

The two of you stayed still on the couch for a couple minutes, shaky breaths escaping your lips as you tried to get your breathing under control. A pin dropping could've been heard with how quiet the room was, though it was a comfortable silence this time around. And maybe the two of you still had things to talk about, but you figured that they could be left for another time. Not while the two of you felt so at bliss, at least.

Suguru came back into the living room with one of the hand towels that you kept in the bathroom's bottom right cabinet—walking around your space like he'd never stopped being around. "You did so well for me, so perfect," his voice came out quiet as he swiped the slightly wet towel against your inner thighs, his touch almost as soft. He continued with that gentle touch across your back, wiping away his dry cum off you.

You’d barely registered when he moved the two of you to the bathroom, barely starting to come to your senses. While he was getting a towel, he’d also started up a warm bath for when you were ready.

"Am I finally allowed to ask what you're doing here?" You broke the silence, your back leaning against his chest in a manner that was all too comfortable between the two of you. Like it was the one place where you belonged. "No," Suguru responded almost immediately, squirting some of your body wash onto the washcloth. Moving it slowly across your back, the scent of it combining with whatever candle Suguru raided from your cabinets.

"Am I allowed to ask how long you're planning on staying here, then?" You figured he was bound to break with one of these questions, only to get the same answer. "Turn around for me," was the only thing he said a couple moments later, your back completely lathered up in a mixture of bubbles and soap.

"Do you mind if I stay?" The way that Suguru asked the question reminded you of a sopping wet dog, that same desperation from earlier coming back tenfold. You'd never seen him so compliant in the years that you'd known him—usually he'd just act like he'd owned the place and take up the middle of the bed. "Yeah, just stick to your side of the bed."

After turning off the lights and making sure the doors were locked, you made your way underneath the warm blanket. You hadn't expected for Suguru to take your words so seriously, but at least he'd stuck to the right side of the bed. The sight was almost comical, seeing him comfortable with your collection of stuffed animals scattered around him. You set your phone on your bed stand table, shifting to get comfortable.

And as much as you wanted to fall asleep, your thoughts just didn't seem to shut up. He wouldn't book a flight just to come and see you if all he wanted was pussy, right? No, of course not. If the tabloid articles that came out while he was on tour was anything to go by. And as much as you wanted to bite your tongue, go to sleep as easily as he did, you just couldn't bring yourself to do it. Not without the slightest bit of resolution just yet. "Sugu, you still up?"

You turned to look over at Suguru, almost expecting for him to be still awake. He'd clutched one of your plushies underneath his arm, looking more at peace than he had throughout the night. "Good night," you whispered, pressing a kiss against his cheek before pulling the pumpkin blanket to cover up the two of you. The act almost felt too domestic, much too reminiscent of your past relationship.

Though, you figured you could start worrying about what this all means tomorrow. "Good night," Suguru mumbled, turning to face you. He was more half asleep than anything, the plushie long discarded next to him. It'd probably end up on the floor later in the night. His arm wrapped around your midriff, keeping you pressed against his body. His body intertwined against yours, almost like he had no plans of getting up by any means.

"I love you," was the last thing that you heard before you succumbed to sleep, your body molding against Suguru's almost perfectly.

You'd expected to wake up next to a head full of hair in the pillow next to you, not the same coldness you'd grown accustomed to throughout the last year. Suguru had left without a trace, almost as if he never stepped foot into your place. The only indication that the previous night wasn't a figment of your imagination was the indent of his body left behind on the sheets.

A/N: i was thinkin ab a part two when i originally wrote this but enjoy anotha repost 😓

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adelliet · 17 hours ago

Text

Bob Reynolds x f!reader

DREAMY VACATION

Summary: You've been sent on vacation to take a break from saving the world, but there's no hiding from your emotions that will eventually take over.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, strong language, alcohol consumption, body insecurity, Sentry awakening (just for a second), erection, breast play, oral sex (m & f receiving), unprotected sex (p i v), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, hickeys

A/n: Hii! So uhm this is LONG AS FUCK, like a literal novel so I am warning you. Anyways I wanted to thank you for 1k followers?! How?! You have no idea how much this means to me. I am grateful for each and every one of you and I will try my best to improve my writing. Hopefully you will like my future projects as much as you've liked the ones I have done so far. Anyway if you have any ideas, suggestions, or anything else, feel free to text me. Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes or phrases that might not make sense—English isn’t my first language :3 But I hope you enjoy the story! <3

Masterlist

You and the rest of the Thunderbolts had been deployed to Spain on what was supposed to be a critical mission. The briefing was vague but urgent, something about a potential global threat developing near the coast.

On the plane to Alicante, you sat down next to Bob. He looked tense. Really tense. He was gripping the armrest like it might fly off on its own. His face was pale, and his shoulders stiff as stone.

“Hey,” you said gently, nudging him with your elbow as you got settled. “You okay?”

Bob didn’t answer right away. He blinked, clearly trying not to throw up, and then murmured, “Um… do you maybe wanna sit by the window instead?” He didn’t look at you, just stared straight ahead like a man facing death.

Without missing a beat, you nodded. “Sure. Come on.”

You stood up and let him shuffle over into your seat. The second he sat down, he let out a deep belch, followed by a hoarse, “Oh God…”

You were already leaning closer, scanning his face with concern. “You good?”

Your hand found his knee, giving it a comforting rub. His eyes were squeezed shut, his hands now gripping the tray table for dear life.

He nodded slowly, jaw clenched. “I’m okay. Just… hate flying.”

You offered a soft smile and stayed close. “I’ll be right here the whole time, okay? Just breathe.”

He nodded again, and despite how miserable he looked, his posture softened slightly, just enough to tell you that your presence was doing what your words couldn’t.

“I’ll go get some water and a bag, just in case,” you told him gently, already sliding out of your seat. Bob gave a tiny nod, eyes still shut, lips tight as if even opening them would invite disaster. You made your way down the aisle, stopping a flight attendant with a polite smile and a quick explanation.

She gave you a knowing look. “Nervous flyer?”

“Something like that,” you chuckled.

A minute later, you returned to your row, holding a small bottle of water and one of those crinkly, shame-colored paper bags. Bob looked slightly less pale than before—his hands weren’t as white-knuckled on the armrests, and his breathing had calmed a little. But he still had that I-might-hurl-any-second look going on.

“Here,” you said, sitting back down and offering both the water and the bag. “Just in case. Don’t worry, it’s only a few hours.”

The moment the word “hours” left your mouth, Bob visibly tensed. He choked on his own spit and shot you a wide-eyed stare like you’d just told him he’d have to wrestle an alligator.

You raised your hands defensively. “Okay, wrong choice of words—ignore me.”

Before either of you could say more, the engines began to roar and the plane started rolling forward. Bob immediately slumped into his seat like a melting popsicle, shut his mouth and eyes, and gripped the tray table as if it were the only thing anchoring him to this dimension.

You couldn’t help a soft smile. He looked a bit ridiculous and miserable at the same time.

“This is the worst part,” you said soothingly, glancing out the window as the runway sped beneath you. “It gets better after takeoff.”

As the plane began to lift from the ground, your heart fluttered with excitement. A new mission in Europe. A whole new landscape, new memories. Even if you weren’t saving the world, part of you loved the thrill of the unknown.

You inhaled deeply, a soft smile on your lips… until you felt a touch.

You turned your head just in time to see Bob—eyes still closed, jaw clenched—reach out blindly and grab your hand in his. He didn’t say a word, didn’t look at you. He just held on. Tightly.

You looked down at your interlaced fingers. He was basically crushing your hand, but you didn’t pull away. If this helped him even a little, you weren’t going anywhere.

Your thumb brushed over his knuckles in quiet reassurance. You didn’t say anything. He didn’t either. But something in the weight of his grip, the vulnerability of that small action, felt more genuine than a thousand words.

Sure, your hand might be useless for the next few hours, but somehow that didn’t matter. It was Bob. That’s what made it okay.

The flight dragged on peacefully, and at some point, exhaustion won.

By the time the pilot announced the descent, both you and Bob were fast asleep. The flight attendant’s gentle voice over the intercom was what stirred you.

“Excuse me—we’ll be landing shortly.”

You blinked groggily, and as your senses slowly returned, you realized that you and Bob were still holding hands. The entire flight. Neither of you had let go, not even in your sleep.

You turned your head at the same time he did, both of you blinking at each other in a dazed, half-dream state. Then you both released your grips at once, slowly, carefully.

You cleared your throat, trying to play it cool. Bob straightened his seat and adjusted his hoodie like he could hide in it.

“…Feeling better?” you asked softly, keeping your voice low enough so only he could hear. He nodded, and for the first time that day, smiled at you—not the nervous, half-broken kind, but something real.

“Y-Yeah. Thank you.” His voice was quiet, but sincere.

You smiled back before you even realized it, heart tugging in that dangerous, stupid way it did whenever he looked at you like that.

Sometimes you wondered if Bob Reynolds was even real. Maybe he was a highly advanced hologram, or worse, a social experiment where you were the test subject. Because if he was a trap, a trick, or an illusion… well, you’d already fallen in pretty deep.

The moment you landed at the airport in a sunny seaside city called Alicante, your adrenaline was high, ready to face whatever was waiting for you.

But instead of military vehicles or local agents waiting on the tarmac, there was a giant banner reading “SURPRISE!” flapping in the Mediterranean breeze. An agent, smiling way too much for someone who usually briefed on extinction-level events, greeted you all with the bombshell: “There is no mission. You’re here on vacation for one full week. Fully paid. Mandatory.”

Everyone had a different reaction. Some of the team burst out laughing. A few gave each other looks of disbelief. Alexei screamed, “HELL YES, BEACH TIME!” and fist-pumped the air. Yelena already had sunglasses on. But not everyone was thrilled.

Bucky Barnes, for one, looked like someone had just kicked his dog. Twice. He crossed his arms and muttered, “This is ridiculous. I don’t do beaches.”

“Well, now you do,” said Ava with a smirk. “Welcome to bonding camp, grumpy.”

You were all told this wasn’t just a vacation, it was a “team-building retreat.” You were going to be forced to relax together, apparently to grow stronger as a unit. And no one was allowed to bail.

Despite the chaos of your missions and all the tension in the beginning, over the past few months of cohabitating in Stark Tower, you’d all grown… closer. There were still arguments, sure—someone was always stealing snacks, using someone else’s mug, or playing music too loud at 3AM—but you knew each other now. Knew who liked what, who needed quiet mornings, who hogged the bathroom, and who cried during certain movie scenes (spoiler: it’s more of them than you expected).

But the bond between you and Bob Reynolds stood out most.

Everyone saw it. From the moment you helped rescue him, you’d never left his side. You were the first to check if he was injured, the first to speak to him like a human being and not a walking nuclear reactor. You made sure he was okay. Like some stray dog the world had tossed aside—and you just quietly decided he was yours now.

And the team followed your lead. Despite what he’d done, despite nearly destroying the world and ripping open old wounds in everyone’s psyche, they welcomed him with open arms. Because you did.

“Vacation?” Bob raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely confused.

“Yup,” John said with a grin, giving him a playful nudge. “That’s when you don’t do anything and it’s totally fine. You should try it sometime.”

Bob didn’t look convinced. If anything, he looked suspicious of the concept. His whole life had been built around duty, damage control, and trying not to explode. The idea of just… existing with no expectations felt foreign. Maybe even dangerous.

“Alright folks, let’s move out,” Yelena called, hoisting her bag over her shoulder with that bossy tone everyone obeyed without question. She might’ve shared the leadership role with Bucky, but she had the charisma of someone who got things done.

Like a herd of reluctant high schoolers on a mandatory field trip, the team followed—grumbling, joking, dragging their feet, but moving.

The drive wasn’t long.

A sleek black limousine pulled up to your destination within the hour. A row of elegant, private beach cottages spread out before you, nestled in a secluded cove just outside Alicante.

The sand was pale gold, soft as powdered sugar, stretching out toward the turquoise horizon. The sea shimmered beneath the sunlight, waves gentle and lazy. Palm trees lined the perimeter, their leaves rustling with every breeze, casting just enough shade to make the heat feel like a pleasant hug instead of a punishment.

The place felt untouched. Quiet.

Not exactly deserted—but exclusive. You could see why no ordinary tourists were lounging here. It wasn’t just the off-hour, it was the price. This was the kind of luxury reserved for diplomats and billionaires. For people who’d seen too much, done too much, and needed the world to shut up for five minutes.

For the first time, you felt the weight of silence around the team. Not the awkward kind—just a collective breath being held, like everyone was realizing at once how damn beautiful it was here.

The agent who’d escorted you out of the airport handed over two keycards with a charming smile. “One cabin for four men, and one for three ladies,” he said, giving them to Bucky and Yelena respectively.

“Enjoy yourselves.”

And just like that, he was gone, limousine and all, leaving you standing under the cloudless sky, surrounded by the scent of salt and coconut sunscreen.

You glanced around, soaking it all in. Then your gaze shifted to Bob. He was already looking at you. The moment your eyes met, he flinched and immediately turned his head, pretending to be very interested in a nearby bush.

You snorted quietly to yourself, lips twitching with amusement.

“This one’s ours, I guess,” Yelena said, pointing toward the cottage just a few steps away. Even from a distance, the place looked like it belonged in a luxury travel magazine. Creamy-white walls, light wooden trim, huge windows, and a little porch with hanging hammocks swaying lazily in the breeze. A dream come true.

You, Yelena and Ava made your way over with your bags. Yelena slid the keycard, and the door clicked open. The inside was even more stunning.

It was like stepping into a Pinterest board. The walls were painted in soft seafoam greens and sun-washed whites. Rattan furniture, pastel cushions, and airy curtains gave the space a coastal, boho vibe. There was a faint scent of lavender and driftwood in the air—relaxing, expensive, comforting.

Sunlight poured through the huge windows, illuminating a common area with plush couches, a breakfast bar stocked with fruits and snacks, and wide glass doors that opened directly onto the beach. You could hear the waves as if the ocean was whispering, You’re safe here.

“Holy shit,” Ava breathed out, spinning in a slow circle like she couldn’t believe this wasn’t CGI. “This is nicer than my actual apartment.”

Yelena dropped her bag on the nearest bed with a satisfied smirk. “This is acceptable.”

You couldn’t help but smile. A real, easy smile, the kind that felt rare lately. Everything about this place felt… right and peaceful.

And as you peeked out the back window and saw the boys dragging their bags toward their own cottage, you knew this week was going to be something different. Maybe even healing.

A few hours had passed since you arrived. You’d unpacked, showered, explored the fridge, which was magically stocked with mouthwatering, chef-level food, and finally settled into that post-travel stillness.

The late afternoon sun blanketed everything in golden light as you lounged on the front veranda of your cottage. Yelena had claimed the hammock and was swinging gently, sunglasses on, arms behind her head, looking like a war-hardened goddess pretending to be chill.

You and Ava had claimed two of the hanging lounge chairs, gently swaying as you soaked in the sun. Both of you had sunglasses perched on your noses, and the soft breeze kept the heat from being overwhelming.

“What are we even supposed to do here?” Ava asked, not bothering to open her eyes. Her voice was lazy, relaxed, a perfect match for the quiet waves in the distance.

It was a simple question. One you should’ve been able to answer. But you paused. Because… you honestly didn’t know.

Before you could respond with something vague, Yelena chimed in with a deadpan comment that made both you and Ava snort with laughter. It was something about team bonding meaning “not-murdering each other in close quarters,” and that this counted.

Then you added, perfectly flat, “I didn’t even bring a swimsuit.”

Ava blinked, then looked over at you. “Wait, me neither.”

“Didn’t expect this,” you muttered. “Was packing for death, not tanning.”

Yelena groaned. “Okay great. Let’s go buy swimsuits now. Or we’ll end up stuck here melting like idiots on a porch for the rest of the week.”

She was right, so without much debate, the three of you grabbed your canvas totes, wallets, and phones. None of you were wearing anything particularly beach-shopping-appropriate, but it didn’t matter. The streets near the coast would be casual, laid-back—just like the air already felt.

Of course, this wasn’t just a swimsuit run.

You were three women, unsupervised, in a beach town, surrounded by potential sales racks, accessory stands, cafés, and tourist traps. There was no way you were only coming back with swimwear.

As you walked past the guys’ cabin, Yelena suddenly veered off toward the door.

“I’m gonna see if any of the boys want to come with us,” she said casually.

You and Ava paused, hanging back by the path and watching her disappear into the house. After a beat of silence, Ava tilted her head toward you, voice sly behind her shades.

“So… are you two dating?”

You frowned, confused. “What?”

She shifted her sunglasses down her nose just enough to raise her brows. “You and Bob.”

Your eyes went wide. Your mouth dropped into a dramatic, perfect “O.”

“What— no, pffft, no! We’re just… friends. Like you and me.”

Ava laughed softly, but her gaze stayed locked on you, way too perceptive for your comfort.

“Then why don’t you look at me the way you look at him?”

The question hit harder than expected. You froze. Your heart did that thing where it picked up speed, like it was trying to run away before your brain could even catch up.

You opened your mouth to respond—but didn’t get the chance. Yelena reappeared, walking toward you like she owned the world, flanked by Johnny and Alexei, who looked far too amused to be joining a swimsuit shopping trip.

“They’re coming,” she said with a smirk. “Apparently the boys need suits too. And they want to pick out something ridiculous for Bucky.” That got a laugh out of all of you.

You glanced past them, half-hoping Bob would be in the group.

He wasn’t.

A tiny sting settled in your chest—nothing sharp, just that quiet flicker of disappointment. Maybe he needed rest. Maybe he didn’t feel like going out. Maybe… you were overthinking again.

You shook the thought away and caught up with the group, quickly weaving yourself into the casual chatter about the town, the ocean, and just how absurdly gorgeous these beach houses were.

Still… you couldn’t help but glance back, just once, at the boys’ cabin. Maybe he was watching. Maybe he wasn’t. But part of you hoped he’d noticed you were gone.

The shop you found wasn’t some cheap tourist trap. It was small, chic, and clearly catered to high-end beachgoers with taste. White walls, light wood floors, soft acoustic music playing in the background, and racks of curated swimsuits arranged by style, not size. It even smelled nice, like sunscreen and coconuts and fresh linen.

You, Yelena, and Ava wandered through the racks like hunters in the wild, each with your own goal. Ava leaned toward white or black prints. Yelena made a beeline for anything tactical-looking or black. You? You didn’t know what you were looking for, until you saw it.

A white two-piece bikini, delicate but bold.

The top had thin, adjustable straps and a soft triangle cut that showed just enough while still keeping you comfortable. The fabric was smooth, almost pearly under the light, and hugged your shape in a way that felt way too flattering. The bottoms were high-cut at the hips, elongating your legs, and dipped just enough in the front to make you feel sexy.

You held it up, biting your lip.

The fitting rooms were individual little cabins with thick curtains and full mirrors, and for a moment, you just stood inside yours, staring at yourself.

The bikini really did fit, almost suspiciously well. The white stood out against your skin like it was made for you. It hugged your waist, shaped your chest, gave just enough curve to make you hesitate. You adjusted the straps, turned sideways, checked again.

You weren’t sure if you felt powerful or exposed.

Still undecided, you pulled the curtain back and stepped out barefoot onto the cool wooden floor. Yelena was standing just outside, holding a one-piece camo-pattern swimsuit that looked like it belonged in some military-themed Sports Illustrated shoot.

When she turned to look at you, her face froze for a second. And then she blinked. Twice.

“Oh my god,” she said loudly. “Bob’s going to get an erection so hard he’s gonna pass out.”

You stared at her, completely stunned. “Yelena!”

She shrugged, utterly unbothered. “What? It’s true. That bikini is illegal. You look like someone who knows how hot she is.”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed. That loud, shocked kind of laugh that felt like it echoed off your ribs.

“I’m not getting it just because of Bob!” you protested.

“Sure. Of course,” Yelena said, already turning to hang her swimsuit back on a rack. “You’re getting it because of you. Which happens to be the same you that wants Bob to think about you every time he blinks.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Because maybe she wasn’t totally wrong.

You looked back at yourself in the big mirror. Your fingers lightly touched the strap on your hip. Yeah, part of you wanted Bob to notice. And part of you was absolutely terrified he would.

“…Okay,” you said quietly. “I’ll take it.”

The walk back from town was filled with laughter and light teasing. John and Alexei were leading the way, both proudly swinging shopping bags, one of which contained a ridiculous pair of swim trunks Alexei had picked for Bucky, covered in pineapples and flamingos, while Bob’s were thankfully simple and classic.

You held a bag in one hand and kept your eyes on your feet, but no matter what, you couldn’t stop your thoughts from drifting.

What’s Bob gonna do when he sees you in this bikini?

You hadn’t meant to obsess over it. The idea had just settled in your mind. Naturally. Like it belonged there. And now it was stuck. Even as Ava was telling a story about how she accidentally bought three identical sarongs, your mind wandered right back to Bob.

The moment you and Ava set the bags down on the porch with a thud, Yelena clapped her hands like a general calling her troops.

“Alright, troops! Try on your swimsuits, we’re playing beach volleyball in ten!”

You exchanged an amused glance with Ava. You were all tired, even Yelena was complaining on the way back how well she'll be sleeping. Guess that thought was gone now.

Still, the energy in the air was contagious and none of you had the heart to say no, so Yelena texted the guys while the rest of you headed to change.

When you stepped outside, the sun was warm on your skin and the sound of the ocean made everything feel like a dream. Bucky and Alexei were already out there, stretching and tying up the net between two poles. John stood nearby, casually tossing the volleyball between his hands.

But Bob wasn’t there.

Your breath hitched slightly, but before you could spiral, Ava appeared behind you and gave you a sharp slap on the butt.

“Relax, your loverboy probably just got distracted picking the perfect outfit,” she teased.

You rolled your eyes with a groan, but your heart was beating just a little faster. You walked over to the group, the sand soft under your feet.

Bucky noticed you first. His eyes lingered for a second longer than they probably should have, but he kept his expression locked down – soldier mode. Alexei, on the other hand, had zero filters.

“WOW, GIRL, LOOK AT YOU!” he shouted across the beach. “YOU LOOK LIKE A GODDESS! AND YOU TOO! AND YOU TOO!!”

He even stumbled into the net and collapsed dramatically, like your beauty had physically floored him. All of you burst out laughing. It was ridiculous, but sweet.

Walker stood back, saying nothing, just calmly observing like always, the ball still rotating between his palms.

“Let me help you with this,” you offered, moving to Bucky’s side and helping him secure the net to the post. You worked silently for a moment until he glanced at you and said, in his typical stern voice: “You look good.”

You smiled. “Thanks.”

Then, behind you, you heard the soft click of the cabin door opening. Your head instantly turned.

Bob stepped out. He wore a plain green T-shirt and simple black swim shorts. His hair was a little tousled from the wind, and the second his eyes landed on you, he froze.

You gave him a small, friendly wave.

He just stood there. His brows twitched. His jaw tensed. Then, as if his legs had remembered how to move, he took a step forward and tripped a little in the sand. Your heart did a backflip.

“See?” Yelena appeared beside you, slapping your shoulder. “Told you he’d be wrecked when he saw you.”

You laughed, half in embarrassment, half in disbelief, and shook your head. “Shut up.”

“Alright, LET’S GOOO!” Alexei yelled, clapping loudly before peeling off his shirt in one dramatic motion. The dude was built like a Greek statue.

Then Bucky followed suit, revealing defined abs and a torso clearly sculpted through years of combat training. All of you fell into stunned silence for a moment.

Even Walker, who hadn’t said a word, took off his shirt and casually joined the group. His body was lean, defined, quiet strength. Bob arrived near the group, awkwardly raising a hand.

“Hey,” he mumbled with a sheepish smile. All eyes slowly turned to him waiting. Expectant.

He looked around nervously. “What? Did I—?”

And then he realized. He looked down at his own shirt, then back up at the group.

“Oh! Uh… I think I’ll keep the shirt on. I’m kinda cold,” he laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

You blinked. Cold? You didn’t believe him for a second, and you were pretty sure no one else did either. Still, no one pushed him. It was Bob. If he needed to keep his shirt on, he could.

Yelena turned to split the teams. “Alright, someone from the guys can join us, but anyone except Ale—”

“GOING WITH MY GORGEOUS LADIES!” Alexei yelled, cutting her off and dashing over to your side like a golden retriever on espresso.

Yelena let out the longest, most defeated sigh and rubbed her temples.

Teams were decided, and as fate would have it, you and Bob ended up on opposing sides. The game was lighthearted at first, filled with laughter and playful banter. But then John raised the stakes.

“How about this? Winning team gets treated to a round of rum by the losers!”

A collective cheer erupted, and the game intensified. The air buzzed with laughter, the sounds of sneakers shuffling and palms slapping against the volleyball echoing across the beach.

You were focused, at least, you were trying to be. But every time your eyes met Bob’s across the court, something fluttered in your chest. It wasn’t just the look he gave you, it was everything about him.

The way his green shirt clung to his chest, damp from sweat, outlining the gentle definition of his torso; the way his dark hair was slightly tousled, sticking to his forehead; the way he kept glancing at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

And he was looking.

Almost every single time you looked over at him, his eyes were already on you. And every single time, without fail, he’d catch himself and look away. Fast. Like a startled animal. His Adam’s apple would bob slightly as he swallowed hard, clearly rattled by something—by you, maybe.

But then came the moment he didn’t look away.

You looked across the net, searching for Bob again, and there he was, watching you. He didn’t flinch this time. He didn’t look down or pretend to scratch his face. He stared. And you, feeling just a little bold, gave him a playful wink.

That did it.

Even from across the sand, you saw the way his face lit up red. Not just a hint of blush, but full-on, ear-to-ear crimson. His lips curved upward in a tiny, embarrassed smile—so small you might’ve missed it if you weren’t watching for it.

And of course you were watching. The next serve came. Fast. Too fast. You turned just a moment too late, the ball whizzing past your shoulder and hitting the sand behind you.

Point lost.

Your teammates groaned in playful frustration, and you raised your hand apologetically. “My bad,” you laughed, even though inside, your stomach was doing backflips. Bob was still watching. Except now, he looked like he was having a different kind of crisis.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, his fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt nervously. His jaw clenched. His chest was visibly rising and falling faster than it should. His arms were tense. His fingers curled into fist, his knuckles white. His eyes were definitely not on the ball.

They were on you.

Suddenly, he took a deep breath and bent slightly forward. “Uh—sorry! I just need a… quick break!” he blurted out, turning so fast he almost tripped on his own foot. Without another word, he jogged off the court and toward the cabins, his shirt bunched up slightly at the back and clinging tighter at the front than before.

Everyone kind of paused.

“Everything alright?” John called after him, spinning the ball on his finger.

“Yeah! Yeah, all good!” Bob replied quickly, too quickly, his voice cracking slightly as he disappeared around the corner.

The group exchanged glances, some shrugged, some laughed. Yelena rolled her eyes. “He probably has bad stamina.”

But your heart dropped just a bit. Something felt off. You didn’t even think, you tossed the ball aside, murmured a quick, “I’ll go check on him,” and broke into a quick jog, sand kicking up around your ankles as you made your way toward the cabins.

Bob barely made it into the room before slamming the door shut behind him, chest heaving, face flushed and mind spinning. He pressed his back to the wood as if trying to barricade himself from the outside world, from you. His breathing was erratic. He glanced down.

“Oh no no no…”

The situation in his swim trunks was unignorable. His erection was pushing painfully against the fabric, a direct result of the way you looked—sweaty, flushed from the game, laughing with your hair a mess, skin kissed by sunlight. The way your bikini hugged your curves. The way your chest rose and fell when you ran. The way you winked at him.

He buried his face in his hands and groaned. This was not supposed to happen.

He tried to steady his breath and think about anything else, but it was useless. All he could think about was you. How close you’d gotten. How dangerous it felt to even have you in the same game, let alone within touching distance.

Then came the knock.

“Bob?” Your voice was gentle, concerned. “Are you okay?”

He froze. Your voice was the last thing he needed right now. It sent a fresh wave of heat through him. His hands curled into fists.

“Yeah! I’m—uh—I’m fine. Just a headache,” he called out quickly, praying you’d leave.

But you didn’t.

“I can come in, I’ll bring you water or—”

“NO!” he shouted. Too loud, too harsh. The silence that followed was gutting. You stood on the other side of the door, frozen in place. “…Bob?”

He could hear it. The confusion in your voice. The hesitation. He hated himself instantly.

“I just—I need to be alone, okay?” His voice was muffled now, pressed into the crook of his elbow as he paced the room. He could feel his heart pounding, his frustration mounting—not just with the situation, but with himself. “Just leave. Please.”

You didn’t speak. He imagined your face, how hurt you probably looked, how your brows might have creased, how your mouth might’ve opened to argue before you stopped yourself.

Then… footsteps. Soft. Fading. Gone.

He felt the loss immediately. Like something had been torn out of him. He let out a heavy breath and leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the door.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, too late. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to yell.”

No answer.

“Please don’t be mad… I just—I didn’t know what to do, okay? You—you do things to me, and I panicked. Please, come back.” But the hallway was empty and the only response was silence.

As you stepped out of the cabin, your eyes burned with unshed tears. You quickly wiped them away with the back of your hand, forcing a shaky breath through your nose.

“Hey, is Bob okay?” Ava asked, glancing toward the cabin you’d just exited.

You hesitated for a second, then nodded with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “He just said he had a headache,” you replied, your voice carefully even.

You walked toward the volleyball net and joined the opposite team—the one now short a player with Bob gone. “Let’s keep playing,” you added cheerfully, hoping no one would question it further.

To your surprise, the game was good. Fast-paced. Fun.

Even with the ache in your chest, you gave it your all. Maybe even because of it. Every hit, every run across the sand, every cheer was your way of forcing yourself to focus on something else—anything else.

And in the end, your team won.

Yelena, Ava, and Alexei groaned in dramatic defeat while you, John, and Bucky raised your arms in victory. “Winners get the drinks!” Walker grinned.

“Fine,” Yelena rolled her eyes. “But we’re picking the place.”

The sun had dipped lower in the sky now, casting a soft golden glow over the beach. The heat lingered though, a warm comfort against your skin. Everyone decided to freshen up a bit before heading out, and you slipped into something light—a black fishnet-style dress over your swimsuit, barely-there but airy enough to keep cool.

The girls whistled playfully at you as you walked out, and you returned their teasing with a twirl and a wink. But your heart still felt heavy.

The bar you ended up in was cozy, loud with laughter, music humming low in the background. The lights were warm and soft, casting shadows across everyone’s faces. You weren’t drunk—just a little lightheaded from the rum, the kind that made your thoughts buzz and your limbs a bit too loose.

Yelena stuck by your side most of the evening. She laughed with you, poked fun at Walker, and even made a show of challenging Alexei to a drinking contest. But at one point, she leaned in, her gaze a little too knowing.

“You’re smiling,” she said gently, “but your eyes are somewhere else.” You blinked and looked away, sipping from your drink.

“I’m fine,” you murmured.

Yelena sighed and gave you a long look. “I’m gonna go talk to Ava for a bit, okay? You good here?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I think I need some time alone anyway.” She gave your hand a light squeeze, then disappeared into the crowd.

You sat in silence for a while, swirling your drink, the taste of sugar and burn lingering on your tongue. Your gaze drifted around the room, but you weren’t really seeing anyone. The voices blended together. The laughter felt far away. Until one voice didn’t.

“Hey…”

You froze. Slowly, your eyes shifted to the side.

Bob.

He stood just beside you, looking awkward, guilty, and entirely out of place. His hair was a little messy, his green shirt slightly wrinkled like he’d been sitting in one place too long before deciding to come. His voice was soft. Tentative.

“…Can I sit?”

You just nodded faintly and let out a small, wordless hum of agreement.

He took the seat next to you, cautious, like he wasn’t sure if he really had the right to be there. You could feel his nervous energy radiating off him. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. His leg bounced subtly beneath the bar. It was obvious he’d been overthinking every second since earlier.

There was a long pause before he finally spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice strained but sincere. “About before. I didn’t mean to—” He hesitated, sighed. “I panicked. That’s all. I didn’t want to shout at you like that. I don’t even know why I did. I just… freaked out.”

You were still leaning against the bar, your head tilted slightly sideways, cheek resting on your folded arm. With your other hand, you absently played with the rim of your empty glass, turning it slowly between your fingers. You didn’t look at him, but your shoulders rose in a small shrug. It wasn’t cold—it just said I hear you. But I’m still processing.

