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stardustquills · 2 months ago

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sleeping beauty

synopsis: dr. zayne coming home later than expected and finding his sweet girl asleep while wearing a new set.

cw; smut (18+ mdni), somnophilia, male masturbation, fingering, unprotected p in v, prone bone, praise kink, pet names (sweetheart, darling), mentions of phone sex, soft(?) sex, creampie, missionary

wc; 2.9k

he entered the house late one night, dragging his feet on the wooden floors as he walked in. god, he doesn’t even know what time it is. 4, 5am? zayne feels absolutely horrible—he said he’d be home by midnight, yet an emergency surgery held him back. he doesn’t expect you to be awake, that would be absurd, but he does get curious as he sees a note on the kitchen counter.

‘surprise in the bedroom for you, love’ the note read, in your handwriting. it was written in red ink with hearts all over it.

huh? he raised an eyebrow, rereading the note again. and again. there’s no way you’d still be awake.

zayne keeps holding onto the note as he walks into your shared bedroom, confusion written clearly on his feautures as he slowly opens the door. you’re asleep, he knows you are. he cringes when the door hinges squeaks, stopping his movements. he pushes the door open again, just enough for him to slip into the room before he closes it behind him. he made sure to turn the handle before the door closed, staying as quiet as possible.

his eyes flickered over to the bed, seeing your sleeping form. you cuddled his pillow, arms wrapped around it as if it were him. it was something he often caught you doing when he was away, and it made his heart melt more every time he saw it.

he chuckled under his breath. cute, he thought.

the lamp on your nightstand was on the lowest setting, casting a warm yellow glow over your slumbering body. zayne took a step closer to the bed before his breath hitched—you were wearing a new lingerie set.

it was his favourite colour on you, too. a rich pink, the colour of perfectly ripe raspberries. the lace of the lingerie had intricate designs, flowers and vines with lighter pink accents. the colour made the tone of your skin pop as it accented your curves, making you seem that much more beautiful and feminine in his mind.

the set didn’t leave much to the imagination—not that he needed it, anyway. but he couldn’t deny how absolutely breathtaking you looked, all dolled up and pretty as you snuggled against his pillow.

his pants grew tight at the display.

your handwriting in red ink caught his eye again. there’s a note on your bedside table, accompanied with a bottle of lube and your fuzzy pink handcuffs. ‘go crazy. please.’

his eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiled, leaning down to place a kiss on your temple.

a shower and then he’ll do as you asked, he decided.

☃︎⋆꙳•❅*ִ

zayne doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. the door’s cracked open just enough so he can see you, and he just can’t seem to take his eyes off you. even through the fogged up glass of the shower he can see the silhouette of your body, blurs of pretty pink lace adorning your skin.

before he knows it, his hand is on his cock. thick and veiny, it’s hard just from the thought of you. he teases himself as he yearns for you, wishing it was your hand instead. he tugs on himself, eyes fluttering as his jaw grows slack, a breath escaping his throat. he turns around in the shower so the water hits his back before tugging again, eyes flitting closed as he rasps your name. he could physically feel his knees weaken; what was happening to him?

zayne reaches a hand towards the shower wall, steadying himself as hot water continues to downpour on him. he’s burning. it’s too hot, it’s too much. he turns the temperature down, turning around so the colder water hit hit face, his chest. his eyes are still closed as he unhurriedly strokes himself, another hiss of his lover’s name tumbling past his lips.

now that he thinks about it, when was the last time the two of you had been intimate? with both of you leading busy lives, zayne being a doctor and you being a hunter, spending time with one another was rare. but you knew it would be like this even before you became official, both of you did. nonetheless, you made it work—navigating through the thick and thin.

zayne’s horny mind quickly found itself thinking about the phone sex from a week ago; it had become a norm in your relationship. he loved hearing your sighs and whimpers over the call as you tried to keep yourself quiet in your cold, empty hotel room you often found yourself in during missions. but still, whenever it happened, your fingers could never replicate the feeling of his dexterous ones, and his fist didn’t feel as good as your dainty one. it was in no way as good as the real thing, but it was good enough to satisfy both of you when you’re apart.

but now you’re here, and so is he, and he’s so excited. it’s painfully obvious with the way he is shamelessly touching himself, eyes half lidded as they roam down your silhouette. his sweet, loving girlfriend is finally home, wearing new lingerie, has given him her consent and he is definitely going to be taking advantage of it.

he comes out of the shower a few minutes later, not even bothering with getting dressed. zayne just had his towel hanging low on his hips, hair still damp. he didn’t let himself finish, wanting to do it when he fucks you instead. plus, why would waste cum when he can dump it in you? his mind gets full of ideas, but when he’s standing beside the bed his heart goes soft. he picks up the note again, rereading it.

he flips the paper over. ‘i have the day off tomorrow!’

could this get any more perfect?

zayne puts the note down back on the nightstand before turning his attention to you. he sat down, the mattress creaking under him as he brushed the hair away from your face. he’s so soft, gentle and domestic, as he leans down to kiss your cheek, catching a whiff of your shampoo.

you started to shift, mumbling incoherently before you stilled again, still asleep. zayne pulled back, letting one of his hands wander. he traced to smooth curve of your neck, drawing mindless shapes as his hands travelled further down. it finally settled on your waist, thumb rubbing back and forth on your silky, pliable skin.

it didn’t stay there for long, though—he couldn’t stop himself from exploring further. his hand goes further south, tracing the intricate details of the lacy panties you wore. eventually zayne’s hand is between your thighs, forefinger swiping across your slit-

but then he realizes that they’re crotchless.

you, his innocent devoted girlfriend, bought crotchless lingerie.

dirty girl!

he couldn’t help but to smirk, his face heating up at the discovery.

he quickly bring his hand to his mouth, spitting on his middle and ring fingers. his hand returned to you cunt, teasing and spreading you open. you may be asleep, but he could feel the way your body reacted to his touch.

“zayne,” he caught his name amidst your slumberous mumbling. it caused his smile to grow.

slowly, carefully, he could feel you getting wetter and wetter. his fingers traveled upwards towards your clit, not quite touching. he circled his finger around it, mindful of not applying direct pressure but still aware of how the muscles of your thighs twitched when he brushed against it.

even in your sleep, you’re so reactive to him.

zayne’s skilled fingers made their way back to you slit, prodding at your entrance before pushing in. of course he caught the way your walls happily welcomed him in, fluttering and throbbing like it’s been ages since they’ve had any attention. his fingers scissored and thrusted inside you, stretching you out to take his painfully hard cock. he fisted himself with his free hand, eyes blissfully closed and head thrown back as his thumb rubbed circles on your clit. the towel he wore was long forgotten on the floor, but he couldn’t care less right now—not when he had you all to himself after god knows how long.

your mindless whimpers were music to his ears, a sound he’d never tire from hearing. he felt your velvet walls fluttering and throbbing around his fingers, and combined with the way your thighs quivered and spasmed, he knew you were close. you arms tightened around his pillow and you buried your face further into it, shoulder rising and falling faster as your breathing picked up.

“mm-mmh,” your hums and whimpers filled the room, along with the squelches of your wetness against his fingers. with a hitched breath and a soft pant, you came undone around his fingers, cunt wildly throbbing around zayne’s digits.

he eased you through your orgasm, slowing down his fingers with a subtle smile on his lips. he withdrew them, leaving your puckering hole trying to clench around nothing as he brought his fingers to his mouth. zayne hummed at the taste of your sweetness, licking his fingers clean of your juices. he knew it was lewd. he just made you come while you’re asleep! but he just couldn’t resist; why would he waste a delicacy like this?

he stopped pumping himself—hard, fat cock resting against his stomach as he let himself go. with prominent veins and an angry tip, he was aching to finally be inside you. zayne grabbed a pillow, settling it so it was under your hips before he moved so he was on top of you, seamlessly slipping inside your heat and bottoming out into a prone bone.

you shifted under him, a looong whine leaving your throat when he pushed himself in. he waited until you settled to move again, slowly pulling himself out before gently pushing back in. he continued his slow, unhurried pace as he noticed you waking up from your slumber.

“zay- hah,” your voice was meek, quiet, riddled with sleep. “zayne,” you almost whined, tired tone taking over as mewls continued to leave you.

“good morning, sleeping beauty.” he whispered into your ear, leaning down to place a kiss on your trapezius. “sleep well?”

“mmhmmm,” you hummed dreamily, hiding the growing smile on your face by hiding your face in the pillow. “oh!”

“i apologize for being late,” zayne continued to sweetly talk to you, keeping his tempo slow and controlled. “there was an emergency surgery—you know how that goes.”

you hummed once more, only half paying attention to what your boyfriend was saying. your mind was more pre occupied with how he was making love to you. “‘s okay,” your words slurred, still quiet as you arms stayed wrapped about his pillow. “big fancy surgeon stuff.”

“mm, exactly.” he nosed where your neck and shoulder met, inhaling the sweet scent of your body wash. he let his eyes close, pace speeding up just a crumb. he let his lips linger on your skin, pressing his words into you. “i love you.”

“i- mmh, love you too.”

he smiled, one hand gliding down to you waist. “i like these,” he pulled at the waistband and let go of it, causing it to hit your skin with a smack! “did you get them while you were away?”

you hummed again, nodding. still too sleepy to form full, coherent sentences.

“words, sweetheart,” he grunted, a particularly hard thrust eliciting a moan from the both of you. “i need words. use them.”

“y-yes,” you replied quietly, eyes closed as your fingers curled against the pillow. “knew you liked the colour, so i- mm, got a pair.”

“they’re crotchless,” he smirked against your skin, eyes opening slightly to watch your expression. “dirty girl.”

zayne could see the way your cheeks grew rosier, matching the lingerie that garnished your body. “aw, are you shy, darling?”’

your whine of his name left him reeling. his pace sped up, the pap! pap! pap! of your skin drowning out your noises of pleasure.

“zayne!” you mewled with a gasp of his name, back arching deliciously against him. “hah- harder!”

“what’s the magic word, my love?”

“nnmh- please,” your face went deeper into the pillow, fingers gripping at the pillowcase helplessly.

he listened, humming contently as you did as he asked. “very good,”

your body rocked back and forth with the power of his thrusts, sweet mewls trailing past your lips. zayne’s head was up in the stratosphere with how well you were taking him, velvety walls gripping onto him like a vice. he sped up his pace, one hand resting on your waist—pulling you down onto him—while the other stayed by your head, supporting himself.

you turned your head just slightly, looking over your shoulder at the doctor. you took in his drip-drip-dripping hair and the way the smell of his body wash was stronger, even if it was masked by the scent of sex. you concluded he must’ve just taken a shower. you were snapped out of your thoughts when the bulbous head of his cock bumped against your g-spot, eliciting a breathy moan from your lips. “hngh, zayne, there!”

“right—“ he grunted, biting his bottom lip in concentration. he thrusted again, hard, hitting the spot you wanted. “here?”

“yes!”

he chuckled at your earnest response, pushing his cock against that spot repeatedly. he looked down, watching the way he kept disappearing into you, mesmerized.

“atta girl, taking me so well.”

“theeere you go, just like that.”

you could feel that familiar coil in your stomach, the one that left your body tingling and buzzing with electricity. your noises became sharper, more needier, and he picked up on that almost immediately.

“wait, wait-“ zayne panted quickly pulling out. you clenched around nothing, whining at the feeling of being empty. “wanna see your face with you come, love.”

he flipped you around effortlessly, pillow still under your hips as he spread your legs. his cock easily found its way back into you, like coming home from a long day. your back arched at the new angle, lips parted and eyes closed as zayne cradled you head in his hands.

“so pretty f’me, darling,” he praised, hips moving again as he found his pace once more. he leaned down, capturing you lips a with his own, devouring your little noises.

your hands came up to touch him, raking through his hair, clawing at his shoulders, just trying to hold onto anything. “z-zayne, mmh, so- so close! keep going!”

one of his hands snaked down your body, past the valley between your breasts and down your stomach, index finger just ghosting past your clit. it was teasing, mischievous, and he knew it. smirking against your lips, he nibbled at them as you let out a needy and annoyed whine.

“hah-harder!”

he didn’t have to be told twice.

zayne pinched your swollen, puffy clit before he drew stars on it, observing with a watchful gaze as your body shook and spasmed. he couldn’t help the smirk that crawled onto his lips—he was the one making you feel this way. he’s the one that’s making you tremble beneath him, right on the brink of your orgasm. it was his name that sweetly fell from your lips like a mantra.

that gave him a bigger ego boost than it probably should’ve.

your cunt fluttered and squeezed around him, trying to milk him for all he’s worth. “so- so close-!”

“i know, sweetheart, it’s okay,” he cooed, his thumb tracing the shell of your ear. your thighs shuddered, chest heaving with your quick intakes of air.

you came with a cry of your lover’s name, back arching off the mattress as your legs grew numb. your walls pulsated are him, desperately trying to keep him in you. a few more thrusts and zayne came as well, head hanging above yours as he whispered sweet nothings. he stilled, making no movement to take himself out of you—just staying together in the most intimate way possible, coming down from your highs and breathing syncing up.

your eyelids flitted open, your hands coming up to cup zayne’s face. you pulled, bringing his head down to yours as you placed a sweet kiss onto his lips. “thank you,”

“mm,” he hummed, smiling against you as he placed another kiss onto you. “of course.”

he reluctantly pulled out, eyes flickering down to your poor, picking hole, oozing with the combined aftermath of your orgasms. zayne moved off the bed, quickly making his way to the bathroom to grab a washcloth and running it under some warm water before he returned to you.

your eyes were closed, blissfully fucked out, legs still spread for him. a sigh escaped you as he ran the towel on your thighs before making his way between them, careful and delicate, like the gentleman he is.

after discarding the towel, he came back to you. the mattress dipped under his weight as he pulled you onto his chest, kissing the top of your head as his hands raked through your hair. you were already close to falling asleep, he could tell, and a small smile graced his lips. “i love you.”

“mmh, love you too.” you mumbled, pushing yourself further onto his body.

his eyes flickered to the bedside table again, where your pink fuzzy still rested. maybe he’ll use those next time, he thinks before joining you and falling asleep.

tags: @envy-of-greed @sethell @doncbaguette @hirostrvw @naammiii

likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated:)

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nikkeora · 3 months ago

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loving jason todd is like caring for an old marble statue.

he looks like something straight out of greek mythology, something pygmalion would have crafted with rough hands and bright eyes for nights on end. scars from battle like ares, or maybe he's closer to hephaestus considering his past.

but time hasn't treated him well, he's been broken and put back together more times than he can count. there are bad days where he can barely feel the parts of him that had once been taken away only to be stitched back on, where he feels like he's missing arms or ribs or even his head, and he feels as if he'd be right at home between nike of samothrace and venus of milo.

those days, he forces himself through the dark, grimy streets, body on autopilot as he watches limbs that aren't his own fight and bruise and bleed.

but then he comes home to you and slowly, slowly he feels whole again.

your fingers gently tap his before tugging at them, digits intertwined as you raise his hand up to your lips. you're just so warm and suddenly he feels his hand again, that fuzzy feeling gently running up his arm like spring water. he's thinking that the way your fingers are laced together reminds him of the crochet pattern he'd been trying to learn last night when before he realizes it, his other hand is moving on its own, finding purchase on your cheek.

it can't be a pleasant feeling, he thinks. he knows for a fact his hands are rough and calloused, years of abuse caked onto them in the form of scratchy white spots and ugly scars. but before he can take it away, you lean into it, nuzzling his palm as if it brings you comfort.

he brings you comfort, he realizes.

he stands there for a while, both hands now cupping your face, careful not to hold on too tight. his thumbs brush over the apples of your cheeks, feather light on each eyelid, one even traces the slope of your nose. you're so soft, flesh easily giving way under his touch and he can't help but feel like an elephant who's been given a kitten to hold.

then finally, he arrives at your lips.

he traces your bottom lip first, one slow, gentle swipe, before giving some love to the top. without much thought, he places both his thumbs over your lips like he's seen people do for stage directions, feeling the little squish when he puts just the slightest bit of pressure. your eyes open narrowly and he finally cracks a smile at the sight of you all smushed.

you open your eyes wider and his smile softens, his gaze locking onto yours. he feels like he could drown in them, drown in you, and he'd die happy this time.

he doesn't realize either of you are moving until his eyes physically can't look at yours anymore due to the sheer distance and the angle, instead slipping closed as his lips meld onto yours. he can feel the warmth in his cheeks and each kiss feels like pure bliss, the contact grounds him so that he feels like his head's on straight again. he's sure you can hear his heartbeat - after all, it's practically thundering against his eardrums - and the rhythm it knocks into his ribcage feels so real that the bones there can't possibly be missing.

jason feels every part of his body. in a good way. everything the world had ripped away from him now returned and fixed back in place by your warm, loving hands. yes, he may be a little weathered. yes, he may never feel brand new again. but really, does any of that matter when you look at him as if he's a masterpiece?

#jason todd x reader #jason todd drabble #jason todd #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood drabble #red hood x y/n #jason todd comfort #jason todd fluff

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quikyureblogs · 2 years ago

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When I first played Teal Mask I genuinely cried happy tears for like 45 minutes… I didn’t even move, I just stood by the bus stop in Kitakami.

It’s the corniest thing ever, but I still think about that time, and wish I could feel that feeling again

#Like it’s SO CORNY. VIDEO GAME DLC makes girl SOB AND CRY AND WAIL like little BABY #But… I dunno #Everything about that DLC makes me feel all warm n fuzzy #Is it possible to have nostalgia for something that only came out a month ago #quikyu2banter

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bunnis-monsters · 5 months ago

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NSFW

a/n: a naga kofi request!

warning: yandere behavior, restricting, double peen

It had been about a year since you had been taken to live with the naga who kept you prisoner. You had done an act of kindness, helping a snake cross the road so it didn’t get hit by oncoming traffic.

Unfortunately, though, a certain someone watched this from the treeline. He seemed almost amazed, realizing that perhaps there were some humans that did not think a snake like creature was a hideous abomination.

No, he soon realized you were nothing like any other human. The naga kept an eye on you, learning your daily schedule, never straying too far from the wooden area outside of your home.

At night he’d slither in, watching over you with possessive yellow eyes.

It wasn’t clear to him if he felt love for you, but the naga knew for sure he wanted nothing more than to have you for his own.

It was clear that soon, he wouldn’t be able to take the distance between you two any longer. He already considered you to be his, a thing he owned and got to do whatever he pleased with.

Late that night, he slithered into your room, his torso leaning against your bed as he took a moment to take in your sleeping face.

You looked peaceful and he could feel your soft and warm breaths against his face. Something about being so close to you had him all excited, his heart thumping painfully in his chest.

Why did he feel so… strange? You made his body heat up, something that shouldn’t be possible for a reptile like himself. But still, he felt warm and fuzzy all over every time he made his way to your bedside.

To keep you asleep while he carried you away, the naga sank his fangs into your neck. His venom could be many things, but tonight he made sure to give you a dose high enough to keep you asleep for a few hours.

Once you were in his den, he set you down on a pile of furs, unable to stop himself from staring at you. His lower body coiled around you tightly.

“So pretty… like a doll…”

While you slept in his arms, he gently brushed back your hair. The naga was being uncharacteristically gentle and tender with your unconscious body, his face nuzzling into your neck.

He was desperate to mark you.

You woke up in a huff, struggling the second you realized something was holding you in a tight grip. He attempted to calm you with soft kisses to your jaw, but when you wouldn’t stop moving he frowned deeply.

It couldn’t be helped, his snake body began to tighten around your body, his fingers working on your clit as he restricted all of your movements.

It was hard to breathe, but he didn’t dare to loosen his grip. You were his, and you’d learn who you belonged to soon enough.

His two cocks bulged against his slit, poking out and rubbing your clothed cunt. Watching your struggling slow down and turn into weak squirming made him hard beyond belief.

“That’s it, pet. Don’t you understand you can’t get away? Just let me make you feel good.”

He pushed your panties to the side. Before, he had planned on starting off gentle. The naga would only push one of his cocks in after fingering your fat, sopping wet cunt until you begged for his second cock.

But now that he had you at his mercy, he couldn’t help but shove both of his cocks inside of you, stretching your poor pussy out and making you tear up.

If only you had struggled a little less, he wouldn’t have been so damn horny. It was all futile, nothing escaped his iron grip.

His cocks were covered in slick as his hips slapped against yours. It was so easy to work you up, playing with your clit made you so, so wet, and you rather enjoyed being completely powerless.

The feeling of his lips and fangs on your neck made you shiver, your breasts being groped and played with roughly as you finally stopped struggling.

At this point you were panting, struggling to take in big breaths as you reached your peak. He was hitting that perfect spot with both cocks, and you were seeing stars.

The two of you came, cum pouring into your womb. He groaned against your neck and continued to thrust into you well after he finished cumming. You could tell he wanted to continue… but it seemed he was being nice to his little mate.

For now.

The naga carried you further into his den, curling around your body too keep you safe from any predators or potential rivals.

His teeth sunk into your flesh multiple times that night. He had to make sure everyone could tell you were his property, his little mate.

“All mine, little one.”

————————

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geminiwritten · 13 days ago

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soulmate ; bob reynolds

fandom: marvel

pairing: bob x reader

summary: you're engaged to bucky when you find out that not only are fated mates real, but you have one... and it's not your fiancé (soulmate au)

notes: okay, listen, this was never supposed to see the light of day... this was what i would write between other fics when i felt blocked or wanted to be dramatic and wax lyrical about loving lewis pullman... so basically, this is me not-so-subtly saying i would abandon everything i know and love for him... please be kind! this one feels weirdly personal because it's so emo??? but regardless, i hope you enjoy and would love, love, love to hear what you think! (p.s. happy birthday to me!)

warnings: swearing, angst, mention of slight age gap (with bucky), heartbreak (lots), crying, fainting, the void (almost), alcohol consumption, acotar reference (if you squint), so many metaphors, nudity, and horniness very slightly bordering on smut (yes, i still managed to make it horny) so 18+ ONLY MDNI!

word count: 14951

Mates.

It’s not something you hear about often—and it happens even less.

Centuries ago, it was something creatures hungered for. Something that drove them. Compelled them to find their one true mate and, well… mate.

But that was long ago. Now, it’s rare. Fabled. Forgotten by most. Even fewer still are lucky enough to have one.

There are other words for it now—soulmate, twin flame, kindred spirit, true love. Softened, romanticised. Colloquial terms thrown around like confetti at a wedding. Used to describe someone you choose to love. Not someone you’re bound to by something older than time.

Because mates? Real mates? They aren’t chosen. They’re fated. Selected by some ancient magic. A gift from the gods—or whatever existed before gods. Two souls born within the same lifetime, tethered by something invisible and unbreakable. And if they meet?

Well... no one really knows what happens then.

You see, with a world this big, teetering on the edge of collapse, stuffed to the brim with people all trying to survive—who has time to go chasing destiny? Who’s got the energy to scour the globe in hopes of locking eyes with some cosmic stranger?

Sure, the sex would probably be mind-blowing. But sex can be plenty good without a soul-deep connection plucking the strings of your orgasm.

Which is exactly why no one really cares about mates anymore. Most people don’t even believe they exist. And those who do? They’re usually just lonely—reaching for hope, not magic.

And you? Well, you’re more than happy in the arms of your sex god super soldier fiancé.

Or at least… you were.

“Do we have to?” Bucky sighs, his face buried in the crook of your neck, stubble grazing your skin.

You giggle and squirm beneath the weight of his body—his very naked body.

“Come on,” you say, half-heartedly shoving at his chest. “We’re already going to be late. Besides, you can’t possibly be ready to go again.”

He lifts his head, blue eyes glittering with mischief. “Sure about that, doll?”

He shifts, and you feel it—thick and heavy, pressing insistently against your hipbone.

Your eyes go wide, heat pooling between your thighs. “Aren’t you supposed to be like... over a hundred?”

He chuckles, sliding down a little, clearly aiming for your breasts.

“Technically, yes. Biologically, no.”

You hum, enjoying the rasp of his beard as it brushes against your skin. “Still,” you tease, “even biologically, you’re almost an old man.”

His head snaps up, eyes wide in mock offense. “Excuse me?”

You giggle again, trying to wriggle free. As much as you’d love to stay tangled up with him all morning, you really don’t want to be late—again—and keep his teammates waiting. They’re not exactly the warm-and-fuzzy type, but not in a bad way. More like the sarcastic, sharp-eyed, chaos crew who’d never let you live it down if you showed up looking freshly ravished. And honestly? You’re not in the mood to be roasted before coffee.

“For that little comment,” Bucky says, shifting to straddle you as the blankets fall away, “I’m cutting you off.”

You try to look up at his face, but your attention is… elsewhere. More specifically, the part of him that obviously doesn’t agree with this whole cutting you off plan. It’s hard—painfully hard—and staring right at you, begging to be touched.

You lick your lips, eyes wide with feigned innocence. “Cutting me off?”

He nods, sliding off the bed and taking his gorgeous body with him. “Mhm. You’re cut off. For at least twenty-four hours.”

You scramble after him, following him into the ensuite like a woman on a mission. “Twenty-four hours?!”

His mouth twitches like he’s fighting a grin, but he keeps it together. “Yep.” He turns to you, leveling you with a mock-stern look. “You called me old.”

You jut your bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. “It was just a joke.”

He leans in and kisses your pouty lips. “Well,” he murmurs, “maybe next time you’ll think twice.”

Then he turns to the shower and cranks on the hot water, leaving you standing there like a sulking child who’s just been denied dessert.

As the two of you shower and dress in companionable silence, a twinge of guilt starts to settle in your chest. Maybe you shouldn’t have made that crack about his age.

He didn’t seem offended—but still. The age gap is real. It’s not something either of you acknowledges often, but maybe you should be a little more mindful. He is the older one. The one in the public eye. The one who constantly fields backlash from idiot reporters and politicians, all desperate to dig up something to use against him.

And now that you’re engaged—engaged—right as he’s stepping into this whole New Avengers thing? The spotlight on him is brighter than ever. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to pick your playful jabs a little more carefully. Just for a while.

“Hey,” you murmur, lacing your fingers through his as you step into the tower elevator. “Sorry about before.”

He hits the button for the main floor, then glances at you with a puzzled little frown. “For what, doll?”

You shrug. “Calling you old.”

He chuckles—low, rough, and unfairly attractive. “Don’t be sorry. I’m a big boy. I can take a joke.”

There’s a beat of quiet as the elevator hums around you. Then, he leans in, lips near your ear, breath warm on your skin.