He bit the inside of his cheek, clearly frustrated with himself, then tried again.

“I really am sorry. You didn’t deserve that. Can I… can I buy you another drink? Something strong, maybe? Vodka?”

That finally got a soft sound out of you—a short breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. You sat up properly, brushing your hair back and meeting his eyes, just briefly.

“No thanks,” you murmured. “I don’t wanna get drunk.”

He nodded, looking down at his hands, embarrassed. “Right. Of course. Sorry.”

The quiet between you stretched again, but it didn’t feel quite so heavy now. Just… tentative. Cautious. Slowly, your expression softened, even though the sadness still lingered. You could see how hard he was trying—how guilty he looked, how much he regretted that brief flash of temper. And even if it still hurt, you knew it hadn’t come from a place of cruelty. Just fear.

You sighed gently, then gave him a tiny nod. “It’s okay,” you said at last. “I get it.”

His eyes flicked up to you in relief, and he nodded eagerly. A beat passed before you tilted your head slightly. “Are you having anything?”

He blinked. “Uh… no. Acohol— I don’t really— It doesn’t go well with me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, a little shyly. “I’m not exactly the fun drunk type. More like the ‘embarrass myself and then cry about it later’ type.”

That finally earned a genuine smile from you. A small, honest one. “Alright,” you said.

“What if we uh…drink something sweet? Like juice?” Bob suggested cautiously and you nodded with a hum.

Bob grinned sheepishly and waved at the bartender, ordering two fruity, alcohol-free drinks. When he slid yours toward you and caught the way you looked at him, smile soft, eyes warm, his ears turned a little pink. You raised your glass and clinked it gently against his.

As the conversation carried on, whatever tension had existed between the two of you earlier slowly dissolved, like mist in the morning sun. You laughed together, genuine, unguarded laughter, and it felt easy again. Comfortable.

Before long, you completely forgot why you’d been upset in the first place. Bob was being his awkward, charming self, and it was disarming in the best way. He made a silly comment about the drink being too fruity for a “manly guy like him,” and you rolled your eyes so hard it made him laugh. You teased him back, and time began to slip by, unnoticed and unchecked.

Eventually, Bucky appeared at the entrance of the bar, a little sweaty, clearly ready to call it a night. “We’re heading out,” he called over the soft hum of music and clinking glasses. “You two coming?”

You glanced at Bob and then shook your head with a smile. “We’ll stay a little longer.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow knowingly, gave a short wave, and disappeared with the rest of the group. That “little longer” quickly became several hours. The sky outside deepened into full night, the noise of the bar gradually quieted as the crowd thinned out, and you and Bob were still there, talking and laughing like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Then, suddenly, a voice broke through the moment, gentle but firm. The bartender leaned over and said something in Spanish, “Cerramos.”

Your eyes widened, and you let out a soft gasp. “Oh! They're closing.” You jumped off the barstool with a flurry of movement, grabbing your things quickly and tossing an apologetic smile toward the bartender. You replied: “Lo siento!” then turned to Bob.

He was still sitting there, watching you with a puzzled look on his face. Then he glanced at the bartender, and back to you, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“You speak Spanish?” he asked, a bit of awe in his voice.

You laughed and shook your head. “Nooo,” you admitted, grinning. “But it’s not that hard to guess what he said.”

Bob smiled as the realization hit him. “Right… yeah. That makes sense.” He stood up, stretching a little, and pulled a few bills from his wallet to leave on the counter for the drinks. Together, the two of you stepped out into the warm night.

Outside, the air was rich with the scent of saltwater and distant blossoms. The sky was a canvas of stars, crisp and clear, glittering like tiny diamonds. The moon hung low, casting a soft silver glow over the beach. The waves rolled in and out in a slow, steady rhythm, their gentle crash against the shore creating a peaceful, natural soundtrack that filled the quiet spaces between your laughter.

You walked side by side along the sand, your bare feet leaving prints behind you that the tide would soon claim. Every so often you’d bump shoulders slightly, accidentally-on-purpose, and Bob would smile that sweet, crooked smile of his. Conversation flowed as effortlessly as the breeze around you.

Then, your tone shifted—just a little softer, more curious. “Can I ask you something?”

Bob glanced over at you and gave a small nod, already bracing himself for whatever was coming.

“Why didn’t you take off your shirt?” you asked gently. “Back when we played volleyball?”

He inhaled deeply through his nose, then scratched the back of his neck, suddenly looking uncomfortable. His fingers tugged slightly at the fabric of his shirt. When he finally spoke, it was in a quiet voice, and he avoided your gaze.

“I guess I’m just… not that confident. About my body, I mean.”

He let out a soft, nervous snort through his lips, something between a sigh and the sound horses make when they’re annoyed, and looked down at the sand as if it had the answers.

He paused, then looked up at you, his eyes full of something vulnerable, raw, and honest. “But I’ll get there. One day.” A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Just… not yet.”

You nodded slowly, not saying anything at first. You looked down, watching the way your feet pressed into the sand, how your steps left soft imprints that trailed behind. You understood. Completely. And more importantly, you respected it.

Your silence wasn’t judgment, it was empathy. And as the two of you walked on, bathed in moonlight and ocean air, it was clear that even unspoken things had a way of being heard between you.

Bob walked you back to your cabin, the two of you moving a little slower than before, as if neither of you truly wanted the night to end. When you reached the steps, there was that moment, an awkward little giggle shared between you as your eyes both dropped to the ground, trying to avoid the tension hanging in the air. But it was there, unspoken and electric. You felt it in your chest, and judging by the way Bob was fiddling with his fingers and nervously rocking on his heels, he did too.

Maybe it was the rum still lingering in your system, or maybe it was the feeling of confidence bubbling up from the hours of honest conversation and gentle laughter. Either way, you found yourself standing a little taller, just bold enough to speak your mind.

“I don’t think you have anything to be ashamed of,” you said, your voice soft but sure, a small smile playing on your lips as you looked at him. Bob lifted his gaze, eyes wide with something between surprise and fragile hope, like a puppy waiting to be told it’s a good boy.

“I think you have a beautiful body,” you added gently.

The moment the words landed, his eyes locked with yours, and the connection was intense. Warm. Heavy. It hung in the air between you like a string pulled tight.

You could see it in his face that he felt it too. His lips parted slightly, as if he was about to say something, but then his nervousness took over again. He let out a small, breathy laugh, looked to the side, and scratched the back of his head. His cheeks turned a brilliant shade of red, and his voice came out unsure and stammered.

“You too… you have a nice body. Not like—in a creepy way or anything! Just, uh… like, you know…”

He was tangling himself in his own compliment, flailing to land it gracefully, and it made your heart melt just a little more. Smiling softly, you lifted both hands in a surrendering gesture, giving a single nod with a calming expression.

“I get it,” you assured him gently. “Thank you.”

Relief washed over his face, and both of you started to laugh again, this time more naturally, more connected. The night felt sweet, even a little magical. You didn’t want to go inside. You didn’t want this to be the part where he left, where things faded into goodnights and what-ifs.

Something in you, maybe the remnants of courage, maybe the warmth still blooming from that last drink, refused to let him go. So, you decided to take a risk. A brave one.

“Can I kiss you?”

The words came out direct, sincere, without apology or hesitation. They hit Bob like a thunderclap. His eyes went wide and fractured with shock. You could see his heart stop and start again just by the way his chest moved. Goosebumps appeared along his arms, his breath caught in his throat, and his entire face flushed deeper than ever before.

“I-I… I mean—I… um,” he stumbled, blinking rapidly, completely overwhelmed.

You didn’t push, but you did move closer, stepping into the space between you, your hands slowly, carefully, rising to his chest. You placed them there gently, barely a touch, more of a whisper than a grip, and you could feel his heartbeat fluttering beneath your fingertips, pounding like a wild drum. The moment you touched him, he froze. His whole body stiffened, eyes locked on you, his lips slightly parted in stunned silence.

You tilted your head up, catching his gaze with a bold, flirtatious glint in your eye. Then you bit your lip, slowly and deliberately, giving him that look—the kind that stripped away all doubt.

“May I?” you whispered again, your voice lower, breathier, your fingertips brushing against his shirt as your palms moved slightly over his chest.

He inhaled sharply, the sound trembling through his lips, and after a second that felt like forever, he nodded—quickly, wordlessly, his entire body trembling with anticipation.

A sly, satisfied smile crept onto your face at his permission. You rose onto your toes as he instinctively leaned down to meet you halfway. And when your lips finally met his, it was as though the world simply fell away.

The background noise, the wind, the waves, the sound of cicadas, melted into silence. There was only warmth, only him.

His lips were soft, tinged with sweetness from the drinks you’d shared, and you felt a wave of heat roll through your body.

At first, he kissed you carefully, cautiously, almost as if he wasn’t sure if this was real. But the moment you leaned in hungrily for another kiss, something shifted in him, he melted into you completely.

Your arms slid around his neck, pulling him in closer, anchoring him to you. He responded instinctively, his hands finding your waist with gentle hesitance, holding you like you were delicate and precious, like the wrong touch might break the spell. His fingers traced small circles against your back, sliding slightly higher as he began to kiss you deeper, more surely.

And then you started to sigh—soft, involuntary little sounds escaping your lips, muffled between kisses. That was it. That was all it took to make Bob shudder slightly against you, his grip tightening just a little as he buried himself more completely in the moment.

For a man so shy, so careful with his words, his body was now telling you everything you needed to know. Your lips danced together under the stars, wrapped in each other’s arms, feeling the warmth of each other's bodies.

The kiss between you and Bob deepened quickly, the heat building with every brush of lips, every inhale that seemed too sharp, too needy.

Bob began to let out these quiet, helpless little moans—soft, desperate sounds that made your heart stutter and your core clench with hunger. His breath was hot, uneven, as if he couldn’t quite keep up with what he was feeling.

But then, just when things began to slip into something hotter, more dangerous, you pulled away.

Your lips left his with a quiet, breathy pop, and Bob’s eyes fluttered open in confusion, his brows furrowing as you took a small step back. You reached into your bag, rummaging clumsily, fingers searching for your keys. His expression was adorably baffled—eyes wide, lips parted, his chest still rising and falling too fast.

He didn’t even get the chance to ask what you were doing. Before he could speak, you found the keys, turned, and unlocked the door with a soft grunt of effort. The handle resisted for a moment—just long enough to make you curse under your breath. But then it gave way, and without a word, you grabbed a handful of Bob’s shirt and yanked him inside with you.

The door slammed shut behind you.

And then you were on him again.

You pushed him up against the wall before he could even blink, your lips crashing onto his like you’d been starved of him for hours instead of minutes. He let out a muffled gasp, taken completely off guard, but your mouth, your touch, the fire burning through you, it overwhelmed him. It shut off whatever part of his brain had been trying to stay grounded.

He melted into you, hands clinging to your waist like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality. But you weren’t slowing down.

You pressed your body hard against his, clutching at his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart, pinning him to the wall with a surprising strength, despite your smaller frame. Your kiss was ravenous, unrelenting. Every time his breath hitched, it only drove you more.

But Bob still had some part of him trying to be responsible.

“Wait—wait, what about the others?” he asked, panting between kisses, his voice shaky, his lips still brushing yours. His hands remained at your hips, uncertain but not resisting.

“They’re asleep,” you breathed without hesitation, already leaning in again.

You kissed him hard, and he let out a startled noise in the back of his throat, half protest, half surrender. But just as your hands started trailing lower down his sides, he gently pulled back again, his eyes wide, his whole body trembling like he was barely holding on.

“I-I mean, I—” he stammered, clearly overwhelmed, caught in the tug-of-war between nerves and need.

But you were on fire. Every pulse in your body throbbed with want, and the heat between your thighs was unmistakable, impossible to ignore. You leaned in closer, placing a hand flat against his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart. Your eyes locked on his and your voice dropped into something sultry, something that made his breath hitch.

“Do you want me?” you whispered, your words low, teasing, soaked in longing.

Bob’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. His lips parted, but no sound came out. He was frozen, wide-eyed, staring at you like you were made of fire and he couldn’t decide whether to run or let himself burn.

So you stepped in closer. Your bodies were touching now, pressed chest to chest, and your mouth hovered barely a breath from his. You tilted your head, eyes fluttering half-shut, your voice dipping into a softer, flirtier murmur.

“Do you want me, Bob?”

This time he nodded. Hard. His breath caught in his throat, and a deep, shaky sound escaped him. His hands clutched tighter at your waist like he was afraid you might vanish.

Then you gave him the final push—the one that made everything else fall away.

“Do you want me… right now?”

His answer wasn’t words. It was a low, desperate sound from deep in his chest and another frantic nod, his eyes burning with need. That was all the answer you needed. All the answer he could give.

And then your lips were on his again, fiercer this time, hungry and hot, and whatever doubts had been in his head melted away with each breathless kiss.

But the kisses between you and Bob grew messier, deeper, more desperate. There was no longer any hesitation, only raw, breathless need. Soft, pleading moans slipped from both your lips between every frantic brush of your mouths, and each sound only made the other crave more.

Bob’s hands fumbled at your waist, your neck, your hips, trying to be everywhere at once but still so careful. His swim trunks were starting to grow tight again, and the heat in your own body was unbearable. Your swimsuit clung to you, soaked through with arousal, even tho all you had done was kiss.

Stumbling into your room was chaotic, clumsy. Bob bumped into the wall, you tripped on your own feet, giggles and gasps filling the space between frantic kisses. But somehow, with limbs tangled and hearts racing, you made it to your room. You barely managed to shut the door behind you before dragging both of you toward the bed.

With one firm but gentle push, you toppled Bob onto the mattress and let yourself fall with him. You landed on his chest with a bounce, both of you breathless and grinning, and then, before he could even process it, you rolled off and stood quickly. You turned back toward the door, locking it with a soft click. Then, you turned around again and froze for a beat.

Bob was sitting at the edge of your bed, completely still, his chest rising and falling in fast, shallow breaths. His hair was messy from your fingers, his lips red and swollen from your kisses and his eyes were glassy with lust, with longing. His pupils were huge. His face was flushed. And lower down, his erection was unmistakably visible.

You had never felt like this about any man before. Not like this.

You let your purse fall to the floor without a second thought, fingers slipping under the hem of your fishnet dress. With a slow, deliberate tug, you pulled it up and over your head, tossing it somewhere onto the floor.

Now, standing there in only your swimsuit, you began to approach him. Slowly, like a predator circling prey. The hunger in your eyes was impossible to miss.

Bob didn’t move. He couldn’t. He watched you the entire time, mouth slightly open, hands resting on the bed like he needed the mattress to ground himself.

You stopped in front of him and brought your hands up to cup his face, leaning in to kiss him again—but this time it was slower. Gentler. A soft, intimate prelude.

His hands found your cheeks too, fingers stroking your skin, and he tried to pull you back down onto him. But you resisted. You pulled back just far enough to look him in the eyes.

“Can we… get rid of this?” you asked with a playful smile, tapping a finger against the center of his chest.

His eyes dropped to your finger, then flicked back up to your face. He swallowed hard, clearly nervous.

“We don’t have to,” you whispered, your tone low and teasing. “But how about a deal?”

You licked your lips slowly, letting your gaze drop to his mouth before lifting it back to his eyes.

“If we take this off,” you said, finger still resting on his chest, “then we also take this off…” Your hand drifted up, motioning briefly toward the top of your swimsuit.

That was all it took.

Whatever fear had still lingered in him melted away instantly. His fingers gripped the hem of his shirt and, without a single pause, he pulled it over his head in one swift, fluid movement and tossed it aside. No hesitation. No second-guessing. He wanted this. He wanted you. Badly enough to show you a part of himself he’d just admitted he was ashamed of.

But the moment your eyes dropped to his now bare torso… your jaw practically hit the floor.

He was stunning. Broad chest, strong shoulders, abs like something sculpted by a god, toned arms with just the right amount of muscle, exactly how you liked it. Your breath caught in your throat. You hadn’t expected this. Not from someone as shy and self-conscious as him.

You looked back up at him, wide-eyed with a mix of disbelief and awe. Your lips parted slightly, but no words came.

Bob sat there, half-nervous, half-burning, unsure how you’d react—until he saw your expression. And even though your reaction was silent, it told him everything. The look on your face said it all.

You knelt down slowly, your eyes still locked onto his body as if mesmerized, and began showering him with a cascade of kisses. They rained down over his skin, his chest, his stomach, his sides, each kiss playful, some lingering, others accompanied by soft, teasing licks or the occasional gentle bite.

It tickled him a little, making him laugh under his breath, his abs tightening instinctively. He wanted to reach out, to touch your hair, cradle your face, pull you close—but he hesitated. He didn’t want to startle you, didn’t want to break the moment or push too far. So he kept his hands behind him, gripping the mattress like an anchor.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmured in between kisses, your lips brushing against his skin with every word. Your hands rested firmly on his thighs, fingers splayed out, grounding yourself as you explored him with both touch and mouth.

“So beautiful,” you repeated, almost breathless with admiration. You couldn’t get enough of him. You kissed every inch of skin you could reach, tasting the warmth of his sun-kissed body, losing yourself in the way he squirmed slightly beneath your lips.

Eventually, the hunger in you built beyond just kisses.

You looked up at Bob, meeting his eyes. He looked dazed, utterly blissed out, but beneath the surface, there was something else. He was waiting. For your part of the deal.

A mischievous smile curled on your lips.

Still on your knees, you slowly straightened up and reached behind your back, fingers deftly untying the knot of your bikini top. With a small motion, you let it slip off your shoulders, revealing your bare breasts to him.

Bob’s jaw literally dropped. His eyes widened and locked on you like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His hands dug into the mattress, and through his swim trunks, you could see the very visible twitch of his hard-on as it reacted to the sight.

He wanted to touch you so badly. You could see it. The craving in his eyes. But he still held back, being a gentleman, respecting your pace, refusing to make a move without permission.

“Wanna touch?” you asked, tilting your head and giving him a knowing smirk.

His face lit up like you’d just handed him the keys to heaven. He nodded eagerly, licking his lips, his hands already twitching to move. He slowly reached out but paused again, eyes flicking to yours, searching for that last bit of reassurance.

You gave him a small nod.

And then he touched you.

Gently, reverently, like you were something sacred. His hands cupped your breasts with a mixture of awe and need, his thumbs brushing softly over your skin. His touch was warm, tender—curious yet careful.

He didn’t grope. He explored. Played. Worshipped. One hand cradled the underside while the other traced slow circles around your nipple, sending delicious shivers down your spine. He was in heaven, and judging by the way his breath caught every time you so much as sighed, he wanted you to feel that same bliss too.

Bob looked up at you, his hands still cradling your breasts as if he were holding something fragile and precious. Then his gaze flicked to your face, a bit hesitant.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly, voice low and tender.

You smiled, nodding, and that smile alone seemed to ease something in him. You weren’t just okay—you were glowing. It felt good, the way his fingers explored you with such care, and the look in his eyes made it all the more intense.

And it definitely did something to him. You could tell from the way his chest rose with every breath, how his eyes occasionally fluttered shut like he was overwhelmed. Still, after a moment, he pulled his hands away, clearly not wanting to get too carried away without your lead.

You leaned in again and kissed him.

It was slower, deeper. Your hands roamed his body, savoring the shape of him, the tension in his muscles, the way he melted under your touch. His hands were verywhere. Moving over your back, your hips, your sides, as if trying to memorize every inch of your body.

But you remained on your knees, just slightly lower than him, even as the kiss grew hotter.

Then one of your hands started to travel—leaving his neck, gliding down over his chest, his stomach, until it reached the waistband of his swim trunks. You paused there. Not moving or rushing. You stopped kissing him and looked up at his face.

Bob’s eyes followed your hand, then quickly returned to yours. There was a storm behind those eyes—desire, definitely, but also uncertainty.

You gave him a slow, sultry smile, tilting your head ever so slightly as if to say, It’s okay. I want this too. He exhaled shakily, his lips parting, and after a moment, he nodded.

With the same care he’d shown you earlier, you hooked your fingers into the waistband and began to pull them down. Painfully slow. Your eyes never left his face, watching his expression shift—excitement, nervousness, and that unmistakable tension of anticipation.

As the fabric slid down his thighs and hit the ground, your breath caught audibly. You gasped so loud that even Bob flinched a little, startled. You hadn’t expected… that.

There it was—thick, veined, heavy, and already so hard it twitched in the cool air. The way it stood against his toned stomach, pulsing gently, made your pulse echo right along with it.

You couldn’t help but whisper in disbelief, “And you’ve been hiding this the whole time?”

Bob let out an awkward little laugh, clearly flustered. His cheeks flushed deep red, not just from arousal, but from your stunned compliment. He looked away for a second, bashful, and mumbled something incoherent.

Carefully, you reached out and brushed your fingers against him. The moment your skin made contact, his body jolted, just a little, and he let out the softest whimper, almost a sigh.

You looked up again, eyes wide and a little wicked, and bit your bottom lip.

Slowly, your hand began to move, gentle at first, as though you were still getting to know this part of him. He trembled beneath your touch, trying to stay quiet, but his hips shifted involuntarily, betraying how sensitive he was.

His hand gripped the sheets tightly, knuckles pale. He was trying so hard not to make a sound—to keep still so he wouldn’t wake the girls in the next room—but you weren’t making that easy.

The pressure, the rhythm… it was enough to undo him. But then, before he could fully process what was happening, you leaned forward and kissed the tip. Bob let out a strangled sound and tensed, as if his whole body was about to short-circuit.

You looked up at him, holding eye contact the entire time. At first, you were teasing—pressing soft kisses to the sensitive head, letting your tongue glide around it lazily, deliberately. His thighs trembled. He bit down on his lip so hard it turned white.

Then you got more serious.

You took him in slowly, still holding his gaze. Bob’s lips parted, his eyes fluttering half-shut, and a shaky breath escaped him like it had been trapped in his chest for hours. His entire body tensed as if overwhelmed by the sensation.

He tried to stay quiet, tried to keep his hips still, but sometimes his body moved on its own, bucking up just slightly, and he immediately muttered a breathless apology every time it happened.

You didn’t rush. You let the anticipation burn slowly, letting him feel everything.

“God—” he whispered under his breath, hips twitching slightly, and then—“I’m sorry,” he added instantly, as if ashamed of reacting too strongly. You didn’t mind. In fact, it made your heart race.

The way he melted for you, how his body surrendered so easily, he wasn’t trying to be dominant or in control. He wasn’t trying to hide how much it affected him. And that vulnerability? It was intoxicating.

You could hear how much it meant to him in every breathy sound, every shaky exhale, every stifled moan. He whimpered again, high and desperate, and the sound echoed in your mind like a reward.

His fingers were digging into the mattress, every muscle tight with restraint. He whimpered again, soft and broken, and your innocent gaze stayed locked on his, only intensifying everything he felt.

Then slowly, deliberately, you reached up and took his hand—guiding it to your head. He hesitated at first, breath shaky, eyes wide with uncertainty. But you gave him a sweet calm look that said it’s okay. That you trusted him. That he could touch.

His hand accidentally tangled in your hair, gripping a bit too tight, and when he realized, he gasped and immediately loosened his fingers.

“Shit—I’m sorry—are you okay?” he stammered, guilt flashing in his eyes.

You looked up at him again, lips still wrapped around him, and gave the tiniest nod, reassuring him you were fine. More than fine. You loved seeing him like this. Raw, undone, his tough exterior peeling away one soft moan at a time.

And it hit you, too. That fluttering heat in your chest. That ache between your legs. The feeling of being wanted this much. Of making someone feel this good. His reactions lit a fire inside you. Every twitch of his thighs, every tremor in his voice—it all made you feel powerful and delicate at the same time.

Bob’s hands were restless now. One gripped the sheets, the other hovered near your head again, as if unsure whether he was allowed to touch. You leaned into it, and he gently threaded his fingers through your hair, this time softer, more reverent. But his voice was breaking. Little, helpless gasps.

Whispers of your name.

And once or twice—a shaky, choked-off moan that sounded like he might cry if you kept going. But you didn’t stop. Not yet.

Because the way he trembled under you, the way his stomach clenched and his legs shifted, the way he sounded like he was falling apart, that was everything.

Bob was right on the edge, his whole body was trembling, his hands clenching the sheets like he was holding on for dear life. And when he finally came, gasping your name like a whispered prayer, you didn’t pull away.

You stayed with him. Took everything he gave you.

He let out a sound somewhere between a cry and a moan, overwhelmed beyond words, his hips twitching from overstimulation as you gently helped him through the last waves. You even cleaned the rest of him up with soft, careful kisses, and that alone nearly made him whimper again.

“Jesus…” he breathed out, barely able to speak, a hand running through his tousled hair as he looked down at you with wide, dazed eyes. “I– I’m sorry.”

You tilted your head slightly, surprised. “What for?”

His voice was small. Fragile. “For… everything? For that being too fast? For—” he swallowed, looking embarrassed, “—for not lasting longer. I didn’t mean to be so…”

You climbed up to him and silenced him with a kiss. Not hurried, not demanding, just soft. Tender. Full of comfort.

Your hands cupped his cheeks, thumbs stroking his flushed skin.

“You don’t have to apologize for feeling good,” you whispered against his lips. “That was perfect.”

His eyes closed, his breath catching. He looked like he might cry for a whole different reason now.

You gently straddled his waist, not quite there yet, but close enough that the shift in energy was obvious. Your thighs pressing lightly against his sides, his hands flew instinctively to your hips. Not in a needy grip, but gentle, hesitant. Your body was warm and ready, and you were preparing to fully connect, but before you could guide him further, Bob stopped you.

“Wait,” he whispered, voice still hoarse.

You paused, blinking down at him, your brows gently furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes met yours, and something was different. The nervousness that had clouded his gaze earlier was gone. What replaced it was soft but firm, confidence built not from ego, but devotion.

“I want to take care of you now,” he said.

A small smile curved your lips, your heart skipping a beat at how genuine he sounded. “You don’t have to, really—”

But Bob shook his head. “No. I want to. I need to.”

There was something so deeply sincere in his voice it made your chest ache.

You gave him a soft nod, and he smiled, one of those rare, crooked, bashful smiles that melted you inside. Then, with gentle hands, he shifted you. Slowly, carefully, he rolled your body so you lay on your back in the center of the bed, like he was positioning you at the heart of a sacred space. His arms hovered around you, cradling your movement so you never felt dropped, never out of control.

He knelt between your legs, just watching you for a moment. You were laid out beneath him, chest rising and falling, hair fanned out across the pillow. He looked awestruck.

His hand came to your side. “Can I touch you?”

You nodded, lips parted, your voice caught somewhere between breath and heartbeat. “Yes.”

His hand slid up along your ribcage, following the natural shape of you with reverence. He wasn’t just touching—he was memorizing. Like every inch of your skin mattered. Like you were art.

He kissed you again, slow, coaxing, warm. And as the kiss deepened, he murmured against your lips: “Can I take these off?”

His fingers were resting lightly at the waistband of your swimsuit bottoms.

You nodded. “Please.”

Bob peeled the fabric down slowly, as if every inch was a treasure to be revealed, not a secret to be rushed. His eyes never left your body, and his hands trembled just a little.

Once the swimsuit was off, he let his fingers trace lightly along your inner thighs, but never without looking up at you first.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly, his breath brushing over your bare skin.

You nodded again, heart pounding. “Yes.”

And then he lowered his mouth to you.

The moment his lips met your most sensitive spot, your whole body arched. But it wasn’t just the touch—it was the tenderness, the intention. Bob wasn’t careless or clumsy. He listened. He adjusted every motion based on how you sighed, how your breath caught, how your fingers curled in the sheets.

His movements were soft, exploring. He let his tongue move in long, unhurried strokes, drawing out your reactions—your sighs, your tiny gasps, the way your fingers curled into the sheets. You felt your body start to unravel under the attention, your hips shifting instinctively, needing more.

His hands held your thighs, steadying you but never trapping you. He let you move against him. Let you guide him with nothing more than the sound of your breath. His tongue moved slow, experimental, reverent. And as he began to read your body, he grew more confident.

Every flick, every gentle suck, was delivered with the knowledge that he was giving you pleasure, not taking it. He wasn’t doing this to prove something. He was doing it because he wanted to worship you.

“God, Bob…” you whispered, voice cracking as your fingers found his hair.

He hummed at the sound, and the vibration sent another shiver racing through you.

He learned quickly. How you liked it slower, how a certain flick of his tongue made your whole body twitch. How your voice caught every time he sucked softly at just the right spot.

“Yes… yes—so good,” you breathed, your hips moving almost without permission.

The way he reacted to your pleasure, how eager he was to see you fall apart, made everything more intense. He was moaning softly too, like just tasting you made him dizzy with need. He liked knowing you wanted him there. That you trusted him there. He never once looked away from you, not even when he grew bolder, more confident.

He explored every inch of you with his mouth like you were something to be adored, not conquered. And every sound you made, every shiver in your body, only spurred him on.

Your breath started to catch, your thighs tightening around his shoulders as the pressure inside you coiled tighter and tighter. He felt it. Saw it. Knew it.

And he didn’t let up.

His hands squeezed your hips gently, anchoring you as he focused entirely on giving you what you needed. He stayed right there, lips and tongue working with delicious rhythm, sending shockwaves through you with every stroke.

You were close. So close it scared you.

“Bob,” you gasped, voice breaking. “I’m— I’m gonna—”

But he didn’t stop. He didn’t even hesitate. He wanted this for you.

The wave crashed over you so suddenly, so completely, it stole the breath from your lungs. Your back arched, a sharp cry escaping your lips as you came—shaking, pulsing, everything unraveling under his touch.

Bob held you through it. Never pulling away, never letting you feel alone. Even as you trembled and gasped and whimpered his name, he stayed with you, riding the waves with the same quiet patience he always gave you.

And only when your body finally relaxed, chest heaving and limbs limp, did he slowly lift his head.

His mouth was glistening, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and shining. And when he saw you looking at him, completely undone and breathless, he smiled the softest smile you’d ever seen.

“You okay?” he asked gently, his thumb brushing along your thigh. You nodded, dazed and glowing, trying to catch your breath.

Bob slowly crawled back up your body, leaving a warm trail of kisses across your skin. He moved as if afraid to disturb the peace settling over you, like he was returning to you from a place of worship. When his face hovered above yours, he looked into your eyes for a long, quiet moment.

Then he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

His hand came up to your hair, brushing it back with slow fingers, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. Your heart squeezed.

You reached up to cup his face and pulled him into a soft, lingering kiss—sweet at first, but quickly deepening. The electricity between you hadn’t faded. If anything, it had only grown stronger now that there was nothing between you but skin and trust.

Still breathless, you moved, shifting your hips just enough to push him onto his back. He let out a surprised little laugh as you rolled with him, your bodies twisting together until you were on top of him, straddling his hips. The heat between you flared instantly.

He looked up at you with wide, reverent eyes, his hands resting gently on your waist as if asking silently for permission to hold you there.

You leaned down and kissed him again—slow, deep, melting into each other with every heartbeat. Your fingers ran along his chest, down his sides, grounding yourself in the solid warmth of his body. You could feel him against you, hard and throbbing, and it sent shivers down your spine.

This was it. The moment you’d both been tiptoeing toward.

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. “Are you ready?” you whispered.

Bob nodded, cheeks flushed, his eyes glassy with emotion. “Only if you are.”

“I am,” you said softly, and meant every word.

Your hand found him again, guiding him with care, your breath hitching as the tip pressed against you. You moved slowly, lowering yourself with a careful rhythm, taking him in inch by inch. Both of you gasped—Bob’s hands gripped your hips tightly, trying not to buck up into you.

The stretch made your whole body burn, but it was a sweet, full ache, one that had been building from the first time he looked at you like you were the sun.

Once he was fully inside, you stilled, letting your body adjust, both of you panting softly. Bob’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his jaw clenched, as if overwhelmed by how deep it all felt—emotionally and physically.

“You okay?” he asked, breathless, voice barely a whisper.

You nodded, your hands braced against his chest, your body trembling slightly. “You feel… amazing.”

A shaky laugh left his throat. “So do you. God, so do you.”

You started to move—slow, steady, your bodies learning each other. Every thrust, every sigh, every soft gasp between kisses told its own story. It wasn’t just sex. It was connection. It was trust. It was two people baring everything, souls and skin, just to be close.

You moved together in perfect rhythm, hips rising and falling in sync, his hands mapping your body like he never wanted to forget a single inch. And with every moan, every whispered name, every breath you shared, love wrapped tighter and tighter around you both.

Your rhythm picked up—slow and deep giving way to something needier, hungrier. The friction between your bodies grew more intense, breaths turning to gasps, gasps to moans. The sounds of skin against skin, the creaking of the mattress beneath you, the soft rustle of sheets, it all blended into a symphony of desire that filled the space around you like firelight.

Bob’s hands roamed your back, your hips, your thighs—desperate to hold you, ground you, memorize you. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You were glowing. You were everything.

And then he sat up, his arms wrapping around you as you stayed straddled on his lap. Your chest pressed tightly against his, your lips meeting his in a fevered kiss. He held you there, anchored you to him like he was terrified of letting you go.

You clung to him just as tightly.

Your mouths moved together like you were breathing the same air. His tongue tangled with yours, his hand cupped the back of your head, pulling you even closer. But then his grip on your waist tightened.

Hard.

You gasped softly at the pressure, your hips pausing. You pulled back just slightly, your forehead still resting against his, trying to catch your breath. And that’s when you saw it.

For a split second, just a flash, his eyes glowed. Golden. Not metaphorically, a actually glowing. And then it was gone. Blink, and you might’ve thought you imagined it. But you didn’t.

Bob froze. His arms loosened immediately, and panic flooded his face. “Shit—did I hurt you? I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry, I just—”

“Hey,” you said gently, your hands coming to rest on either side of his face. “You didn’t hurt me.”

He was breathing fast, his brows drawn tight, clearly shaken by the moment. “I felt something… I didn’t mean to grip you that hard.”

You nodded slowly. “It's okay.”

He winced. “I- I'm sorry, I don’t want to scare you, or—God—I don’t want to lose control around you.”

You leaned in, pressing your forehead to his again. “You didn’t scare me, Bob. You trusting me with that… it means more than I can say.”

His breath hitched and before he could say anything else, you kissed him again, before guiding his hands back to your waist. This time, his grip was steady. Gentle. Confident.

And then you moved again.

The pleasure hit like a wave crashing into shore, harder than before, deeper. His hands gripped you tighter, not in fear this time, but in raw need, in love, in reverence.

You kissed his neck, his collarbone, his shoulder, whispering his name like a prayer.

You rocked against him, and he met every motion, your bodies tangled in something that went beyond skin and muscle, it was soul-deep. The sounds coming from him, breathy moans, quiet whimpers, your name, drove you wild.

And then it happened. You felt your climax building again, hot and fast and unstoppable.

“Bob,” you gasped, nails digging gently into his back.

He was right there with you, sweat beading at his brow, jaw tight, voice strained. “I—I’m gonna—”

“Me too,” you breathed.

You crashed into release together—messy, overwhelming. You held each other through it, limbs trembling, lips finding each other again and again, clinging to the moment like it was all you’d ever need.

You collapsed against his chest, your limbs heavy and warm, your cheek pressing into the sweat-slick skin of his shoulder. Both of you were still catching your breath, chests rising and falling rapidly in sync. His arms wrapped around you protectively, and you let yourself sink into him, feeling completely safe and full.

There was a moment of perfect silence, just the sound of breathing, soft and human and real.

Then you shifted slightly, curling up beside him and resting your head against his chest. You could hear his heartbeat, still racing, but slowly calming beneath your ear.

You smiled lazily. “Okay… serious question.”

Bob tilted his head to look at you, already smiling like a complete goof. “Shoot.”

You looked up at him with narrowed, mock-suspicious eyes. “Where did you learn to do that with your tongue?”

Immediately, Bob’s face flushed. He tried to play it cool, but his voice cracked. “I—uh—I watched a couple things.”

You squinted. “What kind of ‘things,’ Bob?”

He swallowed hard. “Just like—like, y’know. Tutorials.”

You pulled back, eyebrows rising. “You watched porn?!”

Bob’s entire face turned bright red. “No! I mean—it was educational! There were diagrams!”

You blinked. “There were diagrams in your porn?”

He let out a strangled sound and covered his face with his hands. “Okay, I regret everything.”

You burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the quiet room. “Bob Reynolds, you little nerd.”

He peeked at you through his fingers, totally mortified but smiling. “I just wanted to be good at it. For you.”

You leaned in and kissed him sweetly. “You were.”

A comfortable silence settled over you again, warm and soft like a blanket. You traced idle shapes on his chest with your fingertips, still smiling, still glowing.

Then Bob’s voice broke the quiet, a little more cautious this time. “Hey… do you… remember the volleyball game? When I kinda bailed and told you not to come?”

You glanced up at him. “Yeah?”

He hesitated, biting his lip. “Well… I sorta… had a situation. In my swim trunks.” He exhaled, long and painful.

Your mouth fell open slightly. “You got a boner?!”

Bob winced, covering his face again. “I’m sorry! It just—happened! You were in that swimsuit and laughing and I don’t know, my brain just… betrayed me!”

You were quiet for a moment. Not judging. Not laughing. Just watching him squirm. Then you reached up and gently brushed a lock of hair away from his eyes. “Bob.”

He looked at you through his fingers again, completely sheepish.

You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “That’s totally normal.”

His eyes widened a little. “It is?”

You nodded. “Yeah…and honestly, kind of sweet.“ You smiled teasingly. He laughed, relieved, and pulled you close again, resting his chin on top of your head. “God, I like you so much.”

You nestled into him, your fingers laced together on his chest. “Good. Because I really, really like you back.”

The two of you lay there for a long time, tangled together, breathing slower now, hearts lighter. The night was quiet, soft, and full of something that felt a lot like the start of forever.

The golden morning sun filtered through the thin curtains, dancing lazily over tangled limbs and a rumpled blanket. You and Bob were still wrapped around each other—bare skin against bare skin, your head on his chest, his arm draped protectively over you. Your legs tangled, breaths slow, hearts steady.

A knock. Sharp. Three times.

“Hey, you coming to breakfast or are you dead?” Yelena’s voice chirped from behind the door.

Your eyes snapped open in panic. You bolted upright under the blanket, your heart immediately in your throat. Bob groaned quietly, still groggy, eyes not fully open yet.

You whispered, “What time is it?!” your voice barely audible and full of dread.

Bob blinked, looked around helplessly, and shrugged. “I—uh… no clue.”

You covered your face with both hands. “We’re dead. We’re actually dead.”

Yelena knocked again, softer this time. “We're going now, just letting you know.”

You scrambled to respond, “Yeah! I’ll be there! In a sec!”

Bob turned to you, now slowly realizing the situation. The blanket slid down his chest, revealing faint marks from your mouth the night before.

You stared at him. “We need to get dressed. Now.”

It was mayhem. You both jumped out of bed, frantically looking for clothes. You grabbed your swimsuit top, which had ended up halfway across the room, and pulled on a hoodie over it. Bob, on the other hand, was still stumbling, holding only his swim trunks in one hand, his shirt nowhere to be found.

“You can’t go out the door!” you hissed. “Someone could see you!”

“Then what do I do?!”

You gestured to the window. “Jump out.”

“Are you serious?”

You gave him a deadpan look. “Bob. You’re a superhero. I think you can survive this.”

He groaned dramatically, pulled on his swim trunks and shirt, then paused before the window. You rushed over, stood on your tiptoes, and gave him a rushed, smiling kiss. “Go. Before someone sees you.”

He opened the window, one leg already out, then looked back with a crooked grin. “You’re chaos.”

You grinned. “You love it.”

With that, he slipped out and disappeared into the early morning light.

Later that morning, everyone gathered at a nearby rustic café for breakfast. You sat at a corner table, sipping coffee, trying not to look suspicious. Yelena sat beside you. Bob was diagonally across, seated next to John. The chatter around the table was casual—about the lake, someone’s forgotten towel, who burned marshmallows last night.

You and Bob exchanged occasional, brief glances. Not long. Just enough to pass a message between you. A silent, thrilling electricity. You could still feel the echo of last night under your skin, and judging by the way Bob nervously rubbed the back of his neck, so could he.

“Dude…” John leaned closer to Bob, squinting. “What the hell happened to your neck?”

Bob blinked. “Huh?”

“You’ve got like, bruises or something. All over here.” He pointed.

Bob’s brows furrowed and instinctively reached for the spot. “What are you talking about?”

He tilted his head, clearly unaware. Your fork froze mid-air. You looked straight down at your plate. Yelena turned to you. Her eyes widened slowly. Then, lips barely moving, she mouthed with a dramatic grin:

“You. Fucked. Bob.”

You nearly inhaled your scrambled eggs. Your face heated like wildfire. You avoided everyone’s eyes, especially Bob’s. Meanwhile, Bob was trying to deflect. “Maybe I slept weird or—uh—bug bites?”

“Mmhmm,” John muttered, unconvinced.

You dared a glance at Bob. And that was it—your eyes met, and he knew. His brows lifted just slightly. His lips parted. You both quickly looked away.

Yelena leaned into closer to you and whispered, “I knew it. I heard really weird noises last night.” “Yelena, shut up.” She just chuckled into her cup of tea.

As the conversation drifted elsewhere, your face still radiated heat. Across the table, Bob leaned his elbow against the table and rested his cheek on his hand, sneaking one last look at you. You caught it—and gave him the tiniest smile.

This week was going to be… very interesting.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!

I hope you guys enjoyed it! If you have any suggestions, don’t hesitate to let me know! I’d also be super happy for any feedback; whether it’s a reblog, comment, like, or even a follow.

HAVE A LOVELY DAY,

BYEEE📙🦋

355 notes · View notes

cheftsunoda · 1 day ago

Note

baeeeee!!!! i absolutely love your writing and am constantly checking tumblr for your new posts!! could i request an poly!landoscar fic, maybe a younger sainz sister or something?

love love love your work <33

just keep watching — ln4 & op81

smau + blurbs

lando norris x !popstar sainz reader x oscar piastri

carlos sainz x !popstar sister reader

yn sainz has been hiding something—well two very big things. two boyfriends…who happen to race alongside her very own big brother. yn, lando and oscar happened to start out very casually— all hooking up from time to time and then suddenly all realizing their feelings for each other. she had every intention of keeping this from carlos for as long as possible but when asked to write multiple songs for the f1 movie soundtrack —will this secret be exposed ?

fc : tate mcrae

(a/n) : omg anon ur making me blush. love u smmmm and i hope you love this. worked extra hard on it for uuuu;)

im extremely behind on requests guys i apologize, staying up to work on them as we speak.

—

yn_sainz

liked by lando, carlossainz55, iamrebeccad and 5,090,776 others.

yn_sainz : getting inspired for @/f1movie — thank you for trusting me with the soundtrack ;)

—

view 120,098 comments

lando : how am i supposed to recover from this 🧍🏼‍♂️

liked by yn_sainz

carlossainz55 : out lando

yn_sainz : you know if i marry lando he will officially be a sainz

liked by lando

carlossainz55 : when i said i wanted him to be a part of the family— i meant married to me

liked by lando and yn_sainz

yn_sainz : giving the girls and the gays just want they want in time for pride month 💕

iamrebeccad : my girlllll you look so good😍

liked by yn_sainz

yn_sainz : my beccaaaa ily

carlossainz55 : Tu música es la única razón por la que veré esta película. (your music is the only reason i will watch the film.)

liked by yn_sainz

yn_sainz : aren’t you contractually obligated to watch it and like it?

liked by lando and carlossainz55

carlossainz55 : well yes but i will not sleep during it to hear your music :)

liked by yn_sainz

yn_sainz : best brother ever

alexandrasaintmleux : omg the seatbelt dress. YOU ARE UNREAL

liked by yn_sainz

yn_sainz : i giggle and kick my feet every time your in my comment section mama

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

franciscagomes : they could not have picked anyone better for this. i am OBSESSED with you bbg

liked by yn_sainz

yn_sainz : my baby angel. love you sm it hurts

liked by franciscagomes

yukitsunoda0511 : let her cook 🔥

liked by yn_sainz

charles_leclerc : can we all agree this soundtrack will be the only thing to save this movie??

liked by yn_sainz

pierregasly : yeppp

maxverstappen1 : this soundtrack will be the only good part of this disaster

oscarpiastri : agreed

liked by yn_sainz

alexalbon : mhm mhm— she eats every time

yn_sainz : omg ily all. my own personal hype squad

liked by charles_leclerc, pierregasly, maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri and alexalbon

lewishamilton : Who designed the seatbelt dress? Asking for a friend.

liked by yn_sainz

yn_sainz : @/yourstylist — the fashion god himself is summoning you

liked by lewishamilton and yourstylist

yourstylist : right here sir 🧎‍♀️

mclaren : still a mclaren fan yn? we see the orange👀

liked by yn_sainz and lando

yn_sainz : once a papaya girl…always a papaya girl.

liked by lando and oscarpiastri

—

There’s something dangerous about writing with them in the room. The studio is dim and quiet—except for the slow beat looping through the monitors and the occasional click of my pen against the notebook. Lando’s lounging in the producer’s chair, spinning in slow circles like he’s not the most distracting person alive. Oscar’s next to me on the velvet couch, one leg stretched out, head tilted just enough to catch the track’s rhythm with a lazy nod. They’re pretending to be chill. I know better.

“Are you seriously writing that line?” Lando asks, squinting at my notebook. “cute jeans, take mine off me’?”

Oscar lets out a low laugh nodding towards me, “You’re not even being subtle anymore.”

I smirk, not looking up. “Was I ever?”

There’s silence after that—charged and weighty. The kind that settles on bare skin and stays there. I press play again, the track filling the room with slow, sultry percussion. It sounds like sweat and headlights. Like secrets you don’t say out loud. Lando leans forward, elbows on his knees, completely focused now. Oscar’s eyes flick to the lyrics I’m scribbling down. Oscar exhales through his nose like he just read my mind. Lando’s already grinning.

“Okay,” he murmurs, voice lower now. “Now that’s definitely about us.”

I don’t deny it. Lando comes around behind me, sliding his hand lightly down my arm as he looks over my shoulder. Oscar doesn’t move, but I feel his gaze on me—heavy, warm.

“You know this is going to give everything away, right?” he says, lips curving into a slow smile.

“That’s kind of the point,” I murmur, hitting record. “They wanted something real.”

“And this…” Oscar says, voice smooth as silk. “Is very real.”

Oscar had pulled me onto his lap, claiming it was for “creative proximity.” Lando was behind me again, arms braced on either side of the chair, whispering things that definitely weren’t safe for work. The next song started playing slowly in the background.

“This one,” Lando murmured, his lips brushing my ear, “is going to ruin people.”

Oscar chuckled against my neck. “You mean expose people.”

My laugh came out softer than intended, half-caught in the thick air of the studio. I should’ve told them to back off. I should’ve reminded them we weren’t alone in the building. But then Lando’s fingers trailed down my ribs, Oscar’s hands tightening around my hips, and suddenly, I didn’t really care about common sense. Or studio policies. Or—

“Okay! Let’s lay down that chorus again before—”

The door swung open.

The three of us froze like a deleted scene from a movie that definitely wasn’t PG-13. My producer, Mark, stood in the doorway with a stack of notes… and the slow, dawning expression of someone realizing they just walked into a live scandal.

His eyes bounced from me on Oscar’s lap, to Oscar, to Lando who had his hand on the hem of my shirt.

No one spoke.

Mark blinked. “Am I… interrupting something that violates several contracts?”

Lando cleared his throat. “Um. Maybe.”

Oscar, ever the picture of calm, nodded once. “We were working.”

Mark held up a hand. “Nope. Not my business. Don’t need the details. I’ll pretend I didn’t see it if you give me the track by tomorrow and—oh my god that is Carlos’s little sister.”

I slid off Oscar’s lap, cheeks flushed. “You didn’t see anything.”

“I definitely saw everything,” Mark muttered, turning on his heel. “This movie’s going to kill me.”

The door slammed shut. Lando started laughing first—then Oscar joined in, low and smug. I groaned, dragging a hand down my face.

“This is so going to come back to haunt us.”

Oscar smirked. “Not if the song’s good enough.”

Lando winked. “And babe, it will be.”

—

yn_sainz

liked by lando, oscarpiastri, mclaren and 7,890,098 others.

yn_sainz : first track out for @/f1movie— sports car is now yours ;) tysm to my fave mclaren drivers for driving and being eye candy in this video 🧡

tagged : oscarpiastri and lando

—

view 209,089 comments.

lando : almost crashed the car once for cinematic tension :)

liked by yn_sainz

yn_sainz : no you almost crashed because you were staring at my boobs

liked by lando and oscarpiastri

lando : trueeee 🗣️

username00 : SHBDSHFDB lando

username5 : he is so real for that

oscarpiastri : professional eye candy is going on my resume fs

liked by yn_sainz and lando

lando : let’s not pretend you haven’t already used that

liked by yn_sainz and oscarpiastri

yn_sainz : you both are delusional but ur hot so ill let it slide

liked by oscarpiastri and lando

carlossainz55 : what am i seeing and hearing rn

liked by yn_sainz

yn_sainz : excellence ✨

carlossainz55 : you do realize that i am also an f1 driver and have been considered eye candy and i am always available for music videos

yn_sainz : who told this man he is eye candy?? his ego is much too big now.

carlossainz55 : once i find who this song is about i am choking him out on sight

liked by lando

charles_leclerc : highkey insulted that i was not asked to audition.

liked by yn_sainz

yn_sainz : maybe the next one charlieeee

hattiepiastri : didn’t even realize oscar was in the video— i was too busy staring at you 😍

liked by yn_sainz and oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri : fair

liked by yn_sainz

yn_sainz : my hattie🥺 ily

lilymhe : holyyy shit. bring yourself to me rn

liked by yn_sainz

yn_sainz : omw bbg

alexalbon : not even mad you’re trying to steal my gf for once— i understand.

liked by yn_sainz and lilymhe

mclaren : oh we LOVE this. on repeat 🔥🧡

liked by yn_sainz

username00 : are we all ignoring the comments between yn, oscar and lando??? and the fact she asked THEM to be in the MV??

username15 : probs just some publicity thing for the movie

username00 : she is literally singing about having sex in car as both of them drive her around in a mclaren

carlossainz55 : ay dios mío. this is about sex??? YN!!!

liked by yn_sainz

yn_sainz : 😁

yukitsunoda0511 : oh but when i wear a bra under my suit its a PROBLEM

liked by yn_sainz and pierregasly

yn_sainz : fuck the fia. wear that bra my short king

liked by yukitsunoda0511, pierregasly, maxverstappen1, lando and charles_leclerc

—

I should’ve known the second my stylist left the race suit zipped halfway down that Lando would forget we were on set.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” he muttered, eyes glued to my chest.

“She literally designed it to be like this.” I replied, adjusting the collar. “Relax.”

“Not possible,” he said, and then looked dead into the camera like he was breaking the fourth wall about heartbreak and horniness.

The director called action. Lando was supposed to be walking past me, all casual, “just a teammate.” Instead, he lingered. Looked me up and down. Smirked.

“Again,” the director sighed. “And this time, Lando, act like you’re not in love with her.”

—

Oscar kept saying he was “just getting the angles right” as we filmed the interior shots in the McLaren. I knew he was lying. He’d already nailed the shot three takes ago.

But he didn’t stop. Take 4, he adjusted the rearview to focus directly on my chest. Take 5, his hand brushed my thigh when he shifted. Take 6, he asked me if the lyrics were about him. He already knew they were.

“You’re trouble,” I whispered between takes.

He smiled without looking at me. “I prefer the term muse.”

—

It was meant to be one quick shot, me by the edge of the pool at night, hair wet, dress clinging, headlights shining in the background.

It became so much more when Oscar—still fully dressed—walked into frame and sat beside me, like he belonged there. He looked at the director, then at me, and just said, “Is it cool if I jump in?”

Before anyone could answer, he did. Seconds later, Lando followed. No hesitation. No cue. Just chaos. They both grabbed my arms gently and pulled me down into the water. I hear them both giggling as I resurface. Suddenly, I was sandwiched between two soaking wet McLaren drivers in designer clothes under a sky full of stars, laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe.

“None of this is making the final cut,” someone mumbled behind the monitor.

It did.

—

The hotel room was quiet in that specific way only a long shoot day could bring. The kind of quiet where your body is sore, your adrenaline is still humming, and your skin feels too aware of everything. I was in one of their hoodies. I didn’t even check whose. It smelled like cologne and sugar, warm from the body that had worn it last. Oscar was stretched out on the bed, scrolling through behind-the-scenes footage, half-asleep. Lando was sitting beside me on the floor, his head against my thigh, tracing slow patterns on my knee with his fingers. No one was talking. Not really. We didn’t need to. The shoot had been long. Too many close scenes. Too many almost-kisses that weren’t acting. The line had stopped existing three days ago.

“Didn’t look fake today,” Lando said quietly, almost to himself.

I looked down at him. “What?”

He tilted his head toward the footage. “The way you looked at us. In the scene where you turn around in the car. That wasn’t scripted.”

My throat tightened. “Neither was your hand on my neck.”

Oscar hummed from the bed. “Or me whispering that line in your ear.”

I turned toward him. He was watching me now, eyes sharp and soft all at once.

“And yet,” he said, “you didn’t stop us.”

I didn’t.

Lando shifted closer, his voice quieter now. “Do you want us to?”

That silence again. The kind that stretched between three people who already knew the answer.

I reached for Oscar first—slow, careful, fingers brushing his. His breath hitched, just once. Then I looked down at Lando, still at my knee, still waiting.

“No,” I said finally, steady and sure. “I really, really don’t.”

They didn’t move all at once. It wasn’t rushed. It was deliberate. Certain. Oscar pulled me up into his lap. Lando moved behind me, arms sliding around my waist like he’d done it a thousand times. And when their lips found mine—one after the other, then together—it wasn’t acting.

—

yn_sainz

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, lando, oscarpiastri & 10,087,143 others.

yn_sainz : oh this is a good one— track 02 just keep watching is yours now. two of my fave drivers may have helped direct to make it more authentic ;)

—

view 350,089 comments.

oscarpiastri : this was the best day of my life.

liked by yn_sainz

yn_sainz : not even your first race win?

oscarpiastri : no i still stand by my statement

liked by yn_sainz

username10 : kick all men out of f1– this is all i want to see

liked by yn_sainz

carlossainz55 : i am BEGGING for you to post normal content on the internet

liked by yn_sainz

lando : i think what she is posting is simply lovely

liked by yn_sainz and maxverstappen1

yn_sainz : block me then carlitos ❤️

charles_leclerc : alex and i are still speechless

liked by yn_sainz

alexandrasaintmleux : started drooling ngl

liked by yn_sainz

georgerussell63 : what exactly did they help direct yn??

liked by yn_sainz

yn_sainz : movement, angles, realism

lando : oscar had a vision

oscarpiastri : i am an artist

maxverstappen1 : that’s it. i’ve seen enough. put her in an f1 car. give her someone’s spot idc who.

liked by yn_sainz

username00 : did no one hear oscar and lando at 2:41??

username15 : “you like being watched, don’t you??” DSBSBBFVSID

username17 : “you know she does” holy shit i’m on the floor

username8 : the end of the song is literally a threesome idc what anyone says

carlossainz55: yn answer the fucking phone rn

charles_leclerc : this information just ruined my life

pierregasly : i’d like to take a moment of silence for carlos

yukitsunoda0511 : rest in stress @/carlossainz55.

danielricciardo : really?? when i leave you all decide to get interesting

—

twitter!

Y/N Sainz’s new track “just keep watching” ends with whispered lines from Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri—and the internet is spiraling.

“You like being watched, don’t you?”

“you know she does.”

Fans are calling it “an audio threesome,” and Carlos Sainz is reportedly “not okay.” F1: The movie has never sounded so— good.

view 109,789 comments.

username00 : the tiktok edits with this outro are getting VIOLENT. why is my phone steamy.

username10 : i’ve never paused a song so fast and then restarted it 11 times.

username15 : me listening to the outro in public and suddenly forgetting how to breathe 💀

username20 : carlos deserves financial compensation. and noise-cancelling headphones.

username25 : my therapist will be hearing about this. twice.

username30 : why do i feel like we just accidentally listened to a private moment 😭😭

—

It was supposed to be a clean, slow pull-off shot—me walking toward the camera in full gear, smoke behind me, visor down. Easy. Dramatic. Cinematic. I got halfway through the take, tugged the helmet off… and heard Lando exhale just off-set, low and deliberate, right as I shook my hair out.

“Really?” I snapped, turning toward him.

He held his hands up innocently. “Sorry. Just… very immersed in the moment,” he smirked. “Didn’t realize breathing was banned.”

The director was giggling into his sleeve. Oscar just muttered, “She’s gonna kill you,” and handed me a water.

We reshot it five times. Lando never left the monitor again—but I did catch him grinning every single take after.

—

The bodysuit was already risky. Add in the stacks of tires and a full split? I was committed. But what I didn’t account for was Oscar’s voice. I slid into position, nailed the pose, eyes to camera, and then—

“Flexibility noted,” he murmured behind the lens.

My back tensed, legs wobbled, and I nearly fell into a pile of tires. The entire crew went silent. Then I heard Lando choke on his water.

“Oscar!” I hissed.

He blinked, way too calm. “Just observing. For realism.”

I didn’t recover for two takes. He didn’t stop smirking the rest of the shoot.

—

The head harness was meant to be a cheeky nod to F1 training. But paired with the fact that I was barely wearing clothes, it quickly turned into something else. I walked on set, adjusting the strap, and caught both boys staring.

“This feels illegal,” Oscar muttered.

Lando tilted his head. “We might need one of those just for the bedroom.”

“You say that like you’d be wearing it,” I shot back.

“Maybe I would,” he grinned. “Take turns?”

Oscar snorted. “We are so not making it through this video without getting fined for something.”

—

I walked into the hair and makeup tent balancing a coffee, still half-asleep, robe barely tied, and absolutely not expecting to see either of them there. Especially not already in the chairs—Oscar getting a scratch near his lip covered, and Lando with a stylist brushing powder off his jawline like he was a Vogue cover. They both looked up at the same time. And froze.

“Well,” Lando said slowly, dragging his eyes down my legs like I wasn’t wearing nothing but lace and a production-issued robe, “you’re clearly taking the ‘pop star’ role very seriously.”

“You’re in my tent,” I shot back, raising an eyebrow. “I’m the one contractually allowed to show skin here.”

Oscar didn’t even blink. He just stared straight at me and said, “You look good. Stay right there for a second.”

“For what, exactly?” I asked, sipping my coffee with a smirk.

“Inspiration,” he replied, casual as ever, while the poor makeup artist tried not to combust in the corner.

“This feel professional to you?” I teased, walking past them toward my station, very aware of two pairs of eyes on my legs.

“Deeply unprofessional,” Lando said with a grin. “But very on-brand for this production.”

The stylist finally broke and muttered under her breath, “Do you three need a minute?”

We didn’t answer. But I caught Oscar smirking in the mirror, and Lando leaning back like he fully intended to stay until my robe came off for camera.

—

yn_sainz

liked by carlossainz55, lando, oscarpiastri & 8,090,757 others.

yn_sainz : opted for a semi normal photo dump for the sake of my brothers mental health <3 (psst also be prepared for my @/vogue magazine issue dropping tomorrow)

–

carlossainz55 : thank you for considering me and my blood pressure mi hermana

liked by yn_sainz

lando : allow me to remind you that she is wearing my number ;)

carlossainz55 : it’s up again. i feel the headache starting

liked by yn_sainz

oscarpiastri : soooo proud of you

liked by yn_sainz

yn_sainz : cutie pieeeee

liked by oscarpiastri

username00 : omggggg

lilymhe : omg i made the dump. i missed you sm

liked by yn_sainz

yn_sainz : ofc you did. look at that adorable face.

liked by lilymhe

vogue : can confirm— she is the cover star and she is spilling EVERYTHING 👀

liked by yn_sainz

maxverstappen1 : i love the fact that yn is in the f1 headlines more than carlos is

liked by yn_sainz

yn_sainz : it’s a true win for the girls maxieeee

liked my maxverstappen1

carlossainz55 : wow yes thank you max

—

vogue

liked by lando, oscarpiasti, carlossainz55 and 14,090,875 others.

vogue : In our newest cover story, global pop sensation and breakout F1: The Movie creative force @ynsainz opens up like never before—spilling on the music that’s got everyone talking, the relationship that no one saw coming (but can’t stop watching), and the life she’s building far beyond the shadow of her famous last name.

Tap the link in bio to read the full story—trust us, she did not hold back. 💋🔥

—

vogue has disabled comments on this post.

—

your interview with vogue

Vogue:

Let’s start with the obvious. The music video for Just Keep Watching broke the internet. The lyrics, the visuals, the outro—especially the outro. Everyone wants to know… was that Lando and Oscar?

YN :

Yeah. That was them. No voice actors. No deepfakes. Just my two favorite distractions whispering into a mic and nearly crashing the soundboard in the process.

Vogue:

So… are you confirming the rumors?

YN :

Oh, I’m not just confirming. I’m saying it loud now. I’m in a relationship—with both Lando and Oscar. It’s real. It’s healthy. It’s chaotic. And it’s the happiest I’ve ever been.

Vogue:

That’s a big reveal.

YN :

It is. But honestly? It’s not that deep for us. We’ve been together for a while. We didn’t feel the need to perform it for the internet. But eventually, when we were making the music and the film, it just didn’t make sense to keep pretending we weren’t something more.

Vogue:

How did it start?

YN:

Very slowly. Very unintentionally. We were friends first—like, real friends. And then one day I looked around the studio and realized I didn’t feel safe with anyone the way I do with them. And that they both… got me. In a way that didn’t feel like I had to split myself in half.

Vogue:

What’s something people would be surprised to know about the dynamic?

YN :

That it’s incredibly normal. Like, painfully normal. We argue over coffee orders and who left their socks in my dressing room. Oscar reads the studio contracts like a lawyer. Lando puts Post-its on my mirror that say things like “hot girls sleep.” It’s not a spectacle—it’s a relationship. A real one.

Vogue:

What did your brother think when he found out?

YN :

Carlos doesn’t actually know yet. No one does. Everyone was just assuming.

Vogue:

Do you worry about being judged?

YN :

Sure. But people are going to judge you anyway. I’d rather be judged while living fully and honestly than watered down and exhausted trying to be “appropriate.” This is my life. Not a PR strategy.

Vogue:

What do they think of the music?

YN :

They were there for all of it. Oscar actually helped cut the bridge on one of the songs. Lando insisted on the drums being louder in Just Keep Watching. They both sat with me during some very emotional writing sessions. They’re not just muses—they’re partners.

Vogue:

Final thoughts for fans?

YN :

I think people assume love has to look one way. And I’m just here, hopefully showing that it doesn’t. We’re doing this our way—and honestly? It’s working beautifully.

—

You’d think that dropping a literal bomb on the internet—like, oh I don’t know, a Vogue cover story hard-launching your relationship with two of Formula 1’s most talked-about drivers—might make a girl want to lie low. Maybe slink in through the back entrance. Maybe let Carlos scream into a pillow before seeing you in person. But no. Instead, I walked into the Movie release party flanked by Lando and Oscar, all three of us dressed like the headlines hadn’t exploded just twelve hours earlier. My hand was looped through Oscar’s arm, Lando was messing with the chain on my backless dress, and the photographers were already losing their minds before we’d even hit the carpet. I could feel the room pause when we walked in—like a glitch in the Matrix. People weren’t whispering. They were staring.

Carlos, standing by the bar with Charles and someone from Ferrari PR, did a double take so hard I thought he might pull something. He blinked, shook his head, and then turned to Charles, clearly mouthing, “IS THIS A JOKE?” It was not a joke.

Oscar leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Your brother looks like he just saw a ghost.”

“He looks like he wants to revoke my last name,” I muttered back, smiling through my teeth as a group of Red Bull mechanics subtly high-fived behind a champagne tower.

Lando? Oh, Lando just waved. Waved at Carlos like nothing in the world was wrong and said, way too cheerfully, “Hey mate! Good premiere, yeah?”

Carlos choked on his drink. We walked straight past him and into the center of the chaos, posing like nothing was out of place. Which, for us, it wasn’t. He stalked across the floor toward us—eyes flicking from Lando to Oscar to me—I knew the time had come.