“I’ll just have to punish you for it later.”

Anticipation sizzles beneath your skin, adrenaline zipping down your spine before settling between your legs—a place Bucky’s words have a habit of landing.

Before you can fire back something smart—or filthy—the doors slide open, and you're greeted by the wide, sunlit expanse of the New Avengers common room.

“Finally!” Yelena calls, her head popping up over the back of the couch. “You’re like… twenty minutes late.”

“It’s not my fault,” you say quickly, slipping away from Bucky toward the kitchen. “All Barnes.”

He shoots you a look, lips twitching, then turns back to his teammates, moving toward where most of them are crowded around the living room setup in the centre of the huge space. Everyone is here except their newest specially-abled member—Bob.

You haven’t met him yet, and honestly, you’re not exactly eager. You know he’s got… issues, to say the least. And with all the other complications this group brings, you’re already close enough to being overwhelmed. How they came to be Earth’s Mightiest Heroes 2.0? You’ll never understand.

You busy yourself in the kitchen, fixing coffee and some breakfast while Bucky and his team dive into their meeting. You don’t live at the tower—you and Bucky have a small apartment a few blocks away—but you’re more than comfortable here. At first, coming along to all the meetings and mission briefings felt like a drag, but eventually you got to know everyone, and now, it doesn’t bother you so much.

An hour later, the meeting slips into something more casual. Bucky excuses himself to take a phone call, and Ava disappears—literally—so you take the opportunity to settle onto the couch, half-listening as John and Alexei bicker over what to watch on TV.

John wins, and you’re stuck watching college sports.

“I read your book,” Alexei announces, turning to you with a proud smile—his back now to John.

You tilt your head, frowning. “My book?”

“Yes, yes.” He slings an arm over the back of the lounge, turning fully toward you. “The one you told me to read.”

You stare at him, confused, for a beat longer than you’d like—until realisation dawns, followed swiftly by mortification.

“Oh my God, no,” you mutter, face burning. “No, Alexei, you didn’t—”

“The one about the faeries,” he says proudly. “It is a little naughty, but it is good.”

“You!” Yelena gasps from across the room. “You’re the one who told him to read those books!”

You sink deeper into the plush couch, hands flying up in surrender. “No, I swear—I didn’t tell him to! He asked what I was reading, and I... I told him. That’s it. I never told him to read them!”

John groans. “He hasn’t shut up about those porn books all week.”

From the kitchen, Bucky turns sharply, halfway through his phone call. His eyes land on you—wide with amusement, brows lifted in mock surprise, the phone still pressed to his ear.

“They’re not all naughty,” Alexei says with a small frown—and you’re not sure if he’s defending himself or you. “There is fighting and magic too. They are good books.”

You can’t help but let a quiet giggle slip past your lips. “Which one are you up to?”

His eyes sparkle with excitement. “I just finished the second book.”

You sit up and lean toward him, ignoring the dirty looks from Yelena and John. “Oh my God, did you love it? The second one is my favourite.”

Alexei nods eagerly. “I loved it. They are perfect together. Much better than the blond man.”

“Much better,” you agree with another soft laugh.

“I have question, though,” he says, his smile faltering into a curious frown. “How can they be mates if they are born hundreds of years apart?”

Yelena scoffs. “The book has soulmates too?”

You turn to her with a playful smile. “They’re mates, not soulmates. Like, fated mates. It’s not as lame as it sounds.”

“It sounds very lame,” she deadpans.

“It is not lame,” Alexei argues. “It is beautiful.”

Yelena rolls her eyes and John lets out a disbelieving laugh, still focused on the TV.

“You know,” you say slowly, leaning forward to catch John’s eye on the other side of Alexei, “some people actually believe in mates. Like real soulmates.”

“Yeah—desperate people,” John quips.

You roll your eyes. “No—I mean, yeah, but not just lonely people. Some still think fated mates are real. Rare, but real. Like some kind of ancient, sleeping magic. Most people won’t find theirs, because the world is too crowded now. But centuries ago, it used to matter. In some cultures, it still does.”

Yelena snorts. “Still sounds lame.”

You’re just about to respond when Ava phases in beside you, startling you.

“It’s true,” she says plainly. “I’ve heard stories.”

You ignore your spiked pulse and tilt your head. “You have?”

She nods. “Yeah. You know, when I was stuck in a lab for most of my childhood. I read a lot. Learned a lot. There are a few different versions, but some cultures still believe in real mates.”

Yelena frowns, but leans in—clearly intrigued. “This is ridiculous. There is no way every person has someone they are destined to be with. If that were true, we’d know more about it.”

“Not everyone has one,” you say. “It’s actually pretty rare.”

Ava raises a sceptical brow. “So, you believe in mates?”

You shrug, your cheeks warming with a touch of embarrassment. “I don’t know.”

“How do you know so much about it?” Yelena asks, a small smirk tugging at her lips.

You press your lips together, buying a moment to decide whether or not to tell them your story. But really—why not? It’s not like you have anything to hide. Mate or not, you’re happy with Bucky. And you know you will be for the rest of your life.

“Okay,” you begin, leaning forward, elbows resting on your knees. “A few years ago, I was at this gala—something for work—and this woman approached me…”

- Five Years Ago -

You tip the champagne flute to your lips, emptying it in one gulp.

“Wow,” you mutter to yourself. “These fancy events are stingy with the refreshments.”

An older couple nearby gives you a dirty look, but you ignore it and wander off in search of another waiter with another tray of tiny, unsatisfying champagne flutes.

“Excuse me?”

A woman steps into your path before you can reach the next tray. She’s older, with a lined face and silver-grey hair that falls almost to her hips. Her floral dress flows a little too gracefully for a ballroom with no breeze, and the many pieces of jewellery adorning her neck and arms clink softly as she moves.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she says with a small, serene smile. “But I had to speak to you.”

You tear your eyes away from the waiter retreating with your drink.

“That’s okay,” you reply, turning to meet her gaze—only to falter when you notice her eyes. They’re not hazel or green or brown. They’re gold. Entirely gold.

“Sorry, I—uh, I don’t think we’ve met?”

You offer your hand, which she takes gently, though her eyes never leave your face. They scan your features like she’s searching for something—something buried. Something you’re not sure is even there.

“No, we haven’t,” she says, stepping a little closer. It’s invasive, but her strange energy keeps you frozen in place. “I don’t normally do this. I usually keep my… visions to myself.”

Oh, God. She’s a fucking loon.

You let out a soft, awkward laugh. “Visions?”

She nods. “I’m not crazy.”

Sure, lady.

“My family is gifted—well, some of us are,” she continues. “I prefer to keep to myself, but when I saw you, I had to say something.”

You frown. “Say what?”

“You have the mark.”

“The… mark?”

“Yes,” she says, and you realize she’s still holding your hand as she gently places her other over it. “In your fate lines.”

Your eyes dart around the room. Why is no one noticing this weird little encounter?

You glance back at her—into those strange gold eyes. “My what, now?”

Her brows pull together slightly. “You don’t believe in fate?”

“I believe in free will.”

She smiles. “The two aren’t so different. Fate offers the door. Free will decides whether you open it.”

“Okay...” you murmur. “So I’m marked?”

“You have the mark,” she corrects. “The mark of a mate. Your other half. The dark to your light. You’ll know him when you feel the pull. It won’t be gentle—it never is, for ones like you.”

Your brow creases. “Ones like me?”

She studies you again—longer this time. Her smile is faint, but her eyes are deep, unblinking. She’s not looking at you. She’s looking through you. Still searching for something beneath your skin.

“You’re not ordinary,” she says softly. “Neither is he—at least, he won’t be when you meet. That’s why it matters. You two were made for something bigger. Together, you’ll either shift the course of something… or break it entirely.”

Okay. Definitely time to find that waiter. And take the whole damn tray.

She leans closer, her voice a whisper now—but somehow heavier. “This isn’t about belief. It’s about design. You can walk away—fate gives the door, not the hand that turns the knob. But when the moment comes, it won’t feel like a choice. Not to you. Not to him. Because something in the marrow of your bones will know.”

You swallow hard, the hairs on your neck standing straight.

She glances around once, then leans in—like she’s sharing a secret. “There will come a time when everything depends on whether you hold onto each other. Or let go. And if you let go…” Her lips press together, almost regretful. “Well. I suppose the universe will just have to adjust. Somehow.”

And then, like smoke in a breeze, she slips into the crowd—leaving your pulse racing and the taste of stardust on the back of your tongue.

- Present -

“Were you on drugs?” Yelena asks—not accusing, just curious.

You shoot her an unimpressed glare. “No.”

Of all the faces in the room, Alexei’s is the most excited—his eyes practically sparkling.

“Did you go after the mysterious woman?” he asks, leaning in.

You shake your head. “No. I went after the waiter and took his tray.”

Yelena snorts. “So you were drunk.”

“I wasn’t drunk,” you argue. “Yet, at least.”

Ava tilts her head, eyes narrowed. “Did you believe her?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. It sounds far-fetched, but… look at the last ten years. Super-people, aliens, sorcerers, magic. It’s not that hard to believe in the grand scheme of things.”

Alexei leans closer, dropping his voice. “Do you believe Barnes is your mate?”

No—but you’re not saying that out loud.

“Sure,” you say, your voice just a little too high. “I mean, assuming I believe the woman—which I never said I did—”

“You do,” Yelena cuts in. “I can see it in your eyes.”

You shoot her a look. “Whether or not I believe her... I love Bucky. He’s my person. I don’t care if he’s my cosmically assigned soul partner or not. I want him. Only him. End of story.”

Yelena breaks into a cheesy smile. “Aw, you are so cute. Sappy, and a little gross, but cute.”

You roll your eyes as she pushes off the lounge and heads toward the kitchen, where Bucky is still muttering into the phone. John’s attention is glued to the TV—you’re not even sure he heard your story. And Ava phases out again, disappearing somewhere into the tower.

After a moment, Alexei turns to you, voice lowered. “Are you scared?”

You frown. “Scared of what?”

“If you meet your mate.”

You laugh—softly, uneasily—ignoring the sharp twist of anxiety in your chest. “I don’t even know if I believe in that. So why would I be scared?”

“Because,” he says, glancing toward the kitchen, “you’ll either have to break his heart, or break your own by refusing fate.”

His words hit harder than they should. For a moment, it’s like your lungs forget how to work—air punched right out of your chest, heart pounding hard and fast against your ribs.

You’ve never thought about it like that—because you’ve never truly believed the strange woman’s prophecy. You met Bucky nearly a year later, and the thought never crossed your mind.

Not until now. Not until you had to retell that bizarre encounter out loud.

And sure, you could keep telling yourself you don’t believe in it. But there’s always that one question that lingers.

What if?

What if what she said was real?

What if Bucky isn’t your mate?

What if you find him?

What if she was right—and you can’t stay away?

What if the choice comes down to breaking Bucky’s heart… or your own?

“You okay?” Bucky asks, his fingers laced with yours as you walk down the corridor toward the elevator.

You’d spent the last few hours watching TV with Alexei and John—mostly talking about books—while Bucky worked. You tried to push all the weird questions and swirling doubts out of your mind, but it wasn’t easy with Alexei’s constant interrogation.

“Yeah,” you reply quietly. “Just tired.”

He squeezes your hand. “You sure?”

You glance up and meet his baby blues—so sincere it makes guilt creep up your spine. You can’t just tell him you’re scared he’s not your person... That would break his heart. And for what? Some cryptic message from a strange woman about a mark you’ve never even seen? Or believed in.

“Shit,” Bucky mutters, his eyes snapping away from yours.

You frown and follow his gaze, eyes widening when you see the end of the hallway swallowed in black.

“Um,” you lean into him, “what the fuck?”

“It’s Bob,” he says, slowly backing away. “He’s having a nightmare.”

You glance up at your fiancé. “He’s still sleeping?”

“Yeah, he has trouble actually sleeping,” Bucky replies. “That’s why he’s in his room all the time. He’s trying to sleep, and then whenever he does... it’s this shit. I thought I had nightmares, but this kid…”

Your heart thuds heavy in your chest—but not fast. Not panicked. You should be panicked. But you feel calm. Strangely calm. Even as the darkness creeps across the floor and walls, inching toward you as you back away.

“What happens if we touch it?” you ask, hesitating mid-step.

Bucky tugs your hand, urging you to keep moving. “Nothing good.”

Your head tilts as you watch the inky mass crawl, swallowing everything in its path. Your fingers twitch with the urge to reach out—but you know better.

“Is it cold?” you ask, eyes still fixed on the darkness.

Bucky frowns. “What?”

“The darkness,” you say, glancing up at him. “Is it cold? It doesn’t seem cold.”

He stares at you like you’ve just asked if it tastes like chicken. “It doesn’t really... feel like anything,” he says, eyes darting between you and the growing shadow. “Now, come on. We’ll take the stairs and warn the others.”

You stop short, frowning. “You’re just going to leave him?”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your damn mind. “Well, no. We’ll go in if we have to, but it’s usually better to wait it out. He’s getting better at managing it. It usually stops before it spreads too far. So, we try not to interfere unless we need to.”

“He shouldn’t have to deal with it by himself,” you argue.

“I know that,” Bucky says, tipping his head slightly as he studies you. “We all know that. And he knows we’re here for him. But we can’t sleep beside him every night—if we do, we get pulled in the second he starts dreaming. He knows we’ll help him if he needs it, but he’s trying to learn how to control it on his own.”

You feel an ache to run in after him—a man you barely know—to dive into that abyss. But you know it’d be stupid. You’re not like Bucky or the others. Not enhanced. Not particularly special. You probably wouldn’t last a second inside whatever hellscape awaits you in that darkness.

“Okay,” you mutter, squeezing Bucky’s hand. “Let’s go.”

You backtrack through the tower to the common area and give the others a heads-up. Then, taking the route furthest from Bob’s room, the group filters out. Yelena and Ava decide to hang back and keep watch, while Alexei and John head off in search of lunch.

You and Bucky say your goodbyes—for the second time today—before heading down the street toward your shared apartment.

“What was all that, hm?” Bucky asks gently, his voice soft but his eyes sharp with concern.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t still want to go back. The darkness hadn’t scared you—it hadn’t even really deterred you. All you could think about was the man trapped inside it—scared and alone. Gifted with powers like a god, but still powerless against his own demons.

“Nothing,” you say, keeping your tone light. “Just feeling a little extra empathetic today.”

He studies you a beat longer, but you keep your eyes fixed ahead. After a minute or two, he sighs, letting go of your hand and wrapping his arm around your shoulders instead. He pulls you in close and presses a kiss to the top of your head, murmuring something too quiet for you to catch—but you’re pretty sure it’s an I love you.

Once back at your apartment, you curl up on the couch together and start watching a movie—one you insist Bucky has to see, since he missed out on so many years of excellent pop culture. About an hour in, the pressure in your chest finally starts to lift—the weird heaviness that had been stopping you from telling Bucky what was really wrong. But instead of relief, guilt settles in, and you quickly turn to him.

“Buck,” you say softly.

His eyes are on his phone. “Bob’s fine now. Yelena said he woke up and wasn’t even rattled. Said the nightmare was bad, but he found it easier to stop.”

“Oh,” you murmur. “That’s good. I’m glad.”

He locks his phone and tosses it onto the couch beside him, giving you his full attention. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah—um, about before. I’m sorry for not listening to you. For arguing. It was weird, and I was kind of lost in my own head.”

He leans forward, takes both of your hands in his, and doesn’t speak—just laces your fingers together and watches how his hands swallow yours.

You clear your throat, hesitating. “Do you remember when I told you about that strange woman who came up to me at The Vantage Summer Gala a few years ago?”

His gaze lifts to yours, steady. “Of course. The lady who told you about your soulmate.”

“Well,” you begin, “I was telling the others about it—Alexei brought up those books I supposedly told him to read, and... I don’t know, we ended up talking about soulmates, or whatever. And after I told them the story, Alexei started asking weird questions. Like if I believed her. If I think you’re my soulmate. And then... what if you’re not? And—and—” Your voice catches, throat thickening. “And w-what if—”

“Hey,” Bucky murmurs, scooting closer and wrapping his arms around you. “You’re not about to cry over something dumb Alexei said, are you?”

You let out a watery laugh, your eyes welling as you press your cheek to his shoulder.

“I knew something was eating at you, doll,” he whispers into your hair, breath warm against your skin.

You sniffle, blinking fast. “It just feels so stupid.”

“Nothing’s stupid if it hurts you,” he says firmly. “And you don’t ever have to keep things from me. I don’t care how small it feels—if it’s bothering you, I want to know.”

“Okay,” you mumble into his shirt. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he sighs, pulling back just enough to look at you, still holding you close. “Don’t ever be sorry for being upset.”

You swipe the back of your hand beneath your nose.

“Now listen, okay?” He takes your hands again, holding them tight. “This might not help, but I need to say it.”

You frown but stay quiet, holding your breath like it might help hold back the tears.

“I know you’re unsure about what that woman told you,” he starts, “and I don’t know if soulmates are real or if fate really gives a damn about people like us. But I know what I feel when I look at you, and when you look at me.” He pauses, just for a beat. “I love you. And not because the universe says I should. I love you because you’re kind, and sharp, and stubborn as hell. I love the way you get quiet when you’re overthinking, and the way you look at me like I’m someone worth staying for.”

A few tears slip down your cheeks as he takes a shaky breath.

“But if one day, you find out there is someone else—if that soulmate thing is real, and you meet him and your whole world shifts—then I won’t hold you back. Even if it kills me, I won’t be the reason you’re not happy.”

The tears start falling faster.

“Do I want that? Hell no. I want you. Here. With me. Always. But loving someone means putting them first, even when it hurts. So if it ever comes to that… I’ll let you go. But until then… I’m all in. Every part of me is yours. No marks. No fate. Just choice. And I choose you.”

His voice wobbles as he finishes, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

You swallow a sob and take a deep breath, willing your voice to work.

“I love you too,” you whisper, a little pitiful after his brilliant speech.

He grins—and you barely get a second to appreciate it before he’s on you. His lips crash into yours, his hands gripping your body as he presses you back on the couch. The movie is long forgotten as he kisses you like you're the only place he’s ever felt at home.

You start fumbling with his shirt, trying to undress him, but barely make it far before his phone starts buzzing.

He groans and pushes up, and you let him go—his line of work is literally life or death.

“Everything okay?” you ask.

He nods, tapping out a quick reply before locking his phone again. “Yeah. Just John asking about tomorrow night.”

“The foundation ball thing?”

“Yep,” he sighs. “Can’t wait.”

You lean in until your lips are just inches from his. “Can I come?”

He frowns. “I thought you didn’t want to?”

“I didn’t,” you say. “But now I do. I think I need to be there.”

His expression softens as he leans in to kiss you again, murmuring, “Of course you can come.”

You feel strange under the glowing lights of the lavishly decorated ballroom. You haven’t even stepped foot in a place like this since your encounter with the fate lady—which isn’t helping that nagging anxiety that hasn’t let up since yesterday. But you’re still here, dressed to the nines and sipping champagne, because you knew you had to be. You just felt it. In your bones.

“Wow, you clean up nice,” Yelena says, her eyes sparkling as she approaches.

You’re at a high table near the back of the room, conveniently close to the bar.

“And excellent choice in location,” she adds with a wink.

You laugh quietly. “Yeah, I’m not a fan of these kinds of functions unless there’s copious amounts of alcohol involved.”

“I’m not a fan of much without copious amounts of alcohol,” she says dryly. “But I imagine you’ve got a little PTSD from this kind of thing. Especially after the voodoo lady read your palms.”

Her tone is teasing, but her words still prick your chest like tiny needles full of panic.

“Very funny,” you say, keeping your voice even. “Maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll meet a crazy woman tonight who can tell you all about your future.”

She scoffs. “No thank you. I am perfectly happy keeping that a mystery.”

You snort softly into your glass and take a generous sip of champagne.

“I’m pretty sure the only reason Alexei came tonight was in hopes of getting his fortune told,” she says, glancing across the room to where he’s talking to Bucky. “You know he hasn’t shut up about it for the past twenty-four hours? He even asked me to help him use a computer so he could research.”

“Oh my God,” you giggle. “I’m so sorry.”

Before either of you can say anything else, Alexei catches your eye and his face splits into a grin. He waves enthusiastically, then quickly excuses himself and begins weaving through the crowd.

“Oh, great,” Yelena sighs. “He’s coming over here.”

“You are here!” he exclaims, earning a few curious glances from nearby guests. “I am so excited to see you. We have much to talk about.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes your lips. “Hey, Alexei. Yelena was just telling me you’ve been doing some research.”

“Lots of research,” he confirms, setting his beer down on the table. “I know everything about mates. Ask me anything.”

Ignoring the sting of nerves rushing through your veins, you start to search for a safe question—something that won’t set your anxiety on fire.

“How do you know if you’ve met them?” Yelena cuts in before you can speak.

Alexei’s eyes light up. “Ah, good question. It is obvious. You cannot deny it once you meet them. It feels like gravity is gone, and they become your only tether to the earth. You don’t need oxygen. You don’t need water. You just need them.” He smiles proudly and nods at both of you. “Now ask me what happens when you touch them.”

You frown, curiosity getting the better of you. “What’s the difference? Between simply meeting them and touching them?”

“There is all the difference,” he says, frowning like you’ve just asked the dumbest question imaginable. “You see them, and yes, you know—but you still have choice. When you touch them, you cannot change mind. You can try, but it is too painful.”

You tilt your head. “Like... it actually hurts? Or it’s just emotionally difficult?”

“It physically hurts,” Yelena answers, and your gaze snaps to her. “You’ve acknowledged the connection, so you can’t go back to being without them. It feels like you’re being torn apart the further you try to get away.”

You raise your brows, surprised by her sudden expertise.

“What?” she snaps. “I was helping him use the computer, okay?”

You press your lips together to stifle a laugh and turn back to Alexei. “Okay, so what happens if you don’t like your mate?”

He scoffs, throwing his head back dramatically. “It is not possible. These two people are designed to be together, from birth. It is deeper than souls or magic. You cannot even describe it. There is no way two beings created for each other could possibly dislike one another.”

“Okay...” you say softly, “but what if you deny it?”

“Deny it?” he echoes. “You cannot—because you will not want to. The second you find them, you will ache for them in ways you cannot explain. No one else will ever fit. No one else will ever satisfy. You will crave them in your blood, in your breath. Denying it would be like trying to unmake the sky.”

His words knock the breath out of you for the second time in twenty-four hours. You nearly stumble back at their weight—at the way they land straight in your chest.

“This part is interesting too,” Alexei continues, ignoring the way your face has paled. “Before you meet them, you feel it.”

John appears beside you, setting his drink down on the table and eyeing Alexei with a frown. “What do you mean, feel it?”

“When you are close to meeting them, everything shifts,” he says. “Just a little. Sometimes it feels like anxiety. Sometimes it feels like peace. But always, it feels like something is happening—something inevitable. You start going places without knowing why, saying yes to things you would normally refuse. There is a pull in your gut, something telling you where to go. Like the universe is nudging you to where you are supposed to be.”

The words hang in the air, humming like static before a storm—until Yelena’s voice slices through the tension.

“Walker,” she snaps, frowning. “Where the hell is Bob?”

John blinks, taken aback. “I don’t know. I thought Ava was with him.”

You glance between the two blondes, blinking slowly. “Wait—Bob is here?”

“Yes,” Yelena says, clearly irritated. “He asked to come. Said he needed to be here—I don’t know. I felt bad saying no, he never leaves the tower.”

John exhales sharply. “I’ll go find him.”

Yelena turns to Alexei. “Can you go track down Ava? Let us know if she’s with him.”

“I’ll tell Bucky,” you say quickly, already moving as you slip away from the table and into the crowd.

You move through the crowd with steady purpose, weaving between glittering gowns and polished tuxedos, eyes scanning for that familiar face.

Bucky. You’re looking for Bucky.

The ballroom thrums behind you—laughter, clinking glasses, the low swell of music—but it all begins to blur. Your heartbeat picks up, not with panic, but with something else. Something you can’t name. A shift beneath your skin.

You slip through a side door, into a wide corridor draped in golden light. The hush is immediate, swallowing the noise of the party like a dream closing over waking thought. The silence buzzes in your ears, and the air feels... heavier. Thicker. Like the world had been holding its breath, and you just stepped into the exhale.

You walk slowly, drawn forward without thought. Each step echoes, like it belongs to someone else.

And then—you see him.

At the far end of the hallway, half-turned as if he wasn’t sure whether to leave or stay, stands a man. Tall. Tousled brown curls. Shoulders hunched just slightly in a way that says he doesn’t quite know how to fit inside his own skin. His head lifts as if sensing you, like a string inside him just snapped taut.

His eyes meet yours.

It’s not a lightning bolt. It’s not an explosion. It’s worse—or better. It’s everything. The moment stretches, distorts. A pressure builds in your chest, like gravity has decided to anchor you only to him.

You can’t breathe.

The world doesn’t blur—it sharpens. Every detail. The rise of his chest as he inhales, the exact shade of his deep blue eyes, the way his fingers twitch like they know something his mind hasn’t caught up to yet. You feel it in your bones, in your blood, like a long-lost note finally striking true.

Your mouth parts, but there’s nothing to say.

He takes a step forward, unsure. Almost afraid.

And you realise—you weren’t searching for Bucky. Not really.

You were being led to him.

“D-Do I know you?” His voice carries down the corridor—low, deep, wrapping around you like silk and smoke.

“No,” you whisper, even as every part of you screams yes.

He’s still a few feet away, and you’re not even sure he heard you—but his head tilts, just slightly, like he did. Then he takes a step. And another.

Drawn forward like the tide answering the moon.

His movements are slow, deliberate—like he’s caught in the pull of something he doesn’t understand, only knows he has to follow. Eyes locked to yours, wide and dark, shimmering with a quiet awe you can’t name.

He doesn’t stop until he’s standing right in front of you—close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his skin. Close enough to forget how to breathe. But you don’t need to breathe. Not now. Not when he’s here.

He is your oxygen. Your gravity.

He is everything you will ever need.

Everything you want.

He is everything.

“Hey—there you are.” The voice crashes into you like a wave shattering glass.

You jolt, snapping your head toward Bucky as he rounds the corner, a sheepish grin on his face, completely unaware of the world he’s just torn apart.

“Bucky,” you mutter, as if reminding yourself of his name.

Bucky frowns, curiosity sharpening his gaze as it flicks between you and the man beside you. “Bob?”