“Can I talk to you?” he said, low and tight.

Oscar tried to politely step back. Lando straight-up mouthed good luck and escaped like the floor was lava. Carlos led me just off to the side, not enough for privacy but enough for the cameras to miss what was clearly about to be a moment.

“You couldn’t have given me a warning?”

I raised a brow. “About what, exactly? That I’m in love with two people who treat me like gold?”

He rubbed his face, clearly trying to process. “You could have told me before you told the entire world. I had to find out while scrolling Instagram in the paddock hospitality. Do you know how many group chats I was added to today?”

“I didn’t plan it like that,” I said softly. “It just… happened. And it felt like the right time to be honest. With everyone.”

He stared at me for a beat. “And this—this thing with them. It’s real?”

“As real as it gets.”

Carlos exhaled. Not angry. Not exactly thrilled. Just processing. “And they treat you right?”

“They adore me,” I said honestly. “They listen. They protect me. They love me—really love me.”

He went quiet again, eyes softening just enough.

“I still think they’re both idiots,” he muttered. “But if either of them hurts you—”

“Carlos.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are,” I smiled. “But they won’t. They haven’t.”

Finally, he pulled me into a hug, muttering into my hair, “You could’ve told me, YNN. I’m your brother.”

“I know. I was scared you’d go full overprotective.”

He snorted. “I am overprotective. That’s my job.”

“Then you’re doing great,” I teased. “But I’m okay. Really.”

Carlos pulled back, looked at me properly, and nodded. “Okay. Then I’ll support it. But just know—I’m watching them. Always.”

I smiled. “That’s fair.”

Then, of course, the rest of the grid descended like vultures.

“IS IT TRUE?” Pierre gasped dramatically, arriving with Charles and George in tow. “Carlos said nothing!”

“Did you seriously soft-launch a throuple in Vogue?” George asked, stunned.

“Honestly, power move,” Alex added, sipping champagne while Lily fist-bumped me.

Yuki pointed to Oscar. “I knew he was acting weird around you.”

“I wasn’t!” Oscar protested. “I was being normal!”

“That was not normal,” Lando chimed in, somehow now back with a drink in each hand like nothing happened.

“Wait,” Ollie blinked, “so like… you’re all together? Like together-together?”

“Yes,” I said simply, reaching for Oscar’s hand and nudging Lando’s shoulder.

And just like that, the party shifted. The stares turned into smiles. The shock turned into buzz. And Carlos—my big brother who was still side-eyeing Oscar but with slightly less venom—stood by me like he always had.

—

yn_sainz

liked by lando, oscarpiastri, carlossainz55 & 14,098,055 others.

yn_sainz : if vogue wasn’t enough of a hard launch— here ya go <3 my loves for life.

—

user has limited the amount of comments on this post.

oscarpiastri : our pretty girl. love you so much.

liked by yn_sainz

yn_sainz : my pretty boy. love you to the moon and back

lando : the most beautiful girl in the world. so lucky to have you both.

liked by yn_sainz

yn_sainz : i am so lucky to have you both.

carlossainz55 : i just found out. can i have sometime to breathe?

liked by yn_sainz, lando and oscarpiastri

lando : you know you can’t stay mad at me…

liked by yn_sainz

carlossainz55 : true. golf tomorrow?

lando : absolutely

carlossainz55 : sigh. oscar you can come too, you’re the caddy.

oscarpiastri : ill be there

liked by yn_sainz

yn_sainz : my boyssss:)

alexandrasaintmleux : you two are lucky you got to her before i did. i was trying to get charles on board with a third.

liked by yn_sainz, oscarpiastri, lando and charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc : well if i KNEW it was yn it would've been an immediate yes. (carlos don't kill me) (very happy for you guys)

liked by yn_sainz, oscarpiastri and lando

lando : we know we are two very lucky guys;)

lilymhe : no fair we wanted yn (meant with love) (and yn is hot)

liked by yn_sainz, oscarpiastri, lando and alexalbon

carlossainz55 : god does everyone want to date my sister???

alexandrasaintmleux : yes

franciscagomes : duhhh

lilymhe : yeah pretty much

oscarpiastri : everyone wants her but only we have her

liked by yn_sainz and lando

—

<33333333

301 notes · View notes

woniedarlin · 2 days ago

Note

HI I LOVE LOVE LOVE YOUR WRITING!! i’m obsessed

here me out a ex to lovers jungwon

like they were childhood family friends and they secretly dated, but due to jungwon getting distant they broke up. then yn’s family surprise her to a new house which is opposite jws! ˚✧₊⁎❝᷀ົཽ≀ˍ̮ ❝᷀ົཽ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Across the Street, Across the Years

Pairing: Ex! Jungwon x fem! reader

Synopsis: You were childhood friends. But even the closest bonds can break… especially when love gets involved.

Genre: Exes to lovers, angst, drama

Author's note: Wow! Another ex-to-lovers story — I know, I know 😅 Thank you so much to the lovely anonie who requested this one. Not gonna lie, it was a bit of a struggle to piece together (angst always does this to me), but I really hope you all enjoy it. Happy reading! 💌

Warning: This story contains heartbreak, unresolved tension, crying scenes, cursing and emotional vulnerability. Reader discretion is advised.

Permanent tag list: @sol3chu @chlorinecake @13tter @jung1w0n @layzfy @firstclassjaylee @ijustwannareadstuff20

Alternate universe of Shared Custody

You were lying on your bed staring at old pictures you should’ve deleted a long time ago. Jungwon was smiling at something off-camera. Another one where the two of you were sitting shoulder to shoulder. You looked stupidly happy. And then came the memory…

“Let’s break up,” you had said.

You were the one who said it, but he made it easy. He didn’t ask why. He didn’t fight it. He only agreed. And that was the last real conversation you had with him.

Since then, he has done everything he could to avoid you, and honestly, he did a great job. There were no texts, awkward run-ins, or anything else. He made disappearing look easy. The thing is, your families never drifted. The Yangs and your parents stayed close, though it was long since you saw them. However, whenever the Yangs were over, it was only ever his parents, sometimes his sister, and never him. And that worked.

Until now. It all happened so suddenly.

One minute, your parents were saying things like “fresh start” and “less traffic,” the next, your room was packed into boxes you didn’t remember sealing. Now, you were in the backseat of the car, your cheek resting against the window and watching the neighborhoods change. You weren’t paying attention until something started to feel… off.

You sat up a little straighter. That corner house with the blue shutters. The crooked basketball hoop is still hanging above a cracked driveway. The exact tree you once scraped your knee under when you were seven.

Your heart slowed as you looked around, really looked. This street wasn’t just familiar. It was his street. You didn’t say anything as the car pulled up to a cream-colored house directly across from the one you’d tried to forget. Your mom turned from the passenger seat, smiling as if this was the best surprise ever. “Well? Looks nice, right?”

No way.

You forced a nod. But your eyes never left the house across the street. The one you used to visit without knocking. The one you haven’t seen the inside of in years. The one that used to feel like a second home before it didn’t. And just like that, the past wasn’t behind you anymore.

It was right across the street.

👾

Boxes were everywhere. Half of them were still sealed, stacked in corners of rooms that didn’t feel like yours. Your shoes were missing, your charger was tangled, and the air smelled like fresh paint and wood. You sat on the edge of your new bed as if you could call it that. The house across the street was in full view. Of course, it was. You heard a knock on your door, followed by the soft creak of it opening. “Hey,” your mom said, poking her head in. “We’re ordering food. You want anything?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you asked, “When were you going to tell me it was this street?”

She was surprised. “What do you mean?”

You turned your head slightly. “That this house is across from their house.”

She stepped into the room and sat on the bed near you. “We didn’t know at first,” she said. “I mean, we knew it was the same area, but when we found out it was right across…” She then continued. “We didn’t think it mattered anymore.”

You looked at her while your eyebrows raised. “Really?”

“I thought you and Jungwon-” she stopped herself. “You never told us what happened.”

You picked at a loose thread on your sleeve. “There was nothing to tell.”

She studied your face for a moment. Then she nodded. “We didn’t mean to drop this on you,” she said gently. “But this place is good for us. Closer to work, and it’s safer.”

You didn’t argue. It wasn’t like you could stop the move now. But the knot in your stomach was still there. Your mom stood up, brushing her hands on her jeans. “Come down when you’re ready. I’ll order you your usual.” When she left, you sat there for a while longer. Eyes still on the house across the street.

You finally made your way downstairs with your hoodie on and your hair a little messy from unpacking and sitting too long. You can smell the take-out food while you are going. Then, there came the knock. Three soft raps on the front door. You froze halfway down the stairs. Your mom walked over, cheerful as ever. “That must be them.”

Them?

She opened the door with a warm smile. “Oh my gosh! You came already!”

There they were...

Mr. and Mrs. Yang.

Your dad joined her at the door, shaking hands and laughing. “You two look the same,” he said.

“And you’ve lost weight!” Mrs. Yang teased, then peeked past your parents into the house. “Where is she?”

You were at the bottom of the stairs, one foot still on the last step.

“Oh-” your mom turned and waved you over. “Come say hi.”

You managed a small smile as you walked toward them.

Mrs. Yang’s face lit up. “There you are. Look at you. You’ve gotten so beautiful.”

Mr. Yang nodded with a warm chuckle. “You have. I barely recognized you! You’re all grown up now.”

You smiled politely. “Hi, Mr. Yang. Mrs. Yang.”

Mrs. Yang stepped forward to give you a gentle hug. Oh, you missed them so much. “We’re so happy you’re here,” she said. “Really. It’s been too long.”

You nodded again, unsure what to say. They meant well. They always had. But being here, this close to him, made your chest feel tight. Your mom gestured toward the kitchen. “We were just about to eat. Do you want to join us? There’s plenty.”

Mrs. Yang laughed. “Don’t tempt me. We just came to welcome you and let you know we’re right across the street if you need anything.”

Right across the street.

You knew that already.

Just as Mrs. Yang was about to head out the door, she paused because she had just remembered something. “Oh, and Jungwon’s around,” she said casually. “He’s just been busy these days, but I’m sure he’ll be surprised when he finds out you’re living right across.”

Your mom gave a little laugh. “They haven’t seen each other in so long.”

“I know,” Mrs. Yang smiled, looking at you. “You two used to be inseparable.”

You forced another polite smile.

Mr. Yang chuckled. “He’s not a kid anymore either, you’ll see. Taller. Quieter. Always off somewhere.”

“Oh please,” Mrs. Yang rolled her eyes. “He’s still the same at home. He sleeps in too much. Leaves his laundry everywhere.”

They laughed again. Your parents laughed too.

You didn’t.

You were already back to staring at the floor.

“I’ll tell him you said hi,” Mrs. Yang said sweetly, touching your arm. “He’ll be happy to know you’re back.”

You nodded but said nothing.

Because no matter how easy she made it sound, you knew it wouldn’t be.

He had made sure of that.

👾

It was summer. You were in the backyard of the Yangs’ house. Jungwon had his phone angled up, trying to take a photo of the two of you, but your hand flew up and covered his face. “Stop,” you laughed, pulling away. You’re going to get us caught.”

“So what if we do?” he teased, trying again. “They’ll just think we’re cute.”

You gave him a look. “You say that now. Wait until my mom gives the talk.”

Jungwon cringed. “Okay, maybe not that cute.” You both laughed and then… quiet. He looked at you. “You know,” he murmured, fingers brushing yours, “I still can’t believe you asked me out first.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What? Were you planning to?”

“I was scared,” he admitted. “People always surrounded you. I didn’t think I had a chance.”

You nudged his shoulder. “Idiot. You were the only one I noticed.”

He smiled. Then, as if the world had stopped rushing for a moment, he leaned in and kissed you like the hundred quiet kisses before it. And when you both pulled away, laughing again because his nose bumped into yours, it was obvious neither of you wanted to leave that little bubble.

Well, that was in the past. None of it mattered today.

👾

You weren’t sure why you stepped outside. Maybe you told yourself it was just for fresh air. Being around boxes and bubble wrap and your parents’ laughter was suffocating. Perhaps you just needed space. But deep down, you knew better. You walked out onto the porch while your arms wrapped loosely around you. The sky was dark now. The neighborhood was quiet. Still, you stepped down from the porch and wandered a little toward the street, eyes scanning the familiar silhouettes of the houses around you. And then, before you could stop yourself, they landed across the road.

His house. It's still the same paint. Still that light over the garage that flickered once before staying on. You weren’t expecting to see him and didn’t want to. But a strange part of you hoped… maybe. Then the front door creaked open. Your breath caught.

Jungwon? gasp

oh it wasn’t him lol. It was his sister stepping out to throw something into the bin. She didn’t see you; if she did, she would have greeted you after a long time. She disappeared back inside a second later. You exhaled slowly. No Jungwon. Yet. And still, your heart was racing. You turned back toward your house, not ready to admit what you hoped for.

👾

It was the next morning when it happened. You were barely awake with your phone in one hand, and your mom’s annoying “Can you grab the mail?” ringing in your ears as you stepped outside. The sunlight was not too bright yet, and the street felt sleepy. You walked to the mailbox, flipping through a few envelopes, and heard footsteps. You didn’t think much of it. Not until you looked up.

Jungwon.

Coming from the other direction with earbuds, he almost didn’t look at you.

Almost.

But then his eyes looked up briefly, and they met yours.

You froze.

So did he.

It felt like time stopped.

Though, his expression didn’t change, his lips parted slightly.

Neither of you said anything.

Just like that, he kept walking.

Past you.

Down the street.

As if you were a stranger.

But you weren’t.

And he knew it.

👾

You saw him more now. Too much, honestly. Every other weekend, it felt like your parents were throwing open the door for Mr. and Mrs. Yang. He didn’t avoid you anymore. But he didn’t look at you either. Not unless he thought you weren’t looking. He was civil. Effortlessly fine in how people are when they’ve had years to perfect pretending. But you saw the way his jaw clenched whenever someone mentioned your name. You caught how he paused before answering anything that had to do with you. And you hated that your heart still noticed.

That night, both families had dinner together. Again. You tried to stay upstairs with your door cracked just enough to hear the laughter below but not be part of it until your mom called you down with a warning tone. So you went.

He was already there when you entered the dining room. Your mom smiled. “There she is. Sit. We were about to start a round.”

You sat across from him. You didn’t look at him.

Mrs. Yang laughed. “You remember how these two used to team up and crush everyone, right?”

You forced a smile. “That was a long time ago.”

“Still could,” Jungwon said casually while eyes were on his cards. “If we actually spoke.”

You looked up. Straight at him. “That requires you to show up, though.”

His jaw tensed. “Guess I’m showing up now.”

“Yeah. Years late.”

The table went silent. Your dad chuckled awkwardly as he clears his throat. “Let’s just play, yeah?”

The game started. You focused on your hand. Avoided his gaze. But you felt his eyes watching. Waiting. What a bitch. You played a good round. Won it, even. Heh. When you laid your final card down, Jungwon spoke again. “Still good at pretending everything’s fine, hm?”

You looked at him. “You would know,” you said. “You wrote the manual.” Another silence. This one is heavier. You stood up, collecting your empty glass. “I’m done playing.” No one stopped you as you walked out. Not even him. But you knew he was watching.

You closed the door to your room with more force than you meant to. It wasn’t even a real fight. And still, your chest ached like he’d screamed at you. It was the first time you two had spoken in years. Actual words. Not glances, not awkward nods across a room. Words that meant something, even if neither admitted it out loud.

And ugh, it was awful. Worse than silence. At least in silence, you could pretend it didn’t hurt. You could tell yourself maybe he didn’t know what to say or that it didn’t matter anymore. But now? now you knew. You sat on the edge of your bed, staring at your hands. He used to hold them. Memorize the lines on your palm. You laughed bitterly under your breath. Pathetic.

Downstairs, you could still hear your parents talking. Glasses clinking. Laughter floated up the stairs like nothing had happened, as if you hadn’t just exchanged barbed history over a card game and called it small talk. You weren’t crying. You were holding it in. Because letting it out meant admitting something still lived under your skin. And you’d spent years trying to kill it.

👾

Jungwon leaned against the bathroom sink, gripping the edge to hold him together. The cold water didn’t help. He’d splashed his face twice, but his pulse still wouldn’t calm down. It was the first time you’d spoken to him in years. And you didn’t even raise your voice, which somehow made it worse. You never had to shout to make him feel like shit.

Your words had landed clean. You knew exactly where to hit, and he deserved that. And yet… he couldn’t stop thinking about how you looked when you said them. Same voice. Same mouth. Same eyes. It was so sharp when you were angry, but it was still impossible to look away from.

You still looked the same. You’re not the girl with messy braids and scraped knees from when you were eight. But you were still beautiful. So beautiful. And tonight? You stood across from him and made him feel like a stranger. No, worse. Like someone who didn’t deserve to be remembered.

He’d avoided you for so long. Thought he was doing the right thing and giving you space, staying out of your life. But standing across that dinner table, every part of him wanted to break the distance. To touch your hand. To ask if you were as okay as you looked.

But you weren’t.

He knew you.

You were mad.

Still hurt.

Still beautiful.

And maybe he was still yours, in some twisted, broken timeline where things hadn’t gone so wrong.

He looked up at his reflection.

His face didn’t show it.

But inside?

He was seventeen again.

And he was losing you all over again.

👾

Flashback

It didn’t happen all at once. It was subtle. It was like a thread being pulled loose, stitch by stitch until the fabric didn’t hold the same. He started canceling plans more often. First, it was because of exams. Then, his sister needed help. Then he was just tired. And when you’d text him things like “Are we okay?” He’d reply hours later with, “Yeah, just busy. Don’t overthink.”

You told yourself not to. But how could you not when even his kisses felt distracted? You remember one night. You were sitting beside the old shed between your yards, where you used to meet as kids. “I missed you,” you’d said softly. He was looking at his phone. You waited.

He glanced up. “Huh?”

You repeated it. Slower this time. “I missed you.”

He smiled. A weak one. It didn’t even reached his eyes. “I’m right here.”

But he wasn’t. Not the boy who used to write little notes and leave them under your window. Not the one who memorized your class schedule so he could “accidentally” bump into you. You stared at him for a long time that night. And he didn’t ask why.

A week later, you ended it. In your room. On the phone. Because he didn’t even come over anymore.

“Let’s break up.”

Three words.

He was quiet for a second. Then: “If that’s what you want.”

That was it. No fight. No protest. No, wait, please. Only silence. And for some reason, that hurt more than if he’d screamed. Because now you knew: he let go long before you did.

👾

You didn’t sleep much. You stared at the ceiling for a long time after the sun rose. There was something about being here where everything had started. Where it also fell apart. And now that you’d spoken to Jungwon again, the silence you’d grown used to suddenly felt worse than the noise. Your phone buzzed with a message from your mom: “Mrs. Yang invited us over for brunch. Come downstairs when you’re ready.”

You stared at the text. It was almost funny how no one else felt the weight of things but you. Like you hadn’t once memorized the way her son kissed you. Like you hadn’t once cried into your pillow every time she smiled at you, asking how school was, while never knowing her boy was ignoring your texts.

You got up anyway. Slipped on something decent. Washed your face until you didn’t look like you’d barely slept. When you came downstairs, your mom smiled like nothing was strange. “Perfect timing! they’re already outside setting the table.”

Well, You could turn back. Say you weren’t feeling well. Lie, like he did. But a reckless voice inside you whispered: Face him. So you stepped out. The Yangs were laughing. He looked up. You locked eyes. And just like that, the atmosphere changed.

The table was set with cut fruit, eggs, warm bread, and that familiar floral tablecloth the Yangs always brought out when guests came. Your mom was laughing with Mrs. Yang about something that had to do with old PTA meetings. Mr. Yang had already offered your dad his second cup of coffee. It should’ve felt like home. It didn’t.

Jungwon sat diagonally across from you. He was far enough not to be obvious but close enough that every movement he made was loud in your mind. You decided not to look at him. But you glanced up, and he was already looking. You both looked away at the same time. “Did you say hi to Jungwon?” your mom asked lightly. It was obvious that your parents and his were trying to get you two close despite not knowing what happened.

You forcedly smiled. “Yeah, last night.”

“Oh right,” Mrs. Yang chimed in. “It’s been years since you two caught up. You’re both so grown now. Jungwon, doesn’t she look beautiful?”

He coughed into his cup. You pressed your lips into a smile and stared at your plate. Jungwon cleared his throat. “She does.” The table went quiet for a second. Then your dad said something about the weather, and the adults kept talking. You picked at your food. Jungwon didn’t say another word.

👾

You didn’t volunteer to help clean up. Your mom made you. You agreed only because you needed the silence. But the silence didn’t come alone. The screen door creaked open behind you. Then footsteps. Then him. You didn’t turn. You said, “I’ve got it.”

“I know,” Jungwon said. “Still.” He reached past you for a dish towel. Now, it was the two of you. Standing too close to the sink. Water ran over your hands. You passed him a plate. Neither of you flinched with the sudden hand contact. It was just the sound of rinsing, drying, and stacking. Then he spoke. “So… this wasn’t planned?”

You kept your eyes on the plate. “No. Surprise.”

Jungwon gave a dry laugh. “Right.”

You handed him another plate. “Why? Would you have warned me?”

He paused. “Would you have stayed away?”

You didn’t answer that.

“I didn’t expect to see you again,” he said. “Not like this.”

“Me neither,” you replied. “But you did a good job avoiding me all these years.”

He didn’t deny it. You looked at him then. He was older. Sharper jaw, broader shoulders. Same eyes. The same mouth you used to know too well. Still handsome. “You look tired,” you said before you could stop yourself.

He huffed a soft breath. “You look the same.”

“No, I don’t.”

He nodded. “You’re right. You’re-” His voice caught. “You’re more. Still beautiful.”

You turned back to the sink. “Don’t.”

“I mean it.”

“That’s worse.”

Jungwon set the plate down.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he said.

You hated how much you wanted to believe that.

You didn’t reply.

He didn’t push.

And for a moment, the silence between you felt heavier than any fight you ever had.

You turned off the faucet harshly. You faced him. Your voice came out barely. But it hurt more than shouting ever could. “You don’t get to say that.”

“Say what?”

“That I’m beautiful. That you never stopped thinking about me.” He opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him speak. “You don’t get to look at me like that when you were the one who left me behind.”

“I didn’t leave-”

“You did,” you breathed. “You just didn’t have the guts to say it.” You continued, “I was seventeen, Jungwon,” your voice cracked, “and I kept making excuses for you. ‘He’s just stressed. He’s tired. He still cares.’ But you were already pulling away and pretending you weren’t.” And still, you kept your voice down. For the parents outside. For the dignity you barely held onto. “I went to sleep every night wondering what I did wrong,” you said. “And you were just out there, acting like we never happened. Smiling at my family. Hugging my mom. Texting less. Showing up late. Not showing up at all.”

He swallowed hard. Said nothing. You almost laughed. “I used to wait for you. Even after we broke up, I’d still look for you in crowds. Pathetic, right?”

“No,” he whispered.

“Don’t,” you warned. “Don’t say sorry. Don’t pretend now.” You stared at the boy you once knew. At the stranger he became. “I loved you,” you said, quieter than ever. “And you loved me in the beginning. I know that. But near the end… I was just convenient.”

“That’s not true.”

“Maybe not to you,” you murmured. “But it was to me.”

You stepped back. He looked like he wanted to reach for you. Like something in him ached. But you shook your head. And your final words were soft. “You don’t get to say those things just because you regret it now.”

Then you left him there alone with the truth you carried for years.

👾

He remembered the day it started. Not the day he stopped loving you because he never did. But the day it all began to slip. He was seventeen, phone buzzing with your name lighting up the screen. A simple message: “Call me when you’re free?”

He wasn’t. He stared at the text as it asked him to be someone he didn’t know how to be anymore. Because lately… you saw him like he was made of gold. And he felt like none of those things. That was the problem. You looked at him like he could carry the world. But he was already struggling to carry himself.

Between school, expectations, quiet family problems he didn’t talk about, and the creeping fear of growing up too fast. He started to pull away. Slowly. He didn’t want you to see the cracks, not because he wanted distance. He couldn’t stand the thought of disappointing you. You were always so sure. So bright. And he was… drowning in the quiet.

He thought you might get tired first if he pulled back gently. Perhaps you'd move on if he made himself a little less available. You wouldn’t have to watch him become this…this version of him that wasn’t enough. He didn’t expect you to hold on so tightly. And by the time he realized he wanted to reach back… it was too late. You weren’t looking anymore. You had stopped waiting. He remembered the last time you kissed. It was raining. You had laughed against his mouth. And even then, he already knew he didn’t deserve it. He loved you.

He didn’t know how to be loved by you without falling apart.

👾

You hadn’t planned on being here long. Something to get your mom off your back. When you entered the next aisle and stopped, you were half-distracted, scrolling your list. Jungwon stood a few feet away, back half-turned, reading the label on a bottle of sesame oil. Him again?

He hadn’t seen you yet. You should’ve turned around and walked to another aisle. But you didn’t. He looked up. Eyes catching yours. He did a polite nod. You gave one back. Just two people standing in front of a shelf of condiments with too much history between them. He was the one who broke it

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“You shop here now?”

“Guess so.”

He nodded. You could tell he didn’t know what to do with his hands. They shifted between his jacket pockets and the bottle he’d been holding. You reached for a bag of rice to have something to do. He glanced down at your basket. “You still drink oat milk?”

Oh? He remembered that.

“I didn’t realize you were keeping notes.”

“I wasn’t.”

He hesitated. “About the other day…”

“Don’t,” you said quietly.

His eyes met yours again.

“I’m just saying- I heard you. That’s all.”

You nodded. Once. Not because it fixed anything. But because you didn’t trust yourself to speak.

“Alright,” he said. “Well. I’ll let you finish up.”

You stepped to the side to let him pass.

👾

The knock came at the door. You weren’t expecting anyone. Your parents were out. So, you opened the door and froze. Jungwon. Soaked in the rain. Hair dripping. Clothes clinging to him. His chest was rising and falling that seemed like he’d been running or crying. He looked at you as if he’d seen a ghost. And then he broke. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice cracking instantly. You barely processed the words before he stumbled forward a step, then dropped. Right there on your porch.

He fell to his knees. “I’m sorry-” he gasped. “I’m sorry. please. I’m so sorry-” You stood frozen. “I should’ve never let go of you,” he cried. “I was stupid and scared, and I thought being distant was the right thing, but it killed me-”

“Jungwon..get up- come inside, you’re freezing-”

“No!” he sobbed. “No- let me say this. Just let me say it- please-”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he said while crying. “For years- I’d wake up thinking I could text you. That maybe you’d still remember my favorite coffee or the way I held your hand too tight when I was nervous-” He clutched his shirt because he couldn’t breathe. “I dreamed of marrying you. Of having a stupid little house with you and waking up next to you. I dreamed of our kids,” his voice cracked. “You and me on a porch swing. A dog. A life.”

“And then I’d wake up.” He looked up at you, and you could barely recognize the boy in front of you. His eyes were red. His voice was ruined. “And you weren’t there.” The rain wouldn’t stop. Neither did he. “I’m sorry I let us go. I’m sorry I didn’t fight for you. I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough to love you out loud. I was young and selfish, and I ruined it all. But not a single day has passed that I didn’t want to return.”

You were shaking now, too. Tears gathered in your eyes, even as you tried to hold them back.

“I loved you,” he whispered. “I never stopped. I loved you in the silence. In the years we didn’t speak. I loved you when I walked past your street and didn’t knock. I loved you when I saw your mother and had to act like you didn’t still live in my head.”

“I still love you now.”

Every bone in your body wanted to collapse beside him.

Though, you didn’t move.

Because he needed to say it. All of it.

And oh, he was saying it.

He was still crying. Bent forward. Hands trembling against the wet floor. So, you knelt. Now you were face to face again. Closer than you had been in years. He didn’t look up at first. Couldn’t.

You reached out, and you whispered, “…Tell me.”

“Tell me why,” you said again. “You owe me that.”

His lips trembled. He nodded. “I was seventeen,” he began. “And I was terrified.” You said nothing. “I kept thinking I wasn’t enough. Not for you. Not for the life you deserved. You were brilliant. You were going somewhere. And me… I didn’t even know who I was.” His voice cracked again. “And the more I loved you, the more I panicked. Because what if I held you back? What if someday you woke up and realized you could do better?”

Your tears are beginning to sting. But still, you listened. “So I started pulling away,” he whispered. “Bit by bit. Hoping you’d let go before I ruined you. But you didn’t,” he said, tears streaming again. “You stayed. You kept trying. You loved me so hard it made it worse.”

“Because you were everything,” he choked. “And I was scared to become your mistake.”

“You should’ve told me,” you whispered.

“I know,” he breathed. “Oh, I know.”

“I thought about you every day,” he murmured. “Even when I tried not to. Even when I saw you across the street and had to pretend I didn’t feel like throwing up.”

“I wanted to be the one,” he said. “But I didn’t know how.”

And for a second, you saw it all. The scared boy he was. The hurting man he became. And the part of him that never stopped loving you. “You idiot,” you say low and cupped his cheeks. “You think I didn’t want to be there for you? That I didn’t want to help carry whatever was crushing you? But you shut me out. You pushed me away.”

Your thumb grazes a tear going down his face. “Do you have any idea how much I cried? How much I needed you to trust me?” He swallows hard and struggles to meet your gaze. “You never gave me a chance. And I-” your voice cracks, “I still love you despite lying to myself that I don’t anymore.”

You pull him closer in a fierce hug. You needed him. “I’m here,” you whisper fiercely. “But you have to stop running. Because I’m not letting go.” He clings to you, sobbing into your shoulder, the weight of years and pain pressing down between you but now was beginning to lift.

👾

The rain had stopped. Your arms around your knees while Jungwon sat beside you with a towel draped over his shoulders. You didn’t speak for a long time. He didn’t, either. Finally, you broke the silence. “You should’ve told me,” you said. “Whatever it was. Whatever made you disappear like that.”

He didn’t look at you when he answered. “I didn’t know how. I thought pushing you away would make it easier.”

“Easier for who?” You turned your head, looking at him sharply. “Because it sure as hell wasn’t easy for me. I hated you for it. And I hated myself for still loving you.”

You saw his eyes with guilt and shame. “I wanted to be the kind of person you could lean on,” he said. “But I wasn’t. I was scared, and everything felt like too much. So I ran.”

You rested your head on his shoulder. “I’m not asking you to fix it,” you murmured. “But if you’re here, you don’t get to run again.”

He nodded. It was a promise to you.

👾

You were at the Yangs’ dining room along with your parents. You sat quietly at the table. It had been days since that night. Nothing had been declared. You were still learning how to be near each other again. You felt his eyes looking at you. And when he stood and murmured something about getting fresh air, you followed without a word. The soft murmur of your parents’ conversation inside faded as you stepped out onto the Yangs’ back porch. You spotted Jungwon already there. You thought he’d ignore you. But he didn’t. “You still hate the cold, don’t you?” he said, not looking at you.

You crossed your arms. “And you still remember.”

That made him glance your way. “Some things don’t go away.”

You walked over, leaving some space between you. The backyard had the same old trees. Same broken swing. “You used to push me on that,” you said. “Before everything turned complicated.”

He chuckled under his breath. “You always made me push you. Said you’d get higher if I did it.”

“I just liked hearing you complain.”

“That summer,” he said softly. “When we got together. I think about it most of the time.”

You looked away. “Do you also think about how it ended?”

“I do,” he said.

you asked, “Do you remember the night I asked you out?”

His voice was quiet. “You made me swear not to laugh.”

“And you swore.”

“And I didn’t laugh,” he said. “I was stunned. Because I loved you already and couldn’t believe you loved me back.”

You remembered that summer. That first kiss behind the garden shed. All of it lived somewhere in your mind until now.

“I never stopped,” he said. “Even when I disappeared. Even when I made you hate me, I still don’t know if I deserve a second chance, but…” He hesitated, then, “I don’t want to keep pretending that chapter’s closed.”

“I’m not promising anything,” you said.

“I know.”

“But I’m here.”

you reached for him. You cupped his face. You were still angry. But he leaned into it because he was starving for any piece of you. “You’re an idiot,” you said while tears welling up. “You could’ve just come back.”

“I didn’t know how.”

“I would’ve helped you.”

“I know that now.”

And then you kissed him. It was desperate. His hands gripped your waist, and you pulled him closer. When you finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against yours. “I missed you,” he whispered. You closed your eyes.

“I never left,” you said.

👾

The Yangs had invited your family again, but for brunch this time. You and Jungwon sat side by side, speaking only when necessary. Your mom, ever observant, glanced between the two of you. “You two seem… close again,” she said gently, more curious than probing.

Your dad raised an eyebrow. “That’s great. You two were always good friends.”

That was when Jungwon sat up straighter, his posture suddenly too formal for a casual meal. You felt his hand hold yours under the table, not to keep it, but to ask silently: Can I?

You gave a slow nod. Jungwon cleared his throat. “I need to say something.”

The room quieted. “I was with your daughter,” he said carefully. “We started dating when we were seventeen. We kept it between us, maybe because it felt too important. But I shouldn’t have kept it from you.” He looked at your parents directly. “I owe you both an apology for hiding it and for how I treated her when things got hard. I pulled away when I should’ve shown up. I didn’t explain. I let her carry the pain I caused. I was young, confused, and selfish. But those aren’t excuses.”

You saw your mother’s hand slowly reach for her glass. Your father listened. Jungwon continued. “These past years, even when we didn’t speak… I never stopped thinking about her. I didn’t stop loving her.” He paused. “And now that we’re talking again, I want to be honest. I love her. I always have. And if she’ll let me… I want to try again. Properly, this time.”

He took a breath. “I came here today to confess and ask for your blessing. I want to be with her openly and respectfully. And I want you to know that.” The room was quiet for a moment that felt like an eternity.

Then, your mom spoke first. “That’s not easy to say, son. And it’s not easy to earn trust back.”

Your dad finally nodded. “But the love that survives years of silence… that’s not small.”

Mrs. Yang smiled warmly. “He’s grown, hasn’t he?”

And then, Jungwon’s sister chimed in from the other side of the room, sipping her tea with a smirk. “I knew you two were a thing. Ya’ll ain’t slick.”

You let out a small laugh. Jungwon looked at you with a small smile, his eyes with relief. He had said it in front of everyone. No hiding. No running.

And this time, you didn’t look away.

250 notes · View notes

izzih22 · 12 hours ago

Note

Can you do like a part 2 of whose side are you on and it be Paige gets in a fight with either a teammate or a sibling and azzi is in the middle?

Blood and Anchor

Note: this was hard to write ngl so it’s short sorry also remember it’s just a story it’s not real

It’s supposed to be a chill weekend. Just family visiting from Minnesota, a few laughs, dinner, the usual awkwardness of siblings crashing into the life she’s built away from home.

Azzi even offered to leave give them space but Paige told her to stay. She wanted her there. She needed her there. Azzi is family.

What she didn’t expect was for it to go sideways this fast.

Her younger brother makes a joke something about how she’s “basically famous now,” how she “probably forgets about the rest of them,” and it’s harmless enough until it isn’t.

Until it turns into,

“You’ve changed. You’re not the same anymore.”

And then,

“Honestly, you’re kind of a jerk when you’re around us.”

And then finally—

“Maybe if you weren’t so obsessed with basketball and that whole perfect image thing, you’d remember what it’s like to be part of a family.”

Paige hears it like a slap. It’s not even yelled, just dropped into the room like a grenade.

Azzi’s head snaps up from where she’s sitting on the edge of Paige’s bed. The silence that follows is sharp.

Paige tries to laugh it off, stiff and bitter. “Okay. Cool. Thanks.”

But her voice breaks on the “thanks.” And then she’s up, grabbing her jacket, pushing past her brother without looking back.

Azzi hesitates for half a second before rising, steady and calm. “I’ll go after her.”

She doesn’t wait for permission. She doesn’t need it.

⸻

She finds Paige in the stairwell.

Alone. Sitting on the cold concrete steps with her hands tangled in her hair, elbows on her knees, breathing like she’s trying to keep something in.

Azzi doesn’t say anything at first. She just walks over and sits next to her. Their shoulders touch.

It’s quiet.

And then—

“He thinks I don’t care about them.”

Paige’s voice is low. Raw.

“I give everything I have to this sport. To this school. To being someone they can be proud of. And he says that.”

Azzi watches her closely. “Do you believe him?”

“No,” Paige answers instantly, then quieter, “I don’t think so.”

Azzi reaches out, gently links their fingers. Paige holds on like she’s drowning.

“I’ve missed birthdays,” Paige whispers. “Holidays. I forget to call sometimes. And I know I’ve changed. I had to. I’m doing the best I can and it never feels like it’s enough for them.”

Azzi doesn’t rush to fix it. She just lets Paige talk.

“I already beat myself up for it,” Paige continues. “But hearing him say it… like I’m selfish or fake… it just…”

She stops.

Azzi squeezes her hand. “It hurts.”

Paige nods.

“Can I say something?” Azzi asks softly.

Paige nods again.

“You are different,” Azzi says. “You’ve grown. You’ve been through hell. You’ve had to figure out how to keep going even when it felt like your body and your mind were working against you.”

She turns toward her. “But none of that made you cold. Or selfish. You love so hard, Paige. You carry everyone. And maybe they don’t always see it, but I do.”

Paige’s eyes finally meet hers, full of glass and hurt.

Azzi shifts closer, brushing her knuckles against Paige’s cheek.

“You don’t have to be perfect to be loved,” she says. “Not by them. Not by me.”

Paige exhales shakily. “Sometimes it feels like I have to be.”

Azzi presses a kiss to her forehead. “You never do with me.”

And that’s what cracks her.

Paige pulls Azzi into her arms, burying her face in her shoulder, shaking slightly from the quiet sobs that follow.

Azzi wraps around her without hesitation. Rubs soft circles into her back. Holds her like she’s piecing her back together.

“You’re home,” Azzi whispers into her hair. “Right here. Always.”

⸻

They sit there for a long time. Eventually, Paige calms, her breathing evening out, her grip on Azzi no less tight but more steady.

Azzi kisses her temple. “Want me to talk to him?”

Paige shakes her head. “No. I’ll handle it. I just… I needed you first.”

Azzi smiles, brushing hair from Paige’s face. “I’ll always be your first stop.”

And for the first time all day, Paige lets out a real breath.

“Thank God for you.”

#pazzi fics #paige bueckers #uconn wbb #azzi fudd #paige x azzi #pazzi #paige and azzi

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milla-frenchy · 2 days ago

Text

Taste in men

5k0 | Joel Miller x Javier Peña x fem reader | ao3 | masterlist Summary: your longtime friend, Javi, helps you make your ex jealous Warnings: 18+ mdni. Threesome mmf (Javi and Joel are bi), pet names (baby, sweetheart), oral (f/m), spit roasting, spitting, light overstimulation, praise kink, size kink, piv, anal, creampies. No age specified Javi is cheeky, flirtatious and a menace, Joel is a little grumpy but mostly calm and settled because I love this dynamic between the two of them. For this story, let's imagine it’s possible to smoke in a restaurant 🙏 (because Javi’s hot when he’s a sassy smoker 😌)

a/n: this is written for @mothandpidgeon @schnarfer and @whocaresstillthelouvre ‘s Magic number writing challenge (masterlist) I asked for a prompt and Al gave me "fake relationship." As a lover of threesome fics, thank you so much for this challenge 🙏❤️ Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing me 😘💕 dividers @/saradika-graphics 🙏 Happy pride 🌈

“Can I ask you a favor, Javi?”

“Sure.” His quick reply was proof of your friendship and mutual trust, if any were needed. “Shoot, baby,” he added, already impatient. He was always on the move, both physically and mentally, he didn't like to settle down and take time for himself, which he wouldn't have known what to do with anyway. And he was always curious to know more about you.

“Would you help me make a man jealous?”

And above all, Javi was a player. So he smiled and replied, his eyebrow raised, “Absolutely.”

Joel and you had never really been official. You never had dinners with friends or family, you only spent some time together. Time that extended more and more in the last months, turning into nights spent at his place or yours. Or into lazy weekends where you barely got out of bed all day, your sweaty bodies heated by the sun rays streaming into the room. Until the night came and the moonlight took over.

You should have seen it coming, though. Joel had always been clear that he didn't want to be in a relationship. And maybe the bond between you was becoming too heavy for his liking.

However, when the “unofficial” ended, everything felt hollow. Not only because he was probably one of the most perfect guys you had met, attentive and soft, but taking charge when you needed him to. Or because you loved the way he wrapped his arm around your shoulder or your waist when you were walking side by side, showing his inner natural protectiveness. Life lost its color because the physical need of him was starting to eat you alive.

Now that you weren’t a “thing” anymore, Joel was always on your mind. Especially when you were touching yourself in your bed that still smelled like him, your pussy begging for his cock.

You had a hard time accepting that you were probably the only one feeling that need, considering he was the one that had ended it.

So when you learnt from a mutual acquaintance that Joel was having dinner at the restaurant next to his house on Friday night, you didn’t hesitate to involve Javi.

Javi and you were good friends. Friends with benefits, even, when you weren’t in a relationship, or in something “unofficial”.

Javi, on the other hand, was never in a relationship, it wasn’t his thing. He loved to be free.

You never fell in love with him, probably because you didn't want to be on his long list of heartbroken conquests. Javi always had a different woman on his arm, or a different man to hang out with. He was charming, sensual, full of self confidence, a “go with the flow” type. The most beautiful butterfly. It was out of the question for you to be charmed by the colors of his wings.

You were both ok with the special place you had for each other, and you loved to walk by his side, your arm around his slim waist, his around your shoulder, as if he was your boyfriend and you were his girl. You loved to feel envious glances of women on you in the streets, as Javi threw his both nonchalant and cunty look at them, before kissing your neck to tease them. They would ogle at him, lingering on his black leather jacket, the smell of which you loved so much, and his tight jeans that couldn’t hide the size of the cock resting there. But you were the one he took home to make you come as much as you needed to, until you were panting on the bed while he’d lit a post-sex cigarette. His gaze on you was always soft, tender and sweet when he would kiss your forehead. This was your Javi.

The men's gazes on him weren’t different, and you were amused when some of them had to readjust themselves after an eye-fucking session with Javi. Then he’d just point his chin the bar's bathroom, and they’d join him there.

He was a free spirit, he didn't hide it, and you loved it about him.

On Friday night, shortly before Joel was supposed to arrive, you and Javi were already at the restaurant, the table strategically chosen so Javi could watch the front door and the whole room.

“Late forties, slightly gray hair, ungroomed salt and pepper beard, broad ass shoulders, old green flannel, grumpy type?” Javi asked after you heard the door open, a few minutes later.

“Yep, that's him,” you answered.

Javi's smile widened. “Oh, this is gonna be fun,” he chuckled. “You didn't tell me he was that hot.”

Your dishes had just been served when Javi huffed “Ok, he bit. Did a double take at us and he doesn’t seem happy,” he smirked. He was way too good at this. Sassy. “I wonder how long it’ll take before he joins us.”

“What? Oh no, I don’t think he’ll do that,” you said, shaking your head.

“Oh, baby… wanna bet?”

You didn’t answer. You just hoped to get on Joel’s nerves a little with this fake date, and hadn’t really imagined he would go that far, but Javi seemed so sure of himself that you had some doubts now.

“Shit, he put the ketchup down on the table so hard I thought the cap was going to pop,” he laughed, unable to hide his amusement, as the idea of Joel being jealous pleased you.

“Ok, let’s tease him a little,” Javi added before wrapping his hand around yours.

“Javi!” you whispered, frowning, but he squeezed your hand, not letting you escape his grip, and looked at you with soft eyes. “Let me deal with it, baby, ok? That’s why you wanted me here, so trust me.”

You heard a loud chair scraping against the floor and then felt Joel’s presence near you. He sat down in the booth, looking at you first, then at Javi.

“Joel?” you said, your voice shaky, unable to hide your surprise at his bad mood. That wasn’t exactly like him. He tried to smile at you but it didn’t really reach his eyes, then turned to Javi, and grumbled “You are?”

“Javi, nice to meet you….?” he replied, waiting for Joel to say his name, smiling and full of charm, in total opposition to Joel's attitude.

“Joel.”

“Well, nice to meet you, Joel,” he said, before lighting a cigarette. “D'ya need some help?”

Javi's audacity was leaving you speechless as your gaze shifted from one man to the other.

“No I don't. Just wanted to say hi to my friend.”

“You seem too upset for someone who just wanted to say hi to a friend. Don’t you?” He took a drag and blew it towards Joel. “So why don't you stop bullshitting us and tell us why you're here? Because from the way I see it, you look jealous, Joel.”

He was so full of self-confidence, showing no hesitation, no wavering, his eyes fixed on Joel. You on the other hand... you wish you had the ability to snap your fingers and disappear instantly.

You looked at Joel, who surprisingly had a smile on his face. He was calm, unimpressed, his inner self finally back after this tensed introduction. You relaxed a little, as the pressure left your shoulders.

“You’re gonna tell me what this all is about, sweetheart?” he said softly, turning his gaze towards you. “Because if this guy was really a date… if you didn’t know him, I know you’d tell him to fuck off.”

Javi laughed, always confident in any situation. You, not so much, knowing that Joel had already figured it all out. You sighed, before answering “Javi’s a friend.”

“How much of a friend?”

“A good friend.”

“A good friend,” Joel repeated. “Ok. And you're both here by pure coincidence, or...?”

You looked down at your plate, unsure of how to respond. Being honest and implicitly admitting that you were not over the "ending", or lying. You were lost in your thoughts, knowing that the longer you took to respond, the more obvious the answer was.

You still didn't know what to say when Javi stepped in to help you.

"Oh come on man, stop torturing her."

Joel locked eyes with you as if he was crawling into your soul to find the answers. He frowned seeing what was there, a concern in his expression.

"Wanna come to my place? To talk about it?"

You hesitated. A part of you was glad that he was taking your emotions into account, even if they hadn't been expressed. You looked at Javi and asked him if he could join you, support you if needed, and help you gain perspective. When he nodded, you asked Joel if he was okay with that.

"Sure, sweetheart."

Once at Joel's, he offered you a drink and you all remained silent, until Javi rolled his eyes.

“Jesus, d’ya need me to be your matchmaker or what? What’s wrong with the two of you? But mostly, what’s wrong with you, man?”

“What is wrong with me? What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that I happily fuck her each times she calls me. And I’d happily fuck her right now. So what’s your problem?”

“You let him talk about you like this?” Joel asked, turning to you. He clearly had a hard time understanding that you could be friends, but he didn't know Javi like you did, didn't know what he hid beneath his player’s attitude — the most reliable, protective, funniest friend. So emotionally smart that he blew your mind many times by reading people.

“Javi is… Javi,” you answered firmly. “We've been friends for a long time and I love him for being so open minded, for always being there for me, as I hope I am for him. So yeah, it’s ok. I fuck him happily, too, by the way.”

You couldn't help being harsh, your protective instinct towards your best friend taking over.

“Yeah, you do, baby,” Javi agreed, his smile cocky after hearing your words, checking you out openly before turning back to Joel. “You know what? I think you could be turned on in 2 minutes, if you saw what I’d do to her.”

You expected Joel to tell him to fuck off. You really did. But you realized it wouldn’t happen when you felt the atmosphere in the room change, becoming electric and sticky, and the smirk on Javi’s face showed that he felt it too.

"I’d kiss her the way she likes to be kissed,” he started to say, eyes fixed on yours. “I’d lick her lips to tease her and I’d feel her breathing quicken. I’d rub my cock against her because she loves to feel me getting hard. And then I’d push her against this table, right here, and I’d know, just by looking at her, if she wanted me to eat her out or to split her open. I’d watch her tits bounce while I fucked her hard and deep. And then I’d make her come on my cock, feeling her squeeze it hard. Feeling her shake. She’d make those little moans that I fed on. And I’d fill her with my cum, because I love to know it would ruin her panties and that each drop would remind her how good I fucked her.”

When he stopped talking, only the squeaking of his leather could be heard in the room. You took a deep breath, swallowed hard and resisted the urge to rush to him. To kiss him. To grab his ass and hold him against you, to feel his hardness.

“Shit…” Joel gruffed, putting his hands on his hips, his stare moving from Javi to you. You were soaked, a drooling mess, in the room with the two men, not knowing what to expect in that moment.

“I guess I was right about turning you on in no time. So, Joel… are you gonna watch me do it all by myself, or you gonna join me?”

Joel turned towards you and asked “you’re ok with it?”

“Yeah... Yes, I am. If you are, too.”

“Alright, then.”

“Come here, baby. Let’s show him how good we are at this.” Javi reached out his hand to you and you took it. He let his leather jacket fall onto the floor, revealing his chest covered by a black t-shirt, and you brushed his pecs.

“Bet you’re already droolin’ for me, after hearing this,” Javi uttered against the crease of your neck, but loud enough for Joel to hear. He smiled, feeling you shiver, running his long, thick fingers down your arms, the fingers that made you come so many times.

You could feel Joel's gaze on both of you. You wondered if he was hard. If he wanted to keep watching or if he wanted to join you. You heard him growl and your pussy clenched with need of being filled.

You smiled back at Javi. He was right, you two were good at this. Everything was so easy, so known, so healthy, your bodies speaking their own native language without words being necessary. Even though Javi loved to express his feelings, it was always just a bonus. That always made you even hornier.

“Yeah… and I bet you’re already hard for me,” you replied, brushing his cheek with your digits, looking at his beautiful face. You loved every single inch of that man, every cell of his body and brain.

“Damn right, I am.”

You kissed his torso after taking off his t-shirt, his hand wrapped around the back of your neck.

You loved his scent, the softness of his skin, its taste. And you loved his innate impatience, slightly restrained with tenderness when his hands were on you.

It could have been so easy to forget that someone else was there at that moment, but not when it was Joel. When you looked at him, he understood the unspoken, pulled his shirt off and moved closer, urging you to tilt your face up with his fingers. You kissed him, finally feeling his warm, plushy lips on yours, still pressed against Javi, who kissed your neck then lingered on it with his moustache, and your eyes closed in pleasure under their embrace.

Javi slid behind you, roamed your body with his hands from your hips to your breasts, while you were making out with Joel.

Javi slowly undressed you, then brushed your wet folds with his fingers and pressed his hard-on against your ass. Your legs weakened and you squeezed Joel's t-shirt with your fist, holding on to it. For the thousandth time since the beginning of your friendship, you told yourself that Javi was a sweet menace, the definition of sensuality and a call to sin. You were lucky to have a special place in his life.

“Feel it?”

“Hard to miss it, Javi,” you tried to chuckle, but moaned instead when your friend’s fingers caressed your cunt and Joel pushed his tongue into your mouth, his hands on your waist, his crotch pressing against you, too.

“Oh god,” you whined, as a part of you wondered if it was all a dream, if you were going to wake up soaked and alone in your bed.

Javi nibbled on your shoulder, and the slight pain confirmed it was real, you were really standing between these two men. You sighed with pleasure and kissed Joel again, your hand cupping his hard cock in his jeans.

“I love when you’re dripping for me… for us,” Javi murmured in your ear, pushing a digit in your drooling heat. “Are you into men, too, Joel?” he asked, kissing your shoulder then your neck.

“It’s been a while since the last time, but… Yeah.”

“Good. ‘cause you’re fucking hot,” your friend said, grabbing the back of Joel’s neck and crushing his lips against his over your shoulder, flooding your underwear with a new wave of arousal. You kissed Joel's cheek as they were making out, until your tongue gravitated to theirs.

“I understand why you’re so into him, baby,” Javi breathed out, parting from you two.

You locked eyes with Joel and felt heat reaching your cheeks when he smiled. Javi had many qualities, but subtlety was not one of them.

“Where’s your bedroom, Joel?”

“Over there,” he replied, leading the way.

Javi took your hand when you walked through the door, and led you to the bed as if it were his own room. He lay down on it, pulled you towards him, and Joel followed. You three began kissing, lips crushing on others in a hot dance, until Javi took your nipple in his mouth, sucked and nibbled on it gently, making you moan into Joel's mouth.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he growled, slidding his palm to your crotch, and you pushed your hips upward to relieve the pressure that was driving you crazy. He chuckled against your lips, his fingers gliding easily over your soaked folds.

Javi sat up to push your knees apart and leaned down to kiss your inner thighs, his lips getting closer and closer to Joel's fingers buried in your pussy. He licked your folds and the other man's fingers, before sucking on your clit.

His tongue played with your cunt, moving up and down, pushing in between the digits.

“It’s turning you on, baby, having your pussy eaten right in front of your ex?” he teased, making your whole body tremble as you whimpered against Joel’s neck.

"He’s right. You’re soaking my fingers, sweetheart," the man chuckled, but his breath suddenly hitched when Javi cupped his bulge. He kissed your stomach and straightened up, and you were about to beg him to go down on you again when Javi unbelted your ex’s jeans and took off his clothes just like he did with yours. Javi let out a slow whistle, one eyebrow raised, appreciating the sight of Joel's naked body.

Joel's hard cock was twitching against his lower abdomen, its red tip oozing. His massive balls rested against his broad thighs. How many times had you stared at his body, just like Javi in that moment, your mouth suddenly dry at the sight of him?

Your clit throbbed, as Javi’s face was inches from Joel’s shaft. They were the most gorgeous men you had ever seen, and you wanted them to feel good. So you watched, mesmerised, your fingers replacing Joel’s in your cunt and then fucking you slowly.

“Well shit, Joel… I really wanna suck your dick, now,” Javi said looking up at him, making sure that Joel was into it.

“Go ahead.”

Javi spat in his hand and started jerking your ex off, smearing the precum with his thumb. When Javi took him in the mouth and his head began bobbing on his shaft, Joel quickly muttered a set of “fuck” and “shit,” one hand placed on the back of Javi’s neck, the other clenching the sheets.

Your fingers were moving back and forth between your folds, your empty pussy drooling on the bed, but you didn’t care about it, focusing only on the two men lying right beside you.

The glance Javi gave you looked like an invitation and you leaned down to lick Joel’s balls at first, then under them, where the skin was so delicate, and Javi moved them up to give you full access. His saliva flowed down to your throat when you took them in your mouth then licked the thick shaft. You took turns sucking Joel off, tangling your tongues on the way, turning your ex into a needy, whimpering and grunting mess.

“You’re so fucking pretty, baby, you know that?” Javi told you and the corners of your lips rose up as the flat of your tongue was moving up to Joel’s tip. "It's time to take care of you," he added, pushing you onto your back and lying down next to you. “Want you to come on his tongue.”

A strand of his hair fell on his forehead and you played with it a little, savoring your special closeness once again, grateful to know his tender side. He always looked at you as if you were the only woman he would always come back to, without ever asking for anything in return. You brushed his cheek and your thumb lingered on his lips. He was beautiful.

“You’re gonna make me really jealous,” Joel growled, pushing your thighs wide apart. His broad shoulders settled into your favorite place and Javi kissed the corner of your lips, listening to your moans when Joel let his saliva slide from his lips to your pussy.

You nibbled on Javi's lip when Joel grasped the back of your thighs and pushed them toward your chest to open you fully for him. He dragged his tongue over your soaked folds, reaching your throbbing clit. You squeezed Javi's biceps when his hand moved south, and you heard a sucking sound. A single thought of Javi’s finger between Joel’s lips, the sensuality of it, made you melt and you shivered when Javi brushed your bud softly with his wet digit while Joel was lapping at your cunt. You were feeling dizzy, limbs limp under their fingers and mouths, reduced to a moaning, weak mess between the two men who wanted you to feel good, too.

You clinged to Javi, lulled by his praise, half in English, half in Spanish, and then you came hard, your hips rocking towards the men, moaning into Javi’s neck who kept telling you, “you’re ok, baby, you’re ok. We got you,” until you stopped shaking.

Your friend stood up and lit a cigarette when Joel crawled up your body and lay between your thighs. His gaze on you was soft. You loved feeling his weight again, his arms wrapped around you, creating a bubble where you always felt safe. You took his cock and nestled it at your entrance, just to make him push your folds apart with his fat tip. Just to feel him again.

“You missed him, baby? Missed my cock? That's why you planned that restaurant thing?”

“Yeah, I missed him. Missed having you.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you know… I didn't back up because I didn't want you anymore. I backed up because I liked you too much.”

His eyes fixed on you were still warm but gradually they filled up with fire and intensity when he pushed inside you and didn’t stop until he bottomed out, the stretch making you whimper. You kissed him to forget about all the questions swirling in your mind, at least for a moment.

“OI! love birds? My dick's gonna get limp as fuck if you keep up this soft shit, jeez…” Javi grumbled, discarding his jeans and sitting against the headboard, cigarette between his lips. He was shameless, his gorgeous cock hard against his lower belly, wriggling as if begging for your lips. It was massive, too, in the same proportions as Joel's, and you couldn't believe how lucky you were to have those two men with you right now.

“Commando… Why am I not surprised?” Joel smirked before looking back at you. “Wanna take care of him while I’m fucking you, baby?”

Your mischievous smile shifted to Javi. Yeah, you wanted to take care of him, wanted them both inside you.

“Hands and knees for me, then.”

You put yourself on all fours and ran your tongue over Javi's shaft, pushing your ass out, allowing Joel to align himself and thrust in, as you took Javi into your mouth.

“Fuck, I missed your cunt, baby. You have no idea.” He pumped his cock in and out, clinging at your hips, his massive balls slapping against your clit with every thrust. He was going deep, and he was doing it slowly, to make you feel every inch of his cock.

You moaned, Javi’s tip between your lips, and he caressed your cheek, his ridiculously handsome face tilted down to you.

“You’re so fucking pretty, your mouth full of my cock. Pussy full of his. You’re doing so good, baby.”

His praise bewitched you, as Joel dug his fingers into your hips, holding you as he wished, rolling his hips against your ass.

“Tell me how it feels.”

You licked his shaft again, before stuttering “g- good. Fucking… good.”

“He’s big, right? I bet he’s stretching your little cunt wide open with his big dick.”

“Yeah… yeah, oh fuck!! He’s… he’s so big, Javi. You should… maybe you should try him.”

He smiled and looked at Joel. “If he’s able to leave this perfect hole to let me fill it, and if he wants to… why not?”

“Oh I want to, Javi. Lemme just…- oh, sweetheart, fuck! Easy, baby…. you’re squeezing me so hard, fuck… lemme just fuck her a little more,” Joel panted.

Javi slid beneath you until his body was aligned with yours, and Joel adjusted the position but didn’t stop pushing in. Your pussy was rubbing against Javi’s shaft, as you were licking at his lips, his tongue until your groans increased.

“You’re gonna come like that baby? Gonna give us another one?”

“Yeah,” you murmured, brushing your throbbing clit against him, covering him with your wetness that was dripping non-stop.

“F… fuck, Joel…” you breathed, eyes closed.

“Come on, baby, soak me. Lemme take my turn with you.” You moaned at the idea of them taking turns between your thighs, and clenched on Joel’s shaft, still humping against Javi.

“Oh fuck!! Fuck, fuck… I gotta… fuck I gotta pull out, shit…” Joel said, almost whimpering, hands still gripping your flesh, hips still thrusting in and out, before he finally pulled out.

“You're ok?”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck…. I… fuck…”

“Lay on your back for me, baby. We’re not done with you.”

You shifted position and watched Joel open his nightstand drawer, pull out a tube and coat his cock with the lube.

Javi lay between your legs, his head diving in to lick a long stripe between your folds, making him growl and mumble. “You taste like him. Always taste so fucking good, but I love to taste him on your cunt.”

“J… Javi,” you stummered, voice weak.

“Tell me,” he whispered, nose grinding against your clit, tongue fucking your dripping hole.

“Too… too much…”

“Really?” he smirked. “Why are you rubbing against me then?”

“I… fuck…” You grabbed his head, pulling him closer, the exquisite blend of mild pain and pleasure mingling together.

Joel's broad body appeared behind him, and your friend groaned at the touch of the lube-covered finger.

“Give him one more, sweetheart. You know you can give us more.”

Javi's grunting between your folds increased. You wondered how many fingers Joel was pushing in. One? Two? Another orgasm built in your core at the thought, your fingers digging into Javi's scalp, and you rolled your hips even harder than 10 seconds before.

“You’re so close, so fucking gorgeous like that. Wide open for us.”

His praise made you come on Javi’s tongue, tears streaming from the corners of your eyes onto the pillow. Javi crawled up to you, eyes dark, hair disheveled, drunk on your juices. He slid his tip along your folds, all the way to your clit and you shuddered at this new overstimulation, spreading your thighs wide, giving him full access. He pushed in and you felt whole again. Filled like you needed to be.

“Fuck… always so fucking perfect for me. So wet. He fucked you real good, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, he always does. You liked watching me getting fucked, Javi?”

He didn't respond right away, feeling Joel kneel behind him. “Answer her,” your ex said in a low, velvety voice.

“I loved it. Loved to see you fall apart in my arms. Loved to see you take it, how breathless you were.”

“You’re gonna be breathless too, soon,” you said when Joel placed one hand on Javi's hip.

“You want me there, Javi?”

“Shit, yeah,” he groaned and Joel pushed in slowly, making room for his cock.

“Kiss me. Kiss me. Let me feel you fall apart, too.”

“Oh fuck…”

“I know, baby, I know. You’re gonna feel so good soon. Let him in. Let him in, Javi.”

You knew that Joel bottomed out when Javi did the same inside you, driven by Joel's pace, his body quivering and shaking.

“Feel good?”

“Fuck… yeah. Shit.”

Joel picked up the pace, his eyes fixed on you. Yours were moving from one man to the other.

“You’re gonna come, Javi? Gonna fill my cunt?”

He nodded, unable to answer, his face twisted with pleasure. Joel's broad shoulders tensed, while his hands gripped Javi harder. One on his hip, the other on his shoulder for leverage. Javi was thrusting into you at the same pace Joel was sinking into him. You licked Javi's neck before nibbling on his earlobe.

“Babe…” he whined.

“Give it to me, Javi,” you said, eyes fixed on Joel.

“Fuck! I’m gonna come….”

Javi moaned as his cum coated your walls, and didn’t stop humping you until you milked his cock to the last drop, the jolts of his body beneath your fingers and between your thighs then slowing down before they stopped.

Joel was chasing his climax, thrusting hard and deep, hands on Javi’s hips. His jaw clenched and his body tensed, the veins in his neck bulging, as he threw his head back in pleasure when he bottomed out one last time. He froze, groaning, his large hand gripping Javi's shoulder tightly.

“Fuck,” Javi groaned, before they pulled out and plopped on the bed, Javi between the two of you. You were catching your breaths, bodies covered in sweat.

“See? Told you to trust me, baby, there at the restaurant,” Javi smiled and raised his arm for you to curl up against him.

“I’m glad I did,” you said before kissing his chest.

Your hand brushed Javi’s belly then reached Joel, and grabbed his side. He smiled at you.

You didn't know what your future held with those two men, but the weekend was just beginning.

More Javi x reader x Joel: Blackmail series (different AU)

Thank you for reading 🙏

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️

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colouredbyd · 1 day ago

Text

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy!

cowboy!remus lupin x fem!reader

synopsis : a sunshine-soft baker moves to town, all ribbons, sweet talk, and a habit of staring a little too long at the cowboy next door. remus lupin tries to focus on his chores, but it’s hard when she keeps calling him remmy and baking him sweets. neither mean to flirt—but the heat’s been rising like bread in an oven, and something’s bound to give

warnings: NSFW, explicit sexual content, graphic language, strong sexual themes, dirty talk, sexual tension, suggestive themes, public or semi-public sexual encounters, alot of dirty thoughts, implied exhibitionism, explicit scenes of desire, lots of cum, eating out, oral sex, no penetrative sex, getting caught dry humping, spitting, fingering, eating out, panty sniffing?, making out, grinding, kinda riding? porn but with plot.

w/c: 5.8k

a/n: all i can say is i should be ashamed for writing this...(to anyone who knows me: im sorry about the horse scene I COULDNT HELP IT)

masterlist

Remus Lupin swears he’s got self-control, the kind that’s been hammered into him by years of quiet mornings and grueling afternoons.

He wakes with the sun, hands steady and weathered, working the land like clockwork—feeding cattle, fixing fences, cleaning stalls, the rhythm of routine keeping the ache at bay.

Black coffee steams beside him, boots lined neatly by the door, shirts buttoned up and clean, a man shaped by order and slow, simple needs.