You whip back to Bob, eyes widening at his outstretched hand—fingertips hovering just a breath from your arm.

You flinch as if burned, stepping back before he can touch you—and his eyes snap up, darkening with something raw and wounded. The crack in your chest widens, because you feel it too. The sting of refusal. The ache of distance. The desperate, inexplicable need to feel his skin against yours—a need neither of you understands, but both feel deep in your bones.

“What’s going on?” Bucky’s voice is tight as his eyes settle on you.

You meet his gaze, a sharp pang of guilt slicing through your chest—because the face you love isn’t the one your heart seeks anymore. Your eyes? They’re drawn only to Bob. To memorise every line, to trace every curve. To know him more intimately than your own reflection, more deeply than the shadows behind your closed eyelids.

“I was—I, uh—looking for you,” you say, forcing your gaze to stay with him.

His posture stiffens, guarded—something you know all too well after years together. His brow furrows as his sharp eyes dart between you and Bob. He can sense it—whatever it is. The shift in gravity, the subtle movement beneath the earth. He knows there’s something more, but he doesn’t know what. Or maybe he doesn’t want to.

He fixes his gaze on you. “Are you okay?”

You nod slowly, then glance at Bob—you can’t help yourself—and it feels like surfacing from deep underwater, finally able to breathe. “Bob,” you whisper.

Bucky clears his throat. “Right. Of course. You two haven’t met yet.”

He wraps an arm around your waist and Bob’s eyes flare with heat—anger. He moves as if to shove Bucky away, but you find his gaze and silently plead for restraint.

You swear his eyes darken a shade, but he holds back. Jaw clenched, shoulders rigid—tense—but no longer coiled to strike.

“Bob,” Bucky says, eyes flickering between the two of you—clearly not missing the silent exchange or the way Bob’s body tensed. “This is my fiancé.”

Time stops—or at least, it feels that way. Bob’s eyes don’t leave yours, that same wounded look returning—only now, it’s splintered into something far more devastating. Like he’d caught a glimpse of heaven—just for a moment—before being ripped from the sky and cast down. Down through the clouds, through the earth, all the way into fire.

He was so close. So close to having everything. To having you.

Now all that’s left is ash in his mouth, and a slow, burning fury aimed at the man standing beside you. A man he calls a friend. A teammate.

“I need to go,” you whisper. “I—I feel sick.”

Bucky’s arm tightens protectively around you. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

You shake your head, eyes stinging. “I need to leave. Can we go—” your voice breaks as you glance up at him, wide-eyed and pleading, “—please.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “I’ll take you home, doll.” Then he turns to Bob. “Yelena’s looking for you. Come on.”

Bucky guides you back through the same door you’d slipped through earlier, back into the chaos of the ballroom. The music, the chatter, the laughter—it all feels like it’s coming from underwater. The world keeps spinning, blissfully unaware that your axis has tilted.

A few guests nod or greet Bucky as he passes, but he doesn’t stop. He can feel the way you’re swaying beside him, the way your weight leans harder against him with every step. He’s moving fast now. He knows something’s wrong.

So do you.

Your vision swims. The lights blur into streaks of gold and silver, voices folding into one another like crashing waves.

Somewhere in the distance, you hear Yelena. Then Alexei. Then—Bob.

Bob.

You spot him behind Yelena, eyes wide and wounded, standing like a ghost at the edge of your unravelling world.

He’s the only thing that makes sense in the chaos.

The only thing that’s clear.

And all you want to do is reach for him.

But you can’t.

Not here. Not now.

Not ever.

Because you love Bucky.

Because you chose Bucky.

“Bucky,” you murmur, barely audible, “Need t’ go…”

His arm tightens again. “I’ve got you.”

“Is she okay?” Yelena’s voice cuts through the noise.

“I don’t know,” Bucky answers, urgency creeping into his tone. “I need to get her out of here—now.”

You try to blink, but your eyes don’t open again.

The music and chatter twist into a storm—deafening, chaotic, pounding against your skull.

You try to move, to breathe, to see—but nothing works.

Your eyelids are too heavy.

Your lungs feel like they’re filling with water.

Your chest is caving in under the weight of it.

Everything is too heavy. Too loud. Too much.

Then—

The world cuts out.

Everything stops.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Yelena’s voice is muffled, but still clear.

“Keep it down,” Bucky hisses, his voice low—laced with urgency and… grief.

“I came here to ask if you knew what happened to Bob last night, because he’s been acting weirder than usual,” Yelena snaps, no softer than before. “But I did not come here for bullshit—I get enough of that from Alexei.”

Bucky exhales a long, tired breath. “Maybe we need to talk to Alexei.”

“Why the hell would we do that?” Yelena demands. “Whatever he’s been on about these past few days isn’t real. He’s off with the fairies—literally. Do not tell me you actually believe in all that stupid soulmate crap.”

There’s a pause. A thick, heavy silence as you try to peel your eyelids open. But you can’t. They’re too heavy.

“You didn’t see what I saw, Yelena,” Bucky says, voice strained. “The way they looked at each other... it felt—I don’t know. Like something cracked open. They were just standing there, but it was like all the air got sucked out of the room. I could feel it—the whole world shifting.”

“You sound like Alexei,” Yelena replies, deadpan. “So you’re either on drugs, hit your head, or you’re trying to be funny.”

“Why would I joke about the woman I love being inextricably bound to another man?”

Your eyes snap open. Heat licks up your spine and burns behind your eyes as your vision adjusts to the harsh morning sun.

“Okay. So, drugs. Or you bumped your head,” Yelena says, voice carrying through your bedroom door.

“Yelena,” Bucky pleads, voice cracking. “Please. I don’t know what happened, but I know something did. I need your help.”

She sighs. “Okay, fine. But you asked for this.” There’s a pause before she adds, “I’ll call Alexei.”

Your mouth is dry and your whole body aches with stiffness as you sit up, rubbing at your burning eyes. The sun through the window is too low and too bright for it to be your usual wake-up time—so you know you’ve overslept.

You throw back the duvet and swing your legs over the edge of the bed, curling your toes into the plush carpet you and Bucky picked out together. You’d chosen it the second you stepped into the flooring store. The saleswoman warned you off it—something about loose threads and visible tread marks—but it was just so unbelievably soft, you couldn’t imagine choosing anything else.

The day it was installed, you and Bucky spent the first fifteen minutes making carpet angels, laughing like idiots, and revelling in the feel of it beneath your skin. Then you spent the next hour defiling the brand-new flooring. There’s still a stain you never managed to get out—thankfully hidden beneath the bed.

Your stomach twists with nausea, bile climbing your throat until you gag. You scramble to your feet and rush into the ensuite, gripping the basin for dear life as you cough up nothing but stomach acid.

Tears well up, spilling hot and fast down your cheeks before your mind can even catch up.

You feel wrecked. Totally and utterly ruined. Chewed up and spat out by the universe.

You don’t understand anything. It’s like you’ve been dropped into the centre of the labyrinth without a torch. But there’s a rope inside your gut—tugging, steady and sure—pulling you in a direction that promises escape. Only, it’s not leading you toward where you should be going. Not to Bucky.

No, the rope is dragging you toward someone else. Your mate. The man from last night. Bob. The only thing your body seems to crave.

“Fuck,” you mutter, letting your heavy eyelids fall shut as you slowly straighten.

You avoid your reflection in the mirror as you strip off and step into the shower. You can’t look at yourself right now. You’re not just confused—you’re scared. Something inside you has changed, irrevocably. And you know that the moment you admit it, you’ll lose the power to stop it.

Once you’re showered and slightly less of a wreck, you wrap yourself in a comfortable pair of sweats and an old hoodie—one you haven’t worn in a while, since you usually prefer to steal Bucky’s. But not today. You tried to put on one of his sweaters, but the smell made you gag. And then you started crying again. Because yesterday, his scent was one of the most comforting things in the world to you. But not anymore.

Now, all you can think about is Bob—where he is, what he’s doing. And you know he’s thinking about you too. You can feel it.

After another few minutes of tears, you dry your cheeks and take a deep breath before stepping out of the bedroom and padding down the hall. When you reach the lounge room, the low chatter dies instantly, and three pairs of eyes turn to you—wide and full of concern.

“Hey,” Bucky murmurs, brows drawn tight. “How are you feeling?”

“Great,” you mutter sarcastically, avoiding his gaze.

“You do not look great,” Alexei says flatly.

Yelena rolls her eyes. “Thank you, Alexei. She knows.”

You curl up on the far end of the three-seater lounge, putting as much distance as possible between you and Yelena. Bucky is on the two-seater, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and Alexei is perched on one of the dining room chairs with his back to the TV.

It’s on, but the volume is muted.

“So,” your eyes flick toward Yelena, “what’s all this about?”

She sighs, her gaze darting to Bucky before settling back on you. “I came over to ask Barnes if he knew what happened to Bob last night, because he was acting strange—stranger than usual. But instead, I get told a bunch of bullshit about this ridiculous soulmates thing that Alexei has been going on about. And now I’m being forced to entertain the idea that it might be real. So... explain.”

You frown. “Explain what?”

“Whatever happened with you and Bob last night,” she says, waving a hand like the answer should be obvious.

You blink a few times, brows pulling tighter as you glance down. The room thickens with silence, tension rising in the air. The only sound is Alexei’s heavy breathing.

“What do you mean... he was acting strange?” you ask softly.

Yelena sighs again, tipping her head as if searching for the right words. “He was... weirdly calm. And not the kind of quiet, anxiety-ridden, dissociative ‘calm’ he usually is. He was actually peaceful. It was kind of alarming. So Ava stayed up all night to keep watch. We thought it might be the ‘calm before the storm’—you know, before one of his other personalities came out to play—but... nothing. He went to bed and slept. No noise, no darkness. Ava even phased into his room to check he was still there. And he was—sleeping peacefully.” She pauses. “He was... talking, though. Kept saying your name.”

You swallow—hard. “My name?”

She nods.

“Okay,” you mutter. “That doesn’t really mean... anything.” You glance at Alexei, like he might save you. “Right?”

“Doll,” Bucky says softly, voice tight, eyes still locked on the floor. “You were sayin’ his name all night too.”

You choke on nothing. Your chest tightens, lungs aching, heart leaping into an erratic rhythm.

“Alexei,” Yelena says sharply, turning toward her father. “Assuming this ridiculousness is real��how do we know for sure?”

Alexei raises his brows, eyes fixed on you. “She knows. And so does Bob. There is no magical way of asking the universe. They just know.”

Yelena’s head snaps back to you, her eyes wide, expectant. “So?”

A few silent tears slip down your cheeks, and you blink quickly, trying to keep the whole dam from breaking.

“Oh,” she murmurs, rearing back slightly. “I’m sorry.”

You let out a weak, watery laugh. “Why are you sorry?”

She shrugs. “For being harsh, I guess? I don’t know. I’m just... confused. It’s hard to believe any of this is real, but—”

“Why else would it affect them so much?” Alexei cuts in, gesturing toward you. “Whether or not you believe it, you cannot deny something has happened. Look at her. You think this is what happens when she simply meets someone new? Of course not—that would be crazy.”

“Couldn’t it be something else?” Yelena presses, brows knit. “Like, maybe Bob’s powers just—”

“You said it yourself,” Bucky interrupts, “he’s been better lately—especially last night. You really think that’s a coincidence?”

“Did not the crazy lady say it to you?” Alexei asks, eyes locking on you. “That you and your mate were something special?”

You nod slowly, sniffing and wiping the wetness from your cheeks. A beat of silence stretches between the four of you as you try to compose yourself, pressing down the guilt and that strange new sensation pulling you toward your mate.

“So... what do we do?” you ask, your voice hoarse as it slices through the quiet. “How do we stop it?”

“Stop it?” Alexei echoes. “You do not stop it. It’s not possible.”

Your bottom lip quivers. “But Bucky—”

“This isn’t about me,” Bucky says, eyes dark as he finally looks up. “If Bob could control himself after just meeting her, then this could be—this could help him control his powers. He might be able to use them without the other two showing up.”

You frown, narrowing your eyes. “What are you talking about?”

He doesn’t answer you. Instead, he turns to Yelena. “She could help him. This could help the whole the team.”

Frustration bubbles beneath your skin, spreading like wildfire through your veins and making your heart pound. “This isn’t about the team, Bucky,” you snap. “This is about you and me.”

Nausea swirls low in your gut, your body physically rebelling at your own words—this attempt to reject your mate. Because you don’t want to. Not really. But you know you should. You chose Bucky. And you’re going to stick with that.

Even if it kills you.

“Barnes...” Yelena says softly. “I’m not sure if—”

“This isn’t about me!” he exclaims, turning toward her sharply, his expression stormy. “Not anymore.”

You watch him with wide, watery eyes. “Bucky. Please. I don’t—I don’t want this... I don’t—” Your voice catches, breath halting as you fight for the words. “I don’t want... him.” It burns to say it, but you know it’s what Bucky needs to hear. “I want you. I choose you.”

His face softens, blue eyes turning almost cerulean—the way they do when he’s close to tears.

You turn to Alexei. “Couldn’t I just... help Bob? Be there for him to help control his powers and—and still be with Bucky?”

Alexei chuckles—low and soft, full of quiet contrition. “You could try. But it would be difficult... being so close to him, wanting him in a way you cannot explain, and holding yourself back. Not to mention the physical and emotional pain you would put him through.”

“So,” Yelena pipes up, “this could make Bob worse?”

Alexei shrugs. “Theoretically, yes.”

“Can’t we just try it?” you ask, your voice cracking halfway through as more tears spill down your cheeks.

Yelena scoots closer and gently places her hand on your knee. She’s not entirely sure what to do—your body language is still guarded—but you offer her a soft smile as her thumb begins to trace small, calming circles.

“We can try it,” she says quietly.

Bucky nods, watching you with a heavy expression and the faintest spark of hope behind his eyes. “It’s worth a shot.”

Alexei leans forward, his eyes crinkled and mouth pulling into an awkward grimace. “Well... there is one more thing.”

You all turn toward him, frowning.

“Do you remember what I said last night? About... it being different when you touch?”

You nod slowly.

“If you want to try just being his friend, then you cannot touch him,” he says. “Not at all. And you will want to—badly. But you cannot.”

Yelena lifts a brow. “Why?”

There’s a pause—an awkward silence while Alexei searches for the right words.

“You will not be able to... resist, as you say. When you first see him, it is all spiritual. Like fate. An invisible string pulling you together, but...” he hesitates, brow furrowed. “When you touch, it is more... physical.”

You suck in a sharp breath. “Physical?”

“Yes.” He nods. “Like... sexual. You will not be able to—”

“No, no,” Yelena cuts in, eyes wide as they flick toward Bucky. “We do not need to unpack this. She just won’t touch him.” She looks at you pointedly. “Right?”

You nod. “Exactly.”

Never mind that your fingertips are already burning. That your whole body is buzzing, restless with the ache to be near Bob again. The idea of his skin against yours sparks like a live wire and makes every nerve ending flare to life. You feel lit up—like something dormant inside you has snapped awake. Like a part of you was missing, and now that you’ve found it—felt it—you can’t breathe without it.

Yeah... this is going to be fine.

The day has been long. Maybe the longest you’ve ever lived through.

You tried to read. You tried watching TV. You even went for a run—which turned into a walk, which turned into a slow lap around the block before you forced yourself back inside. Because all you really wanted to do was find Bob. Go to him. Be near him.

It’s strange. Unlike anything you’ve ever felt. You know him—somehow. Like he already belongs to you, and you to him, even though you’ve only met once. Barely exchanged a handful of words.

Your whole body aches for him in a way you don’t understand. You feel like you’re fading without him, like staying away too long might cause you to unravel entirely. The idea of never seeing him again makes your stomach churn.

But you can’t let it show. You have to remember you chose Bucky. He’s your person—not this stranger with eyes that feel like home. You gave your word. You said yes.

So you’re going to marry Bucky.

Even if it’s not what you want anymore.

Even if he’s not what you want anymore.

“You sure you’re feeling better?” Bucky asks, stopping at the door to the bathroom.

You’ve been standing in a towel, staring at your reflection for at least five minutes now, trying to will yourself into being stronger. To shake this feeling. To silence the strange, restless hum beneath your skin—like stardust catching fire. Like gravity itself has shifted, bending around you, pulling your soul toward Bob’s with a force so fierce it almost hurts.

You clear your throat. “Much better, I promise.”

He gives you a small smile—weak, but still there.

There’s a beat of silence. A stretch of unfamiliar energy between you, tense and fraying at the edges. As if the universe itself is rejecting the bond you once believed was written in the stars.

But the stars had nothing to do with you and Bucky. Not really.

Now you know what it truly feels like when the stars choose. When they bind one soul to another.

“I love you,” he says softly, his voice hoarse. “Regardless of everything. Whatever you choose—I love you. I always will.”

Your eyes fill with tears—easily, instantly.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. “I wish I could—”

“Don’t,” he cuts in, nearly choking on the word. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“But—”

“Doll, I’m serious.” He steps forward, hesitating before reaching out with his flesh hand. You take it, and he gently pulls you a step closer.

“I know what I said before—about the team. That shouldn’t have been what I was worried about. But it was easier, you know? Easier to focus on something practical than to face the truth. Which is… I think I’m going to lose you.”

You shake your head, tears already spilling. “No, you’re not—”

“It’s okay,” he whispers, forcing a tight, sad smile. “Maybe it’s meant to happen. Like… literally written in the stars, right? And if being away from him is hurting you, I won’t be the one who makes you stay. That’s the last thing I want.”

He looks away, jaw working, before he meets your eyes again. “So just… forgive me. If I shut down. If I don’t know how to deal with this. If I can’t always stick around when—if—you choose him.” His voice trembles. “Because it’s going to hurt, doll. More than I probably know how to handle. But I meant what I said—I’ll let you go.”

He blinks fast, but a few tears escape anyway, carving slow trails across his cheeks. “If that’s what’s right—for you, for him, for fate or the universe or whatever this is—then I won’t fight it.”

He pauses, breathing deep.

“But you have to promise me something.” His voice steadies, just a little. “Don’t hurt yourself for me. Don’t hold back. Don’t settle. Don’t lie to yourself just because you made a promise before everything changed. Before you knew what this really was. Can you promise me that?”

You swallow hard, your breath catching in short, shallow gasps as you try not to scream. All you can do is nod.

“Good,” he whispers, his fingers brushing the ring on your left hand.

Then he leans in, eyes fluttering shut as he presses a soft kiss to your damp cheek.

A sob breaks free from your chest, more tears falling fast as he slowly turns and walks away—leaving you standing there, crying for what feels like the thousandth time today.

Not because you don’t love him.

But because you don’t want him.

And you hate yourself for that. Hate that you’re doing this to him.

But there’s nothing in you strong enough to stop it. So all you can do now is try not to hurt him more than you already have. Try to make it work.

Which is exactly why you’re going to the tower tonight.

To see Bob. To talk to Bob.

Because this thing—whatever it is—it involves him too.

And that’s something everyone else seems to have forgotten.

After drying your eyes—and then your body—you change into a fresh pair of sweats and another old hoodie. You pull on a pair of sneakers, run a brush through your hair, and head out the door. You don’t care about looking good right now. You don’t even care about looking decent. You just want to see Bob.

The walk to the tower is quiet. Bucky doesn’t try to hold your hand, and you don’t notice until you’re standing outside the looming building—when nerves start to creep in and you suddenly wish you had something to hold on to.

You glance his way, mouth parting—to ask for his hand, for comfort—but then you feel it.

That pull.

It threads through you like a live current, drawing you forward, calling to you like a heartbeat echoing in someone else’s chest. Like the ache of a memory you’ve never lived.

“You ready?” Bucky asks softly.

But his voice barely reaches you. It sounds distant, like he’s speaking from another room—or underwater. Muffled beneath the steady thrum of your pulse.

You nod, eyes fixed ahead as you step through the doors. Into the elevator.

You wait—still, silent—breath caught in your chest.

Then the doors open.

The moment you step into the common room, the air changes.

Alexei, Yelena, Ava, and John are gathered near the TV, the low hum of a movie playing as they speak in hushed tones—careful, like they’re trying not to break something fragile. But none of them are the first thing you see.

It’s Bob.

He’s sitting alone on the far couch, his elbows resting on his knees, fingers laced loosely as he stares at nothing in particular. Like he’s been waiting in stillness. Like he knew.

His head lifts before you even take a full step into the room.

The moment your eyes meet, the rest of the world exhales. Or maybe it holds its breath—you can’t tell. All you know is that everything inside you goes quiet. The noise, the ache, the confusion—it all stills beneath the gravity of him. The pull.

You don’t move at first. Neither does he. It’s like your souls got there before your bodies could catch up. Like the space between you is still catching fire.

And then, gently, you walk toward him. Just a few steps. He rises slowly, hands by his sides, eyes locked on yours with a look so open, so raw, it nearly undoes you.

No one speaks.

Not until Ava lets out a soft, wide-eyed breath from the couch. “Holy shit.”

The others glance between you and Bob, exchanging looks, but no one interrupts. No jokes. No commentary. Just the quiet understanding of people who have just witnessed something that feels... bigger.

You stop in front of him. Close, but not touching. His breath hitches. Yours does too.

Still, neither of you says a word.

You don’t need to.

Because whatever this is—this ancient, aching thing that lives between your ribs and beneath your skin—it’s speaking loud enough for both of you.

Yelena clears her throat, gaze lingering on Bucky. “Okay… yeah. I get it now.”

You blink rapidly, like you’ve just slammed back into your body after falling out of it. Slowly, you step back, eyes flicking toward the rest of the team—but refusing to snap straight back to Bob.

“This is crazy,” Alexei says, his grin so wide and his eyes so bright it looks like he might actually combust.

John pulls a face, nose wrinkled, confusion and mild disgust written all over him. “I can, like… feel it too.” He looks at you, alarmed. “Why?”

You shrug, breath caught in your throat, your voice nowhere to be found.

There’s a beat of silence, thick and humming with the weight of unspoken words and the flood of questions swirling through everyone’s minds.

Then John claps his hands together, loud and abrupt. “Okay, so… how do we figure out if she can control him?”

That snaps the room back into motion.

“I don’t think it works like that,” Ava mutters, folding her arms.

“How the hell would you know?” John fires back.

Alexei lifts a brow. “She is not here to control Bob.”

“Oh. Okay. Did you read that in one of your magic manuals?” John scoffs.

“Walker, please,” Yelena sighs. “Now is not the time to argue.”

They start talking over one another, voices rising and overlapping like a wave about to crash.

And then—

“Wait.”

The single word is soft. Barely audible.

Bob.

Everyone turns, and the room falls back into a heavy silence.

He shifts slightly on his feet, shoulders drawn tight, eyes fixed on the floor for a beat before flickering up to you. His voice is uncertain, but steady enough. “I… I’m confused.”

There’s a pause.

“What do you mean?” Yelena asks gently.

Bob swallows, glancing around the room before his gaze returns to you.

“Well… whatever this is, I feel it. I know it. I know—” His voice falters as he looks at you again, softer now, “I know you. You’re… mine.”

You don’t flinch. You don’t look away.

He blinks, grounding himself.

“But… I don’t understand what’s happening. Why it’s happening. Or… what you’re all talking about.”

You open your mouth, but Bucky speaks first, stepping forward.

“She’s not staying,” he says quietly, almost scared to say it out loud. “Not really. She’s… choosing me.”

Bob’s brows pull together, dark blue eyes widening.

“I mean… she’s here to help,” Yelena jumps in, a little too quickly. “Just to help. While we figure things out.”

“Help,” Bob repeats, like he’s trying to fit the word into a sentence that doesn’t quite work.

You finally speak, voice low. “I’m not leaving you. Not completely. But I also… I made a promise. And right now, I’m trying to keep it.”

Bob’s eyes search yours—not angry. Not desperate. Just… aching with the effort of holding something too big for his hands.

And somehow, that’s what hurts the most.

Because those words taste like acid in your mouth. Burning your tongue like white-hot lies.

You don’t want to keep your promise—not now. Not when he is standing there, looking at you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this world. You don’t want to walk away to protect someone else, even if that someone else has your heart in his hands too.

All you want is this. Him. The man in front of you.

You want to hold him. To reach across the impossible space between you and wrap your fingers around his and never let go. To tell him that whatever force carved your souls from the same star had it right. That you don’t care about the plan or the past or the path you promised to walk.

You just want to stay.

You want to lace your soul into words and place them in his hands.

To tell him that you’ll keep him safe.

That you’ll be the light when his world goes dark.

That you’ll be steady when everything else shakes apart.

That he doesn’t have to be alone anymore.

That you’re his.

Because you are. You always were. Even before you knew.

And walking away from that feels like trying to cut the sky in half and pretend the stars won’t notice.

“I—I don’t understand,” Bob says, his voice firmer now, edged with something darker. Something dangerous. “She doesn’t want this.”

You exhale sharply, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer. “Bob, please.”

His eyes snap to you, wide and shining with everything he can’t bring himself to say. But you don’t need words. You don’t need promises. You just need him.

“You don’t want this,” he repeats, softer now. Almost broken.

You swallow hard. “I do. This is what I’m… choosing.”

His brow pulls tight. “Why?”

“I made a promise,” you say again, as if saying it enough times might make it true. “And I want to keep it.”

You don’t.

“But I’ll still be here when you need me. We can still… be together. Just… not completely.”

Bob’s eyes shift to Bucky, dark blue bleeding into molten silver. “She’s choosing you?”

The energy in the room changes again.

The air goes still. No static hum. No crackle of power. Just… silence.

Heavy and unnatural—like being buried underwater. A crushing pressure that squeezes your lungs until you forget how to breathe.

Bob’s jaw tightens. You can see it—feel it—in the tension radiating off him. In the flicker of silver that sharpens, flares, then fades again in his eyes.

“You’re lying,” he says quietly.

Your breath catches.

“I can feel you,” he continues, voice raw, trembling just beneath the surface. “That’s what this is, right? This connection? I feel you, and you feel me. So I know you don’t want this.”

“Bob—”

His hands clench into fists at his sides. “No. Don’t say it again. Don’t say it’s your choice. Don’t say it’s a promise. Because that’s not what you’re feeling.” His voice cracks, then drops into something lower. Rougher. “You want me. I know you do.”

A faint pulse of cold slips through the room—sharp and unnatural, like a draft from somewhere that shouldn’t exist. It kisses your skin, raises every hair on your arms, and sinks deeper, like ice threading through bone.

Ava shifts her weight uneasily. John glances toward Bucky, tense.

“I don’t understand,” Bob says again, and this time his voice is breaking. “Why are you lying to me? Why are you choosing something that hurts you? That hurts us?”

You open your mouth, but the words aren’t there. They’ve drowned somewhere in your throat, tangled in the ache behind your ribs.

“I can feel your heart,” he whispers, silver light blooming behind his irises again. “And it’s breaking.”

There’s a pause. A beat where no one dares to speak. No one breathes.

Then Yelena steps forward, her voice steady. “Bob, please. You need to—”

But he cuts her off, eyes flashing silver as his anger sharpens, gaze snapping to Bucky. “Why won’t you let her go?”

Bucky swallows and takes a step back, his blue eyes wide and watery, flicking between you and Bob. “I—”

“She’s not yours,” Bob says, his voice so deep it echoes through the room—through your mind. “You can’t keep her.”

The room tenses. Silence coils thick around you, something ethereal seeping into the air like gasoline waiting for a spark.

“Bob,” Yelena tries again, louder now, more urgent. “You need to calm down. Now.”

You glance at the floor—at Bob’s feet. Shadows crawl across them, creeping upward, inch by inch, slowly consuming him.

Panic flickers across his face. He knows he’s slipping. The power inside him swells—cold, fierce, pressing outward.

His breath comes faster, fists trembling. “I’m… I’m sorry—”

The air snaps, taut like a wire pulled too tight. His power spirals, wild and uncontained, slicing through the room in jagged bursts like shards of ice.

The darkness creeps higher with every breath, swallowing him slow—leaving nothing in its wake but shadow, nothing but void.

“This was supposed to help,” John snaps. “She was supposed to help him, not make it worse!”

Alexei steps forward, eyes locked on you. “You need to go to him.”

You shake your head, slow and small, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I—I can’t.”

Ava backs away, her body flickering as she prepares to phase.

“Bob, look at me,” Yelena says, steady but firm. “Breathe. You are not alone.”

But his eyes stay on you. That look—raw heartbreak etched into every line of his face, love twisted with fear and confusion—

It fractures something inside of you.

“We need to get out of here,” Ava calls from a few feet away.

John starts backing up, his eyes wide and locked on Bob—as if waiting for a sign to turn and run.

“We cannot leave him,” Alexei says. “We go in, if we have to.”

“Bob,” Yelena pleads. “You’ve got this. Please. You can control this.”

Everything starts to blur.

The shouting becomes a wall of noise, voices crashing over each other, words slurring until they’re nothing but static—a low, violent hum in your ears. The blood rushes louder. Your head throbs, a sickening, rhythmic pounding like your skull is splitting apart from the inside out.

You want to scream.

You want to tear at your skin just to feel something real, to make the pain physical—tangible—because at least that would make sense. You want to tell them all to shut up. To stop talking. To just let you breathe.

You want to drop to your knees and scream into the void until it spits him back out.

Bob.

Bob, whose body is almost completely swallowed by shadow.

Bob, whose eyes—silver and scared—are locked on yours, pleading. Begging.

Bob, who holds your heart in his shaking hands. Who owns your soul, even now. Even as you’re walking away from him.

The one thing you need… and the one thing you’re denying yourself.

And for what?

For the heart of someone else? For a promise that was never meant to cost this much?

You would burn the whole damn world to save him.

You’d tear the universe apart just to keep from breaking that heart.

But this? This is breaking yours too.

Bucky’s voice cuts through the chaos—barely louder than a whisper, but somehow it reaches you. Steady, but breaking.

“It’s okay,” he says, eyes locked on yours even as his own brim with tears. “Go to him. I’ll be okay.”

You shake your head, lips trembling, a silent protest caught in your throat. But deep down, you know he means it. You feel it—the weight of his acceptance, the way he's choosing love over possession. Choosing you, even if it breaks him.

“I don’t want to let you go. God, I don’t. But I can’t be the reason he breaks.”

Your chest aches so deeply it nearly folds you in half. But there’s something else there too—something small and warm and unspeakably grateful. You don’t deserve this kind of kindness. But he’s giving it anyway.

“You still have a part of me. Always will.” His voice falters, but his eyes stay soft. “But he needs all of you right now. And I… I just want you to be safe.”

A sound escapes your throat, half a sob, half his name. You take a shaky breath, tears sliding down your cheeks as you step toward him—not to stay, but to say thank you without words.

His smile is soft. Cracked around the edges. Brave in the way only someone who’s breaking can be.

“It’s okay. I promise.”

You nod once. Swallow hard. Squeeze your eyes shut—steadying yourself. Then turn back toward him.

Bob, who’s almost gone—his form nearly swallowed by the creeping dark, his features carved in flickers of silver and shadow. He stands there like a man on the edge of oblivion, barely tethered to this world. Just a silhouette of the boy you love, wrapped in light and ruin.

His eyes find yours, and for a second, everything stills.

Even now, almost lost to the void, he sees you. Only you.

You take a step forward, your body trembling with the weight of it all—the fear, the guilt, the unbearable ache of loving something you might be too late to save.

“Bob,” you whisper, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, like a lifeline.

The darkness claws higher, curling up his neck like smoke. But his eyes—those bright, breaking eyes—shine through it all. The fear in them cuts through you like a blade. Not fear of what’s happening to him.

Fear that you won’t come.

That you’ll leave.

That he’ll lose you, too.

“It’s okay,” you say—to him or yourself, you’re not sure.

You lift your hand and move forward, closing the space with slow and careful steps—like one wrong move could shatter the world.

One step, then another—until you’re standing toe to toe with him. The shadow writhes beneath your feet, hungry and alive, but the moment you enter his space, it curls back. Like it knows you. Like it fears you.

Or maybe it just recognises what he loves.

The air is ice. He’s trembling. His face—barely visible now—flickers in and out of shadow like a dying flame. You reach for him, slow and sure, your fingers brushing the centre of his chest.

Right over his heart.

And the darkness parts.

Just slightly—splitting like oil pulled from water, leaving a sliver of fabric beneath your touch. His heart stutters. Yours lurches.

Then you press your palm flat.

And a soft light blooms.

Not blinding, not loud—just a soft, golden glow that seeps from beneath your hand like a memory. Gentle and warm. It spreads slow, steady. The shadow recoils, peeling back inch by inch, retreating from the light, from you.

Everything stops.

The void is gone.

Your ears are filled with the sound of your own pulse as you stare into those dark blue eyes—like the ocean kissed the sky and gave birth to this colour just for him.

He looks so fragile now. So tired. Wrecked not just by the strain of his powers, but by the weight of you. Of your touch. Your choice.

You, choosing him.

For a moment, you just stare at each other—memorising every line, every flicker of emotion—though you already know his face by heart. You’ve always known him. In dreams. In shadows. In the quiet corners of your mind. Drifting through memories and half-sleep, like your souls were stitched together before time ever started.

Always there. Always waiting.

“You okay?” you whisper, your voice faint, barely real.

He nods.

Then you collapse into him, arms winding around his waist, clinging like you’ll never let go.

And you won’t.

Not ever.

There’s still guilt. A lingering ache for the hurt you’ve caused. A hollow echo of someone else’s heart breaking.

But right now, all you feel is Bob. His arms around you, pulling you in like a lifeline. His face tucked into your neck, curls brushing your skin like a secret only he gets to know.

All you want is Bob.

All you need is Bob.

You can’t believe you ever thought you could live without this.

Without him.

Trying to choose someone else would’ve destroyed you. You see that now.

You feel it.

At some point, you shift to the couch. The others are gone—when exactly, you’re not sure—but you’re grateful. You need space. Time. And Bob needs rest.

Which he finally gets. For a few hours.

You settle at one end, sinking into the soft cushions, with Bob’s head resting in your lap. His arms wrap around your thigh like a vice—steady strength even in sleep. You play with his curls, trace the line of his jaw, and rub gentle circles along his back as he drifts.

You’re exhausted, but sleep eludes you. You don’t want to waste a single second with him. Never before have you wanted someone so fiercely. All you need is to feel him here—safe, alive, with you.

So you stay awake. Occasionally you shift, easing pins and needles or aching muscles, but Bob barely stirs. He nuzzles into your lap, your lower belly, holding on as if you’re the only thing keeping him from unravelling.

It should feel strange, wrong even. But nothing has ever felt more right.

You know this man better than you know yourself—of that, you are certain—and no part of you hesitates or doubts. This is real. The most real thing you’ve ever known.

You know it’ll be complicated. Awkward with the team, even more so with Bucky. You’ll have to hide it from the world for a while. But none of it matters—not one bit—when the boy in your lap breathes softly against your skin. His lashes dark on flushed cheeks, lips parted with a stray drop of drool on your thigh, and that aching, desperate pull in your chest growing stronger with every breath.

He sleeps until the sun starts to set, and you stay with him. At one point, you turn on the TV and pick a random movie, but your eyes rarely leave Bob. You don’t need him to wake—you’re perfectly content just being near him—but when his lashes finally flutter open, your breath still catches.

He stretches slowly, shifting against you like a cat basking in the sun all day. Then he rubs his eyes and sits up, blinking blearily, a soft smile curling at the edges of his lips.

“You stayed,” he murmurs.

You nod.

Without him, your body feels cold, but you resist the urge to cling to him. He needs space to wake fully, to stretch his limbs and shake off the last vestiges of sleep.

“Where are the others?” he asks.

You shrug. “Not sure. They’ve been gone all day.”

He nods slowly. “Did you—Did you leave at all?”

“No,” you say softly. “Stayed right here.”

He shifts closer, one hand finding yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world—as if his hands have known yours for years.

His brow creases. “You must be starving.”

You bite your bottom lip, weighing up your next response. Because yes, you’re hungry—but there’s something else you’re craving. Something more urgent, more raw than anything you’ve ever known. Something you need more than you want. Something Alexei warned you about, and you didn’t quite believe—until now. Now it claws at your chest, primal and fierce, relentless and aching.

“There’s… something else,” you say slowly. “I don’t know if you—”

“I do,” he cuts in.

Your lips part, breath catching in quick, uneven gasps as you hold his gaze—captivated, utterly pinned by the raw hunger burning in his eyes.

His brows lift ever so slightly, a subtle twitch—a silent question hanging in the air. You nod.

Then he moves forward, hands cupping your jaw—careful but urgent, as if he can’t quite believe you’re real.

The world fractures—time fractures—and everything narrows to a single, blazing point where your lips slam together with the force of a thousand storms.

It’s raw. Fierce. Like the universe just exploded inside your chest.

His mouth devours yours—claiming, desperate—fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you impossibly closer. You burn and tremble, caught in a tidal wave of need and relief that steals your breath.

The air hums with electricity, silence shattered by ragged gasps and the wild pounding of your hearts—syncing, breaking, snapping together like a sacred, unspoken vow breaking free.

Every nerve screams alive, every touch sending sparks crashing like fireworks. It’s hot, heavy, frantic—a beautiful chaos that feels like coming home after being lost forever.

You taste everything—fire, desperation, the sharp tang of longing—and drown in it, surrendering to the moment where nothing else exists but this.

When you finally pull back, your foreheads collide, breaths mingling in ragged gasps. His eyes are dark, wild, shattered open, and in that look, you know this bond has broken through every barrier, every shadow, every doubt.

You’re his.

And he’s yours.

“I need you,” he whispers, voice rough, cracking, as his hands slip beneath your shirt.

“I know,” you breathe, arching into him, trembling. “I need you too.”

“Do we have to?” Bob sighs, face buried in the crook of your neck, his curls tickling your bare skin.

You giggle, placing a kiss to his shoulder, perfectly content beneath the weight of his body—his completely naked body.

“I mean,” you murmur, fingers trailing down the dip of his spine, “you’re already late. Is there really any point in going at all?”

He lifts his head, deep blue eyes shining with adoration as he looks at you. “Exactly,” he says, soft lips twitching. “Besides, I can think of a thousand other things I’d rather do.”

He shifts, and you feel it—hard and heavy, pressing insistently against your lower belly.

Your lips curl into a smirk, heat blooming low and hot between your thighs. “And what exactly might these other things entail?”

He chuckles, sliding down slightly, tracing his tongue between the valley of your breasts.

“So many things,” he murmurs against your skin, “all of them involving me inside of you… in one way or another.”

You hum, eyes fluttering shut as his mouth wraps around your nipple, drawing a breathy sigh from your lips. “That sounds…” you gasp when his teeth graze the sensitive bud, “very good.”

He looks up again, lips parting from your skin as he gives you a soft, boyish smile. His eyes are bright—almost pale blue in the morning light spilling through the windows—and he looks so damn pretty. His curls are mussed, his cheeks are pink, and his skin is pressed flush against yours in the most delicious way. Even after weeks of having him—weeks of giving yourself to him in every possible way—you still can’t get enough.

“Does that mean we’re staying?” he asks, hands gliding up your ribs toward your breasts.

You giggle, flinching at the ticklish drag of his fingertips across your bare skin. There’s nothing you want more than to stay right here with him—forever. You don’t care if his teammates are waiting. You don’t even care if they blame you for holding him hostage. All you want is to stay tangled up with Bob until something human forces you to stop devouring each other—either sleep or hunger, the usual culprits.

“Yeah,” you whisper, a dopey, lovesick smile curling your lips, “we’re staying… but on one condition.”

His brow furrows, and he sits up a little further, his hard cock grinding against you in the most distracting way.

“Bob,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut, hands flying to his shoulders to hold him still.

He laughs softly, low and cheeky. “Yes?”

“I need you to fuck me,” you say, cheeks flushing pink—despite the fact that he literally just did, not five minutes ago. “Again,” you add. “And again, until I can’t walk.”

When your eyes open, you find his—dark and hungry, a stark contrast to the sweet, boyish softness from just seconds ago.

“And then I want pancakes,” you say with a small smirk.

His lips curve before he surges up and crushes his mouth to yours. Your chest aches. Your stomach swirls. Every coherent thought in your head vanishes. You’ve kissed Bob hundreds—maybe thousands—of times by now, and still, every kiss is earth-shattering. Every kiss steals your breath, stops your heart, and reminds you that this man was made for you.

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips.

You let out a breathless sigh as he trails kisses down your jaw, his mouth sucking a bruise into the soft skin of your neck. “I love you too.”

Mates are rare. They're not just lovers or partners—they’re soul-deep bonds that tilt the earth, shatter reality, and leave everything else dull by comparison. They’re not easy. They break hearts just as easily as they heal them. But when you find yours, there’s no doubt. No fear. No force on earth strong enough to pull you away.

Because despite everything—despite the hurt, the heartache, and the chaos—you know with absolute certainty that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

With Bob.

END.

#y'all don't hate me!!!#i'm so sorry #bob x reader #bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x reader #thunderbolts x reader #thunderbolts #thunderbolts*#lewis pullman x reader #new avengers #new avengerz #marvel #imagine #oneshot #one shot #fanfic #fanfiction #the void #sentry

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derealizationns · 7 months ago

Text

"intimacy"

characters - katsuki bakugou x fem reader

synopsis - katsuki’s tough facade crumbles as soon as you two are together, and he loves every second of it.

genre - fluff!!! so much fluff 🥹

warnings - none 🫧

katsuki loves intimacy. he definitely won’t show it, but he’s all for it. that boy is so used to being tough and everything, that it makes him crave those tender and gentle moments.

just imagine simple things like making dinner. the world seems silent, the only things you can hear are the shuffles of yours and katsuki’s slippers and the raindrops hitting the roof of your shared home. bakugou is chopping food on the counter, with you sitting beside him on top of the island, swinging your legs and just observing his movements.

your presence brings him so much comfort, though you aren’t even doing anything special. just the feeling of domesticity makes katsuki experience some weird warm sensation in his chest. he subconsciously smiles at that. it’s a faint smirk, but you still notice it.

after jumping off the countertop, you wrap your arms around his chest and place your head on his muscular back. he huffs with fake annoyance, but in reality, this gesture makes him incredibly happy.

“whatcha doin’, idiot?” he asks.

you roll your eyes at his question.

“i’m showing love to my incredibly strong boyfriend, don’t pretend that you don’t like it.”

at that moment, katsuki shuts up. he can’t lie to your pretty face, that would be cruel, so he just decides to remain silently enjoying your presence and warmth.

some other day, you are lying under the covers with your boyfriend. it’s saturday afternoon, meaning that you two have a day off, just for yourselves. bakugo decided that both of you should watch a movie that just came out, but truth be told, he didn’t even pay attention to it. the boy is simply staring blankly at the tv, visibly deep in thought. you quickly notice his weird behavior and decide to bring it up.

“kats?” you start.

his attention quickly switches to you, bright red eyes staring into yours curiously.

“what’s wrong?” the question falls from your lips.

his expression changes to one of slight shock. perhaps bakugou didn’t realize that he was visibly zoning out, or maybe he just didn’t expect you to mention it. after a few seconds of silence, bakugo finally speaks up.

“nothin’ is wrong, why you askin’?”

you sigh at his words. he is clearly hiding something from you. just when you wanted to scold him for his obvious lie, he speaks again.

“just thinkin’… ’bout how much i love you, i guess…” he starts, but he’s not looking at you anymore; his eyes are fixed on the ceiling. bakugo feels so embarrassed after he says this. the boy silently curses himself for speaking up.

you look at him confused but can’t deny the warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest. katsuki wasn’t the one to express his love so directly, and that took you aback.

“every memory i have with you makes me feel… weird. like, not bad weird, just… puzzled, i guess? i’ve never felt that way, so it’s hard to exp—” you cut off his rambling before he finishes.

“i know what you mean, kats. every moment, even the simplest and most boring one, stirs up something within you, am i right?”

your boyfriend sends you a shocked look. he didn’t expect you to read his emotions so well. you just said everything right! how is that possible? did you read his mind or something? or maybe… it was because those were the same feelings you have…?

“yeah… i think you’re right…” he mumbles, visibly embarrassed by this conversation, so you think it’s time to cut it off.

“but it’s a good feeling, right? like you’re not… overwhelmed?” you ask him worriedly.

katsuki shoots you a look that you think was supposed to be scolding.

“what? no, you idiot. it’s… it’s good, i like it.”

you smile at his words and tuck yourself closer to him, bathing in his warmth.

“that’s good…” you whisper and feel yourself slowly doze off, as bakugou leaves a soft kiss on your forehead.

you sleep soundly, dreaming about every soft and domestic moment you had with katsuki. and there were many more to come.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ kirara’s notes . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

thank you for reading this, hope you liked it! likes, follows and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🤍🫧

#⊹₊⟡⋆ kirarasworks #bakugou x reader #izuku midoriya #mha x reader #mha bakugou #mha #my hero acedamia #my hero academia #boku no hero acedamia #bnha #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugou #bakugou x you #bakugou fluff

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affableramen · 7 months ago

Text

yandere genshin men trying to make things right between you

angst, mildly dark themes ayato, neuvillette, pantalone, capitano, dottore, alhaitham

note: trying a new genre.

Neuvillette

Yandere Neuvillette kept forcing you into marriage after your relationship just got established. You asked him to give you some time to think over such radical and responsible change in life, but he was adamant to your pleads. He wanted everything here and now proven officially on the papers. You spent some nights crying because to think that such gentleman-like and solitary person like Neuvillette would force you into marital relationship was eerie. The desire to possess you officially seemed to blind him completely and he went from a loving gentleman to an almost insanely addicted man who did not accept a refusal.

It was your break-time at work when Neuvillette suddenly came up to you. It was odd at first - the judge putting away his duties to meet you seemed almost unbelievable, but remembering how assertive he was in the relationship with you it might have been close to the reality.

“Can I have a moment of your time, love?” He asked you, his hand not reaching to touch you but his gaze was heavy on your face.

“Of course.”

Not longer after the two of you were sitting in the cafeteria - a curious choice for a private conversation. Although you did not deny you seemed much more comfortable in a public place rather than face-to-face with him.

“About our marriage…” Neuvillette started, his fingers grazing over his glass of water.

“You already know my opinion”, you answered with no emotion. The time to play nice unfortunately came to an end.

But the next response from Neuvillette kind of gave you goosebumps:

“If I was too harsh on you, I beg of you to forgive me. I have a habit of grasping something dear to me too tightly, and I’m afraid that I hurt you more than I could possibly imagine”, he took a pause for a breath and gulped a sip of his crystal clear water. “I genuinely need to know whether or not you still harbour any pleasant feeling towards me?”

“What are you saying? Of course I do, Neuvillette—I admit you were unacceptably rough on me the past few weeks, but it would make me a poor lover if it were to stop me from harbouring affection to you.”

The judge sighed in relief, and then his expression became serious again.

“I would love nothing more than for us to marry, but I realise the circumstances of pushing you too much. Tell me, dear, if you no longer want to proceed in intimate acquiantance with me.”

You shook your head - seems like he was not hearing you. You then took his hand in yours and spelled it again, frankly:

“No, I want to be with you, wholeheartedly. And the marriage proposal, I shall accept it too.”

Pantalone

When Pantalone kidnapped you for no specific reason, days turned to weeks. You almost forgot about the existence of sunlight as he kept you there like a pretty little porcelain doll for his own amusement—or whatever his nasty reasons might have been.

The last time you tried to escape his gloomy, mysterious castle-like home, you were severely punished for your “bad behaviour”. Blood dripped down from your chin as you were sitting on the floor of a dark hollow room, chained and bruised by his henchmen. Perhaps he considered it too tacky to touch you with his own hands.

And then he entered. You didn't even want to look at his unapproachable, icy-cold eyes, and simply turned away, your eyes shut and hidden from him.

“How rough you look”, he said with his usual tone which was cold, but at the same time smooth like butter.

You were dehydrated and hungry, that’s for sure. You wanted nothing more than a warm fuzzy blanket and sweet tea, and forget this nightmare forever.

“When was the last time you had a proper meal?” He asked. He knew you never ate his food because you’d consider yourself indebted to him. And you did not want to take anything from this man.

Your face went deadly pale and bewildered when Pantalone dropped on his knees before you and started freeing you from your shackles. His hands were shaking wildly, you could witness how poorly he mastered the lockers due to his stress.

Yet without a single doubt, with no longer time to lose he wrapped his arms around your waist to carry you. His clothes were a little stained with the snow, and a bit of freezing touch made you shiver.

“I will never do this to you anymore. Forgive me. Please, forgive me.” His words that used to be spoken as an order now were slipped from his lips as a request.

You were laid in the warmth of the sheets of your own home. The familiar surroundings brought you joy and comfort you never knew you’d forgotten so easily.

“My butler is cooking a dinner for you in your kitchen.”

He watched the whole time you were eating, guarding you and seeing how desperately you were filling your stomach up. When you finished eating, there was one loud slap—against Pantalone’s face, by your hand. In a normal situation, he would be so angry and furious that the earth would shake of his abhor. But now he was simply taking it.

"I know. I should never have treated you like this. I ignored your wishes and violated your privacy. I’ve done the worst crime to you—I took your freedom”, he touched the red mark blooming on his cheek from your unexpected punishment. “I wanted to obtain you so much that I ended up hurting you instead.”

Ayato

He was rich to his fingertips. In his world, the only thing he could not have, but wanted to, was you. You found yourself working as his secretary, aesthetically pleasing and always efficient. But Ayato was ruthless; he could never be satisfied, he was always unhappy. The requirements to you were growing day by day, and keeping up the standards seemed an impossible task. His moods were changing like a thunderstorm.

It was a regular day when you were performing your duties that you felt someone’s presence behind your back. Ayato was not exactly above lurking so he made his presence known after you turned to face him. He did not expect you to turn so rapidly and ended up with his breath tickling against your face.

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I have been too demanding and controlling. My actions driven by raw possessiveness inflicted undesirable effect upon you”, Ayato’s words died away, though the expression on his face became even more grim and grave. “You do not deserve such treatment, any of it.”

You nearly dropped your working papers as you stared at him. Was this man really sincere? How long has he been overthinking about your relationship? It took you just a few seconds to gather your composure and strike him with an indifferent glare.

“It’s always so easy and costs no trouble for you, rich people. You just take what you want without considering either the outcome or other people’s feelings. You see people as things, belongings in your possession, and you never have enough.”

At that, Ayato became even more tense, his expression that was mainly seen by the most of people as sweet and gentle, now was an embodiment of darkness. Nevertheless he nodded to you.

“What should I do for you to forgive me? I’m not going to lie and say that I did not think about how harmful my attitude might have been to you for the past month. What think you? Do I even stand a chance?”

“Fat chance”, you chuckled under your breath. The laugh was almost too bitter rather than sarcastic.

Ayato took your hands in his, his black gloved thumbs rubbing against your skin slightly.

“You’re like a poison to me. A very addicting one. And the more I see you work for me, the more I want to have you by my side. Not just at a formal event…” he bit his pale pink lip for a moment. “I’m starting to feel as if I’d like to see you out of work circumstance, and the thoughts of such impropriety are enough to drive me utterly insane.”

You reciprocated the light squeeze that came from his hands, however yours was less obsessive and more gentle.

“It is a very dangerous thought, Ayato.”

“Oh, I can be a very dangerous man. For you, that is.”

Capitano

You were walking in Capitano’s garden, feeling yourself like a beautiful bird in a golden cage, but in fact you were a princess in a beast’s castle. Once you saw his real face, you kept having nightmares about his skin rotting appearance. This man was scaring you to the bone, and every time you met him, although not very often, you felt how demanding and heavy the gaze of his icy blue eyes was.

You did not see him often, but once a while Capitano requested (no, ordered!) a private dinner with you. The rooms were dimly lit, his loyal butler making preparations to the highest standards as usual, and you - wearing the most luxurious of dresses you’d only be able to peek at in the past. But your face was the odd one as it beared no smile on it. You were gravely terrified by this man who had claimed you as his. And even though you slept in separate rooms, you could not brush the feeling as if he owned you; well, he kind of did, since you dwelt in his mansion.

Per usual, you were having a dinner with him at about eight in the evening when Capitano finally spoke. His tone was filled with assertiveness and power, yet the way he was eating, the movements of his hands were elegant enough to remind you of an excellently-educated prince.

“Y/N, I need to speak to you.”

You shivered when you heard him, and you let go of the fork. The jingling sound spread across the room which put you even in an unnecessarily bigger predicament.

“Yes, sir?”

Capitano hummed - he put his utensils away and looked as if he was carefully choosing his words which was not a habit of his. This Harbinger often talked exactly what he thought and was known for his bluntness. Capitano never beat around the bush and was always straight to the point, and this was one of the personality traits of his that made you feel conflicted. It was both terrifying and worth of respect.