Not much stirs him anymore. Not since the war carved its scars deep into his bones, the kind of ache that settles like rain-soaked dust, dull and constant.

But then, you open your bakery—just two weeks ago—and suddenly, the world shifts beneath his boots.

The last thing Remus Lupin wants to do is lay blame—he’s a grown man, weathered by war and wind, with the calluses to prove it—but in a way, you’re the reason why.

The mere thought of you is enough to make this cowboy go buckwild.

It starts innocent, if only in theory.

He’s out in the field at dawn, meant to be feeding the cattle, fixing the fence, maybe even—God willing—cleaning the horse stalls. But the second your name crosses his mind, he’s gone. Useless.

He stands there with hay in his hands and a slack-jawed expression like he’s been shot in the chest with a buttercream bullet. Doesn’t even notice when the old barn cat winds around his boots or when the horses whinny for their breakfast. He just thinks about you.

And it’s always you.

You, with your little bakery nestled on the corner of Main and Maple, a bright splash of life in the dusty town.

You, wrapped in sundresses kissed by morning light, apron smudged with flour, humming soft songs as you tuck wildflowers into window boxes like secrets meant only for the breeze.

You, waving at every passerby like you’ve belonged here forever—even though you just arrived two weeks ago—and smiling at him like he’s the only thing worth pausing the world for.

It’s almost cruel, the way you’ve shattered him with nothing but kindness and sunlight.

Remus had rules once—wake before dawn, work hard, want less than a man can bear—but you slipped in with your sugar-dusted hands and your laugh like a promise, and now his quiet world is a storm. Because he can’t stop watching you.

Can’t stop craving the curve of your smile, the way flour dusts your cheek like a trace of sin, the softness in your voice when you greet him with that simple, “Morning, cowboy,” like you know exactly how those words strip him bare inside.

And what it does to him—God, it’s sinful, a temptation he’s only just learning how to fight.

You make his hands tremble, his mind stray into wicked places, and his mouth go dry with need. He’s stumbled over his own damn boots more times this week than he has in years, and every misstep is because of you.

The way you lean over that counter, offering him a piece of warm apple pie “on the house,” your scent mingling with the sweetness, setting his skin on fire.

The way you hum, soft and low, like a secret lullaby meant just to tease him. The way your dress sways around your knees, like you’ve never known a single touch that wasn’t hungry, like every inch of you is aching to be claimed.

Today, you slide a wrapped croissant into his palm—blueberry, he guesses, but all he can taste is the ghost of your fingers pressed to his skin, and he nearly drops it, heat pooling low and thick in his gut.

“Thanks,” he manages, voice rough like gravel scraped raw and worn down by too many restless nights and secret pains you can almost taste in the air between you.

You smile at him, warm and bright, like the sun itself had carved that grin just for him, a gentle blaze cutting through the cold edges of his quiet world.

“See you next Sunday?” you ask, voice soft but threaded with a promise that feels like it could burn through stone.

He tips his hat, trying to hide the way his ears bloom a shy, stubborn pink beneath the fabric, but you see it all—the way he’s unraveling just a little, like he’s been waiting for this moment more than he’d ever admit.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he says, voice low and steady but soaked in something fierce and fragile all at once.

And you know, with every fiber of yourself, he won’t. Even if it kills him.

Because Remus Lupin may be a man of quiet restraint, of slow mornings stretched thin with hesitation and a heart bruised and battered far beyond what any soul should carry—but for you?

For you, he’s already halfway gone, swallowed whole by the gravity of your presence, lost somewhere between the ache and the hope you stir deep inside him.

You don’t see him turn back after he walks away, but he does—just for a heartbeat, a breath stolen in the quiet chaos of his own racing heart.

Remus glances over his shoulder, jaw clenched tight, eyes sharp but soft all at once, catching one last fleeting glimpse of your silhouette framed in the window’s fading light.

You’re already moving, already weaving through the room with that effortless grace, already smiling at the next stranger who crosses your path, slipping away from him like the fragile morning light that dances through the leaves—too quick, too fleeting to hold onto.

He tells himself to stop thinking about the ghost of your fingers brushing his skin, the way your voice hums in his ears even now, a sacred hymn that refuses to fade.

He tells himself to forget it, to shove it deep beneath the weight of reason and restraint, but you linger in his blood like a whispered curse he can’t shake.

Meanwhile, miles away, before the sun even has the courage to rise, you’re waking with the world still wrapped in a lavender yawn.

The air holds that delicate chill of dawn, the kind that promises something new and untouched, and you slip on your short linen sundress, the fabric light as a sigh against your skin. A soft pink ribbon finds its way into your hair, tied just so, fluttering like a secret only you know.

You step out into the cool hush of morning, breath mingling with the mist that clings to the lake behind your cottage, where the world feels paused, sacred, and waiting.

The geese shuffle towards you, their honks soft and shy, and you coo at them with a sweetness that drips like honey from your lips—tossing cracked corn from your palm, murmuring, “You handsome little gentlemen,” and teasing, “Don’t be mean, Harold, everyone gets breakfast.”

In this stillness, this fragile quiet, you hold the whole world in your hands.

You like this moment—the solitude, the gentle promise it carries—because here, just here, you are the only girl in the world.

After the geese are fed and the lake has kissed your ankles like a shy hello, you follow the winding road into town, the sun barely half past seven but already spilling warmth across your skin, filling your chest with a sweetness that feels like it could burst.

“Morning, Miss Lily!” you call, your voice bright and light as you wave to the florist tending dahlias on her porch.

Her eyes crinkle with a smile, and she teases, “Well, don’t you look like a postcard—off to steal some hearts today?”

You laugh, adjusting the basket perched on your hip, “Just flour, I promise.”

She shoots back with a knowing grin, “Flour and trouble, more like.”

You wink and keep moving, bare feet gliding over the cobblestones like a secret only the earth knows — light, quiet, familiar.

The morning sun is already warm on your skin, and your soles are still damp from the pond, where you’d been feeding the geese just minutes earlier, ankles muddy, bread crusts tucked in your apron pocket. You’d kicked off your shoes to keep them clean and never quite bothered putting them back on.

Children dart past, chasing laughter through the square, their shrieks bright and wild.

You crouch without thinking, catching the youngest boy by the elbow before he trips on his own shoelaces. “Whoa, careful there, darling,” you murmur, fingers working fast to tie a double knot as he steadies against your shoulder.

He nods solemnly, wide-eyed, before beaming when you press a lollipop into his palm from your apron’s front pocket. “You’ll have to tell me if it’s too sour,” you tease, tapping his nose.

He scampers off with a sticky grin, and you turn just in time to see a little girl hovering near your skirts, shy fingers twisting in her dress.

You kneel again and offer her a warm smile, pulling from your apron a carefully wrapped chocolate chip cookie — tied with red ribbon, baked fresh last night, soft in the center just the way she likes.

“There you go, Hazel,” you whisper, smoothing her curls from her forehead. “It’s the last one, so guard it with your life.”

She giggles, cheeks pink, and runs to show her mother, cookie clutched in both hands like treasure.

Then it’s onward to the bakery—your pride wrapped in pink walls nestled between the apothecary and the old bookshop, ivy crawling up the windows like whispered promises.

Rose-gold lettering gleams softly above the door, lace curtains framing the scent of vanilla, sugar, and warm peaches that wraps around you like a hug.

The bell chimes as you step inside, the shelves half-full from yesterday’s labor: lemon loaves, rosewater scones, lavender honey buns waiting to be kissed by morning light.

You hum quietly, lighting candles and watering the violets on the windowsill, feeling the quiet pulse of this place you built with your hands and your heart.

And then—just like that, as if summoned straight from the reckless corners of your mind—he’s there.

Remus Lupin.

Striding through the dusty street like a dangerous fantasy you never dared dream. His boots scuffed and weathered from god knows what, the worn denim of his jeans stretched tight over hips that speak of muscle and sin, every damn curve making your blood race and your mind spiral.

His shirt hangs half-open, teasing the sharp angles of his collarbone, the warm, rough skin beneath dusted with dirt and sweat, as if he’s just come from wrestling something wild and primal.

His hat is tipped low, but when his eyes lift and catch yours through the glass, everything inside you snaps taut and wild.

You try to hide it—pretending to wipe the counter, fingers trembling and heat burning your cheeks—but it’s a poor disguise.

“Morning, sweetheart,” his voice drips with honey and something darker, low and smooth, and it hits you right in the gut like a shot of whiskey.

“Good morning, Lupin” you breathe back, syrupy sweet, though your body is humming with a different kind of hunger, the kind that curls in your stomach and drips heat between your thighs.

His ears flush pink, and you swear it makes him ten times hotter, the shy confidence battling with the raw, untamed man beneath.

He shifts the bag of apples in his hands, eyes flickering up to yours like he’s trying to read a secret only you hold.

“Brought you something,” he mutters, voice low and rough, like the words taste damn good on his tongue. “Apples. From the orchard.”

You tilt your head, smile teasing, “That’s sweet of you, Remus. What, trying to win me over with fruit now?”

He chuckles, a deep, gravelly sound that makes your skin prickle. “Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted an excuse to come see you. You know, without looking like a damn fool just standing outside your bakery all day.”

Your breath catches. “Oh, so you’ve been watching, huh?”

He runs a hand through his hair, voice rougher now, like he’s barely holding himself together. “God, I—I don’t know how you do it, but you’ve got me—fuck, you’ve got me all tangled up.”

But all you can think about is the way those hands must grip—rough and sure—how they’d feel pressed against your skin, tracing the lines of your body as if memorizing every inch, every shiver, every desperate need.

How close he could get before the ache inside you explodes. The wild scent of earth and sweat and something raw and hungry clings to him like a second skin, and it wraps around you like a promise of sin.

Your smile is all sunshine and soft wickedness. “You keep doing this and I’m going to start thinking you like me.”

He pauses, blinking. “I—I mean”

You giggle and take the bag from his hands, fingers brushing once more.

“I’m just teasing,” you say, even though you're not, not entirely.

He nods, flustered, already backing toward the door like a man escaping a wildfire.

“Have a good day,” he manages.

“You too, handsome.”

You catch the way his shoulders stiffen, how he trips just slightly on the step.

And gods, it’s almost unfair—the effect you have.

But then again, you saw the way Miss Dervish from the tailor’s shop stared at him like she was ready to mount him like a broomstick right there on Main Street.

Remus Lupin really has all the ladies in town ovulating at the mere sight of him.

Truth is: the whole damn town is in love with Remus Lupin.

But only you get to see the way he looks at your mouth when you laugh. Only you get to make him blush like a boy.

And if he keeps showing up in those jeans, with that voice and that jaw and those hands that look like they could ruin and worship all at once—you’re going to forget how to bake entirely.

By midday, the bakery hums with warmth and chatter, full to the brim with townsfolk craving something sweet.

Your apron is dusted in flour and your lips are berry-stained from tasting jam. The sun outside is golden and bold, filtering through the windows like it’s falling in love with everything it touches—especially you.

You hum as you knead dough, hips swaying gently to the old French jazz playing on the radio.

There’s strawberry juice on your wrists and sugar under your nails. A tray of pies is cooling by the window, their scent thick and syrupy, while rows of rose-shaped butter cookies wait to be iced.

But something’s missing.

Chocolate.

And not just any chocolate—your favorite dark cocoa from the little cupboard at the Lupin farm, the one you tucked away weeks ago when Remus helped carry crates after the harvest fair. He’d told you to stop by for it anytime. So you do.

Not because of the chocolate, though. Not really.

You wipe your hands, untie your apron, and slip out the back door into the sun, your ribbon fluttering in the breeze.

The road to his farm is all wildflowers and bees, the kind of walk that makes you hum to yourself and twirl your skirt, completely unaware of what exactly you're walking into.

You spot him before he sees you.

Remus Lupin. On horseback.

And everything in you goes quiet.

He’s riding slow through the lower pasture, one hand on the reins, the other lifting his hat just enough to rake his fingers through his tousled hair before setting it back in place.

His shirt is undone even more now, clinging with sweat to the sharp slope of his chest, sleeves rolled to reveal those tanned, veined forearms that belong in sin. The muscles in his thighs flex under worn denim as he guides the horse in a slow, powerful trot, hips rising and falling with maddening ease.

You freeze, caught like a deer in the fading light.

His every move is a slow burn—the way he eases off that horse, boots landing heavy on the ground, the muscles in his arms flexing just enough to make your pulse slam against your ribs.

God, he knows exactly what he’s doing, and you’re helpless to look away, your mouth suddenly too dry to form the words you want to say.

Your thoughts spiral, filthy and urgent—how those hands might grip your waist, rough and possessive, pulling you flush against him so close you’d feel every breath, every beat of that steady heart beneath calloused skin.

You imagine the low growl in his voice if he ever lost control, thick and desperate, the kind that shreds all your carefully built walls down to nothing.

And then there’s that hat—the stupid, perfect thing perched on his head, begging to be yanked off like a silent challenge.

You want to reach out, fingers trembling, to drag it free and whisper the words you’d never dare speak aloud: fuck me, Remus.

But you don’t. You can’t. You just watch, helpless and aching.

His gaze locks on you, slow and deliberate, and your breath stutters, caught on the razor’s edge of something fierce and unspoken.

He steps closer, the scent of leather and sweat wrapping around you like a promise, shirt clinging to the lines of his back like a second skin, each movement designed to make your heart race and your mind spiral into sin.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, voice low and honeyed, amused like he’s got some wicked secret only you’re about to discover. “Didn’t see you there.”

You force a smile, too sweet, heart already stammering like a busted engine. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Just came by for the cocoa.”

He nods, eyes drifting to the horse beside him, and then his hand lifts slow and sure, stroking the mare’s neck with a touch so gentle it makes your skin itch in all the wrong places.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he murmurs, voice dipping lower, thick and warm, like a promise you’re not sure you want but can’t resist.

“Was out riding my favorite girl Dai.” His palm slides along the mare’s side, fingers curling like he’s tracing a secret, a sacred line.

“Weren’t you such a good girl, huh?”

And damn, the way he says it—“good girl”—it’s filthy, all slick sin wrapped in a whisper.

The way his fingers trail over Dai’s bridle, so soft, like he’s touching something precious, something he wants to own, to protect.

You try not to squirm, but your legs suddenly wobble, knees weak like you’re caught in a heatwave you didn’t see coming, and there’s this fire burning low between your thighs that has absolutely nothing to do with flour or sugar or any damn thing you should be thinking about right now.

His eyes flicker back to you, catching the blush flaming across your cheeks, and that twitch at the corner of his mouth tells you he knows exactly the kind of mess he’s making you into—helpless, hot, aching for a touch that hasn’t even happened yet.

“You alright?” he asks, voice teasing but laced with something deeper, something that makes your breath hitch.

You nod, way too fast, words catching on a tremor you can’t hide. “Fine. Just… warm.”

“Mm,” he says. “Bet you are.”

He chuckles, the sound low and rough, like a rumble that shakes your bones. “That’s my favorite girl,” he says, patting Dai’s neck again, “and I reckon you’re my favorite baker.”

You have never in your life wished more to be a goddamn horse than right now.

Because the way he says it, the slow slide of his gaze over you—like he’s already imagining running those rough hands down your back, the heat of his breath ghosting over your skin, whispering all the things he’d do if you let him—makes your insides twist and writhe in delicious agony, caught between wanting and knowing you probably shouldn’t.

But fuck, you want it. You want him. Every filthy, sinful inch of him.

And when he turns toward the farmhouse, his voice is casual, almost teasing.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s go get you that cocoa. Unless you forgot what you came for.”

You definitely did.

But you follow him anyway, biting your tongue, wondering if you can survive five more minutes with this man in his boots and half-unbuttoned shirt and sinful drawl calling anything a good girl.

He walks ahead a few paces, and even from behind, he’s maddening—long legs, golden shoulders beneath that half-undone shirt, a slow, easy swagger that feels like temptation incarnate.

You try not to watch him. You try not to think about what his hands would feel like if they weren’t holding reins or flour sacks. You try not to imagine what his voice might sound like pressed right against your ear.

You fail. Miserably.

The air is warmer inside the farmhouse, thick with the scent of pinewood and tobacco, and your eyes need a second to adjust as you step through the door behind him.

But you don’t get far.

Your toe catches on something—maybe the edge of the rug, maybe a boot left by the door—and your balance tilts out from under you in one horrible, slow-motion stumble.

“Oh—!”

But he’s there.

In an instant, large hands catch you by the waist, grounding you before you even fall.

One arm wraps behind your back, steady and sure, and suddenly you’re pressed flush against him, breath caught between your teeth and heart thundering in your ears.

“Careful there, sweetheart,” he says, voice gentle, eyes flicking down to check you over. “Would’ve hated to see you hurt yourself.”

You laugh a little too quickly, palms resting on his chest for balance. “I—I’m okay. Just clumsy.”

He doesn’t let go right away.

His thumb brushes your waist without thinking, and it sends a spark right through you.

Your body is burning where he’s touching you. And his eyes—soft brown, full of quiet amusement—study your face like you’re some kind of puzzle he wouldn’t mind spending a few lifetimes figuring out.

Then, slowly, he lets go.

“Chocolate, wasn’t it?” he murmurs, stepping back and guiding you with a light hand on your lower back. “Think I’ve got just the kind you like.”

You nod, heart in your throat. “Y-yeah. The one with the orange peel in it.”

He smiles. “Knew it. Sweet with a little bite.”

You try not to read into that. You really try.

He leads you to a wooden shelf near the back of the kitchen, cluttered with old jars, dried herbs hanging in bunches, tins of tea, and a few blocks of dark chocolate wrapped in paper and tied with string.

He crouches to rummage through the lower shelf, muttering softly under his breath.

Meanwhile, your gaze wanders again. The way his fingers handle everything with such care.

And—damn it—the way the back of his shirt clings to his waist, damp with sweat, tucked just loosely enough into those low-hung jeans.

You’re not sure how long you’re standing there trying not to ogle him when he straightens up and hands you two wrapped bars.

“Right here,” he says, tapping one. “One with orange, one with cinnamon. Just in case.”

You beam, holding both to your chest. “You’re a lifesaver.”

He shrugs, easy. “Wouldn’t want you runnin’ out mid-pie. That’d be a tragedy.”

You turn to leave, already backing toward the door, your heart full and fluttering.

But before you go, you glance back over your shoulder.

“Thanks, Remmy,” you say softly, voice light and sweet, ribbon swaying behind you as you walk away, leaving him standing there with a tent in his pants.

Remus Lupin is a patient man.

But you’ve gone and made a mess of all that.

He hasn’t been able to sit still since.

The moment you left, the house felt too empty. The kitchen too quiet. Only the faint scent of orange and cinnamon lingered in the air—sweet, stubborn reminders of you—and Remus couldn’t stop staring at the counter where your fingers had just been.

He drags a hand over the back of his neck, pacing slow in his kitchen, heart pounding like he’s fresh out of a goddamn rodeo.

It’s the way you said Remmy again, all soft and sweet like the syllables were something you wanted to wrap in lace.

The way your fingers brushed his when you took the chocolate.

The way you stumbled and he caught you, hands on your waist for one second too long—and how he’s still not sure if that flutter in your chest was nerves or something else.

Something hopeful.

Something dangerous.

He leans against the doorframe, staring out across the sunlit fields, pretending like the quiet out there might calm the storm in here. It doesn’t.

He can still see you standing in the road, squinting up at him on horseback like you were about to fall on your knees.

Can still hear the breath you took when he slid off Dai and murmured good girl to the horse, his hand smoothing over her mane—and how your eyes never left his mouth.

He tells himself he’s imagining it.

He tells himself it’s the heat, the dust, the soft haze of summer playing tricks.

But his hands still ache from where they steadied your fall. His chest still burns from the way you smiled, like he’d given you the whole damn world for the price of chocolate.

And his thoughts—his thoughts are filthy, honey-thick, clinging.

You’re too sweet. Too soft. Too kind for the way he wants you.

He wants to press you up against the counter of that bakery, sugar and flour in your hair.

He wants to take that sundress off slow, like he’s unwrapping something too delicate for a man like him.

He wants to kiss your throat, taste your laugh, ruin your lip gloss.

And worst of all—he wants to hold your hand after.

Remus Lupin is a patient man.

But for you, he’s starting to lose the only good sense he has left.

Which is why, only a few hours after you left, Remus Lupin found himself walking into town like a man possessed.

He told himself it was nothing. Just a visit. Just being polite.

But his boots hit the pavement harder than they should, dust kicking up behind him as he strode past Mrs. Macmillan’s garden and the old chapel, not sparing a single glance for the women who giggled behind parasols or the way someone’s daughter nearly walked into a fence watching him go by.

He didn’t notice them. Not their perfume, not their waves, not their sun-warmed stares.

His eyes were fixed ahead—on the pink-tinged little building with ivy creeping up the sides and a wooden sign that read The Wildflower Oven. On you.

The bell above the door rang softly when he stepped inside, and he nearly forgot how to breathe.

There you were.

Bent slightly over the counter, piping delicate swirls of icing onto golden vanilla muffins, ribbons tied in your hair like you were spun from sugar yourself.

You were humming something soft, something dreamy and old, and when you glanced up—when your eyes landed on him, bright as sunlight through a summer orchard—you smiled.

“Hi, Rem,” you said, warm and easy.

Rem.

It hit him like a punch to the gut.

That little nickname, all familiar and fond and sinful in the way it curled off your tongue.

His heart gave a desperate lurch in his chest, and he felt—viscerally—the tight pull of desire low in his stomach. His belt was suddenly too snug.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he managed, stepping toward the counter as you finished your muffin with a final flourish.

“Didn’t expect to see you again today,” you said, licking a bit of frosting off your finger. “What brings you here? Another chocolate craving?”

He watched your tongue flick over the tip of your finger like you didn’t even know what you were doing. Or maybe you did.

Maybe you knew exactly how you looked, sunlight on your skin and icing on your lips, a walking fever dream of every soft thing he’s ever wanted.

“Couldn’t stay away,” he said, voice thick.

You laughed, and he knew he was done for.

You moved to grab a towel, but he caught your wrist before you could, gentle but firm, eyes locked to yours.

“I shouldn’t,” he murmured. “I know I shouldn’t.”

But you tilted your head, curious. “Shouldn’t what?”

“This,” he said—and then he pulled you in.

His mouth met yours like he’d waited a lifetime. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t polite.

It was needy, hot, his hands gripping your waist and pulling you flush against him as he pressed you back into the counter, scattering a few napkins and flour-dusted tins.

You gasped into the kiss, your hands gripping his shoulders, and he groaned when your hips shifted against his.

The friction nearly undid him.

You were so soft, so warm, and he wanted all of you. Every kiss, every sigh, every inch of skin under that sundress he’d memorized with his eyes.

You whimpered when he kissed down your neck, when his hand slid beneath your apron and gripped your hip hard enough to leave heat in its wake.

“Remus,” you whispered, breathless.

He pulled back for half a second, just to see you—flushed cheeks, kiss-swollen lips, eyes wide and shining.

“I’ve been thinking about this all damn day,” he confessed, his voice rough with restraint he no longer had. “You’ve been driving me wild, honey. You walk around this town looking like that and expect me to act right?”

Your fingers slid beneath the hem of his shirt, making him hiss through clenched teeth. “Maybe I don’t want you to act right.”

That was all it took.

A deep, guttural groan tore from his throat as his mouth slammed back onto yours, hips thrusting forward on pure instinct.

The counter shook beneath the weight of your desperate bodies. The kiss deepened, savage and hungry. You clung to him like you’d shatter without his touch—maybe you would.

Slowly, deliberately, you lifted a leg and wrapped it tight around his waist, lowering yourself onto his rock-hard cock.

A guttural groan spilled from his lips as his hands crushed your waist, pulling you harder against him, grinding you with agonizing slowness.

“Shit, baby, can’t do that to me,” Remus groaned, voice thick and ragged against your mouth.

“I really fucking need you.” His hands tore at your dress, breaking the kiss to rip it off, then devoured your breasts with greedy fingers and mouth. He sucked your nipples hard, tugging like he needed to mark you as his.

You peeled your legs free and steadied yourself on the counter, tossing the dress aside. Remus freed his cock, rock-hard and leaking slick precum onto his jeans. Shameless, he stroked himself slow and steady.

“Keep ‘em on.” His voice was low, rough with need as he didn’t let you slide your panties off. Instead, he wrapped his arms tight around your hips and pulled you down so your back pressed flush against his broad chest.

With an effortless lift, he hoisted you up, spreading your thighs just enough with his free hand, pressing his aching cock right between them.

“Remmy…” you breathed out, tilting your head back to kiss along his sharp jawline, soft and slow.

His cowboy hat sat slightly crooked on his head, the worn brim shadowing his dark eyes—an irresistible invitation. Your fingers reached up, bold and trembling, and slowly you pulled the hat off his head, letting it slip free like a promise.

You lifted it carefully, the faint scent of leather and sun-soaked days lingering in the fabric, and slipped it over your own hair, the brim dipping low over your eyes, hiding your flushed cheeks.

Remus’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening with need as he stared at you—his hat on your head like a secret you were daring him to unravel.

You were officially trying to kill him. Remus Lupin—death by pussy. A noble death, really.

His hands clenched your waist tighter, hips pressing harder against yours. “Gods, you in my hat…” His voice was low, rough with want, “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

You moaned softly, heat pooling deep and thick between your legs, your voice barely more than a whisper, “You’re so big.”

“Shit, y-you’re squeezing,” he murmured, voice ragged as he looked down. Your hips moved gently, rocking back and forth, thighs curling tenderly around his cock that throbbed hard against your thin fabric.

You both gasped sharply the moment his cock brushed against your soaked, sensitive clit.

Remus couldn’t stop touching you, not if he tried. One hand toyed with the frilly hem of your panties, teasing and pulling, while the other wrapped snug around your heaving chest, fingers kneading and claiming.

“Spit on it, baby,” he growled low, heat dripping from every word.

You leaned your head down, eyes locked on the slick glistening wetness smearing your inner thighs, and without hesitation, spit right on the tip of his cock—just like he wanted—earning a deep, guttural moan vibrating straight through you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he cursed, pressing your thighs tighter together, trapping his twitching cock between them, moving just enough to drive you wild.

When he finally came, the bite he left on your shoulder was painful and possessive, hot and rough as he spilled his release all over the front of your panties.

He dragged the tip of his cock through the slick mess, spreading it, marking you thoroughly.

“What are you doing?” you blinked down at him, breath hitching. Remus knelt on the floor, hands sliding your legs apart and resting them gently on his broad shoulders.

“Cleanin’ you up.” His lips burned against the soft skin of your inner thigh, tongue flat and warm as it licked away every trace of his mess, slick and sticky.

His dark brown eyes, shadowed beneath furrowed brows and heavy lashes glistening with moisture, lifted to meet yours just as he reached your center.

Your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, heart pounding in the quiet tension.

Remus wrapped his mouth around the stained front of your panties, sucking them clean with a slow, deliberate hunger.

His fingers trembled as they slid the fabric aside, revealing slick heat slicked with his cum underneath. He swallowed hard, lips curving into a satisfied grin pressed against your stomach.

“Can I touch your pretty pussy?” His voice was rough, desperate, a shiver running down your spine.

You nodded quickly, breath catching as his cold fingertips ghosted over your swollen clit.

A thick bead of spit fell from his mouth, slick and wet, coating your slick folds before he replaced his fingers with his tongue, warm and insistent.

Your hand dove into his hair, gripping tight as you pulled him closer, needing every inch of him against your burning heat.

His low moan vibrated against your skin, lips and nose grazing your clit, and damn—he could smell you, raw and intoxicating, making him lose himself completely.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he breathed, pulling away just long enough to praise you, hand already palming that aching, swollen cock again.

The pain only made him harder, the desperate urge to touch himself uncontrollable.

With a wicked glint in his eye, he snapped the elastic against your sensitive skin drawing a startled whimper from your throat.

“Rem, I’m gonna come!” you whimpered, that tight knot in your stomach about to unravel.

If his mouth wasn’t still buried between your thighs, you’d have caught the smug smirk spreading across his face.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he hooked a finger into the waistband and pushed your panties to the side, exposing you to the cool air—and to him.

His palm pressed firmly against your lower stomach, moving in slow, possessive circles until you cried out his name, the sound raw and needy.

“Sensitive, yeah?” he murmured, lips trailing soft kisses over your clit, making you jerk and shiver.

You tried squeezing your legs shut, but Remus was relentless—elbow hooking under your thighs to pry them open wide, resting your legs on his shoulders as he dove back into your slick heat.

“Please, Rem, someone could come in!” you gasped, attempting to push him away.

“Just a little more, baby,” he slurred, tongue flicking expertly around your trembling hole.

“Gotta come,” he muttered, sharpening the tip of his tongue and plunging it deep inside you, making you gasp and tremble with pure, desperate need.

He curled his tongue inside you before pulling back and spitting wetly inside, the slick fabric pressed against your pussy.

Your eyes snapped open as his fingers slid in alongside the soaked cloth, stretching you deliciously.

“Fuck, you’re sweeter than any damn pie,” he groaned, voice thick with need as he pushed himself up.

“Gonna cum all over this cunt.”

Hovering over you, your legs wrapped instinctively around his torso, clutching him tight. His cock slapped hard against your clit before he began grinding the swollen tip back and forth, moaning deep and loud.

Breath ragged, he sighed softly as hot spurts of cum dripped slick between your folds, the bunch of fabric trapped inside catching most of the mess.

“Fuck, fuck, such a good girl f’me.”

He let his whole weight collapse onto you, hands bracing on your shoulders to pull you impossibly close.

“So fuckin’ good, baby, best damn pussy in this town.” he muttered, words thick with filthy adoration, peppered with profanity.

Sliding down, he planted soft, worshipful kisses on your collarbone, trailing lower to your chest and stomach.

You grabbed your dress off the counter and fumbled to pull it back on, fingers trembling as you tried to find the sleeves.

“Here—c’mere, baby,” Remus murmured, stepping in to help, his hands steady where yours shook. He took his hat and put it back on his head and then guided the fabric up over your shoulders, smoothing it down gently before reaching for the ribbon that had slipped loose in your hair.

“Hold still, love,” he said, voice soft, almost fond, as he tied it back into place. Then he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips—slow, sweet, grounding.

Before you could turn away, his arms snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against him. He caged you gently between his chest and the counter, forehead dropping to yours. “You know,” he whispered, breath warm against your lips, “you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

Your smile curved wicked. “Even right now?”

“Especially right now.”

You reached down, curling your fingers through his until his hand was yours again. Slowly, deliberately, you brought it to your mouth—and licked the remaining mess from his fingers, eyes never leaving his.

Remus Lupin was, quite officially, dead and gone for—completely wiped out at the sight of you licking his own cum off his fingers, the sweet angel baker of the town now standing before him as the most gloriously obscene vision he’d ever laid eyes on.

Yeah, Remus was absolutely, undeniably done for.

But then—

CRASH.

The bakery door slammed open with the force of a thunderclap, bell jangling like an alarm.

A deep roar of an engine echoed behind it, followed by the unmistakable snarl of tires on pavement and the lingering scent of leather and smoke.

And standing in the doorway, sunglasses low on his nose, helmet under one arm and a slow smirk tugging at his mouth—

Was Sirius Black.

“Am I interrupting?” he drawled, voice like trouble and sin.

#colouredbyd #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x reader smut #remus lupin smut #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin oneshot #remus x reader smut #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin hc #remus lupin fic #remus lupin headcanon #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin angst #cowboy!remus

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lowrisemiller · 2 days ago

Note

Heyy!! You are a PHENOMENAL writer!! I love your fics - I read them every night before bed as one does. I feel like you capture Joel’s character amazingly and I adore your work.

Could you maybe write something about where Joel meets reader’s parents, specifically her dad? I would really enjoy to see how that dynamic plays out. 💛💛

ᴍᴇᴇᴛɪɴ’ ʜᴇʀ ꜰᴏʟᴋꜱ

old man!joel miller x younger!fem!reader

srry this took so long, I hope you enjoy!!

masterlist | 1k words | age gap, protective!Joel, nervous reader, dad-meets-boyfriend tension, eventually soft smut in reader’s childhood bedroom, praise kink, creampie

divider by @cursed-carmine

Joel stands next to you on the porch, smoothing a hand down the front of his button-up. You can feel the tension rolling off him, subtle but steady—like he’s facing a job site inspection instead of your parents’ Sunday dinner.