“I want you to stop being scared of me. I want you to see that there is more of me than a horriffic, ugly old beast.”

You gasped: did he just used those unflattering words to himself? It felt so odd and so frustrating.

“What feelings do you want me to harbour for you, given our unusual circumstances?”

There was a long pause before Capitano made a sip of his red wine and suggested the following:

“Affection is too much, but could you at least try to be friendly with me? Don’t you see—can’t you see how hard I’m trying to make your life with me less unbearable?”

Affection… friendliness… is that what he really needs from you?—you think.

“I’m a prisoner here, I cannot imagine how I am supposed to show any warm feelings towards you. It would be fake and stupid.”

“Then make them not fake and stupid.” Capitano raised from the table and stormed out of the dining room, leaving you alone in the dim light of candles.

Dottore

You woke up on the plain lab bed, still restrained but this time your pain was drastically diminished. When you opened your eyes the lights did not cut your sight right away and you realised that the room was only dimly lit. You sighed in relief - perhaps he went on a break and you had a few moments of rest from his constant analysis and experiments upon your body.

There were a few tattoos on your hands but too small to even understand their meanings. Perhaps it was something from Zandik’s past that he decided to ruthlessly carve on you.

Your happiness and sense of relief did not last long though, as the man who called himself Doctor entered the room not exactly quietly.

“Look who’s alive. I’m glad”, he wrote something on his notes, “very glad, even.”

“What are you going to do to me next? Turn me into… abomination?” You attempted to sound sarcastic even though all your being was screaming inside. “I’m pretty sure you have not gotten your fill yet out of me.”

Dottore abruptly stopped writing and dropped his journal on the lab desk next to you.

“I think we’re finished here.”

“What?”

“I said you’re free to go”, he cut your leather restraints with one rough motion that had a vibe of uncertainty of the soul.

You looked at your hands, your body cheered welcoming freedom, but at the bottom of your heart you were perplexed.

“But why?”

Dottore did not utter a single word more, with his face buried into his other records, he turned away from you completely ignoring your presence.

You found your clothes tidy and repaired on the chair, and put them on quickly. Upon escaping the place you saw that not a single Fatui agent was preventing you from leaving. You looked at the lab once more and a pang of strange kind of sorrow appeared in your heart. Perhaps, you should pay him a visit once you’re recovered? Or was it a bad idea?..

Alhaitham

The nerdy scholar was quite possessive and jealous. He had a very curious but rather depressive personality. You thought him a quiet man until one extraordinary and terrific experience.

Alhaitham locked a man in the library for the whole night after he saw him giving you too much attention and you happily reciprocating him. An innocent friendly conversation seemed a blunt flirt to him. He could not bear the thought you having affection to someone else who was not him. When he saw you first he realised that he wanted you to see only him, and give all your attention to him. He craved to see you wanting his company, clinging to him or even agreeing to date him. But since his personality was too aloof and he never ever attempted to simply ask you out, but kept staring at you from the side, stalking unnoticeably and gather all information about you, you never had a chance to learn of his true feelings. Behind his obsession there had to be something, as such strong feelings never came out of nowhere.

Upon seeing you chat with that guy Alhaitham grew so furious that he almost not giving it a thought just slammed the door with the poor guy in the library and left him there for the whole damn night. Blinded by his jealousy, he did not even consider how you’d feel about that. The next morning you were perplexed by the sudden disappearance of your classmate, and once the library opening time came, the student was finally released.

“How could you do this to him? To anyone?” You asked Alhaitham; it did not take much time to learn whose fault was that.

“How could I?” He asked you back, his expression grave and unmoveable as if he were not interested in a single thing in the world. “How could you spend so much time with him? He’s a total jerk.”

“Judging by what you did the total jerk is you! How could you simply lock the person up? Are you insane?”

Alhaitham’s patience started to grow thinner. He squeezed his hands into the fists so hard that his knuckled turned snow-white.

“Are you stupid? You really don’t see how I feel about you? And you keep being so nice to everyone but me. You’re obviously ignoring me.”

Bewildered, yet you finally understood the root of the case. You stared at him for a few seconds before checking if anyone was near to eavesdrop. Luckily, there was not a soul around so you spoke honestly:

“If you wanted to woo me, endangering someone was not a good idea. You did something I deem unacceptable. And such unacceptable actions will only make me like you less, Alhaitham.”

Alhaitham leaned closer, his voice was a gentle whisper.

“Right? Then teach me to woo you properly. I’ll do thousands of attempts to win you over, no matter the cost.” You pressed your hands against his shoulders to prevent him from getting into closer proximity with you, and Alhaitham, although not completely willingly, but still backed off.

1K notes · View notes

sunboki · 5 months ago

Text

⎯ for eternity longer. ⟡ featuring christopher bahng

🍼 : Christopher Bahng x implied! fem. reader

TROPE. pregnancy! au, dad! channie au, overall so so fluffy, comfort, slighttt angst if you squint

WORD COUNT. 6.4k words ☆ 30 minute read

WARNINGS. worry about delivery complications, cursing (??), anxiety, implied intercourse, regards to gender

AUG'S NOTES. i think channie would be an amazing dad :) just a thought i decided to place to paper (in this case, digitally). thank you for waiting so patiently!! please enjoy <3

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. Christopher Bahng had intentions upon one day being a father, but when the news of a little one on the way becomes the forefront of a life he’d initially spent with one world, you, he’s quickly introduced to the second world he’ll come to adore, a baby.

or alternatively :

Blossoming beginnings, and the bump.

“Channie, baby,”

His name is whispered between sleepy breaths, brows knitted where your eyes attempt at focusing amidst a slumbering haze.

The meager vision granted from a candle paves view to your husband, currently resting his cheek against the soft bump of your belly, pressing the occasional kiss there.

“It’s so cute,” He mumbles, tracing shapes along the skin, eyes crinkling into the dimpled-smile you’ve come to adore.

“‘S late.”

Offering the remark, you smooth a thumb along his jaw, dipping down to trace his bottom lip and earning a small peck against the digit in reply, chocolate irises flickering up to your face with so much love you fear you’re melting.

“I know,” Chris whispers where his lips press to your thumb, voice muffled. “I’m sorry just—“

One chaste kiss to your belly later and he cracks a smile.

“Just love it.”

Another kiss, then another.

“Love you, love this. I’m so happy.”

You are my world, he professes wordlessly, and you scorn the heaviness of your eyes in shielding him from view, the inability for your vocal cords to utter those same three words as you drift back to sleep.

And this is my second world, Chris thinks to himself, fighting slumber to gaze at you just a moment longer, savor.

Because he couldn’t explain how lucky he is, and how beautiful you are, and how warm he feels, his head fuzzy and jumbled into mushy bliss.

A baby, and the thought alone makes him want to squeal.

Chris had yet to ever be hit by a tsunami (thank goodness for that), but he thinks he’s found an equivalent to the feeling.

That equivalent being a particular call while in the studio, an unsettlingly studious Han Jisung seated behind him on the couch while Changbin stands in the recording room, pointing out things in need of fine tuning.

So when you call, he’s led to believe it could be regarding dinner, maybe a date preposition away from his busied schedule.

Yet, upon hearing a sniffle, his eyes round to the size of saucers, index aptly missing where he’d click his mouse, drawing the attention of his fellow producers, their eyes narrowed in mild concern.

“Chris.. baby, I know this is so.. so sudden but,” Between your hiccups and his heart racing, he reruns everything that could’ve gone amiss. He knew you were running late when it came to your period thanks to the cycle-tracking app on his phone, but then again, usually it’d miraculously show up.

Maybe he’d said something? Forgotten something?

Birthday, anniversary, a family member passing?

His head fills with a plethora of possibilities, too many to pinpoint.

“Baby I,” You pause, and Chris rises up to slip to the corner of the room, shushing you gently.

“Hey, hey honey, ‘need you to take deep breaths, okay? It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay. Tell me whenever you’re ready.” He consoles, shifting from foot to foot in a futile attempt at warding the nerves.

A sharp inhale and then-

“We’re having a baby, Chris. I’m pregnant.”

It’s hard for you to even believe, and Chris swears his stomach jumped to his throat for a moment, making hurried eye contact with an evidently confused Han and Changbin from across the studio.

Pregnant.

Immediately abandoning his work, he grants the two a hurried nod they simply wave in response to, fervently racing from the building and somehow managing to avoid a ticket on his 20-mile-over-the-speed-limit drive home, rushing through the doorway to scoop you up into his arms and hold you close, let you cry as much as you need.

Hell, he’s not the one carrying the baby anyway. You’re the one in need of all the fretting.

As if he didn’t fret over you anyway.

Tender fingers ease back the strands of hair from your face, pressing kiss after kiss to your sniffling frame.

If you want to keep the baby, if you need time to think, time to be alone, he’s ready for that. All of it.

Though contraceptives were always in play when it came to the bedroom, it seemed some things would remain out of control.

“I’m.. hic.. I’m keeping it, okay?”

And he’s okay with that, okay with anything his beloved decides upon, thumbing the tears from your pretty face to place a slow kiss to your lips.

On this presumably routine Thursday of his, Chris finds out he’s going to be a Dad.

If there was an acute title to cover the months of your pregnancy, it would be: Ways Christopher Bahng Has Lost His Mind, A Saga.

Plus the bump, of course.

As for today, at a darling twelve weeks, Chris’s cup of coffee grows cold the longer he entertains a call from Jisung—currently being berated for failing to give them even the slightest clue what was going on until dropping the news.

..In which ensues a screaming Hyunjin in the background, Minho’s snide jokes, Changbin’s silent shock, and the evident awe of the surrounding members leering by the phone where the friend group went for drinks.

Minus the dad-to-be.

”So.. Daddy-O, how’s the father thing going for you?” Jisung offers after a moment, his snickering followed by Chris’s bemused scoff.

“A dream,” He replies, running a hand through curly brown strands wound into charming coils from earlier steam, having stepped from the shower moments ago.

It was true, every bit.

To think that you, his love he’s worried more about than anyone, spent countless nights awake thinking of has now granted him the greatest gift of a lifetime leaves him elated.

Trust, the first ultrasound he cried as if he was the baby.

Of course, failing to give their leader a second of reprieve, his remark earns a cacophony of swooning and cringing in response to the sappiness.

Nonetheless, since the announcement he’s organized an update in schedule. More work from home, more paychecks cashed into maternity magazines and things he learns with time in order to support your pregnancy, and tagging along to each and every checkup.

With you already sleeping and him returning late from the studio, the night is slow, quiet.

Well, after he hangs up.

”Hey sweetness, ‘sorry for waking you.”

Watching your face crinkle up as the bed dips beneath his weight, he reaches a hand forward, sweeping the hair from your face as your husband spoons you close to his back, exhaling a heavy sigh of relief.

Your smell, your warmth, touch.

He’s far too smitten to be healthy.

But then again, is there any remedy to adoration?

“Busy at the studio?” You murmur from your curled up spot, only just beginning to get used to sleeping on your side.

Of the many adjustments.

“Mm,” A nod nudges at your back, his fingertips—oh so careful as they roam—settling on your stomach, holding the skin with reverence you can’t help but hum in response to.

“I cannot believe you,” Begun with a bemused scoff, you earn your husbands grunt of confusion and yet another laugh on your end.

“There’s barely a bump and they’ve got you wrapped around their finger already.”

This, predictably, results in Chris’s boyish whine.

“‘S not my fault,” He groans like a petulant teenager, nosing at the nape of your neck.

“Just love you.”

His voice is a mere utterance amidst the fan overhead, and you have to crane to hear him.

“And I’m going to be learning to love someone else soon.”

A soft squeeze to your belly.

“How exciting.”

Twenty weeks, and your big journey comes in the form of grocery shopping, something you insisted upon doing alone (much to Chris’s fretting).

Although he tries his best in not being a mother hen, it’s beyond difficult without his instinctive worry butting in, so nervous for a reason he himself can’t even pinpoint.

Is he worried about you? Is he excited about the baby?

Endless questions swim in his mind, dappling a world he once knew as black and white into shades of pastel, with charming rubber duckies and pacifiers to boot.

It’s a new world, one full of unfamiliar things and little surprises along the way.

But he’s made his promise to lay off the stressing as much as he can, knowing you need time for you most of all before becoming new parents.

Crouched over the tiny home studio he’s procured, your husband arduously searches through files—sending the majority over to Jisung and Changbin for revisions back at the main studio.

From the corner or his vision does he see you and—

Ah.

There you stand, clad in a sweater of yours tucked into a long, flower-patterned skirt—just enough to show off the bump, and he swears he’s looking at you with heart-eyes.

Gorgeous.

If not more.

Yet another reason why Chris has lost his mind.

You’re more beautiful than anyone he's ever seen, and he doubts that factor will change for the rest of his life. Even when you’re emotional and begin growing insecure, when your feet hurt or when your cravings grow too volatile, he adores.

Too much sometimes he fears his heart will beat from his chest.

“Hi, sweetness.”

The words are a bit hoarse, spoken as if he were uttering the endearment through a tube.

“Hi, Channie.”

Shoot him.

Joking.

Kind of.

You’re too cute. He’s going to have a heart attack.

Looking like that, cupid has his job cut out for him.

“You headed out?”

Reaching for your bag does Chris rise from his chair, padding over to gather your face in his hands and press a slow kiss to your lips you soak up, your own hands winding into curly strands he groans in response to.

“Mm,” He begins after a moment, kiss after kiss pressed to your jaw, down your neck, by your earlobe his teeth nip at. “I’m getting déjà vu on how the baby got here, hm?”

Spurring your laughter and a light smack to his shoulder in response, his warm hands slip down to cradle your belly, a final touch followed by one last kiss before you’re off.

It’s much too easy to fall in love with this man over and over again.

Of many surprises throughout your pregnancy, Lee Minho knowing about babies happened to be yet another. That, and seeing him at the grocery store in the first place.

The baby food aisle is more than daunting, and while the determined part of you crooned about “making it yourself” and taking the time to mash up each and every carrot and apple slice, the sensible part knew the moment you were discharged from the hospital after delivery, there was no chance you’d take on such a task.

“This one’s good.”

Having been greeted with a small wave of his hand and quieted footsteps approaching close, the dancer peers into your cart, brows lifted in silent acquisition where he points to a brand of mashed banana purée.

How he knows this baby food is good is beyond you.

Then again, Minho has always been peculiar.

“Hm? Any other recommendations?” You ponder, deciding to entertain his conversation and gaining plenty of recommendations whilst roaming about in the process.

Though, that’s before a frivolous little boy comes blindly tottering along, his clumsy limbs aimed straight for you prior to Minho’s careful step shielding you, the panicked mother steering the toddler away with endless apologies.

About to thank him, he seems to beat you to it.

“Mm? Need to sit down?” Observant eyes flitting over your form, he places an assuring hand to the middle of your back you can’t help but feel appreciative of.

It’s not that Minho isn’t kind, he’s usually just.. more subtle about it. Putting extra food a member likes on their plate without them noticing, making sure everyone feels included during dinners.

So for him to be a bit more upfront about it is.. sweet.

Well, until a wry smile tugs at his lips in amusement.

“‘Think you can handle that? A toddler like that?”

And.. there’s the Minho you’re used to.

“I think..” The thought comes to you as you venture, his hand remaining where it lingers upon your sweater-clad back as you make for the checkout line.

“The baby will look more like Chris.”

This beckons a cocked brow, evident mischief on his face.

“What, balding at twenty-six?”

You were thinking cute, with Chris’s curls and big brown eyes but— yeah, that too apparently. Your husband would both burst out laughing and burst into tears if he were here, the mental image bringing a smile to your lips.

Nevertheless, you spend your time with the feline-like companion cracking not-so-funny jokes and snide but playful remarks, a silent “thank you” mouthed when he lifts the grocery bags from your hands to carry to the car.

“Say, what’re you doing over here anyway?”

“Mmh?” He perks up, fluffy bangs fringing beneath a bucket hat upon his head, the slow gust of an occasional breeze announcing Winter’s gradual departure, moseying on to Spring.

“Ah,” Bunny-like teeth peek from his upper lip when his lips part, hoisting a single bag of his own upward. “Food for the kitties.”

Of course.

The corner of your lips quirk into a grin.

Though, before you’re given the chance to slip into the front seat, he points again, regarding your bump this time.

“Should stop by sometime,” He starts, pausing before glancing down to your feet. “Or I can come to you two if you’re not up to it.”

There it is, the tiny shred of consideration you treasure, one so swift you may miss it if you aren’t listening closely that warms your heart effortlessly.

“The kitties would knead your belly,” Mumbled quieter than the rest, a giggle stirs from his chest, wishing you off after a few moments the same way he greeted you: a wave and a small, awkward, tight-lipped smile.

And on your ride home, you decide upon giving Chris a call.

“Do you think the baby will start balding early?”

A chaste silence and some crackling from the other side of the line and then-

“What.”

“‘M outside the studio, baby.”

“You’re what?”

A second “what”, after the balding question those few weeks ago.

Chris wants to think tricks are being played on him after having pleaded for you to stay home and wait to be pampered when he returns, but it seemed the leader—with his own stubborn tirade of seven—had forgotten his wife was equally as stubborn, and that if you were adamant on something, there’s no chance you’d budge.

And so, as the ultimate pushover(which he’ll admit himself) of a husband, he simply sighs, awaiting your precious, slightly-waddling figure making towards them from the elevator.

Ah, right.

The waddle.

Oh if it doesn’t make his heart soar.

You’re almost surreal, with your soft, rounded frame and sweet, sweet eyes making him simply want to keep you in a hug forever.

From beside him, Hyunjin starts into a sing-song cacophony of: “The Mrs.’s is here” in tandem with your entrance, resulting in Chris’s light smack to his friend’s shoulder and the reddening of his ears as he both tries (and fails) to focus on new tracks.

So now, in occupying the couch behind him with Han on one side and Felix on your other, you spend your time giggling over videos on the freckled blond’s phone, chowing down on a bag of potato chips placed between you and Han, entertaining light conversation with Changbin, and sharing those momentary glances with your husband.

Quiet looks, with his face drained from the workload not failing to light up where he meets your eyes, your own warming happily.

“Come home,” does your eyes speak.

“Just a little longer,” he replies without words.

As the day stretches it’s exhaustion, waning a warm hue into evening sunset, Chris pads over, slow and wary where your sleepy form props upon the couch, fuzzy-sock-clad feet elevated on a pillow courtesy of Hyunjin’s matter-a-fact scolding to lower the swelling.

“I’m letting the little one listen,” He whispers, this squeaky, cheery giggle leaving his lips where he places the headphones once in hand overtop your belly, the low hum of their newest, unreleased track faintly resounding against the skin you can’t help but grin at.

It’s a scary thing, you think for a moment.

And then, just happy.

So you’ll cling to that happiness, no matter how fleeting.

And a tiny nudge against the skin, a kick, tells you someone else is clinging to that happiness as well.

“Yah.. even if it’s almost spring, there’s still some breeze! Stay warm! Don’t try being a spring chicken!” Clicking his tongue in softened contempt, Han claps his hands resolutely, face scrunched up in conviction as the ever-adorable maknae, Jeongin, eases his jacket over your shoulders.

Resulting in the group’s ace’s squeal of affection and a harsh smack to Minho’s thigh, the older of the two fixes him with a glare Han fails to notice through his cooing, too busy admiring the bump peeking through the jacket.

It seems Chris isn’t the only one growing into a worried mess, and your trip home from the studio you press to take alone is filled with their hollering and well-wishes, the group having opted out for drinks knowing you’d be the odd one out with your mug of water relative to the bubbling of a beer, a matter you find heart-warming.

No less, you spend your night anticipating the arrival of a very sleepy Chris, busying yourself trying to follow a recipe without gagging at the most random of things.

Feebly managing through placing the tray in the oven, you deflate as a pair of long-awaited, warm arms come wrapping around you.

A mere lift from his hands, holding the weight of a nearly 30-week bump feels heavenly, and you simply groan, head lolling back against his shoulder, welcoming the kisses pressed to your cheek, neck.

Because as much as his own nerves are afire, Chris knows more than anything it’s pivotal for you to be taken care of as well. Making breakfast before heading out in the mornings, sending you little texts to remind you to stay hydrated.

Tiny things you hold close to your being, even if he isn’t aware.

Thank you, spoken amidst his subtle care.

I know, I love you, answered upon joining you in your nightly skincare.

“Ah? Really?”

Chatter after chatter fills the small bathroom, your spare bedroom already ransacked of its contents in making room for a nursery.

As for the conversation at hand, Chris fills you in on his dango pudding obsession while you busy yourself in applying moisturizer to his skin, a silly, matching headband to yours pulling back the hair from his face.

“Jisung got me hooked on it,” He grumbles, lashes fluttering down to fondly watch where you press a kiss to his lips before applying vaseline there, his fingers instinctively reaching for your pajamas like a clingy child.

You don’t mind.

“How’re you feeling?” He murmurs after a moment, head tipped quizzically, the slight knit of his brows in concern you wish to scowl at.

Sometimes it’s harder not swooning when it comes to your husband.

“You know me,” You start, scorning your ability to hear each thump of your heart in your chest within the quietness of the room. “I’m okay, yeah? The fatigue is just a pain, that’s all.”

His arms finding purchase on either side of the bathroom counter where he cages you in, you’re quickly reminded how this pregnancy came to be the longer you stare at his biceps, the veins littering upwards from his hands.

Not fair.

“You tell me, hm? If you need me to work from home more days, yeah? I will, you know that, honey.”

And of course he’s like some sort of forbidden fruit, so sweetly wholesome, sweet generally, when he looks so good.

Too good.

For a time again, not fair.

“Chris.”

Screw it. You’re pregnant, and rightfully hot and bothered.

A little thing about pregnancy that no one had bothered to let you in on? There’s never been a greater time in your life that you’ve felt this horny.

Plus, an okay from the doctor is an okay to you.

The other okay is his arms, and the utterly obscene things running through your head just looking at them as your hand finds his jaw to hold.

“I’d cry from how good you are to me if it weren’t for the fact I’m unbelievably worked up right now.”

Slowly do your arms loop around his shoulders, pulling him closer where a smile tugs at your lips, watching his own lips part in a shaky exhale, pupils dilating tenfold as your words sink in.

And it’s Chris’ turn in reminding himself how the pregnancy came to be.

“So let’s do something about it, hm?”

The press of his nose into your neck causes your lashes to flutter, cursing the streaks of sunlight peering through the blinds muddling already bleary vision. A warm grip beckons you closer snuggled against his bare chest, hands instinctively coming to soothe over your belly.

Habitual touch, comfort.

A dream, last night had been. As for now, you bathe in the afterglow, his scent enveloping you like an embrace you can’t bring yourself to pull away from.

“Think I’ll be a good dad?”

And then comes the quiet conversation. Soft and nearly inaudible, his breath tickling your shoulder.

“I know you will,” Comes your own reply, muffled against the pillow, a kiss pressing to your shoulder in appreciation.

“I just-“

He takes a breath, weighing the thought.

It’s a coarse silence, one you know not to interrupt. He considers his words like this, a characteristic you’ve come to adore over the years. The blinking fast, the hesitant humming.

“You know how much I look up to my Dad, and I worry I just- I won’t live up to tha—“

Now it’s your turn to step in, before he goes over his head and blames himself again and again for a matter never his responsibility. The selfless one, who you remind must take care of himself too.

Amid simple kisses or compliments scribbled on sticky notes, you find love between the lines.

“Chris. Chris, baby, listen to me. This baby loves you, I hope you know that. And I hope you know that I love you, and whatever happens next happens next.”

Inhaling slowly, you roll over to face your husband.

Covers drawn up to see only his eyes, it’s near foolish the smile you let on.

“You said it yourself, we’re in this together, okay? If we change, we change together. We move? We move together.”

His fervent nod, dearest eyes gleaming all watery make your heart clench.

“This is our first time being parents, you can’t expect to be perfect, yeah? All we can do is try,”

Careful hands come to cup his face, kissing his lips through the fabric of the bedsheets.

“And you’re trying so hard, so thank you. I don’t feel like I praise you enough for all that you do for me, hm?”

He’s quiet before soft, heart wrenching sniffles are heard, swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand and grumbling to himself like a toddler.

“I feel like.. such an idiot.. crying when you’re the one carrying the baby.. hic.. Plus ‘s my.. my job to take care of you, yeah? ‘M your husband..”

Gently smoothing along his waterline in hushed reassurance does the man pull himself upward, slow to climb atop your form, littering your face in feverish pecks you can’t help but laugh at while the heels of your palms gently push at his jaw in playful aversion.

“I’m gonna make some breakfast,” He noses at your chin, the only sound between the both of you slow breaths and the occasional sniffle, the heat of his skin burning through you like wildfire.

Chris has become a warm blanket for your cold winter, even more so during the pregnancy.

“And you are going to eat eggs.”

In which earns your groan, regarding the food scornfully for its rude manner of sparking nausea. Of the many things nauseating you these days. Volatile in manner.

“‘S good for the baby. ‘Just a bite.”

Another groan, swatting lightly at his shoulder in retaliation.

Prior to an ingenious idea breaching the forefront of your mind.

A tiny detail you’d been holding in, with your lack of fondness for an extravagant baby shower or a gender reveal, you’d planned a morning-in to be the perfect timing for an announcement.

Now coming to be this morning.

Because while Chris had been running to the car, you’d been in the thick of a sonogram all those weeks back, a dirty little secret having been told that the nurse swore to keep quiet.

“Chris.”

Eyebrows lifting in gentle curiosity, you want to hate the way your mischievous streak is melting, the stubbornness fading into your own glossy eyes and trembling lips, and a whole rush of distress and concern washes overtop the man above you like a bucket of ice cold water.

“It’s a girl.”

A sharp gasp, a choked sniffle.

“We’re having a baby girl.”

To say Chris cried like a baby for an additional time that morning would be a mass understatement.

Cried and cried and cried endlessly, before calling his parents first and crying more, then Hannah, then the guys.

Face all puffy and happy, you spent your day waltzing around the kitchen to the low buzz of the radio seated upon the far corner of your counter, sharing kisses he can’t seem to get enough of and too much smiling it made your cheeks ache.

Currently thirty-six weeks and perilously close to the awaited due date, the faint clatter in your periphery earns a startled huff of air, once-napping eyes flickering open, lids heavy from past slumbering.

A common occurrence, the constant sleeping, fatigue overboard. Although morning sickness has graciously subsided, the sleepiness is endless in her torrents.