“I look alright?” he murmurs under his breath.

You glance up at him. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled to his forearms, that salt-and-pepper hair still damp from a fresh shower. He looks stupidly good. And nervous. You nod, giving his hand a squeeze.

“You look perfect. Just… maybe don’t mention the age difference right away.”

He huffs, mouth twitching. “You think they won’t notice?”

Before you can answer, the front door opens.

Your mom smiles politely, but your dad lingers behind her, eyes narrowing at the man holding your hand.

“This must be Joel,” your mom says, stepping aside.

Joel releases your hand to offer hers a firm shake. “Ma’am.”

Then, your dad.

“Sir.”

There’s a long moment where your dad just stares at him. Then he clasps Joel’s hand a little too tightly. You feel the silent “this is my daughter” vibrating in the air.

You don’t breathe until everyone sits at the dinner table.

The meal starts… tense.

Your mom makes small talk. Joel is polite, respectful—uses “yes ma’am” and “no sir” like he was born to it. But your dad? He watches him like a hawk. Like he’s trying to do the math in his head: How did my twenty-something daughter end up with a man pushing sixty?

Joel doesn’t flinch under the scrutiny.

When your dad asks, “So what do you do, Joel?” he answers calmly.

“Contractin’. Been in construction most of my life. Own a little business now, just me and a couple of guys.”

Your dad grunts. “Honest work.”

“Yes, sir.”

You squeeze Joel’s knee under the table, and he brushes his thumb over your knuckles.

Later, when your mom mentions your baking, Joel lights up. “Her banana bread’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

You blink. “Joel—”

“I mean it,” he says, eyes warm on yours. “That and the cherry pie she made last weekend—tasted like home.”

Your mom softens. Your dad finally cracks a smile.

Joel doesn’t boast. He just is—quiet, solid, kind. You can see it landing slowly, like rain soaking into dry earth. By the time dessert hits the table, your dad is asking Joel about tools he uses and telling him how he redid the garage back in ’05.

When your mom begins gathering plates, Joel stands. “Let me help.”

You barely stifle a grin when your mom pats his arm. “A gentleman. I see why she likes you.”

It’s almost surreal, how well it ends. The front porch is warm under your bare feet as you sit on a rocking chair sharing wine with your mom.

“Joel,” your dad says, voice lower now, “She’s… important to us.”

Joel nods. “She’s important to me too.”

And just like that, the heavy cloud lifts.

You’re breathless by the time your bedroom door shuts behind you. Joel’s hands are already on your waist, mouth pressed hot against your throat.

“You were so good in there,” you whisper. “You won them over.”

His voice is rough, low against your skin. “That what you wanted? Wanted me to charm your daddy so he’d let me come up to your little pink bedroom and fuck his daughter?”

Your knees go weak.

You whimper, and he walks you backward until the backs of your thighs hit the edge of the twin bed. The comforter is still the one you had in high school—sun-faded and soft. Joel kneels in front of you, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your dress up.

“You been thinkin’ about this?” he murmurs. “Me in your old room?”

You nod. “Since before I brought you here.”

He groans softly. “Goddamn.”

He presses open-mouth kisses up your thighs, tongue teasing until you’re trembling. His beard scratches just right, and when his mouth finally settles between your legs, it’s slow and deep and filthy.

You arch, fingers in his hair.

“Joel—please.”

He looks up, lips slick, eyes burning. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

“You. I want your cock. Now.”

He stands and undoes his belt with one hand, the other caressing your cheek. “You want me to fuck you in this bed, sweetheart?”

You nod fast. “Please.”

He pushes inside you in one deep thrust, both of you gasping. The way he stretches you always steals your breath, but tonight it feels different. Your old bed creaks under the weight of him, and the air is thick with the scent of sex and nostalgia.

“You’re mine,” he growls in your ear. “Doesn’t matter if they know how old I am, long as they know I treat you right. Long as you know.”

“I know,” you gasp, clutching his back. “Joel, I love you—”

His rhythm stutters for a second. He cups your face, kisses you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. “I love you too, baby.”

You come around him with a cry muffled into his neck, and he follows with a deep groan, hips stuttering as he fills you.

The room is quiet after, save for your panting breaths.

He lays beside you, one arm under your head, the other hand resting on your stomach. His thumb brushes gently back and forth.

“Think your dad’d still like me if he knew what I just did to you?”

You giggle. “Probably not.”

Joel smirks. “Worth it.”

🏷️ @zevrra @xodilfluvr @millersdoll @littlemillersbaby @amyispxnk

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women-are-hot · 2 days ago

Note

You can write something along the lines of jessie and reader realising themselves that they like one another then like someone else seeing that too

HEAVEN • J. FLEMING

pairing: jessie fleming x female!reader

summary: what the request said

warnings: idiots in love basically. amercia?

a/n: bye, i found this in my drafts and decided to post it.

when jessie fleming joined the portland thorns, you didn’t expect to talk to her much.

she was a famous player, quiet and focused. you worked as a video analyst. someone who stayed in the background, editing clips, tracking runs, and staying out of the way.

but jessie wasn’t what you expected.

she didn’t act like a star. she was quiet, yes, but not distant. she walked around the training center with her hoodie up and her head down, like she didn’t want to be seen. you understood that. you were the same.

you met properly after a practice one day, when you were both hiding from the media.

you were sitting on the floor in the hallway, eating a granola bar and trying to fix a broken file. jessie walked in, looked surprised to see you, then pulled out her earbuds.

“you hiding too?” she asked.

you looked up. “i work here.”

she smiled a little. “that doesn’t mean you want to talk to reporters.”

you nodded. “true…”

jessie sat next to you, pulling her knees to her chest. she didn’t say anything else for a minute.

then you offered her half of your granola bar.

she raised an eyebrow. “what’s in it?”

“mostly glue, i think,” you said. “with a little protein.”

she laughed softly. then took it.

that was the beginning.

—

you and jessie didn’t become friends quickly. it was slow. quiet. small things.

she would wait for you after practice. she would ask about her sprint stats, or sit next to you on the team bus, even when other seats were open.

you would send her game clips with little jokes written in the notes. sometimes she’d send a meme back.

it wasn’t loud or romantic. it was just… good. safe. easy.

when it was just the two of you, something relaxed. you were both shy around other people, but together, you joked more. smiled more. you felt like yourself and you were starting to think she felt that way too.

—

one rainy afternoon, you were working in the film room when jessie walked in.

she didn’t say much. just came in, looked at your screen, and sat next to you.

“is that my running data?” she asked.

“your slow-motion jogs, yes,” you said.

she gave you a look. “you know i hate when you call them that.”

“it’s my job to tell the truth,” you replied, smiling.

she laughed. a soft sound, but it made you warm inside.

jessie leaned in a little closer, watching the screen with you. her shoulder touched yours. neither of you moved away.

you thought:

maybe I’ll say something. maybe this is the moment.

then morgan weaver, jessie’s teammate, walked into the room.

“jessie!” she said, smiling. “you hiding in the film cave again?”

jessie stood up fast, like she’d been caught. “just… checking something.”

morgan looked between you two, then smirked. “sure.”

jessie walked out without saying goodbye.

morgan looked at you. “you know she only ever comes in here when you’re here, right?”

you tried to act casual. “maybe she likes stats.”

morgan raised an eyebrow. “yeah. or maybe she likes you.”

you looked down at your keyboard.

you didn’t say anything. but your heart was racing.

—

that night, jessie sent you a message.

it was a cartoon of two shy people looking at each other without talking. the text said:

“introverts in love.”

you stared at it for a long time.

then replied:

you: “that’s us, huh?”

jessie: “only if you think so.”

you: “i do…”

jessie: “…so do i.”

you smiled. for a while, you just looked at your phone. it felt simple. it felt good.

—

you didn’t talk about feelings right away after the “introverts in love” text.

jessie still sat beside you at lunch, still dropped by the film room and leaned over your shoulder like it was no big deal. still smiled at your dumb jokes and walked next to you in quiet, easy silence.

but something had shifted. small, soft, but real.

then one afternoon, after training, she stayed behind while you packed up your gear.

you turned and found her standing in the doorway, hoodie half-zipped, water bottle in hand. she looked a little nervous.

“hey,” she said.

“hey,” you smiled. “here to critique my edits again?”

she stepped in a bit closer. “no. i… was wondering if you wanted to get coffee with me. like. not just coffee. more like… date coffee.”

you blinked. then blinked again.

and then, thankfully, you smiled.

“i’d really like that,” you said. “like, a lot.”

jessie let out a quiet breath, like she’d been holding it for hours.

“cool,” she said. “okay. cool.”

you both just stood there, smiling like total dorks.

—

it wasn’t anything fancy. a quiet little coffee shop near the river. soft music, tiny tables, no one really paying attention.

jessie wore a gray sweater. you wore something that didn’t have your staff badge on it, which felt like a big step.

you sat in the back corner and talked. about nothing. about everything.

she laughed when you told her about the time you deleted a whole week of training footage. you listened as she told you about her favorite childhood memories.

when the shop closed, you both just stood outside under the streetlight, not ready to say goodbye.

she looked at you, hands in her coat pockets. “this was really nice.”

you nodded. “yeah. i liked this. a lot.”

pause.

then jessie stepped closer. your heart jumped.

“can i…?” she started.

you nodded before she finished.

she kissed you, slow and soft and a little shy.

and when she pulled back, you were both smiling.

something had changed, and neither of you wanted to go back.

—

you tried to keep it lowkey after that kiss.

really, you did.

but you weren’t that sneaky. and the team? definitely not blind.

they noticed the way you always walked in together. how you handed her her water without being asked. how she laughed at your jokes now. your jokes.

but it all came crashing out after a game at home.

you were helping jessie with her cleats in the hallway, leaning in to say something. she kissed your cheek before walking off. just a quick, natural little thing.

unfortunately, morgan weaver and sophia smith saw the whole thing.

complete silence.

then-

“OH MY GODDDD!” morgan yelled, echoing through the walls.

jessie froze. you nearly dropped the gps tracker in your hand.

sophia blinked. “wait, are you guys… are you dating?!”

you looked at jessie. she looked at you.

then she just shrugged and said, “something like that.”

—

after that, it was over. no hiding.

morgan made fake wedding invites. sophia sang dramatic love songs in the gym.

but they were happy. the whole team was. because they saw it too. how she smiled more now, how you were a little bolder when she was near.

and even though it started small and quiet and careful, it had grown into something real.

and real things don’t need to be loud to matter.

#woso #woso imagine #gxg #womens football #jessie fleming imagines #jessie fleming imagine #jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming #woso x reader #woso imagines #woso fanfics #woso community

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demie90s · 3 days ago

Text

Written in Ink, Not If

꒰ 🍒 ꒱ PAIGE BUECKERS X READER ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

MASTERLIST MORE

⭑ pairing: Paige Bueckers x reader (calm, confident!fem!reader)

⭑ summary: Before every game, you write Paige’s stat predictions on your forearm in black Sharpie. Points. Rebounds. Assists. Quiet ritual—until she notices. What starts as a smirk-worthy superstition turns into something softer, heavier, and harder to ignore. Especially when you’re never wrong.

⭑ genre: Slow-burn, mutual pining, soft superstition, silent love

⭑ warnings: Flirty tension, quiet obsession, visible devotion

⭑ word count: ~ 0.7k

You don’t tell anyone what the numbers mean.

You never have.

You sit on the same bench in the same corner of the locker room every game day—back leaned against cold tile, headphones resting around your neck, warm-up hoodie unzipped halfway. Calm. Focused. A Sharpie in your hand, cap already off.

Everyone else is still loud—someone blasting music, someone else walking around with one sock on. You’re quiet. Legs stretched out. Eyes down.

And on your forearm, you write it:

24 pts

6 ast

3 reb

Paige Bueckers.

You always save her for last. You don’t write your own numbers. Never have. No superstition. No show. Just hers.

Sometimes it’s higher. Sometimes lower. But it’s never wrong.

She doesn’t know. Except… she probably does.

⸻

The first time she caught you was back in January. You’d finished writing just as she came around the corner, fixing her bun, mouth full of whatever gummy candy she lived on pre-game.

She stopped. Didn’t say anything. Just stared for a second too long at your arm.

You’d pulled your sleeve down without blinking. Not embarrassed. Just private. She didn’t bring it up. And you never stopped.

⸻

Now it’s March.

You’re deep into the season. The rhythm is muscle memory now.

You write her stats before every game. Left forearm, right under the crease. The team thinks you’re journaling plays. One of the trainers thought it was your own goals.

But you know what it is. It’s how you say “I believe in you” without saying anything. It’s how you love her from the seat beside hers. You’re halfway through today’s line when someone sits beside you. Too close to be casual.

You glance over. Paige.

Her warmup hoodie’s off. Braided hair tucked into a loose bun. She’s leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes on your arm.

“Are you writing about me again?” she asks, soft. You pause.

“You want me to stop?”

She shakes her head once. “No. I want to know what you wrote.”

You let the Sharpie hover in the air a second longer. Then you finish it:

22 pts

7 ast

2 reb

You cap the marker. Stretch your wrist.

Her eyes flicker over it slowly. Like she’s reading a message written in another language but already memorized the translation.

She swallows.

“Why do you do that?”

You glance at her.

“Because you live up to it.”

⸻

Pregame warmups are hot under the lights. You move like nothing happened. She misses two shots in a row, eyes on the rim but brain somewhere else.

You catch her staring at your arm again mid-shootaround.

She doesn’t stop.

⸻

Second Half. 4 Minutes Left.

Paige has 21 points. She’s at the line.

You watch from the key.

She glances at you before she takes the shot. Swish. Ties it up.

Timeout. Coach calls the huddle. You sit beside her. She’s breathing heavy, towel over her knees. Her hand brushes your thigh and stays there.

No one says a word.

⸻

Postgame Locker Room

You’re back in the same corner. Wiped down. Clean hoodie on. Hair damp.

She walks up with her duffle slung over her shoulder. She squats beside you, balancing herself with one hand on your bench.

You look up. She’s already staring.

“I hit 23.”

You nod. “I was one off.”

“You’re never off.”

Silence.

She looks at your arm again. “Can I write something next time?”

You raise an eyebrow. “What would you write?”

She leans in closer, so close you smell her citrus sweat, the sugar from her drink, the shampoo she stole from your locker.

She says, “Ask me before next game. I’ll show you.”

She walks out.

You don’t move. You just stare at your arm.

And think: maybe next time, you’ll write “mine”

#wbb imagine #wnba #wnba x reader #wbb #gxg #wbb x reader #wnba x oc #uconn wbb #wbb x oc #wnba imagine #wnba fanfic #wbb uconn #gxg imagine #gxg fluff #paige bueckers uconn #paige bueckers x reader #paige x oc #paige x reader #paige buckets

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tiramisuandlove · 3 days ago

Text

Oh I’m in love. In love with your ideas , your writing , the way you write gojo , I’m feeling heavenly every time.

“I’ve been walking toward changing the system for so long, I forgot how to want anything past it.”

Oh.

Oh my poor heart.

And then him saying he wants all these mundane things , the most boring , the most neglected and usually hated parts by most people , because he craves them. He yearn for everything that is not now , to be in different time. To be still himself and with the reader, just in different circumstances. Different life.

I can’t wait for the next chapters. I’m so excited! So curious if he feels the pull that the reader do, if he will have similar dream , probably memories of the past life.

“It’s a pipe dream at best. He was born with the shackle of the six eyes, born in the prison called The Strongest. Running away from it all was as possible as it was for Sisyphus to escape the burden of rolling the rock forever.”

Literally destroyed my heart , because the reality is that he can’t. He won’t. It’s to late , it will be betray of oneself. He has put everything into being the strongest , into changing the system , into being everywhere and everything so no one else takes that burden. And for that his fate is to fade away , to disappear, as it is the only way for improvement to come , for the change to come.

But also , I can’t help but be reminded of how Ancient Greece saw love. Two half that always search for each other, forever till they find each other and become one. Even through different lives.

You turn to him, gaze softening as it lingers on the line of his jaw, the sweep of his lashes, the eyes you’ve loved in a thousand different lights. He’s so beautiful it aches—like something out of a dream or a poem scribbled by a lonely poet on a dirty street, staring up at a beauty wistfully peering out of a window of a high tower.

Of course the painful feeling of doom love. Satoru being described as dreamy like , makes the feelings of his inevitable death so much worse. Makes it more heavy. Such a wistfully dream to stay in place , for him to not go , for them to escape.

“Your life had begun when Satoru had saved you from that lonely, dark prison you were forced into; you remember how you had thought that he was akin to a glowing deity, descended from heaven to be your savior. A discarded animal like you, made to believe you were human again by this savior.”

I’m dying to learn more about how they met and their relationship forming. Honestly, I love me some saviour/ saved one type of relationships , especially if there is some unhealthy undertones.

“So it feels right, in a terrible, sacred way, that your life should end with him, too.”

But is that not the purpose ? A love that you would die for? A love that you wouldn’t mind to repeat over and over , even if you know the end. Even if it’s a deathly one.

On another note , reader is so helpless , I mean I completely understand. To be aware of someone , to the point of having to force yourself to look away , if this is not the cruel fate for the person that is falling in love then I don’t know ( the body react out of vivid experiences , in this case from a previous life.)

“Despite the cheesy line, heat creeps up your neck, and you can’t help but bitterly look down at your desk after giving him a quiet, “No, I don’t we have. I’m sorry.” If he flirted with a stranger like this, dream you must’ve had a really hard time as his wife. Shameless.”

And last but not least , this comment. this made me genuinely laugh. Kinda reminds me of Bridgeton au , tho everything reminds me of that masterpiece.

I can’t wait to see more of gojo flirting and reader response (honestly , I live for your gojo , for the breathtaking ways you write him and his interactions with reader. Just I love all of character interactions in your fics. )and I’m already sensing how hard the yearning would be and I don’t know if I will survive it.

In short dear, I simple yearn for your writing.

in another life, i would make you stay a gojo satoru (fix it) fic

pairing ⸺ reincarnated!gojo x reincarnated!reader

summary ⸺ you are a sorcerer, married to your husband who bears the burden of being the strongest. firsthand, you watch the love of your life fall apart, the world burdening him until, finally, he dies at the hand of sukuna. as you watch him through the broadcast, you blankly volunteer to be next and you die, praying to whatever merciful god out there that, in another life, you and satoru get the happy ending you both deserved— until you wake up from your dream, gasping. why the hell was your dream so vivid? you were some sort of magician? with a smoking HOT husband? and why the fuck does the guy that's ten minutes late to the first day of lectures look EXACTLY like him?

warnings ⸺ eventual smut fluff and angst (the holy trinity of aashi longfics), hurt/comfort, reincarnation fic, basically you and gojo have a miserable life in canon and get reincarnated into a modern au where i fix everything and give you the romcom you deserve, canon typical violence, jjk manga spoilers, mentions of blood and injury, major character death, fem reader implied

a/n i'll see u at the end :3

December 23, 2018.

“How do you feel?”

The both of you lay, side by side on the grass as you stared into the sky. The only sounds that surrounded you were the occasional rustle of leaves, the hum of the late afternoon cicadas, and the soft, almost inaudible rise and fall of your breathing.

The stars were really bright that day.

The sounds of nature were even more tangible in the absence of traffic. After the culling games had roped in both non-sorcerers and sorcerers alike, no one went out, so the roads were all virtually empty.

Satoru frowns thoughtfully, in a way that makes his nose scrunch up. His fingers play through your hair absentmindedly as he comes up with a response. With the way he’s thinking, your heart aches to tell him that you want his honest feelings, his doubts and fears, not some fake image he perpetually paints on for the rest of the world. You temper the urge.

“Fighting Megumi is gonna be…weird,” he says finally, with a sigh. “I’m just glad the real pain in the asses are out of the way.”

You remember the day he had come back from killing the higher ups. There was still blood matting his face and hair, dried and flaking. His eyes had long lost their light, and when you had got him alone in your shared room, grabbed a washcloth to wash his face. While you made sure none of the blood was still there, he had asked: Did I do the right thing?

It had taken three face towels to clean it all. The others had gotten soaked too quickly.

He continues. “I’ve been walking toward changing the system for so long, I forgot how to want anything past it.”

You tilt your head to look at him. His eyes are on the sky, as if trying to memorize every cloud.

“You can still want things,” you murmur. “Even now.”

What is left unsaid from you is, You can run away with me.

It’s a pipe dream at best. He was born with the shackle of the six eyes, born in the prison called The Strongest. Running away from it all was as possible as it was for Sisyphus to escape the burden of rolling the rock forever.

At your words, he huffs out a laugh and turns his head just slightly, eyes meeting yours. The blue of them is softer in this light, dusk and gold turning them the color of worn glass. “I do,” he says. “I want a stupid house with a stupid yard and a dumb dog who only listens to you.”

You laugh, blinking against the sudden sting in your eyes. “The dog would accidentally eat your god-awful heap of chocolates and drop dead.”

“Okay, then maybe not a dog then,” he accedes. “I could do with a cat. Just don’t confiscate my chocolates.”

Your voice is a bit stuffy when you reply with, “I would never.”

“Good,” His smile is crooked now, warm. “If I had all the chocolates and the cakes you bake for the rest of my life, I would die a happy man.”

“You already have those, Satoru,” you laugh wetly.

“Yeah, but I want grocery lists and laundry days and boring Tuesday nights. Not endless mission reports. God, I’m definitely not going to miss the paperwork,” he groans, and his tone would sound petulant to anyone else; to you, it’s a reminder of how he’s been worked to the bone.

You roll closer to him, forehead brushing against his temple. “We’ll have all of it.”

There’s a beat of silence. The wind rustles through the trees again. He closes his eyes and breathes it in, like he’s trying to make a home of it. You can’t help but look at his serene face and think,

I love you.

It goes unsaid.

Then, “You’ll wait for me?” he asks, almost like a joke.

“Always.”

December 24, 2018.

He looks like he’s watching the sky again.

You are staring down at the shape of him broadcasted through Mei Mei’s crows. The ground is soaked, and the sky doesn’t seem to know whether to rain or just stay gray. His eyes are open.

But you know better. And still, you wait.

Around you, there’s chaos. Your students, in disbelief, are talking loudly but it’s as if everyone around you is talking underwater, none of their words comprehensible. You feel someone shake you, but you’re still staring.

His eyes aren’t closed, but he looks peaceful.

The air thrums with cursed energy, of people in utter shock, and with fear so thick it could choke.

But all you can think about is a stupid patch of wildflowers blooming in your yard. They would’ve been his favorite color—blue, like his eyes when he was teasing you. Like his eyes when he told you he wanted a dumb dog and boring Tuesday nights.

You were going to plant them for him every spring.

You were going to make him cakes every time he forgot his own birthday.

You were going to grow old together.

Instead, you’ll be the one laying flowers on his grave. Alone.

“I’ll go,” you say.

It’s too quiet. Someone protests. You don’t even hear who.

“I said I’ll go.”

You’re already stepping forward. The fight is miles away but it doesn’t matter—you’ll find it. You’ll find Sukuna. You’ll follow the stench of blood and ruin until it leads you to him.

You know your death is imminent, but there is nothing left to want anymore. Because a future without Satoru is no future at all.

As you make your way through Shinjuku rapidly, you can’t help but think of Yuji—his eyes wide and boyish, despite everything—as he shoved a flyer into your hand and told you to try that ramen shop with him once this was all over.

You remember Megumi’s ginger candies, the ones you had to keep hidden or Gojo would eat them all in one go. They’re still sitting in a dish by the kitchen window.

You remember Shoko’s voice when she said, “Just come back alive, okay?”

You remember Nanami, and Utahime, and Nobara. You remember every stupid, beautiful person you’ve ever loved.

You love them, but love doesn’t always save you; instead, it makes you walk straight into the fire.

Your life had begun when Satoru had saved you from that lonely, dark prison you were forced into; you remember how you had thought that he was akin to a glowing deity, descended from heaven to be your savior. A discarded animal like you, made to believe you were human again by this savior.

So it feels right, in a terrible, sacred way, that your life should end with him, too.

When you finally spot Sukuna, you put up a good fight, but anyone who watches you knows you are resolved, have accepted your fate and prefer death. You don’t scream or cry when it happens; you stare at his face when your body is cleaved into spilling your blood like an endless dam.

You just think: I kept my promise.

I waited.

Then, as you feel everything growing darker and darker, there’s only one thought left, just a silent prayer to whatever god that might still be out there:

Let us try again.

Please—let us try again.

…

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

You wake up from your dream, gasping.

The noise your alarm makes is an unfriendly wake-up call; in your furious effort to locate your phone—which has found itself nestled in your messy blankets—you notice your roommate, Maki, blearily shifting. You madly search to minimize the yelling you’re going to get from her later in the day (you’re already cooked by this point), until silence blankets the room once more.

It’s only until your phone is silenced that you register how fast your heart is beating. Then, when you trudge over to the personal bathroom you and Maki share and flick the light switch, you see that tears had flowed down your cheeks in your sleep.

What a weird fucking dream.

One to have on your first day of classes for the semester, too. You squint at your reflection, the fluorescent light doing your sleep-addled eyes no favors as you grudgingly get ready, brushing your teeth and washing your face and all that. You don’t know why it was so vivid.

From the dredges of your mind, you first recall the flashing light beams and carnal violence in the destruction of the city, and then you. Were you some kind of magician? It was kind of like…Winx Club, but you weren’t a cunty fairy in cute clothes. Something about sorcerers, so maybe Harry Potter? Hunter X Hunter?

You spit out the frothy mix of your saliva and the mouth freshener. So ridiculous. You couldn’t even blame stress for the weird fanfiction at this point—classes haven’t even started.

Memories of the dream ebb and flow as you try hard to remember what else had occurred as you wipe your face. Gazing upon the white of the moisturizer you’re dabbing on your skin, a flash of white suddenly resurfaces.

Gojo.

A violent feeling overcomes your chest at the name, and you think you’re having a heart attack with the way it clenches like you’re almost about to weep in longing of a beloved. You gasp, cupping the left side of your chest as you try to lower your heart rate.

What hurts most of all is the searing pain, like a spiral of thinly corded string has branded itself on your ring finger. In your rush to look up in the mirror to see what could be hurting you, you don’t notice the red glow it forms. What you see in the see in your reflection surprises you: you’re crying again.

Tears have fully started streaming down your face with the pain, carving wet valleys on your cheeks as they went. After your heart rate slows down, you frown while looking down at your hands. Why were they shaking?

You repeat the name numerous times in your brain, each time causing you to physically tweak. Gojo, Gojo, Gojo, and then resurfaces Satoru, Satoru, Satoru—

It’s after the tenth time you repeat his name that your body seems to calm itself down and get accustomed to whatever emotional shock that coursed through your name after you mentioned his name. His name originally came up because you remember the main person in your dream: the white-haired man. He was the reason you decided to confront that…three armed man? Or did he have four arms? Regardless, you basically offed yourself after he died because you loved him, or something. With the way your body seems to physically shake at the sheer thought of his name, as if the utter image of longing, love may not have been enough to describe what you felt.

Realizing that you’ve drifted off at reminiscing sleepily, you start, as if suddenly animated. You pat your skin, setting in the final step of your skincare routine. Then, you click on your phone screen to check the time.

And notice immediately that you are going to be late.

Then ensues you scrambling to your room, putting on your clothes, tripping on the floor in the process, getting a sleepy glare from Maki that has doubly certified that you are getting a scolding, and then finally making it out the door. The somewhat cool fall weather hits your face as you walk on the pavement, checking your clock repeatedly to ensure it hasn’t hit 9am yet.

When you make it into the lecture, you realize that it is packed. There aren’t many seats—it is a gen ed class after all, something on some ancient history, and you notice two empty seats, side-by-side, tucked away in the corner of the lecture room. You have to carefully maneuver yourself down the seats.

Navigating the maze of limbs and backpacks, you mumble a series of "excuse me’s" and "coming through’s" until you squeeze past two guys—a stern-looking blond with glasses that scream "salaryman thirst trap" and a loud brunet beside him. Reaching your target, you slide into the seat that leaves an empty one between you and the blond. You’re very pleased about the extra breathing room.

Maybe today won’t be so bad after all.

You prepare your supplies to take notes on the first (of many) syllabus reviews to come. In the meantime, you’re privy to hearing the mumble and grumble of people around you; it’s only when a throat clears itself at the head of the class do you see a man—probably the professor of this class, Yaga—who has the slides already up. Ancient East Asian History is branded on the big white screen in bolded, black Arial font. Clearly, graphic design was not his passion.

His voice projects through the mic and is fairly deep and resonant, so it’s clear to everyone, despite the number of people in the room, that class is starting. As expected, the next slide is titled “What is Ancient East Asian History?”

“Let’s delve deeper into what I mean by East Asian. Asia is a subcontinent that’s home to a diverse set of cultures, and even so in East Asia…”

As Yaga speaks, time ebbs and flows around you. The monotonous sounds of papers flipping, pens scratching on paper, and the clicking of keyboards surrounds you. You can’t help but think the fluorescent lights, harsh and white, had to be designed to keep students from falling asleep, because their intensity paints the lecture hall in this weird lighting. The mood created by it is something akin to the filter horror movies perpetually have on—vivid, but cold and dark. Like when you’ve been up for too long to the point that you don’t know if it’s night, or morning, because it’s still dark out. Then, dawn breaks, the sun enveloping the sky in its warmth.

Suddenly, the heavy set of doors that serve as your lecture hall’s entrance open loudly—louder than someone who is sheepishly entering late. Instead of the usual indifference reserved for a fellow student who had slept in, the room ripples with murmurs and giggles, shattering the silence that had settled—save for Yaga’s lecturing.

You don’t look at first. You look at Yaga, who is pinching the bridge of his nose as he mutters, “In Japanese culture, punctuality is a form of respect—something we are clearly still learning.”

You don’t turn. You don’t need to. But, like a current pulling you under, your gaze follows the crowd’s. And you see him.

Gojo.

Suddenly, your heart clenches violently, and you can only help but gasp hoarsely and shut your eyes. If you didn't, streams of tears would flow down your face once more. You couldn’t help but swear internally; you had thought you had conditioned yourself to be stable at the mention of his name.

But, almost as if it’s subconscious, you wrench your eyes open, desperate to view the boy. You’d assume something apologetic, maybe. Rushed. Someone with their hood up, mumbling an excuse as they shuffle into the shadows of the back row. But this—

This is someone who walks like he knows the sound of his own footsteps matters. His ivory hair is tussled, like he had just rolled out of your dream. He looks a bit younger than he did when you had seen him, but his eyes are the same unmistakable brilliant, cerulean color.

Now, he’s making his way down the stairs, skipping every third one with his long legs. Something leaves his lips, and it’s something humorous—depending on how girls and guys around him laugh, a shared sense of adoration in their eyes. You can only help but watch as he comes closer and closer to you, and you remember belatedly that the seat next to you is the only empty one in the whole lecture hall.

Yaga huffs and rolls his eyes, crossing his arms in barely concealed annoyance. “Nice of you to join us, Gojo.”

Gojo lifts a hand in a lazy wave. “Yaga, you ever tried finding parking on this campus?” The lecture erupts in barely muted half-sleepy giggles.

It’s only when a particularly loud high five he receives—by the brunet in your row—that you break out of your reverie and turn to your laptop, flustered. Any attempt to act nonchalant would be funny as if the thing that’s wrong with you—that invisible thing—hasn’t been rippling violently inside your gut the moment you laid eyes on him. Like your body has just been handed proof. Like a wound cracking open in slow motion.

He’s approaching, long legs trying to get through the sheer amount of people to where the empty seat next to you was, and when he’s there, right next to you, you shouldn’t look up.

But you do.

When your eyes meet his, something ancient and awful coils in your throat. A shiver, not of fear, but of recognition so buried it aches.

Pearly teeth and bright blue eyes glistening. A breathless, “Hi.”

And the invisible string, that had spiraled and corkscrewed itself into the jumble it was, pulls—until it is straight and wrung tight. You don’t know this boy. You’ve never seen him before.

So why does it feel like your heart just remembered how to break?

Your throat is dry, but you manage out a “Good morning.”