As for now, each slow lull of the rocking chair the guys had assembled a few minutes prior continues her magic in beckoning you sleepy and sleepier.

“Shh dumbass— you’re gonna wake her up!”

And… beckons whisper-screaming from the group who had insisted upon helping set up the nursery.

“Don’t curse in front of the baby!”

Han and Felix’s grumbled argument is returned with a scolding “Shh!” from Seungmin, inducing yet another—however brisk—silence, the faint hint of a chortle from your husband falling upon near deafened ears while drifting in and out of consciousness.

Nonetheless, the group continues to build, having now moved onto assembling furniture after the room’s paint had been finished. A mellow pink, not too muted nor saturated, highlighted when the room grows aglow with drifting rays of sunlight.

Hitched just to the right of the window, the crib’s being assembled, Changbin arduously working to follow directions, Minho taking a break on one of the couch cushions with a popsicle lodged between his lips.

Surprising, considering the slow shift in temperature. Autumn makes its entrance, summer waving a goodbye hand in the now-shorter days and a subtle breeze detected in early mornings.

A September baby, it seems.

“Corner guards? Do we have corner guards?”

An ever organized (and rather caffeine-frenzied) Hyunjin reviews the list once more, having spent his night prior holed up in the studio for recording, obstinate in participating in the nursery despite the ushers to get some sleep instead.

“I have to be here, it’s my duty as an Uncle”, were his exact words, haughtily prancing about as if some entitled interior designer.

And yet he brought alive an enthusiasm like no other. So the guys let him stay without dragging him back home.

In the distance, a low strum of a guitar echoes, Seungmin’s soulful cadence recognizable amidst any crowd.

A lullaby for the baby, but you had yet to know of that just yet.

“Alright… curtains.. ‘gotcha…” Felix mumbles after taking a break from the crib-squabble between Han, his brows furrowed in concentration where Jeongin aids in lifting the canopy portion planning to hang above the crib, Chris organizing the small things.

A baby mobile with stars and little planets, a crescent moon rug.

And a tiny feature you take note of while awakening more and more, the little stars painted on the ceiling, like this miniature galaxy.

It’s so…Chris.

It’s perfect.

The thought makes your lips tug upward, a certain fondness blossoming there.

His world, he’d called the baby.

Fitting, isn’t it?

One week to the due date with the autumn equinox around the corner, your days slip together in a melody of fluffy jackets and fuzzy socks, warm cider Chris ushers instead of coffee—“for the baby”, he says, but begrudgingly fixes you a menial cup after the cocked brow you fix him with.

A baby-bag is packed up for the awaited day of your delivery, and this journey of yours drawing to a close leads to an even more frazzled husband of yours.

Constantly peeking in on you, his lips parted without a question needing to be asked until the bathroom door is slammed in his face after peering in worriedly for a fourth time, earning a squeaky: “sorry!” in reply.

You love him, yes, but not enough to allow a spectator during your bowel movements.

The gesture is appreciated, trust.

Nevertheless, with a now-evident waddle you despise that Chris utterly fawns over, you head to the downtown bakery, motivated by your relentless craving for a cinnamon roll and the feeble determination in battling the dropping temperatures, Seoul’s seasonal shifts as intermittent as your mood swings.

“Two?” You mumble, index extended to the steaming cinnamon rolls in thought, currently using the coat-clad Chris behind you as support, his warm hands steadying your hips, gentle thumbs tracing circles along your sides over his jacket you’d donned.

Nodding into your hair, the man weighs his chin atop your head, granting the kind older woman working the register a small smile, her eyes flickering to the prominent bump fondly prior to fetching the highly-anticipated cinnamon rolls and inquiring how many weeks you were.

“Thirty-nine weeks,” Came the reply, giggling like children on the way home, cheeks flushed pink from bitter winds, sniffling in with each bite of the napkin-held pastry.

“Yah! I should’ve said I wasn’t pregnant and acted all offended, shoot!”

The words followed by a feigned tantrum, Chris has to hold in his laughter, snorting futilely.

“You’re cruel, y’know that?” Scoffing his exasperation does your husband continue to crack even crueler jokes than that of yours on the walk home, acting as an anchor to your aching bones and tirelessly pained back until the sink of the couch cushions beneath your frame serve as the perfect solace.

It’d been the blueprint for an ideal night in. Cinnamon roll long-since digested, a to-die-for massage provided by your husband, and the expectation of doing purely nothing for the remainder of your night.

Until the blueprint went awry upon brushing your teeth.

Curse that damn toothbrush.

Kidding.

“Channie.”

Between Chris, Channie, and terms of endearment, your husband could be an ex-convict with so many names.

Yet he responds to every and all, and at this very moment you’re more grateful than ever for that.

This time, his peeking-in is greatly appreciated.

“I either peed myself or my water just broke.”

It was meant to hopefully lighten the atmosphere, but your efforts prove feeble watching the color drain from his face, white as a sheet.

And just like that, the journey came to its close, in a finale neither of you were expecting, but one your husband confronted head on, trying his hardest in keeping both himself and you calm while loading up all the prepared things.

Baby bag, your printed out birth-plan discussed all those weeks ago while sharing a bath, extra clothes, nursing bras, all the required cards, and a billion other things Chris doesn’t even bother to search for in helping you into the car, reminding himself he could ask someone else to drop by or pick it up after.

Right now, you would remain his sole focus.

That, and the little one who’s decided to make her grand entrance a week from his birthday.

An early present, it seems.

Everything’s too fast, too hurried. The beeping of machinery, hurrying nurses in their scrubs, the nauseating scent of antiseptic overwhelming the hospital.

You and the baby, you and the baby, you and the baby.

Those four words run rampant in his mind, like some sadistic form of tunnel vision.

Luckily swift in their efforts, you’d been wheeled off to the nicest room available, your husband blind to the price of anything at the moment where he follows you back, guiding each sharp gasp while you work through hellish contractions, squeezing his hand like a vice he vows to never let go of.

Though initially as smooth as a delivery could go, the process is seemingly endless, and Chris curses the exhaustion wracking his frame after the eighth hour stretches on, menial complications requiring moments longer to the already strain-inducing process.

And of course, to the words he’d never heard you utter before.

“You FUCKER!”

In which earns your jittery-husbands wobbly smile, smoothing strands of hair where they stick to a sweaty forehead, whispering praises on autopilot.

At this rate, he can’t even tell who you’re referring to, but that thought lies in the very back of his mind.

“When I- shit- get out of here I expect to be- FUCK!— worshiped- ‘cause this hurts like a bitch!”

This earns the midwives equally exhausted smiles, working tirelessly with each push.

By the ninth hour, you shakily assure him to go get a drink, take a walk, a matter he curses beneath his breath yet follows through with no less, legs like jelly, hand aching from your crushing-hold where your husband slumps into the chair opposite to the vending machine, caught in a weary daze.

Then a hand finds itself on his shoulder he has to stave back the reflex to flinch from, and an out-of-breath Minho stands there—unfamiliar in the utter seriousness of his expression, the lack of teasing usually exhibited—alternatively familiar faces of his friends jogging after the second eldest.

His first surprise of the night.

Of two, but the second surprise had yet to occur.

“We took the closest taxi,” Jisung manages, out of breath. “You.. You said there was complicat-“

Like a deer in headlights, the shrill wail of a baby rings out, gathering his full attention in split seconds.

And somehow, he knows that’s his.

Yours, together.

Chris’s second surprise.

His heart stops.

In all his life, Christopher Bahng doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone so pretty.

With seven curious faces peeping in from the doorway behind him, he takes slow steps in approaching you, ethereal with your breathlessly proud smile and the tiny, swaddled thing to your frame, comfy and cozy in their mother’s scent.

Pink blankets.

And although he already knew it was a girl, the way he chokes up without a word being spoken earns both yours and the nurse’s laughter, tainting his ears a reddened shade of embarrassment.

“I’m so proud of you,” He murmurs, wiping tenderly at tear streaks littering those darling cheeks of yours. “So, so proud.”

An angel, he swears, pressing a long, slow kiss to your lips, then a small peck to your forehead. It appears the wailing fit had subsided, and as for now, this precious little one curls up to your chest.

His baby.

A sob wracks his chest, and in the distance a giggle (likely Minho) is faintly audible that Chris doesn’t even bother scolding, each and every feeling imaginable snuffed to nothing when those eyes pinch open.

Chocolate brown, just like her daddy’s. That perfect, so, so perfect honeyed hue.

Precious.

“She’s.. hic.. so beautiful..”

It’s downright pitiful the manner he cries, like a child, trembling hands reaching for her after your whispered assent, assurance, cradling the baby to his chest.

And remarkably enough, she smiles.

This gummy, delighted smile.

Right then and there, the gravity of the moment punctures his chest, and a silent vow is made that with everything in his being, he will protect her. His daughter.

“Your Daddy loves you.”

Barely heard yet understood all the same, an oh so careful kiss is pressed to those unruly curls, unbelievable in their resemblance to her father’s.

A splitting image, with your charming nose and his puffy lips.

You were right. That time at the grocery store.

Oh to adore.

His second world, who he’ll clap for all cheerfully upon her first steps, her first words, all of it. Through the good and the bad times and everything in between.

His second world, with a father who already loves her, unconditionally.

And who knows he will for the rest of his life.

Ensuring you’re cared for those four days before discharge, Chris spends his time easing you through each painful endeavor, helping you through the saddened and elated moments, those private moments where all you wish for is to be held.

He holds you, for as long as you need.

Despite the challenges and hardships to come, the man can’t help but think of just how beautiful you are. With your stretch marks, the baby weight, the things you hate, the things he loves. Reflecting how hard you worked, bringing this precious baby girl into the world.

It’s impossible for you to be anything but breathtaking.

His wife, he mumbles into your hair, a habit of his, whilst swaying you from side to side in slow rhythm, the little one fast asleep in her bassinet.

The first night home with the baby, Minho’s already taken to the kitchen, preparing dinner regardless of your sleepy beckoning for him to head home where you stand by the doorway, awakened by the unusual silence where your little girl’s normal squeals would be ricocheting off the walls.

It seems the Uncles are already smitten.

Fuzzy sock-clad feet thump to your next destination: the nursery.

And there lies your greatest loves, with Chris’s steps weighing side to side just as he’d always do when dancing with you, a bottle in hand held to her lips where she sleepily suckles, a smile of adoration tugging at his lips opposing the circles beneath his eyes.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so enamored before.

And just as that evening in building the nursery, Seungmin’s quietly composed lullaby drifts from the speaker on the changing table, its lyrics like that of the sweetest hymn.

‘My little girl, will you ever know how much I love you?’

‘As much as the stars in the sky, and the grains of sand on the beach.’

‘You are my universe, and I shall love you.’

‘Love, love, love.’

‘For eternity longer.’

sunboki, may 2022 ©

FIC TAGLIST. @manuosorioh @captainchrisstan @bowsnbang @sh1ny4lex @alisonyus @certifiedchangbinlover

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kaiist · 2 months ago

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𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐄

∷ 𝙿𝙰𝙸𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶 ⋯ Rafayel x F!Reader

∷ 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝚃 ⋯ 2.5K // Fluff. Pet names (cutie, darling, beautiful).

∷ 𝚂𝚄𝙼𝙼𝙰𝚁𝚈 ⋯ He proposed to you in his dream, and when he wakes up, you’re officially his—to his confusion and delight.

Rafayel slowly blinked open his eyes, gradually emerging from the haze of sleep. He became aware of the warm weight pressed against his side and looked down to see you nestled close, head pillowed on his chest as you continued to slumber. A small, content smile pulled at his lips as he brushed his fingers through your hair, careful not to wake you.

As he admired you in repose, he noticed your hand resting over his heart, fingers loosely curled. The morning sunlight streaming in through the curtains caught on something shiny adorning your ring finger—a delicate band topped with a sparkling gemstone.

His brow furrowed slightly. He didn’t remember proposing, yet here you were wearing what could only be an engagement ring. Carefully, trying not to wake you, he lifted your hand to get a better look at the ring. It was a stunning deep blue sea topaz he had personally selected and set on a gold band that he’d crafted himself.

Definitely an engagement ring.

Rafayel racked his brain, but he couldn’t recall buying it or asking you to marry him.

A feeling of panic started rising within him. How could he have proposed and not remember it? That didn’t make any sense.

He loved you more than anything; of course, he wanted to marry you someday. But he would never forget something so important.

He glanced back down at your sleeping face, now feeling utterly confused. Where did this ring come from? Did you somehow find the ring he’d been working on? Or was this some kind of prank? None of the possibilities made sense.

Still puzzled, he sighed and softly set your hand back down and pressed a light kiss to your forehead before carefully extracting himself from your embrace.

You mumbled in your sleep and clutched at the spot he had vacated, making him smile fondly. He tucked the blankets more snugly around you before quietly slipping out of the bedroom.

In the kitchen, Rafayel busied himself making tea and breakfast, mixing vibrant fruit smoothies with the same attention to color he gave his paints. The sizzling of fresh seafood and the aroma of warm tea eventually lured you from bed.

You padded into the kitchen dressed in one of his shirts and wrapped your arms around him from behind. “Morning,” you murmured, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades.

He turned in your embrace and noted the ring still prominently displayed on your finger. “Morning, cutie. Sleep well?”

You nodded and smiled up at him. “Like a rock. You?”

“Just fine.” He caressed your cheeks, letting his fingers trail along your jaw as if memorizing a subject for a portrait. “I couldn’t help but notice your ring this morning.”

“Huh?”

“Where did you get that ring?” he asked.

Your brow furrowed. “What ring?”

Rafayel lifted your hand, displaying the ring for you to see.

“Oh...” you finally realized what he was talking about, softening your eyes as you gazed at the ring. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It certainly is. Now, would you mind reminding me when I gave it to you? My memory is a little fuzzy on the details.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “You mean... you don’t remember proposing to me?”

He shook his head apologetically and laughed somewhat nervously. “I wish I could say I did. I think I’d remember proposing to you...”

You just stared at him for a long moment before dropping your gaze. “I see,” you said quietly.

Immediately, Rafayel tilted your chin back up with a knuckle under your jaw. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just... I want to remember something as important as asking you to marry me, and it’s bothering me that I can’t.” He caressed your cheek ever so gently. “Talk to me. Help me fill in the blanks?”

You stared down at the glittering gemstone on your finger, a slight pang in your chest at the realization that he didn’t remember proposing to you. You took a deep breath and offered him a comforting smile.

“It’s okay that you don’t remember,” you said gently. “I know you’ve been so absorbed in your painting lately. Honestly, I’m just happy you found a chance to surprise me at all.”

You reached to squeeze his hand, hoping your understanding would reassure him. You knew Rafayel loved you deeply, his forgetfulness didn’t change that. Still, you had hoped the moment he asked you to be his wife would be seared into his mind just as indelibly as it was in yours.

Rafayel frowned, clearly bothered. “I’m sorry, cutie. I wish I could recall every detail. Asking you to marry me should be the most unforgettable moment of my life.” He brought your hand to his lips, brushing a feather-light kiss over the ring. “You deserve to have a fiancé who cherishes that memory as much as you do.”

You shook your head, touched by his remorse. “You do cherish me, even if the specifics slipped your mind this time. It’s really okay.” You squeezed his hand again. “Now, tell me more about this lovely ring. Did you design it yourself?”

You tried to steer the conversation to lighter topics, but Rafayel remained preoccupied. As you chatted over breakfast, his responses were distracted, his gaze drifting frequently to the ring that had become a symbol of his perceived failure.

Later, as you cleaned up the breakfast dishes, he came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m taking you out again tonight to recreate our engagement, exactly as it should be remembered,” he murmured.

You turned in his arms and cupped his face in your hands. “Rafayel, please don’t beat yourself up over this. I already told you, it’s okay.” You searched his eyes, trying to convey your sincerity.

He covered your hands with his own and turned his head to kiss your palm. “It’s not okay with me,” he said seriously. “You deserve the proposal you’ve always imagined. I want to replace this memory with one we can both cherish.”

“It’s okay. Really. You must have been tired when you—” and he didn’t let you finish your sentence.

“No excuses,” he interrupted. “Let me make it up to you today.”

Seeing how important this was to him, you nodded reluctantly. “Alright. If it will make you feel better.”

His expression softened. “It will. Trust me.” He kissed you tenderly then sent you off to pamper yourself while he made plans.

Before you could protest, Rafayel whisked you back to bed, insisting you relax while he pampered you all day. He brought snacks on a fancy tray—homemade pancakes drizzled in honey, mixed berries, and aromatic coffee.

Wrapping you in a silk robe, Rafayel ushered you to the room, where he’d arranged for a massage therapist, manicurist, and hairstylist—aka himself, yes, that’s right—to spend the afternoon primping and relaxing you. Once you were thoroughly pampered, Rafayel presented you with a gift box.

“Just a little something to complement your existing beauty.”

You started to protest the extravagance, but he silenced you with a kiss. “No complaints, let me spoil you today. Thomas can reschedule whatever gallery meeting he planned, this is far more important.”

He also took you shopping at the most exclusive boutiques along the coast and encouraged you to pick out anything your heart desired, no matter the price.

At dinner, he took you to the most exclusive oceanfront restaurant in Whitesand Bay. The maître d’ promptly escorted you to the best table, overlooking the sunset-drenched sea.

He ordered a bottle of non-alcoholic champagne—nope, he wouldn’t get himself potentially drunk so he could forget his proposal all over again—and you dined on fresh seafood, exquisite pasta, and decadent desserts. He insisted on hand-feeding you chocolate-dipped strawberries, stealing occasional kisses between bites.

Over dessert, he presented you with a beautiful hand-crafted bracelet to complement your ring, made from the same material as your ring. He promised again that he would re-propose soon with a memory to cherish.

“You are too much sometimes. How could I repay you?” you sighed, basking in his treatment.

“Just you by my side is more than enough. Oh, maybe a late-night swim under the stars would be nice,” he gave you a playful wink.

After a romantic dinner, Rafayel took you back to the shoreline where he first asked you to model for him. Under the shimmering moonlight reflecting off the water, he dropped gracefully to one knee and poured out his heart, confessing his unwavering love and asking you once more for the honor of becoming his partner for life.

“My beautiful, sweet darling, will you do me the extraordinary honor of becoming my wife? I promise to love, cherish, and adore you every moment of every day for the rest of our lives. What do you say?”

Without wasting a second, you answered. The delight on your face when you said yes again made his heart swell.

This time as he slipped the ring onto your finger, unfallen tears made his eyes glossy. He remembered vividly how he had worked so hard and barely got any sleep just to finish this special ring just for you, picturing how it would look adorning your hand.

He stood and gathered you into his arms. “Thank you for giving me a second chance to get this right,” he murmured against your hair. “I’ll never forget a single moment of this night for as long as I live.”

You clung to him, your own eyes misty. “I know you won’t,” you whispered.

Rafayel tilted your chin up to meet your gaze. “You’re so beautiful, cutie... I adore you so much.” He sealed that promise with a long, deep kiss under the moonlight, leaving you both breathless.

Once you both pulled away, you smiled up at him, but then began to giggle. He looked at you in confusion as your giggles grew into full laughter.

“What’s so funny?” he asked with a perplexed smile.

You took a moment to compose yourself before answering, amusement dancing in your eyes. “The truth is, you didn’t actually forget our proposal.”

“Huh?” He looked more confused than ever. “What do you mean?” he held your face firmly like he was searching for an answer behind your laughter.

“You did it in your sleep!”

His eyes widened in surprise. “What? I sleep-proposed to you?”

You grinned and nodded, taking his hands in yours. “Yes! Last night, you suddenly shook me awake in bed. Your eyes were closed but you took my hand and started singing these utterly romantic lyrics about how much you loved me and wanted us to be together forever. Then you pressed the ring box into my palm and hummed something adorable like ‘Be mine always?’”

You had to pause as another fit of giggles took over while he just stared at you, dumbfounded.

“Naturally, I said yes,” you continued, “because awake or asleep, I’ll always accept your proposal. You slipped the ring onto my finger, gave me a sweet kiss, and then rolled over and started talking in your sleep!”

Now you were laughing so hard there were tears in your eyes. Rafayel remained frozen for a beat before breaking into laughter too.

“I proposed to you in my sleep? And have no memory of it at all?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Well, that certainly explains my confusion this morning.”

“Also... don’t tell Talia about this, she would have a field day with this story,” he sighed, already imagining what scenario he should make up when she asked him later on.

You nodded, still grinning. “I realized you must have done it in your sleep, but I didn’t want to say anything at first. I thought your dramatic distress over forgetting was too adorable!”

You dissolved into giggles again. Rafayel chuckled and pulled you into his arms. “You find my suffering amusing, do you? You act all sad and pouty when in reality you knew about this?” He tickled your sides playfully, making you squeal.

“How was it being spoiled, hmm?” He showered your face with kisses as he tickled your side, the sea breeze catching in his hair.

When your laughter finally subsided, Rafayel gazed at you tenderly and brushed a tear from your cheek. “I’m glad one of us will remember the actual proposal, even if I was unconscious during it.”

He paused before speaking again, “Now I’m wondering if I should redo it a third time? Perhaps while painting your portrait?”

You smiled and wrapped your arms around his neck. “I think twice is enough, don’t you think? Or do you just want another excuse to propose to me?”

You leaned in and kissed him sweetly. Rafayel hummed against your lips. “You’re right as always. I wouldn’t change a thing about how we got here.”

He held you close, admiring the ring on your finger. “Well, we’re now officially engaged to be married. That’s all that matters.”

You snuggled into his embrace, heart overflowing with love. “So, tell me, what were you dreaming that night when you proposed to me?” you asked with a giggle, finding the situation weirdly funny.

“Oh!” His eyes widened. “That must have been some dream I had.” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I guess my subconscious wanted to make our engagement official before my conscious mind caught up.”

You laughed and hugged him tighter. “Clearly your heart knew what it wanted even if your brain was busy thinking about your next masterpiece.” You paused. “But what made you decide to propose in your dream? We’ve never really talked about marriage.”

Rafayel wrapped his arms around you. “Honestly? We were on a beautiful island in my dream. I was admiring the sunset while you walked by the shore, the wind blew your beach dress beautifully, and you looked happy. I was just overwhelmed by how perfectly happy I felt with you.”

He smiled softly, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “I looked over at you with the sunset reflecting in your eyes, and it just hit me. I’ve always wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, capturing your beauty in every way possible. I realized at that moment that I couldn’t imagine a future without you as my partner. So dream-me proposed on the spot.”

You smiled at his tender words. You cupped his face and kissed him again. “Well, I’m thankful that dream-you was brave enough to ask before real-you.” You grinned playfully and chuckled. “Though I’m a little jealous of my dream self getting to hear you sing just for me.”

You snuggled closer. “Maybe we should just let our dream-selves plan the wedding too, so both versions of us can be happy.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Not a bad idea. We could have a double ceremony. One dream wedding and one awake. I’ll compose different pieces for each.”

“And I can’t wait to spend forever with you, whether you’re awake or asleep when you ask.”

Rafayel laughed and kissed the top of your head. “I promise I’ll stay conscious for the actual wedding ceremony.”

“We’ll see. Maybe sleepwalking-Rafayel will surprise me with a midnight concert again.”

As he gazed into your eyes, his expression became serious. “Marrying you for real is my dream. I can’t wait to call you my bride.”

I originally wrote this fic last year for a character (wink wonk) before I deactivated my blog, so I fixed the whole thing for our fishie baby—it’s his fic now!

#∞Mission Report.#∞Dossiers.#∞Orbiting Rafayel.#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #l&ds #loveanddeepspace #rafayel #lads rafayel #lnds rafayel #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #rafayel x you

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lily-bisque · 1 month ago

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this is a repost from my old account ! wc: 7.5k

“fuck,” your exboyfriend!satoru groaned through quivering lips, eyes fluttering his wispy, snowy lashes and threatening to shut. he’s perched over his desk, vision growing fuzzy and trying to make out the image resting idly on this desk.

it’s you. or your thighs, more like it.

his hand is wrenching his shaft, a slow up and down movement he wishes was your cunt, fluttering around him. there was no way in hell he could possibly mimic the feel of your gummy, warm walls that had always managed to threatened to milk him of every. last. drop.

but you’d broken up with him. and it’d been months since he’d last spoken to you, save for the occasional glances towards each other in the halls that would leave the of you flushed and fidgety and his heart aching.

he remembers when you'd snapped this photo, on a date where he couldn’t keep his eyes off your bare and plush thighs below the hem of your skirt, resting in his passenger seat. “a photo’d last longer,” you teased, then grabbed his camera and did the work for him.

he knows he should’ve deleted this, out of respect for you. but he couldn’t do it. erasing any memories of your time spent together—it was impossible for him.

so now all he could do was jerk himself off, biting his lip and gripping the armrest of his chair in his dorm room after attempting to study and giving in to the constant twitching of his dick every time he thought of you. even if it was mid-day and anyone walking in the halls outside his dorm could hear him. fractured moans of your names would echo off his walls as he pictured your tongue slipping over his bottom lip before he’d push his own pink and warm muscle into your mouth.

he felt like some twisted pervert, a peeping tom at your intimate image, utterly obsessed with his ex-girlfriend in degenerate ways.

but, the taste—your taste… it was unforgettable.

the sound of your voice as you pleaded for him to go faster, go harder, or even when simple whimpers were all you could muster as he pounded into you.

the mere thought had pre leaking from his slit and rolling down the veins of his pink length. his grip tightened, slender fingers and veiny hand squeezing for that sweet relief.

tossing his head back onto the headrest, he imagined trailing his fingers down the skin of your waist, gripping it and plowing down into you. your small fingers would make their way onto his shoulders, his back, his forearms to mark him and claw for any sense of mercy from his ruthless pace.

he knew you loved it, though.

he could hear you calling out his name as that familiar coil tightened in his gut, spinning and spinning—

“yes, baby… ngh, m-my girl i’m fuck i-i’m so sorry…” he whimpered out, pure lust rolling off his tongue.