You turn back to your desk, your fingers quivering. By your side, he’s moving and rummaging through the contents of his backpack quite noisily, one that can be heard throughout the lecture hall if one were to tune out Yaga’s droning. In curiosity of seeing what was taking him so damn long to find, you turn your head slightly, and notice the heaps of wrappers—all pastel colored and bright, like candy and dessert wrappers—that his backpack is almost suffocated with. Then, he pulls out his laptop, opens it, and resumes the game of Run 3 he had paused beforehand.

As if sensing your stare, he turns to you until meeting your eyes; you were caught. Like a deer caught in headlights, you helplessly stare back at him, heat creeping up your neck, and his gaze leaves your eyes to look at your lips, which you were biting.

Then, he leans in slightly—you also inching yourself back because why is he getting so close and why is your heart beating so fast—and whispers, “Do I know you?”

You’ve never seen him outside of the weird dream you had, and it would’ve been weird to admit that you’ve dreamed about him. “No, I don’t think you do,” you whisper back, voice hoarse.

His lips quirk in response, but, to your dismay, he doesn’t retract. His brows furrow while he stares at your face, as if deep in thought, and nods, flirtatiously saying, “Makes sense. I feel like I wouldn’t have forgotten you if I had met you.”

Despite the cheesy line, heat creeps up your neck, and you can’t help but bitterly look down at your desk after giving him a quiet, “No, I don’t we have. I’m sorry.” If he flirted with a stranger like this, dream you must’ve had a really hard time as his wife. Shameless.

And thus the lecture runs its course. Throughout, you’re tense, the heat of his presence never letting you relax. You feel every movement of his fingers, his forearms, as he played his games or typed miscellaneous things that you didn’t see because you were physically forcing yourself to stare at the lecture slides, back ramrod straight.

It’s only until his leg starts shaking that you start feeling…weird. His reaction is completely normal; you don’t blame him, because Yaga’s been going over the syllabus’ section of projects and how you can’t change project partners for over thirty minutes. But it’s the fact that a steady wave of nausea is building up inside you, until a sharp piercing sensation overwhelms your head.

Then, a vision.

It’s hazy, as if projected on cloudy water. A shaking leg, clad in what seems like uniform pants, underneath a small wooden desk. Then, a hand reaches out to yours, grasping it firmly, and you feel a weird sense of nausea once more. However, it’s not the same feeling you’ve been feeling since your dream—instead, it’s a stomach upturning feeling of being teleported somewhere.

A bed.

It’s a small one, in a room that resembles a dorm. The hand grasping yours isn’t simply grabbing your hand; it’s now trailing up your sock-covered ankle, up your calves, and then under your skirt—

The murky vision gets even murkier until you can’t register anything anymore. Then, you suddenly return, the fluorescent lights being the first thing you register after the weird deja-vu-memory thing. The feelings you felt from the vision linger, including overwhelming feelings of euphoria, lust, and sheer happiness that bloom in your heart warmly, like a flower in fresh spring.

You’re so distraught from the complicated jumble of feelings that have thrusted themselves upon you that you don’t hear Yaga say his concluding words. It’s the jarring, obnoxious screech! of the chair next to you—Gojo’s—that you jump to your senses and realize half of the students have left.

Thus, you hurriedly pack your things and book it the fuck out of there because you would rather die than be the last person to leave class, lest Yaga think you were staying behind to talk to him. You’ve had more than your fill of East Asian Studies today.

Maybe it’s best if you avoid Gojo, lest you slip up. The dream—and the weird reactions your body seems to be having in his presence—are too…peculiar. If something happened, you wouldn’t know how to recover.

In your haste, you don’t realize you’ve left something behind, nor did you hear the “Wait! You forgot….this” that Gojo had called out to you, staring at the object in his hand—and your retreating back—with a complicated expression.

next. the aftermath (soon!)

a/n short chapter, but this series is going to contain a mixture of: a lot of crack and fluff, yearning (as always, yall know me), and debilitating angst ("who did this to you??" oh i loved writing the angst) and crazy reunion sex. comment down below to be added to the taglist!!

to be clear, unless otherwise indicated, reader is getting these moments from the past as "migraines" / flashes / dreams.

TAGLIST P1:

@nithica @rh-tg1 @tbzzluvr @spookytyphoonfire @vsynical

@totallyuniquenut @yamiyas @nishayuro @nariminsstuff @starmapz

@sylusonlylove @purplemint @elliesndg @gggellaa @arabellasolstice

@arrozyfrijoles23 @yeehawbrothers @that-one-lightskin @candyluvsboba @avaults

@iheartkhloe @angelcherrry @madamechrissy @xxemmarldxx @lovenbesos

@liveforkny @nattie-smack @cherryredribbons @introvertatitsfinest @starlightoru-gojo

@hyori2 @gxldencloset @l0v3m3m0re @cuntysaurusrex @nanamineedstherapy

@oikawasxx @littlemisspoets-blog @anuncalledbridge @watermelonmuntchers @zeyno-14

@k-kkiana @nanamiskentos @kviwi @evawts @forest-nymph420

@bontensh0e @viiennie @blossomedfloweroflove @6isek @dreamssfyre

#જ⁀➴tiramisu suggestion #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

7K notes · View notes

cloudedangels · 3 days ago

Text

A TEST OF CONTROL ☆ PT 3 (18+)

Part 3/? ▪︎ 5,225 words. (still not for minors! go away!)

Part 1 -> here ~ Part 2 -> here •

After three weeks of silence, Caleb shows up unannounced with stubble, longer hair, and a desperate need to know if she still wants him. What begins as tension and emotional reconnection quickly spirals into steam, sweat, and surrender. She peels the Colonel off of him piece by piece—until there’s nothing left between them but truth, skin, and a promise not to hold back this time. cw and tags: f!mc/reader, established relationship, light dom/sub dynamics, emotional smut, makeup sex sorta, orgasm delay/denial, colonel!caleb, oral sex (f receiving), shower, pretty slow burn, soft dominance, worship kink, begging, light angst, overstimulation, smut with feelings, praise kink, fingering, emotional vulnerability, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, edging, piv, caleb is pent up and assertive but still soft for mc, creampie, big dick caleb >:), stupid sl*ts say anything but i love u, dirty talk, stretching

an: i cannot express how long and how much this took to write. but i love this n them so so much u have no idea. it's filthy but also very sweet and intimate. could be read w/out pts 1 + 2 but i reccomend reading them for context! they're a good bit shorter.

enjoy bb apples hope u like! :3 i'm off to finish my fluff fic now. (　＾ω＾)>>♡

She smells him before she sees him, that woody citrus cologne he wears, mixed with the smell of leather and machine oil, ozone.

As MC enters her apartment, late from work, she’s sweaty from fighting wanderers, tired enough to almost hear her bed calling her name. She turns her key and opens the door. The scent of him hits her before anything else. Her breath stutters in her throat and she’s stopped in her tracks. She hasn’t caught the smell of him in weeks, she almost thinks she’s imagined it. She shuts the door and locks it, barely getting her hand over the dish when she notices a second set of keys inside of it. Then boots. Tall, black and untied. Then the small duffel beside them. the hat on top of the duffel. Then… him.

Caleb is sitting upright, asleep on her couch with his uniform still on. He’s leaned back, legs spread, head lolled back against the backrest. ‘His hair never gets this long’ she thinks. It’s too long to still meet protocol, tousled and slightly damp at the ends, brushing the back of his neck and the side of his face in a way she’s never seen before. He has one glove off, the left one, held in his other, still gloved, hand. The vein in his neck pulses visibly, his jaw, dusted with stubble, is tight, eyebrows knitted together. He doesn’t look peaceful in any way. Even though he’s asleep, he looks like he’s still held at attention.

She’s slow to approach him, taking off her shoes and padding over to him in her socks. She doesn’t want to wake him—this version of him is so rare that it’s something she wants to savour selfishly. She sits next to him and he doesn’t wake. The rise and fall of his chest is deceptively calm, considering the rest of him is so tightly wound. He looks like he showed up, sat down, and passed out without his own consent.

After watching him sleep, she laces her fingers into his left hand squeezing it gently. His hand twitches before it grips her back instinctively, before relaxing again.

“Caleb.” she whispers his name softly.

Nothing. She squeezes his hand tighter a couple times, trying again.

“Hey. Caleb. Wake up, it’s me.”

He jerks slightly, his eyes flashing open, wide with sudden fear, pupils shrunken. He looks around with brief terror before he recognizes her hand in his.

“Caleb.” she practically whispers, wondering what he could have dreamt about to make him so afraid when he woke up. “It’s okay. You’re okay… You’re here with me.”

“Pipsqueak?”

He looks down at her hand but not her face yet.

“Mhmm, the one and only. You look tired.”

He exhales and steadies, his body relaxing if only a little.

“I’m sorry, pips, I didn’t mean to scare you, I don’t even know how I fell asleep… I–”

She squeezes his hand once again, a hand on his face, nudging him to face her.

“It’s okay, I wasn’t scared, just surprised,” her voice is eggshell careful as she makes eye contact with him, continuing. “Is everything okay? Why are you here?”

He breaks eye contact by looking off to the side. He looks like a puppy confessing that it did a bad thing.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you, pips,” his voice is quiet, hoarse, “I needed to know if you still were m–” He shakes his head. “...if you still wanted me. I didn’t want to assume but… I couldn’t keep giving you space.”

Their eyes meet again Caleb smiling weakly, hopeful.

“I have a week-long leave. Told them it was an emergency. Flew straight here from Skyhaven after debrief. Used the key you gave me. I didn’t even sleep on the flight. Didn’t have time to change.”

She exhales. “You came straight from the fleet?”

He nods.

“That’s why you’re still dressed like a regulation nightmare.”

He huffs a short, guilty laugh. “Didn’t even change. I was scared I’d lose my nerve if I stopped moving. I guess I could've shaved. Or cut my hair.”

Silence again. Tight as a drawn string.

Finally she asks, “Why didn’t you call?”

His hand lifts slowly, touches her cheek with the back of his glove. His right hand. The colder one. “You didn’t either.”

She closes her eyes and leans into the touch. “I thought I was too harsh last time.”

“You weren’t.”

“I was trying to be… dominant,” she says, whisper-soft. “But I didn’t want to hurt you. After… you left before I woke up.”

He flinches, as if slapped by her softness.

“I was scared,” he admits. “Scared I’d ruined it. Or looked pathetic. I just…” he looks up at her, eyes dark and full. “I wanted to serve you. I liked it. I loved it. I’ve never wanted to be good for anyone like I do for you. Making you feel like that made me feel on top of the world. More of a man than this uniform ever will.”

Her hand is still in his. He rubs a thumb along her palm and then lifts it to his lips. Kisses the center.

“You’ve still got the key to me,” he murmurs. “You say the word. Say anything. I’ll kneel or I’ll command. I’ll beg or I’ll hold you down. Strong or weak. Whatever you need. I want to be what you need.”

“…Then let me take care of you for once.”

He freezes. Blinks.

She places her hands on his chest, running them gently over the sharp lines of the jacket. The thick fabric. The polished belt. She kisses him, with hesitation first then all in. He kisses her back with both his hands on either side of her face. She pulls away, their eyes heavy, breath too.

“This thing looks stuffy.” patting his chest.

“Yeah.”

“Can I help you take it off?”

He nods, a slow blink his only reply at first. “Yeah. Please.”

She starts with running her fingers through his hair, working out knots. His hair is softer than she expected. Slightly damp still, disobedient waves resting over his forehead and ears. She touches his ears as she brushes the hair behind them.

“You’re not supposed to let it get this long.”

“I know.”

She swallows.

Next is the jacket. She unclasps the polished chest pin, fingers brushing along the rope chain detail that stretches from his shoulder across the lapel. The stiffness of the regulation fabric resists her at first, but she peels it back. His eyes never leave her.

“You still smell like metal, oil and the tunnels,” she whispers.

“Sorry.”

“No.” Her voice softens. “I missed it.”

She pulls the sleeves down slowly, his body shifting forward as he shrugs them off. He’s heavy from exhaustion. His white shirt underneath is wrinkled, the top button still tight at his throat. She’s gentle undoing it. Her fingers brush his skin, and she feels him inhale.

“I can do the belt,” he offers, lifting his gloved hand.

“No,” she says. “Let me.”

She takes off his remaining glove. Then, her fingers work through the weighty belt at his waist, undoing the metal catch, the fabric relaxing under her hands. She slides it out in one motion and sets it beside the hat. Her eyes fall to his boots.

“You want those off too?”

“Yeah.” A pause. “They hurt.”

She kneels on the floor, sliding her fingers over the laces. They’re loose, mostly untied from when he passed out, and one tug lets the first boot fall away. He doesn’t watch her. His head has tilted back again, eyes closed. Not in sleep, just in rest. Just letting her take him apart.

She works the second boot looser and gently pulls it off, setting it aside. He’s only in his undershirt and slacks now, his body caving slightly, hands resting slack beside him.

When she stands again, he reaches for her.

Pulls her into his lap. “Thank you, pips. I don't like being the Colonel around you.” He's kissing her face, arms strong wrapped all the way around her waist.

She feels him beneath her, his body solid, warm, grounding. Even now, wrapped in slouch and softness, rooted and wanting, he's impossibly strong. His thighs are tense under hers, arms locked behind her back like he’s never letting go again. Their mouths part and meet in slow, drugging kisses, lips brushing, tongues barely touching.

He smells like fleet metal, ozone, and the kind of sweat that only comes from long flights and longer tension. She presses her nose into the crook of his neck, breathes deep.

“I like you like this,” she murmurs, her hand finding the back of his head, fingers threading through the longer waves. “You should keep your hair like this.”

He laughs under his breath, voice husky. “Might have to take the court martial just so you can grab it like that again.”

“You serious?” she asks, brushing it back so she can see more of his face.

“I was already close to getting written up,” he admits with a small, almost shy smirk. “Told them I had an emergency going on. Softened the blow. Swore I’d cut it before leave ended.”

“Let me guess,” she whispers against his ear, “You wanted me to see it first.”

He hums, nods faintly. “I had a lot I wanted you to see.”

Her breath catches. She always misses him, always. That fact stays quiet between them, even when it hums through her fingertips.

She’s still in her hunter pants, still in the sweat and grime of the day, but Caleb doesn’t seem to care. If anything, it winds him tighter. His hands are slow but possessive, one on her waist, the other tracing up her spine beneath her shirt. She kisses him again, lets her hips shift, unintentionally grinding against the hardness pressing up between his legs.

He groans against her mouth, forehead against hers. “Pipsqueak…”

“What?”

“You feel that?”

“Mhm,” she hums with mischief, tilting her hips again.

He grips her tighter, exhales through his teeth. “That’s your fault. You come home smelling like sweat and gunfire in those pants, put your hands on me like that… Tell me, pips, what’d you expect to happen?”

She grins into his neck. “Guess I’ll have to clean us both up.”

His voice is a low murmur. “Say the word and I’ll follow.”

“I want to shower with you,” she says. “I want to wash the Colonel off of you.”

He stares at her, like he’s about to kiss her again but wants to say something first. Then he just nods and lifts her off his lap.

They make their way to the bedroom first. She undresses him like he’s a gift she’s waited too long to open. Her fingers trail from the hem of his undershirt to the waistband of his slacks. He lets her do it all. Silent. Patient. The tent in his briefs is undeniable now, straining and obvious, but neither of them says a word about it. It’s a fact. She kisses his thigh as she lowers herself to take the briefs off of him.

He undresses her too, with the same careful devotion. Her clothes peel off slowly, sweat sticking cotton to skin, her breath uneven. She feels shy for the first time in a long time.

Then they’re in the bathroom, bare, soft-lit, the shower starting behind glass. Steam begins to cloud the room, trailing down the mirror, wrapping them in a haze.

He reaches out and pulls her in with him, arms around her waist. They’re both warm and slick from the water almost instantly. His hair clings to his face, his chest rises and falls fast.

“I missed you so much,” he murmurs.

“I missed you more.”

He brushes her wet hair behind her ear. “Let me clean you off.”

“Not yet.” She lifts a bottle of soap, pours it into her hands, begins rubbing it into his chest. “My turn first.”

He groans quietly but allows it.

Her hands are gentle, but she doesn’t waste time. She runs her palms over the hard muscle of his chest, down his abs, watching the bubbles cling to the hair on his arms. She massages him, soapy and slow, standing close enough that her breasts slide against him with every stroke. Her fingers slip down his sides, curl around his back, working the tension out of his shoulder blades.

He’s hard and she can feel it pressing into her thigh, twitching every time she drags her hands lower. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t act.

“You’re so tense,” she whispers.

“I’m trying to behave.”

She turns him gently, hands on his waist, starting on his back. Her fingers dig into the knots of his lower back, the long slope of his spine. “Relax for me.”

“I’m trying, pips. I swear.”

She’s too nervous to look at his face, glad he's turned away from her. She focuses on the way his muscles shift beneath her hands. The wide expanse of his back, the smooth skin marred with old scars, the way water curves around his waist.

Eventually, she turns him back to face her. “You’re clean now.”

He smiles down at her, soaked and flushed. “My turn.”

He doesn’t wait for permission. He turns her with careful but undeniable force, bringing her back to his chest. His arms wrap around her waist, and his lips find her shoulder. His hard cock rubs against her from behind. She whimpers a little without meaning to.

“I missed this,” he whispers, kissing her skin between words. “Missed your body. Missed touching you.”

His hands are all over her now. Shoulders, arms, chest, hips. He spreads his hands over her breasts, brushing over them again and again with wet fingers. He’s gentle but focused, teasing and precise.

“You’re already wet,” he says, tone dark and teasing, slipping his hand lower to her belly.

“That’s because you’re touching me,” she breathes.

She trembles in his arms, hands reaching up to hold his wrists, but he doesn’t let her guide them. Not yet.

He hums low in his throat. “Mm… no, no no, I have to return the favor, pips. Gotta get you clean first.”

He kisses her neck, then her collarbone, then the back of her shoulder again. Every kiss is wetter than the last, half water, half mouth. Her legs are already shaking.

“Caleb,” she whimpers as he drags a palm slowly down her thigh, cupping her ass.

“What?”

“You’re being mean.”

He chuckles into her skin, low and warm. “I’m being thorough.”

He keeps washing her, now with soap sudsing over her. His hands are moving with slow, full strokes that slide over her belly, between her thighs, around her hips. Her nipples are stiff, her stomach tight, her thighs involuntarily parting as his touch glides across every inch of her. He doesn’t go too low, but it’s a tease now. A claim on control.

Her back arches into him when he brushes under her breast again. “You’re making me crazy…”

“I know,” he whispers, voice low and full of promise, “and I’ve only just started.”

He lifts her by the armpits and puts her under the water to rinse, stepping out to dry off.

“Hey… where are you going?” She calls after him.

He peaks around the door of the shower. Towel around his neck another in his hands. “Shower's done, come on. Lemme dry you off. There are more ways to help me relax. I'm not going to until I get everything I need.”

Caleb stands just outside the shower door, towel wrapped loose around his hips. He watches her step out, steam trailing behind her like a second skin. Her eyes find him. Naked and flushed and damp. and for a moment, she forgets how to move. He holds the towel out for her like he’s offering her something sacred.

She lets him wrap it around her shoulders, his hands slow and gentle, attentive. He doesn’t speak, just presses a kiss to her temple, then to her cheek. His lips trail downward, wet warmth brushing her collarbone.

“I need you,” he says, finally, quietly.

Her breath hitches. He’s looking at her like he did the first time she gave him an order. Like he’s ready to obey again, if she asked.

“Bedroom,” she whispers.

He lifts her without a word. She clings to him, legs wrapping around his waist, arms over his shoulders. Their mouths never part as he carries her there. The towels fall. She doesn’t remember them being dropped, just remembers the feeling of his skin against hers, the weight of his body above her as he lays her down on the bed like she’s a prayer he’s about to answer.

He kisses her again. This time deeper. Slower. There’s urgency in the tremble of his hands, but not in his mouth. His tongue is languid. Exploring. Tasting. She moans softly, curling her fingers through his still-damp hair, pulling him closer.

When she parts her legs for him, he’s already between them. Thick and hard, brushing against her folds with aching deliberation.

She gasps. Her hips jerk. “Caleb…”

He groans, low and tight, forehead pressed against hers. “You feel that?” he whispers.

“Yes…”

“You’re so wet. That all for me?”

She nods, dazed. Her voice catches when he rocks against her again, not pushing in yet, just coating himself with her slick.

“I’ve thought about this every night since I left,” he says, voice cracked and warm. “Thought about what it would feel like. Being inside you. Watching you fall apart for me.”

“Then do it,” she breathes. “I want it too.”

He groans again, kissing her lips, her jaw, her throat. His hand trails down between her legs and when he touches her, they both inhale sharply. His fingers stroke her slowly, teasing her open, gathering slick.

“I’m gonna get you ready for me first,” he murmurs, sliding one finger inside. “You’re tight, pips. So fucking tight.”

She whimpers and lifts her hips to meet his hand. “Please…”

He doesn’t answer, just kisses her again. Adds a second finger. Works them in slow and careful. Curling them. Finding that spot inside her that makes her hips buck.

She moans, legs falling wider open. “Caleb. Caleb… Oh my god…”

“I know, baby. I know. Gotta stretch you out.”

His fingers move in a slow, lazy rhythm. He watches her face the entire time, memorizing how her eyes roll back, how her lips part, the way she gasps when his thumb finds her clit. He fucks her with just those two fingers until her thighs are trembling. Then he pauses, pulls them out, and she whines.

“Don’t stop…”

He kisses her stomach, then lower. “Not stopping.”

She feels the press of his mouth between her legs and her whole body jerks. He groans against her, hands on her thighs, spreading her wider. He licks her slow, lazy, like he’s got all night. His tongue moves with the same rhythm his fingers did. And then those fingers return. Two, then three.

She cries out.

“Shh,” he murmurs, kissing her clit before licking again. “Let me take care of you.”

His fingers curve just right. His mouth never stops. Her hips twitch and her breath breaks, pleasure crackling like fire up her spine.

He doesn’t stop even when she’s shaking. She clutches at his hair, moaning his name. When she finally tries to close her legs around his head, he holds her open and pushes his fingers deeper, tongue pressing harder.

“Please… Caleb… I…”

He pulls his mouth away just enough to speak, his voice wet and thick. “Yes, you can. Give it to me.”

And she does.

She breaks with a cry, hips jerking under him, mouth slack and gasping. He keeps going until she’s pushing at his shoulders, too sensitive.

He rises up over her, his mouth shining, eyes glassy with hunger.

“I’m not done,” he says, kissing her again, letting her taste herself on his tongue. “I need more.”

He positions himself between her thighs, stroking himself once before pressing the head against her entrance.

Her breath catches. She feels the blunt, hot press. He’s huge. Thicker than she imagined. He pushes in just barely, and her whole body clenches.

“Oh god….”

He groans, teeth grit, pulling back. “Fuck… You’re too tight still.”

“Don’t stop,” she whispers.

“I’ll hurt you.”

“No. You won’t. I want it. I want all of you.”

He kisses her again, then moves lower, kissing her thighs, her hips. He slips a finger inside her again, then two. Works her open more. She’s soaking wet. Her walls flutter around his fingers.

“You’re getting there,” he says. “You’re perfect.”

When he slides back into position, he lines himself up again and pushes in slowly. Just the tip. She gasps.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says.

“It’s not. Don’t stop.”

He goes deeper. Just an inch. Then another. Then pulls back.

She moans, arms reaching up around his shoulders, holding on tight. Her nails dig into his skin.

“You’re killing me,” he breathes, holding himself back with shaking arms.

“You feel so good,” she says, voice broken. “You’re so big. I want it. I want all of you.”

He groans and sinks deeper. Halfway now. She cries out, legs tightening around his waist.

“Almost there,” he pants. “Almost… you’re taking me so good.”

He kisses her again, breathless and needy. When he finally bottoms out, they both freeze. His cock twitches inside her. She can feel every inch of him, stretching her full.

“You okay?” he whispers.

She nods, tears in her eyes from how full she feels. “Don’t move yet. I just want to feel it.”

He kisses her forehead, cheeks, lips. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

And when she’s ready, she rocks her hips. Just a little. And he starts to move.

Slow. Deep. Steady.

It’s not enough. But it’s too much.

She’s panting, begging, crying. “More. Caleb. Please.”

He groans and starts to fuck her in earnest. Every thrust is deliberate, firm, but held back. He’s pacing himself. Holding on by a thread.

He pulls out when he gets too close. Lets himself cool off. Then slides back in. She whines every time he leaves her empty.

“Why do you keep stopping?”

“Because I’m not done with you yet. I want to feel you cum again.”

He rubs her clit as he thrusts, murmuring in her ear. “You’re mine. All mine. You make me lose my mind, pips.”

She grabs his face, kisses him hard, rocking against him. “Then lose it. I want to see.”

He moans into her mouth, thrusts deeper, harder.

Still, he doesn’t finish.

She can feel him leaking inside her, warm and steady, his cock twitching with need. But he holds on. Like she’s the thing anchoring him to earth. Like she’s the only thing keeping him from flying apart.

And she adores him for it.

Loves the way he worships her body with every motion. The way he waits. The way he edges himself to give her everything.

And she’s not done adoring him yet.

She clutches him tighter, voice high and broken. “Caleb, God, don’t stop, please don’t stop…”

“I won’t,” he whispers, but it’s a promise he’s afraid of breaking. His arms shake. His thrusts stutter. Every time he sinks into her now, it’s with a groan like it hurts to hold back. Like he’s begging his own body to listen.

She moans louder, biting his shoulder, pulling at his hair. Her thighs twitch around him. Her hips lift greedily to meet every thrust.

“You feel too good. Too good… Shit, I can’t–” she cries, voice splintering.

His breath is ragged in her ear. “Yes you can. One more. Just one more for me.”

“I already… So much…” She tries to protest, but he’s already shifting his angle. Pulling her legs up, knees to her chest, cock so deep now it knocks the breath from her lungs.

She gasps. “Oh fuck! Caleb?”

He grits his teeth, eyes glassy. “I know, I know, it’s too much. I’m sorry, pips” He’s not sorry.

Her hands scramble for his arms, his back, anything to hold onto as he grinds deeper. His pelvis presses tight against her clit with every thrust, and it’s unbearable, blinding, exquisite.

“I can’t take it,” she sobs, voice caught in her throat, tears on her cheeks now. “You’re, oh my God…. you’re…”

“Caleb,” she sputters his name again.

He presses his forehead to hers. His body is slick with sweat. “Yes you can. You’re so close, I can feel it. You’re squeezing me so tight. Fuck, I need you to cum for me again, pretty girl. Please.”

She whimpers, body arching. “It’s too much! I’m gonna… Caleb… Caleb—”

Her voice shatters like glass as her body seizes, clenching hard around him. Her second orgasm rips through her with no warning, more violent than the first. She thrashes beneath him, sobbing, nails digging into his shoulders. Her mouth opens but no sound comes out—just pure feeling. Raw, overwhelming, wet.

He moans a deep, guttural groan, as she tightens around him. “That’s it, baby. That’s it. Good girl. You’re so fucking perfect like this.”

He doesn’t slow down.

She trembles under him, overstimulated and gasping, her thighs shaking as he keeps grinding into her, each thrust deliberate, controlled—but trembling at the edges.

Her words fall apart. “I-it’s too much… I can’t…”

He kisses her mouth, her cheeks, the corners of her eyes. “Shh. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Just let it happen.”

She shakes her head but clings to him tighter. “You’re still so hard. Fuck, Caleb, how the hell are you still—?”

His eyes flutter shut. “I don’t know. I-I can’t finish until I know you’re done. Until I know you’ve had enough of me.”

“I have,” she whispers, voice raw and cracked. “I have.”

He lets out a broken sound. His pace slows, finally, just barely—deep, dragging strokes that make her twitch and sob into his neck.

She’s sensitive everywhere. Every thrust now is fire and sugar and pleasure and too much. And still, she doesn’t want him to stop.

“Say it again,” he begs against her ear.

“What?”

“Say you’ve had enough of me.”

She whimpers. “I haven’t. I never will.”

He groans like she’s just hit him. His hips falter. His jaw clenches.

“Fuck.”

“Please,” she breathes, eyes wet, “You can cum. I want you to. Please, Caleb. Cum inside me.”

“No,” he says, voice tight and hoarse, like he’s holding himself back from the edge of a cliff. “Not yet. Not till you say you��re mine.”

She gasps, body tensing. “I’m yours. You know I’m yours. You know that.”

He kisses her fiercely, like he’s drowning in her mouth. His thrusts speed up again, but still don’t lose control. He’s teetering. On the verge.

But he’s still hers. Still in control.

Just barely.

“Say the word,” Caleb breathes, voice low and strained against her cheek. “If you want me to stop, I will. I’ll pull out right now.”

She shakes her head, breath catching in her throat. “No. Don’t. I don’t want you anywhere else.”

His hips slow, just slightly. His forehead presses to hers. “You sure?”

“I’ve been sure,” she says, voice trembling. “I’ve thought about it for three weeks. Every night. Every morning. I want it. I want you to finish inside me.”

Caleb lets out a sound that isn’t quite a groan, something rawer. Like the last bit of his restraint just cracked in the middle.

“You’re killing me,” he whispers.

“Then let go,” she replies. “Let me feel it.”

He starts moving again. Slow, deep thrusts that drag along her walls. She gasps, trembling beneath him, body overstimulated, nerves fraying. But she doesn’t stop him. She never wants to.

“I’ll take off work,” she adds, voice breaking in a breathless laugh. “Fuck it. I’ll stay in this bed all week. You’ve got seven days, Caleb. Seven days to fuck me inside out. You can’t forget.”

He swears under his breath, mouth falling open. “Jesus.”

“I mean it. It’s safe. I’m on the pill. You don’t have to hold back anymore.”

He groans, thrusting deeper, rougher now. His control is still intact, but barely. Like he’s holding it in his teeth.

“I don’t know if I can cum again,” she admits, voice small, hoarse. “I really don’t. I feel… used up. In a good way. I feel so wrecked.”

But then his cock hits that spot again, and her body betrays her. It's arching, clenching. Another orgasm building low and hot in her gut, despite everything.

He watches her crumble. “There it is,” he murmurs. “You’re gonna give me one more, aren’t you?”

She moans, high and needy, cock-drunk. “Caleb…. C-Caleb…”

“I know, baby. I’ve got you.”

She grabs at him, his hips, shoulders, anything she can reach. Her fingers curl tight around his waist and pull. Hard. Dragging him in deeper, faster.

“Don’t stop. I need it. Please,” she gasps, breathily. “Please, I need all of it.”

His voice is soft again, with adoration and lust, a bit raspy. “You’re perfect. You’re taking me so well. I’m close, pips. I can’t keep this up much longer.”

She doesn’t let him slow. “Good. I want it. I want it so bad.”

He thrusts harder, faster, deeper, like her words set his rhythm on fire. Sweat drips from his chest onto hers, his arms trembling on either side of her face.

“I’m not sorry,” he growls, voice shaking. “I’m not gonna apologize for this. I’ve waited too fucking long.”

She whines, begging without words now, just sounds, soft and lewd, broken and full of him.

He slams into her again, all the way to the base, and stays there a second, cock pulsing.

“You want me to cum inside you?” he asks, voice wrecked.

She nods frantically, nails dragging down his back. “Please… yes please, Caleb, I need it. I’ve never had anyone else. I’ve never wanted anyone else.”

He moans, deep and shuddering. “Fuck. You don’t know what you do to me.”

“I do,” she whispers. “I feel it. Every time you move. I want you to ruin me.”

And he does.

His thrusts lose rhythm, grow erratic, brutal, beautiful. He chokes on a gasp, and then he’s slamming into her hard and fast, panting against her mouth.

“I’m gonna fill you,” he growls. “So deep you won’t remember what empty feels like.”

She cries out, pulling him deeper, wrapping her legs around him like she never wants to let him go.

“I need it. I need all of it. Please, Caleb, please. I want every drop…”

And then she cums. Again.

Impossible. Devastating.

Her whole body shatters around him, wrung out and crying, and the way she clenches, wet and trembling, breaks him open.

He groans, loud and wild, as he thrusts deep and stays there. His cock pulses, and she feels it: his cum spilling inside her in waves, hot and thick.

She moans like she’s being blessed.

He stays buried, panting against her shoulder, kissing whatever skin he can reach. Her cheek. Her jaw. Her throat.

Neither of them speak for a long time. They just breathe. Seven more days.

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