“...satoru-“

his eyes flipped open and he could feel his heart skip a couple of beats. that voice… it wasn’t in his head.

with slow deliberation, gojo turned his head to the doorway.

and there you stood. hand on the doorknob to his door, still wearing your uniform, a few bundles of paper and books in your other hand and your jaw slacked.

but your eyes weren’t on his, or the violating display and mess in his lap. no, it was on his desk.

pretty and innocent orbs bearing onto the printed out image of your thighs on his table, along with a few ropes of his seed from his previous rounds that day.

your breath quickened and he could see the way your mouth trembled to say something, anything. that was when your eyes welled up and gojo felt his heart drop. ripping your gaze from his desk, you walked the books to his bed and turned back to his doorway.

with your back turned to him, you murmured, “professor w-wanted me to drop these off since you uh, missed lecture for your meet.” gojo had been busy with his two out-of-city tournaments, debate and basketball, this past week and was only now catching up.

before he could respond, you stepped out of the room, a small sob leaving your lips, and shutting the door behind you.

gojo felt a lump rise in his throat, and swallowed hard. shame and embarrassment washed over him, along with regret for making you see that. you must hate him now, which was all he could think.

he needed to fix this.

scrambling to shove his cock back into his sweats, he hurried to the bathroom to wash his hands and threw the door open, practically running out of the dorm room and down the hall, frantically searching for you before you could disappear.

he spotted your retreating figure near the stairwell door, before you walked inside, forearms wiping at your face.

following suit, he ran in and called your name at the top of the steps, panting slightly.

you turned your head, looking up at gojo with wet eyes. his grip on the knob tightened, his knuckles nearly turning white.

with your heart rate thrumming in your ears, you found yourself frozen as he neared you, walking down the steps until he stood on the one right above yours and towered over you.

his fresh scent wafted into your nose, a smell you’d missed dearly that made your nose twitch. when you had broken up with him, you didn’t give him any explanation as to why. just simply stating that you had lost feelings and wanted to focus on school.

of course, anyone who knew satoru gojo knew that he wouldn’t let it end there. he had pleaded and begged and bothered you for weeks until you flat out told him that you were disgusted by it all. it wasn’t true, not one bit. every inch of you craved him, wanted—no, needed to be with him.

but after the secret meeting with his parents, they had made it very clear what kind of future they wanted for their son. not one with a girl who had no societal standing, a mere student at his university. he was promised to the daughter of another major corporation and for a merger to occur, the sole heir of gojo group, he must marry their daughter.

gojo had fought it with his parents, day in and day out, and one day they just gave up. he told you that there was a possibility that he was free to avoid this arranged marriage. until his parents practically threatened to make both your life and gojos life, a living hell. they said they would make the two of you hate each other.

so you stepped away. you let yourself distance from him, pushing yourself to believe that this was for the better and he would be happier in that arranged marriage. allowing gojo to think you wanted nothing to do with him.

but as he neared you now, you were scared he could see the small ways your body betrayed you—your hand twitching to touch him, your pupils dilated, goosebumps prickling your skin and your mouth parting just slightly, enough for him to hear your soft breathing.

he sounded out your name, his eyes darting between your left and right one’s. “i’m so sorry you had to… i’m sorry. jesus, i didn’t mean for you to see that,” he breathed out, fingers twitching to come to your side and gently caress you.

when you had walked into his room, the sweet sound of his moans filled your ears and the display before you had a familiar feeling pooling in your gut. he was an idiot—he hadn’t even noticed that he had left his door unlocked, which you had twisted open after a few unanswered knocks, nor did he notice you standing there and of course he was too stuck in his fantasies to hear you calling out his name a couple of times.

but when your eyes landed on his desk and the name trickling from his plush, cherry and wet lips—your heart nearly stopped. that picture… you remember taking it. and here he was, pleasuring himself to the thought of you. touching himself in some fantasy and imagining doing god knows what to you.

you’d never seen him like this. this distraught and frantic, milky strands of his locks sticking to his forehead and adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. he looked carnal, primal. the grunts that left his mouth rippled immense pleasure over your body and you relished in it. you missed it.

and then that familiar wave of guilt washed over you. you had broken his heart and left him to pick up the pieces. it was obvious he still felt for you after all these months of you avoiding him.

calling out his name to announce your presence, you weren’t expecting the familiar feeling to be bitter on your tongue, making your gut twist. you had no right to intrude like this, eyes welling up in an undeserved longing.

he looked flustered and you set the books you had forgotten you were holding onto his bed before hurrying out.

the tears came faster than you expected, feeling as if your heart was beating too loudly in your ears and you held back your sobs.

yet, he followed you out into the stairwell. why? was he upset that you had intruded so rudely? or maybe he had something to say to you after all this time—pent up anger and frustration to release onto you.

but no. right now, his face searched yours in what looked to be worry, concern painting his expression and he even lettered an apology?

“n-no,” you mumbled and you saw the way he flinched, hearing your voice again. “i shouldn’t have just walked in… ‘m sorry.”

he turned away from you, wrapping his hand over his nape and sighing. “didn’t mean to make you cry. i honestly didn’t think i’d get to talk to you again… i wish it’d been on,” he coughs and scratched his head, “better circumstances.”

you looked up to meet his gaze and saw a gentle, familiar smirk creeping upon his lip. he found this funny? you couldn’t help but mimic his expression, a soft chuckle leaving your lips.

at the time, you had no idea how much hearing your laughter healed him.

“maybe better circumstances could’ve been you finishing,” you teased, feeling your cheeks flush at the dirty comment.

his brow arched and he slid his hands into his pockets, head tilting and studying your expression. “you don’t mind that i… get off to you?”

the heat that pooled in your cheeks only got warmer, hearing his low voice make such a lewd comment. “n-no, not at all. i really don’t mind. i didn’t even know you still had any pictures of mine,” you rambled, lowering your gaze to your fidgeting fingers.

“like hell if i’d delete anything of yours.”

your head snapped back up to meet his gaze, his eyelids low as he watched you. what the hell does that mean?

“you didn’t?”

“i meant everything i had told you back then. that you were my one and only. even if you don’t want me…” he trailed off, lifting a hand to your face and your breathing stopped. using those slender fingers of his, he curled a strand behind your ear and you leaned into the touch, a whimper nearly leaving your throat at the action. “i’ll only ever want you.”

every nerve in your body was on fire, feeling your knees nearly buckle at the touch of his you so dearly missed.

“please,” you pleaded out breathlessly, eyes shutting as you nuzzled your cheek into his hand. tears welled in your eyes as your fists clamped shut, your entire body now remembering its resolve. “forget about me.”

“no. i don’t know where i went wrong, my love. fuck. i’ll die before i do that. i just need to fix whatever i did and then you’ll want me again… i’ll figure it out.”

how did he look so handsome when he sounded so toxic? so needy.

moving your cheek from his hand, you turned away and bit your lip so hard you nearly drew blood. “i’ve already forgotten all about you. save yourself the hurt and just… do the same.” despite your nerves, your voice steeled itself and came out even colder than you’d expected it.

he placed his hand onto your forearm and squeezed, firm but gently, as his gaze pierced through your back. “that’s a fucking lie and we both know it.”

“i can’t keep doing this. you can’t keep doing this. it’s exhausting and,” you felt your voice cracking as you imagined all the nights you’ve sobbed yourself to sleep due to the aching in your chest, a corroded hole that wouldn’t stop bleeding. “it doesn’t matter how either of us feel. w-we can’t be together,” you spat, refusing to meet his gaze.

his chest heaved, confusion and anger bubbling to the surface at your stubborn resolve. “who the fuck says we can’t be together?” his growl made your stomach twist.

you couldn’t reply. you’ve already said too much and mentally slapped yourself for it. you couldn’t tell him that his parents would never give him the blessing of your relationship, so you kept your mouth shut.

but this was all news to gojo, there had always been a piece of the puzzle missing and he was only now realizing where he could start.

he spoke out your name in such a flat and dry tone that the guilt in your chest only blossomed. “who the fuck said something to you?”

before you could reply, someone had pushed the door open at the top of the steps and you wrenched your hand from gojos grasp, basically pushing him away.

quickly wiping your tear stained cheeks with your hands, you turned to meet his gaze with a whisper. “goodbye, satoru.”

and with that, you hurried back down the stairs and out of the stairwell. you had left gojo standing there in confusion, his heart and mind racing with pain and confusion.

────────────────────────

gojo spent the next couple days, attempting to track you down. however, you, ever the avoider, managed to slip from his predatory search and basically locked yourself in the confines of your friends dorm room.

“why don’t you just talk to him?”

stuffing your head into her pillow, you let out a loud sigh and kicked the bed.

“because, shoko, i know what he’s like. he won’t just… roll over and accept his parents saying no to us. he’ll make sure to never leave my side, he’s stubborn like that and it’ll make it hard for the both of us. i can’t turn him against his family.”

“you’re stubborn just like him. s’like you were made for each other,” she drawled, tapping away at her phone without even sparing you a glance.

propping yourself up in your side, you watched the way her lips curled up at the device illuminating her face. “who’re you texting all giddy?”

“utahime,” she stated plainly, waving her phone in your face then going back to texting her.

“and you say i’m stubborn,” you whined, laying on your back and staring at your ceiling. “why don’t you just ask her out, you idiot?”

“because, stupid, there’s a system to it. a method to my madness. i’ve got it all planned out and it’s gonna be a night to remember.”

she continued to ramble about her marvelous plans at swooping the shorter girl off of her feet and they made you a tad bit jealous, melancholic even. your mind rolled back to the day gojo had asked you out, inviting you to one of his basketball games where he made the winning shot then pulled out a giant poster in front of the entire gym reading “i’d love to be the star player in your game of love.”

everyone talked about it for weeks to come and you couldn’t help but relish in it. gojo had a way of making you feel like the only girl in the world.

“knock knock. anyone home?” without you noticing, shoko had made her way over to you and was tapping your skull, making you seat her hand away. “what’s got you so focused you can’t hear me yelling at ‘cha?”

you shook your head, propping yourself up on your elbows. “sorry. what were you saying?”

she waltzed over to her desk and grabbed her bag that was slung over the chair. “i’m staying at utahime’s tonight. so you get the dorm to yourself, you don’t need to go back to yours. i know you wanna avoid him at any cost.”

you nodded your head and gave her a soft smile while she watched you, a bit of careful concern washing over her face. “you gonna be okay?”

“mhm! i’ve got my manhwa and my snacks. i’ll be perfectly fine. make sure to use protection!”

the last comment had you giggling and her slithering out of the dorm room with a final goodbye.

the next couple hours, you tossed and turned in shokos bed, flipping through the pages of your manhwa and snacking on your pretzels. once it had neared midnight, you realized you hadn’t brought any pajamas or skin care this morning so you slid a pair of sneakers on and left the dorm room.

shokos dorm was only a few blocks from yours. the walk over was quick and you hurried up the steps to the second floor and into the hall where your room was.

as you neared, you noticed a figure propped up on the floor outside of your room. you warily slowed down and squeezed your eyes to make out who was so close to your room.

“shit,” you murmured, realizing who it was. but before you could turn around, his head popped up and those cerulean orbs connected with yours. his face looked tired, eyes heavy with exhaustion. yet, he jumped to his full height and made his way towards you in the short hall.

you couldn’t escape now. he would just chase you down. for now, you’d just have to figure out a way to push him away.

he stopped before you, those beautiful ocean eyes of his assessing you. “are you okay? where have you been?” that velvety, low voice of his was laced with a concern that guilted you. he was worried?

“at a friends,” you mumbled and looked past him, wondering if you could outrun him to your dorm.

his hand twitched as his gaze made its way down your casual outfit. “…your boyfriends?”

your head nearly snapped to match his gaze, basically ogling as he anticipated the worst. “what?”

“do you have a boyfriend? is that who you’ve been staying with these past couple days?”

your eyes observed that familiar jealous glint he got, the clenching of his jaw and the furrowing of his brows.

maybe if he thought you had a boyfriend then he would move on, leaving you in his past.

“y-yes. i’ve been… staying with him.”

he let out the most twisted scoff you’d ever heard, turning his head and gritting his teeth. you’d never seen him this angry before, his eyes glowing with a murderous intent.

“does he make you feel better than me?” he asked, still not meeting your gaze.

“w-what?” how were you supposed to answer this and what exactly did he mean?

slowly turning his head to meet your gaze, you felt your body tremble under his frustrated expression, the rage nearly radiating off of him.

“does he fuck better than me?”

your mouth nearly went slack, trembling as you struggled to answer. what were you supposed to say?

he let out a tsk, along with a bitter laugh. “s’what i thought,” he drawled, inching closer to you. you stepped backwards as he preyed on you until your back hit a wall.

lifting a hand, he placed it beside your head and leaned in. you could hear his inhale as he breathed in your scent. his exhale was shaky, as if he couldn’t tolerate letting it out. “baby…”

you didn’t mean to let out a whiny “mhm,” as if he had commanded answer from you, or you had missed the endearment.

“can i touch you?”

when he had pushed you against the wall, you had shut your eyes in instinct, too afraid of his close presence and how it would make you act. but now, they fluttered back open and you had full view of his gorgeous features.

greedily, you took them all in—his snowy and silky hair you remembered the feeling of under your tight grip, those lovedrunk, blue eyes of his that unraveled you under his gaze, those lips you missed kissing until you couldn’t breathe, that jawline you’d caressed whenever he’d touch you, that throat of his you remember leaving spotted with love bites, oh the list could just go on.

gojo enjoyed watching you watch him, letting yourself go possibly for the last time. and if it was for the last time, he’d be okay with it. he couldn’t let understand why you didn’t want him anymore but he would allow you to come back to him for whatever you needed from him.

you nodded slowly, a gulp rippling down your throat as your hands came up to his chest and rested there.

“touch me.”

the words that trickled from your lips went straight to your ex-boyfriends cock, blood rushing to his erection and creating a tent in his slacks.

his eyes trailed down to your lips and he let out a breathy exhale as you so greedily savored in his scent you dearly missed. the lingering fragrance of his signature body wash, fresh and cloying like the sweets he had always consumed.

“yeah?” his voice was low and sultry as he lifted a hand to your waist, his fingers ghosting over the dip. your back curved just slightly, arousal rippling through your body and trembling from his light touch.

your gaze was glued to his lips before sliding up to his eyes and you had to stifle a whine. with low lids, he was watching you with such a fervor that looked almost primal. like a tiger that’d been starved for days and planted its eyes on its newest meal.

“where do you want me to touch you, baby?” those simple words blossomed a heat in your chest, your heart thrumming in your ears as your lust began to take over.

you knew you shouldn’t—it would be wrong to give in again when you knew the two of you wouldn’t work out. the thought alone was enough to well tears in your eyes.

“hey, look at me.” with his slender fingers, he lifted your chin to match his gaze. leaning in, he breathed gently against your lips, “don’t think too much.”

that was enough for you to push forward and crash your lips against his, wrapping your arms above his shoulders. your small fingers found their way into his snowy tresses, running your digits across the familiar silky feeling and tugging him closer.

he took the chance to lift you up, his large hands finding their way to the underside of your plush thighs. wrapping your legs around him, you didn’t mean to let out a moan into his mouth when his crotch rubbed against your clothes crotch.

“f-fuck,“ gojo said, bowing his back ever so slightly at the contact that only made him more sensitive. he took the chance to push you against the wall and his fingers gripped against the flesh of your ass.

your tongue always found its way pushing into his mouth, attempting to fight for dominance and losing every time to his. he found it cute and the thought that you haven’t changed had his heart beating even harder against his ribs.

“n-not here, ngh,” you whined out, pulling from the kiss and looking around the empty hall. gojo grinned, eyes never leaving your flustered figure. your cheeks were flushed and there was a bit of saliva on your lip.

leaning in, he licked it away and chuckled. “still not a fan of the whole exhibitionist thing?”

slapping his arm, you felt the heat creeping up your neck and a frown crossing your face. “put me down.”

he pouted but agreed, letting you down gently and towering over you. digging into your pockets, you pulled out your keys and walked around your ex-boyfriend to unlock your door.

pushing it open, you shoved your hands into your pockets and signaled with your head that he could come in.

as he carefully entered your space, his eyes flickered around your dorm room that had changed quite a lot since he’d last been here.

when the two of you first started dating, your room was adorned with soft pastels and colors, along with plenty of pretty decor. he knew what a girly girl you were at heart.

but now, as he stepped in, he’d barely recognized the space. it was darker, with blackout curtains and lacked the color it initially had. there was little vibrancy and it seemed you’d gotten rid of a lot of things.

“you plannin’ on transferring?” he teased, though the underlying concern in his tone didn’t go unnoticed. the sight would have anyone wondering if you were in the process of moving out.

“no, i just…” you trailed off, feeling a bit vulnerable under his gaze. he peered around your room with his hands clasped behind his back and studied his surroundings. you began fidgeting with your fingers as he turned to look at you. “…got sick of all the color.”

he raised an eyebrow, walking over to you as those blue orbs flitted over your figure. “and why’s that?”

you shrugged, unable to look him in the eyes as he loomed over you.

“talk to me, baby.”

your eyes welled up, but you blinked the tears away rapidly. a hand stroked the top of your head before resting against the back and tilting your head upward.

gojo could feel his heart twist, seeing the saddened expression on your face, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

the words tumbled from your lips quicker than you wanted them to, “i missed you.”

you could hear the way his breath hitched, pupils dilating and darting between your left and right eye. there was an unreadable expression flickering across his face as if he was thinking something through—before he leaned downwards and placed another kiss against your lips. this kiss was different, it was less needy than before—instead laced with a heavy longing that pulled tears from your eyes.

cupping your cheeks, his large hands rested on the sides of your face and angled your head upwards for more access to your mouth that trembled against his.

the tears trailed down your cheeks, and gojo could taste salt on his tongue. your small hands found themselves against his bulking biceps, squeezing for some semblance of stability. he walked you backwards, until you felt your bed against the back of your knees, making you sit down.

with the kiss now broken, your wet eyes looked up at gojo who looked at you with an unreadable expression. his hand continued to stroke your hair as he took in your beautiful form. “you wanna do this?”

you nodded your head, refusing to break eye contact as he brushed his thumb over your cheek to wipe away a tear, then pushed that digit between your parted lips.

pressing down on your tongue, you held back the need to gag.

“so pretty and messy f’me, ‘n i haven’t even done anything yet.” those cerulean orbs of his flickered across your tear-stained cheeks, puffy eyes, quivering lips and the sight only made him harder.

he continued to press down and your hands found themselves against his wrist as a gag left your lips.

his other fingers cupped your chin and pushed you down until your back hit your comforter, rolling your tongue against his thumb.

you felt a cool touch slip under your hoodie and find its way to the hem of the sweatpants you were wearing. tugging them down, gojo left your bottom half in only your panties.

you could hear a scoff leave his lips as your eyes glossed over with lust, boring into the ceiling. “you get this wet for him?”

with furrowed brows, you glanced your head down at gojo who was staring at your lower half. the flush in your cheeks only got worse as you attempted to shut your legs and he used his free hand to push your thighs open with consecutive tsks.

seeing you like this, something in gojo’s head clicked.

“ya’ know, you don’t gotta lie about having a boyfriend,” his hot breath warmed your panties and just then you could finally feel just how soaked you were.

this whole ordeal felt embarrassing—it was like he could see right through your facade but you were adamant about keeping it up. “m’ not l-lying,” you whined after he pulled his fingers out of your mouth and pushed your legs further apart, causing you to squirm against his firm grasp.

a curious finger of his trailed up on the wet spot through your panties and you let out a stifled gasp, arching your back and gripping your sheets.

“s’ not what she’s telling me,” he groaned, his voice an octave lower and practically growling into your clothed cunt.

“shut up,” you attempted to spat but it came out breathy, wriggling yourself to free yourself form his grasp. he let out another patronizing laugh and removed his hands from your thighs.

you finally looked down after being too shy to meet his gaze, then seeing him walk over to your bedroom door to lock it.

an audible gulp of yours echoed through your room, finally understanding rhetorical situation you had gotten yourself into, as he turned back to you, feeling the pure lust rippling off of his form. he towered over you again, tugging his shirt off and handing it to you.

“can’t have you bein’ too loud. bite into this if you gotta,” he smirked down at you, knowing you were gonna, and kissing your jaw gently before trailing a hand down to your panties and working them off with such a teasingly slow pace. while he did so, he admired you, white locks dangling from his head and framing him so beautifully.

your hands found themselves up to his hair and tried to pull him up to your lips but he wouldn’t budge. your hazy stare found his eyes hovering over yours, a confused and somewhat fucked out expression already painting your face.

before you could ask why he wasn’t doing anything, cold fingers found themselves brushing your entrance and pushing into you.

your mouth dropped into a sweet o shape, one that gojo mimicked with a mischievous grin, breathing out with you as you did. “still tight as ever, huh?”

a loud moan echoed through your room as those 5-inch long double digits plunged even deeper, finding your sweet spot, the same area he’d discovered the first time he had you like this.

but before the pleasure could continue, those digits pulled themselves out and an empty whine left your lips.

“tch. what did i say? y’don’t need the entire campus to remember how good i make you feel, hm?” he grabbed the shirt you had tossed aside in a frenzy and held it to your face. “bite.”

and that’s what you did. his commanding tone had you clenching around nothing. your teeth clamped down on the cottony fabric, the scent of him enough to have your eyes glaze over once more.

“good girl,” he drawled out, leaning up to place a kiss to your forehead before inching his fingers back in. your gummy walls clamped down on the intrusion, your juices oozing out and drenching his hand.

“mmm, how’s that feel sweetheart?”

all you could do was grit your teeth down into the fabric to mask your whines and moans. it was hard for you to keep quiet—gojo remembered and loved it. he relished in the thought that he could overstimulate you from barely working you open and you were always so loud.

your lack of response only made him all the more feral, pushing those slim fingers further into you and you let out the most sultry whine into his shirt he’s ever heard. drool trickled down your chin, his scissoring fingers nearly pushing you to the edge.

the last time you’d spent the night with someone, it’d been with some asshole you met at the bar and he gave you a total of 10 seconds of foreplay along with orgasming inside of you with a rubber after 3 seconds.

you’d thus been celibate.

so this treatment, after nights spent with your hands in your panties and moaning your ex-boyfriends name to yourself, you’d sorely forgotten just how good he really made you feel and how you lacked at mimicking his hands.

gojo knew it too. he called bullshit now—with his newly learned information giving him the justified confidence of working you like this.

a coil began knotting in your gut, finding yourself lifting your hips to match his speed, the heel of his hand slapping against the hood of your clit. your fingernails clawed against his back, leaving red marks as you neared your high, jaw tensing.

while you thought it couldn’t get any worse, gojo leaned down and sucked on the exact spot he knew would have you seeing stars, his snowy tresses tickling your bare skin. his free hand found its way up your hoodie and began kneading with your buds and squeezing the mounds. those thighs of his pushed the underside of yours so wide, keeping you nice and spread for him.

you had no idea how he was stimulating all of these spots at once but all you knew was that you were close, and he did, too.

before you could gush all over his fingers, he swiftly pulled them out and lifted himself off of you. he wasted no time pulling your hoodie off of you and tossing it to the side with haste. he moved down and angled his head between your thighs once more, admiring the mess he’d created.

“fuck, i missed this,” he groaned before nudging his face between your folds.

a stifled yelp left your lips, quickly grabbing his shirt and covering your mouth once more, preparing yourself to keep quiet. you could swear, through the daze of lust, that you could hear him whisper “good girl” into your sex.

like a man deprived of water, he began lapping up at your juices messily, his tongue diving in and out of your folds with vicious tenacity, slurp sounds resonating through your room.

“you, ngh, taste as good as i unh… remember.”

your free hand that wasn’t muffling your moans found its way to gojos hair, unsure if the overstimulation wanted him to delve deeper or to get away.

he pushed his wet and long tongue through that ring of resistance.

“f-fuck… ‘toru,” you whined through his shirt, and that had his tongue pausing. he pulled away and met your needy gaze, your juices mixed with his saliva dripping down his chin. he pulled the shirt from your mouth like a madman and tossed it.

“say that again, baby.”

you blinked, an innocent confusion on your face before he began ravaging you once more.

“slow mnh… slow d-down,” you gasped, eyes widening at the sudden stimulation.

“not mmmf… till… you say that… fuck, again.”

his tongue made one long languid strip up your throbbing core that had your thighs going weak, to which he brought them over his shoulder. his nose nuzzled against your bundle of nerves that had you nearly pulling his hair out . “r-right t-there mmmf.. ‘toru!”

his fingers slid back inside and pushed against that sweet spot, and with a bite of those canines over your clit, it was enough to send you over the edge and releasing your pleasure through a strangled and broken scream of his name once more.

those dexterous digits continued to work you open, riding out your high on his fingers and face and releasing an ocean of juices along the lower half of his face. once you’d calmed down, he pulled away and slipped those fingers into his mouth, the lewd display making you twitch.

“sweet as a cupcake,” he compared, teasingly licking his fingers and winking at you. the view made you giggle and cover your flushed and sweaty face.

“oh, come on… you don’t want a taste?” pulling your hands from your face with his, the admiring smile on gojo’s face made you obediently drop your jaw with a grin, to which he spit in. “swallow.”

gojo loved how obedient you were, towering over you and brushing a hand over your forehead to remove the stray hairs. placing a hand on your waist, he watched you and another grin tugged at his lips. “sweetheart, you will never fail to astonish me with your beauty.”

the sudden confession had your eyes widening as a familiar knot now spun in your core, your pussy clenching around nothing. “toru’…” you trailed off, eyes searching his.

“yes, my love?” the endearment had your mind spinning with infatuation and lust, as if your eyes could gloss over again.

“n-need you,” you breathed out, angling your hips to his clothed crotch.

at your confession, gojo wasted no time slipping his slacks and boxers off and your gaze flickered down to his length, eyes widening at his angry, pink and pale shaft. you remembered your ex-boyfriend was massive, but seeing it again after all this time was truly shocking.

“don’t worry, we’ve made it fit before,” his cheeky comment came out breathy as he rubbed his tip against your drooling folds, mixing with his premature cum and slipping around. your hips lifted to push against his dick, attempting to slide him in.

a stifled gasp left gojo’s lips, lashes fluttering, as he finally pushed forward, barely an inch in as he squeezed your hips with such a grip that you were sure you’d have bruises by tomorrow.

“f-fuck, you’re, mmnh, so tight…” did you just make gojo stutter? yes. yes you did. you were the only person to have the smartest and richest person on campus stutter.

you brought your arms underneath his and hugged his body to yours, his forearms falling beside your smaller frame. the size difference between the two of you was previously forgotten, as you gazed directly into his neck as he shoved himself deeper. to stifle your moans that were increasing in volume, he brought a hand up to cover your mouth and finally bottomed out.

a scream was muffled into his hand, the stretch so painful but so good.

“doin’ so g-good for me, m’angel,” he breathed out, his meaty tip kissing your cervix. he was so deep in you, your eyes widened as you early choked on your breathing, his cock shoving into your lungs.

through his painfully slow thrust, he noticed you’d grown quiet, lifting his wet palm from your lips, drool trickling down your cheeks with a fucked out expression. he was nervous you were on the verge of passing out.

just gently, he tapped your cheek and halted any movement inside of you. “baby, breathe. look at me.”

your eyes glossed over to him as your chest began lifting in breaths again, the influx of air only making you groan out again. “there we go,” he drawled out with such a confidence, lifting his hand to cover your mouth again and thrusting slowly to allow you to adjust.

with lashes clamped shut, you braced yourself for each sloshing jam of his cock into your pussy. with the hand not muffling you, he wrapped his arm around the top of your head to push you down onto his length, utterly manhandling you.

your screams rattled out into his hand, his breathing picking up as he huffed out, shoving himself deeper and deeper with each push. “s-so good for me, so mmm fucking perfect, you s’made f’me,” he breathed out, praisingly. and soon enough, the cock drunk girl you were, watched your ex-boyfriend become entirely pussy drunk, babbling out every thought in his dazed mind.

“takin’ me s’well, gonna fill… gonna fill you up,” he groaned. “gonna stuff ya with ma babies.”

eyes widening open, you met his gaze down at you, and the man looked crazed off of your cunt. “that… that okay? pump ya full of my… my fucking seed?”

his words made you clamp down on him, the thought rushing straight to your core as your high neared.

“f-fuck, baby. don’t d-do that mmmngh. need ya to l-let me know.”

like a mad woman, you bobbed your head up and down, legs wrapping around his waist. a fucked out grin lifted on his lips, pushing himself somehow even deeper into you with each thrust.

“yeah? want me to fuck you full of my babies?”

another whiney groan left your lips as you nodded your head up and down, shutting your eyes.

an idea popped into gojo’s head at the thought. “gotta make sure t-this… sticks,” he groaned and you felt shuffling. he lifted both hands far above your head, gripping your comforter and shoved himself so deep inside of you that it sent you over the edge, sexually and physically.

without his hand to muffle your sounds, you were positive you’d receive a noise complaint now.

“fuck! toru’!” you screamed, pussy clamping down on his shaft as liquid began to spray from your cunt.

you were squirting. gojo made you squirt.

the wet feeling of your juices along with your tight and snug cunt had the veins of his length bulging, before the slit released ropes upon ropes of cum into your cervix, bullying their way inside so painfully yet so pleasurably.

he moaned out your name, shoving you up and up your bed with each thrust as ribbons of seed leaked from his tip and dribbled out of your pussy. the man made sure to allow the both of you to properly ride out your highs, vein in his forehead bulging as his breaths shuttered.

your arms and legs fell slack against the wet sheets as he pulled out of you, admiring the juices drip from your nearly abused cunt. the orgasm had you twitching and trembling beneath him.

sleep could’ve taken you then and there, but the fluttering in your heart remained. glancing up at your boyfriend, he folded your legs to the side to give you some semblance of dignity, then walked to the bathroom. hot and wet rag in hand, he sat beside you and cleaned you up gently and cooed you with each soothing wipe.

“toru’,” you whispered, watching him quietly.

“yes, sweetheart?” he continued to clean you up but turned his gaze to you. how could someone look so pretty after a session like that? the afterglow was insane, making your heart wrench.

“i’m sorry,” you muffled out, steeling yourself to push him away. you’d managed to stay away from him for so long, the thought of having to undo all of both of your healing from each other sounded exhausting.

he watched you quietly before setting the rag on your nightstand, then pulled your back up to his chest. leaning against your headboard, he held you in his arms and stroked your thigh softly, tracing imaginary circles.

“i spoke with my parents.”

your head spun around to meet his gaze, the unsubtly of your reaction earning a chuckle from the white haired man. “put two n’ two together the other day, when you said we couldn’t be together.”

you clasped your eyes shut, turning away in embarrassment at your idiocy. he obviously figured that someone that wasn’t you, was keeping the two of you from being together. aka his evil parents.

“ya’ know, i think you did that on purpose.”

“h-huh?” what does that mean? you turned back to him and furrowed your brows.

“think you just wanted your knight-in-shining-armor to come and swoop down to fix things. that’s my pillow princess, everyone,” he teased, making you elbow his side with giggles when he tickled yours.

“…were they mad?” you asked after a few seconds, turning your gaze to his large hand on your bare lap and fiddling with it.

“fuck yeah. but so what? when i get my girl pregnant, they can’t do nothin’,” he stated plainly.

the thought made your eyes widen, realizing the situation you just put yourself in after your fucked out decision. “well. nothing better than being knocked up in college, don’t’cha think?”

pushing his head into the crook of your neck, he let out a low chuckle that made you squeeze his hand. “think your boyfriend’ll be pissed off?”

“oh yeah, my totally real, not fake, totally not imaginary boyfriend? he’ll kill you. can you handle that?”

“course’ i can, sweetheart. i’m the strongest on campus.”

#✦ bisque tracklist #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fic #jujutsu kaisen smut #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #jjk satoru #gojo smut #satoru gojo smut #gojo fluff #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fics #jjk smut #jjk #gojo x you

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limerlove · 1 month ago

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WITH GIN IN JULY

❝ ABBY ANDERSON!ONE SHOT ❞

ෆ | pairing. enemies to lovers!abby x female!reader

abby anderson? she's a fucking nightmare. with everyone in her back pocket, she adores all. the golden girl, but to you she's just the asshole not to be trifled with. a kind heart to everyone, except you. you hate her and she hates you. what could possibly change that?

warnings. eighteen+, nsfw content: 3k wc. smut, oral sex, fingering, no strap so stop complaining ♡ (this is a joke don’t attack me), a lot of fucks said, enemies to lovers, me being in love with abby, yk there’s a recession when i’m throwing fluff in a fic. okay, ray. shut up.

Apprehension runs cold in her veins, ice for blood with a small throttle for a pump — she’s a fucking nightmare wrapped in a devil’s daydream.

To everyone else, she's the perfectly nice, perfectly fine girl. The two of you introduced to one another in the first week of July, the weekend of the forth. All of your friends raved about how kind Abby is, a heart of gold, is what they all said.

In all honesty, you had even been thrilled to meet her. You love your little group of friends, the family you never had but fuck are you sorely disappointed by blonde-brute.

She was anything but kind. Intentional malice laced in her deviously-blue eyes from the first time you met. As time went on, so did Abby's growing irritation. Even as the heat blossomed, she still managed to root her cruelness in rich soil.

"I just don't know what everyone sees in her! She's so mean, all the time, she's barely even human."

And here she is, simmering in the pool with her stupid cocktail and that damn gleeful smile. She taunts, under the radar of everyone else, always making you look like the monster with one evil eye and talons for hands.

“You don’t think you’re making all this up just because—” Jesse trails off but your fury is lasered on to her, not letting up for a single moment.

“Not think, I know." Continuing to rail off your tangent as you see her being warm and fuzzy with everyone else except you.

For fuck sake, she's like a goddamn teddy bear. You might hold her if she lets you but no one else besides you is going to know it.

You decide to cool off inside needing a cool drink in this excruciating heat. The first thing you’re met with is cool air-conditioning and cool white-marble floors, chilling your overheated body back to room temperature.

It’s much better this way, in silence where your disdain can rot like a sour pomegranate. Complete solitude could solidify the vindication you feel every time she throws another insult when no one else is listening.

As you're bent over, digging through the freezer to find your strawberry-lemonade you had placed there earlier you hear a throat being cleared.

You crane your neck just to see it’s her.

Picture perfect Abby, god, you wish you could slap that stupid grin off her pink and pretty lips. Always smirking at you like she knows something you can’t possibly be aware of.

“Need help?”

“Nope. It’s not like you were actually offering.” You’re short and sharp with her, keeping your interactions with Abby to the absolute minimum.

It’s better for everyone this way.

“I could help you out and—”

“We both know you won’t.” Finally, you find it, shoved at the bottom underneath the frozen fruit. But when you rise and turn around, your chest is practically pressed against hers.

She’s testing the waters, normally you wouldn’t be such an idiot. You would push her away, shoulder check her even. Or you would try. Abby’s hard to push around, half of her body weight must be muscle.

Between being a mechanic and her necessity to be a total gym addict, her build was stronger than pretty much everyone. With her strength, she pushes you against the fridge with her pelvis, shutting the freezer door shut with your frozen strawberry-lemonade in hand.

“Do we have a problem?” You pry as she looks like she wants to devour you from the inside out.

“What would make you say that?” She waits for you to respond as she stretches out her arm, palm resting by your head, seeing how far she could push you.

Like she always goddamn does.

“You’re here, hovering. God, you’re worse than my ex.” Trying to push her away, but Abby doesn’t even budge.

“Oh.” And for a moment, genuine interest flashes in her eyes. Clearly, you’ve gone senile. “You and her—”

Now, you’re over conscious in your lack of clothing as she bites her lip, sinking teeth into the flesh. Venomous glances find mercy in you, but you’re not sure why they’ve been replaced with longing.

“Why does it matter? Can you let me go?”

“Yeah, right, sorry.”

Abby apologizing? Weird.

—

The truce lasted for a single moment. Sympathy for a broken heart apparently had an expiration date, or a timer for less than twenty-four hours.

“Were you actually going to hit me?” Abby cocks her eyebrow, the gray in her eyes coming to life as a speck of desire crosses near her heart.

"I wasn't trying to hit you. If I wanted to, you would know."

You can't really say this was entirely her fault. Ever since the unintentional spilling of your forementioned breakup, she'd been looming over you. As if she was waiting for you to crack. All you wished was to forget any of it ever happened.

For a second, you thought she could be capable of kindness towards you and then when you tossed an orange to Ellie, it happened to hit her in the face.

"What do you want from me? What's it going to take for you to exercise one decently kind bone in your body?"

She's sizing you up in your bedroom door with the door shut, the one she chased you down in like you're a wild animal. Everyone in the room knew better than to chase either one of you. The two of you always fought like this.

And every single time, you worked it out enough to tolerate each other. But now Abby was witnessing the steam, the ultimate point of rage pushed past the point of containment.

"Me? What about you? Suddenly I'm the problem when you've been an asshole to me from day one. Day fucking one, Abigail."

You're pacing back and forth in your room, attempting to calm yourself down before you completely lose it and say something you can't come back from.

"Me? Like all of this is my fault? The first time you looked at me you decided you had to hate my guts." Abby catches your arm, stopping you from moving another inch.

"Let me go, now." Your voice doesn't waver for a moment, not one stutter is heard, but Abby can't help stare at your lips. Then you're staring at hers and all of it becomes crystal clear.

"Or what? What are you going to do about it?" Single handedly, her words pierce through you warm flesh, exposing the wound she created. For a moment, just for a second, you wonder if Abby’s the antidote you’ve been searching for.

She wonders how you would react if you walked out of here, ignoring her obvious advances she keeps throwing your way. But it’s always on your terms. Abby’s too cowardly to initiate anything first. Dangling the carrot in front of you like a desperate rabbit, begging to be satiated with the first crunch.

Stepping forward, your perfectly manicured hand strokes her freckled check, nails lightly scraping against her porcelain flesh. “I won’t have, you’ll do it for me.”

The tone in your voice drops, smirking as Abby visibly gulps. The lump she swallows is enough indication that she’s been caught. The mean remarks, your former girlfriend at your side when the two of you met, the jealousy, the snide comments Abby would only say when it was the two of you — all of it a ruse to disguise the feelings she decided to bury deep upon your very first meeting.

A swipe of your thumb caresses her chin, tilting her lips towards you, as her hot and heavy breath curses your lips like a sin you would be willing to die for. A small whimper falls from her, her bambi blues widen at the audible omission. A mistake, a slip-up, and fuck is it perfect.

“Show me how much you want this, Abby. Be a good girl.”

Hell breaks loose with those four words and Abby’s self-control is unshackled with it. Practically throwing you on the bed like a certified ragdoll, you become her own personal barbell to train with. Wedging herself between your legs that are already open for her, you’re met with tongue and teeth as she regains control.

You have a feeling she’s not one for giving in so easily and the whimper Abby felt embarrassed by would be hard to come by, again. The sleep shorts you’re wearing give her enough access as the fabric bunches on your ass. Abby chuckles as you grind up into her pelvis, desperate for more as you practically feel her tongue in the back of your throat.

Fingers dig into her golden roots, trying so desperately to have her whine for you again, but all you get is a moan — as pretty as it is, it’s not what you want, but it’s enough.

For now.

Abby separates as you help her out of the oversized sweater she was wearing with a thin pair of boxers. Here she is, baby-blue boxers hung low on her hips as your hand smoothes over her defined six-pack, muscles flexing underneath your touch. Freckled and toned, small pink nipples practically begging to be placed in your mouth.

“Oh—” Your hands sink into her boxers, feeling her bush prickling under your touch, as your fingers slide against her drenched folds, each one fluttering as you stroke her enticing lips. “Fucking knew you liked to be praised.”

The better part of Abby should keep her mouth shut, but when you’re taking shit all she wants is to give it right back. You’re in luck. There’s a finger slipping inside of her and her brain shuts off, she’s unable to think about anything but the sight of you biting your lips as fuck her with skilled fingers.

Abby leans her body forward to make it easier for you, slipping deeper into your walls. Almost as if she can sense her lips about to spill, she captures your mouth, letting her moans spill in the back of your throat. Abby coats you with her sweet honey, the sounds she makes could rival an angel’s symphony.

Hips thrusting against you — it’s a perfect moment to sleep another finger inside her — so you do.

There’s that fucking whimper. More desperate than her stormy-blue eyes, begging to be loved. To be needed, it’s all she had been wanting from you and it’s clear as day. Abby decides she’s had enough.

Time to even the playing field.

Ripping the cotton right of your body, the grey-washed tank top is ruined and discarded in your bedroom. Abby latches her lips on to your breast, her forefinger and thumb pinching the other. As if she was born to do it, she suckles on your pebbled nipple, her tongue flicking over the sensitive flesh.

Abby didn’t know how satisfying it would feel to watch you fumble with your fingers fucking her, the control slipping from your fingertips with just a suck and a flick of her tongue. All of it gone too soon as she pries your shorts and panties off in a single movement.

As she removes herself for a second, you’re tasting her on your fingers, saturating the sweetness on your tongue. Only wishing her taste could be permanently embedded into your velvet tongue. A way to rinse yourself clean of all the impurities rotting in your brain, the taste of your cunt could bring the salvation you so desperately seek home.

“Luck for you—” She pauses as she decorates your soft stomach in kisses, “You’re about to come harder than you ever have before.”

Abby starts with flattening her tongue, a long and languid stripe of her tongue drags along your pussy, dipping her tongue in your clenched hole before guiding her rolling tongue on your quivering clit.

“But after this, and mark my words, you’re never going to want anyone else but me after this.” Before you can even argue, the collected spit in her mouth drips over your pussy as she slobbers the natural lubricant on an already drenched pussy.

“Fuck, Abby, what the—” Pushing your legs forward, knees nearly hitting your headboard as she spreads more of your cunt before she gives it her all. Focused entirely on one thing.

Like it’s an olympic sport, her mouth wastes no time at all. Sparing no expense when it comes to make you well…come. The muscle spares no restriction when it comes to your cunt, shoving her face in your pussy, the bridge of her nose nudging against your clit as she lets her fingers sink into a weeping hole.

The moans being released from your magnetic lips, Abby’s never heard before. Not from you or anyone she’s pinned down with her mouth. No regard for your friends who are just down the hall, hearing every word falling from your lips sound like a sanctioned prayer.

Curses of her name fly out of your mouth quicker than you catch them, sucking the soul out of your body as she claims you in ways you’ll never come back from — true to words — in a matter of moments she’s cockily proven to be better than anyone you’ve had before.

As you tug on the blonde roots, she glances up at you through hooded eyes, a chokehold of sultry as she divides her lips with her tongue as she doesn’t break eye contact. She holds it, just for you, as she watches and hears you scream when you slip another finger inside her. Abby curling her fingers is the last nail in the coffin as you fuck her gorgeous face.

Those gorgeous blue eyes rivaling the beauty of sapphires.

“God, gonna keep you right here forever. Always wanna hear you—” Abby moans into your swollen lips, kissing the sweet spot inside you, making the stars align perfectly in the back of your mind. “Say my name for me again, angel.”

You don’t want to give in. She’s manhandled the power right out of you, as if it never had been placed in your hands to begin with. Like she had domineered you into this position. Make a dominatrix into a submission princess. But truth be told, you lost focus and Abby was there to pounce on you. Waiting for her perfect moment and capitalizing on it.

“Don’t— fuck—I-I don’t think you deserve it.” You pause for a moment trying to control the shudder in your breath but you’re starting to believe it’s nearly impossible.

‘“I don’t?” Without warning, there’s a harsh slap to your lips, all three fingers sinking deeper into your clenching walls. “Want to tell me what I don’t deserve again? Or does my girl want to come?”

Before you can control it, there’s an animalistic groan pouring out of your lips, causing Abby to double down on her efforts. With deep breaths, you’re incredibly close, and with every stroke of her tongue she sends you closer to the edge.

A stroke of her tongue, a thrust of her fingers — it’s so close you can nearly latch onto it.

“You like that, angel? Want me to call you my girl?” You hate how cocky she is about it. Abby gleams with pride as you buck your hips into her face once again, whining at the possession. In this instant, solely belonging to the woman who’s eating you out like there’s no tomorrow, is the only desire you crave.

“Shut up.” It’s supposed to come out intimidating, a bit ruthless even, but it’s almost comical when Abby hums into your cunt. Not when you’re so close to painting her sun kissed-cheeks with pearly white cum.

It’s almost like she’s done this before with you, she uses her free hand to play with your nipple, like you told her it’s the one thing that can help bring you over the edge. Abby doesn’t stop sucking, on your clit, her tongue serving strokes to your clit as your thighs shake, squeezing her head as she refuses to relent her pace.

“Choke me out sweet girl, need my baby to come—” Abby locks her eyes on you, “Keep fucking my face, yeah, good fucking girl.”

Like a flower budding in the spring, Abby watches as your pussy flutters your stomach clenching, body writhing as she fucks you through it all.

“Don’t stop, oh fuck me, god, that’s so good. Baby, Ohhh—” She’s practically grinning into your cunt as you hear yourself sloshing against her soaked fingers, not letting her mouth release it’s iron-grip around the clit pulsating against her tongue.

“Fuck, you taste so sweet.” Abby is in amazement, savoring every moment of your body twitching to her touch. Until you’re spent, murmurs of too sensitive causes a small smile to grace her face. “You did such a good job, baby.”

Abby slips on the side your body isn’t taking up, staring at the ceiling with a cheshire grin as she hears your heavy breath. It’s more than you’re usually given. She only needs to hear you struggling to know how much truth it rings. No faith is needed to see what’s right in front of her.

Propping her head in the palm of her hand, elbow digging into the silky-satin, she can’t stop smiling at you. Half of you expects her to kick back to her normal routine of hating you — maybe Abby didn’t really like you. She just wanted to fuck.

“You know this doesn’t have to be a one time thing—” Abby draws random patterns into your skin with the blunt of the fingernail, pawing at the skin, desperate for just a little bit more of you. “If you ever want to see stars again.”

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?” Shamelessly, Abby nods. The warmest smile spread on her face, it’s so infectious. Her genuineness rotting through your sourness, making something entirely too sweet for you to swallow but you take it on.

Even in fear.

“I thought it was cute.” She’s so bashful about it, her voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. Almost delicate.

“Mhm, if you say so.”

“I do.” She pushes a piece of hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. The love in her eyes can’t lie, you hope it’s genuine. Abby can’t stop smiling so you choose to believe it is.

“Would you…uh—” She stutters out as you rub circles into her hips, “I wanted to ask you if you would like to go on a date sometime.”

“You know what’s cute? Playing god with my pussy but then being nervous to ask me out on a date.” You tease her. Immediately, her cheeks morph into crimson, trying to hide as much as she can with her hands but the damage has already been done. And you don’t feel sorry about it for one second.

“So, is that a yes?”

#idk bro i was thoting #i wrote this in three hours so it's probably shit but #i miss posting so #here you go!#also this is a raw dog post so excuse my errors #peace and much love y’all ♡#abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x fem!reader #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson smut #abby x reader #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson tlou2 #the last of us

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pedgito · 3 months ago

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𝐃𝐎 𝐈𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄 | Eddie Munson x reader

summary | Eddie had taken on the responsibility of watching over you when you were younger. But, now back home after dropping out of college, watching over you seems to mean something entirely different. Alternatively, seducing your dad's best friend who just so happens to also be a virgin.

author's note | this is as close to writing eddie as i think i can get anymore hdsjfk. thanks to my wives (@gracieheartspedro, @amanitacowboy & @chaotic-mystery) for the beta & support!

content warning | 18+ MDNI, set in the early 2000s, older!eddie, virgin!eddie, the double whammy everyone needs in their life, age gap (20s & mid 30s), DBF!EDDIE!!!!, eddie knew reader as a kid but nothing nefarious, internal conflict, money issues, dropping out of college, flirting, eddie catching you half-naked, confident!reader, screwing and screwdrivers amirite, fingers, couch sex, eddie comes in a millisecond, pull out method

word count — 9.5k

The email comes through Friday night.

The college name and yours bolded at the top and a sigh slipping from your lips as you’re already anticipating the inevitable.

This email is to inform you that your enrollment is being terminated due to outstanding financial obligations on your student account, payments must be continued in a timely manner for the issue to be resolved. — Warm regards

You’re packed up by Saturday afternoon and back home by midnight, settling back into the small and cozy childhood bedroom you were so desperate to leave, begging to escape the stuffy trailer park the moment you turned eighteen.

But, here you were, stuffing your feet into your fuzzy slippers as you took out the kitchen trash to the dumpster at the end of the short driveway, the frigid wind biting at your skin as you tugged the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

It was the time of year where mornings were unbearably cold and by noon, you were sweating.

The problem was that you had tried.

You sacrificed a few assignments picking up extra shifts at the diner near the edge of campus, barely minimum wage with the few and far between tips. It felt like life or death sometimes, deciding between studying, paying for a few items to enjoy a decent dinner, or paying on your tuition.

Eventually, it all became uncontrollable. It was like a giant, looming monster hovering over your shoulder at every turn, threatening you with the power it held. What came now was relief, but still the slightest hint of worry.

You had to find a job, pick up the slack—the trailer was, to no surprise, a mess.

Your father worked grueling shifts at the factory in Hawkins, twelve hours days that wore him out, enough time to grab a quick meal and shower before he was turning in for the night on the worn-out recliner in the living room despite his perfectly good bed.

He wasn’t working today, but he was having breakfast with a friend.

You got an invite but decided against, determined to make the place spotless by the time he returned and you do as much, picking up the mountains of growing trash, starting laundry, vacuuming, every possible task until the place smelt somewhat pleasant and livable, propping the windows open as the air started to warm, hearing the faint laughs coming up the drive as we’re spraying down the deck with a hose, washing away the caked up dirt between the slats of wood.

“She lives,” His voice is easily recognizable, married with the shake of metal from his litany of jewelry and trademark jacket, jingling like a cat with a bell on their collar, you’re smiling before you turn around, though it quickly fades as he continues, “how’s college been treatin’ you?”

Your dad isn’t slick, but he makes an attempt, his hand mimicking a slice over his neck as a warning for Eddie to cut the conversation dead, though he’s more focused on your face and the way it falls.

“Er, or not?” he guessed, “Or not, yeah—you doing alright?”

“I’m surprised dad didn’t spill the beans,” you admit, “an hour together and he didn’t mention his college dropout daughter and how she’s unfortunately back home, wasting away her genius,”

“Honey, you know I’m happy to have you here—if I could pay to put you through, I would,”

“I know, I know,” you soothe his worry, “so much for scholarships when schooling still costs a fucking fortune, I should’ve tried selling shit on the black market like everyone else, I can live without a kidney,”

Eddie chuckles at your efforts to lighten the mood, “Tough break, squirt,”

“Hey,” you retort quickly, “I’m not five anymore, quit it,”

“She’s all stuck up now,” your dad jokes, your mouth dropping in offense,

“Am not,” you quickly snap, “is this fucking open season on bullying me?”

“Sorry, princess,” Eddie offers a half-smirk as he shoves his hands into the pocket of his jacket before nodding a goodbye to your father, then you, softening you with a wink that has the same effect as it did on fifteen year old you, swallowing hard behind the unusual swell of nervousness in your throat.

“Language,” your father warns as he approaches, kissing the top of your head as he walks by, “and thank you, kiddo, for being’ here—cleaning up the place,”

You nod quietly, offering a smile as your eyes drag back toward Eddie’s trailer, the same one you’ve wandered toward many times before, his uncle Wayne sitting on the steps offering out a pre-packaged lollipop or candy that he never told your father about, so easily becoming a second family to you and your father, him raising you by himself from such a young age.

Unfortunately, Wayne had passed a while back.

You were nineteen now, a couple years older than your father was when you were born, kidless, and relationships nowhere near your radar for the time being, it felt odd. But, you were settled and secure with yourself in that regard, praying that things would fall into place in due time.

But, more urgently, you needed a fucking job.

–

As much as you don’t physically see Eddie the first few weeks you’re settling back in Hawkins, he’s everywhere; posters plastered on brick walls or taped up on the glass windows of stores in town, shoutouts on the local radio as you drove down the backroads to town, he’s a small celebrity around town no doubt, but to you, he was annoying Eddie Munson.

He’s the guy who liked to scare you as a child when you were giving your father a hard time about falling asleep, making up convoluted stories about monsters that came after bad kids that still had you checking over your shoulder some nights. He’s the guy who liked to tease you for being tone deaf but still insisted on teaching you how to play guitar despite you not retaining any of it.

You admired him more than you could admit—he’s never cared what people thought of him. Eddie made a habit of standing out and being confident in his choices, going against the fray of students fighting tooth and nail for college admissions.

It didn’t matter that Eddie was a super senior by the time he graduated, he’s made a name for himself now, kept to his roots, and was still the same person you knew before you could even reach his kneecaps.

It was the rare nights as you grew older, just on the cusp of seventeen and listening to your father and he relive the times before you—how wild and carefree Eddie had encouraged him to be.

It wasn’t that he’d lost his life when you arrived, he just had different reasons to be happy.

Their mouths worked in tandem as they talked through their food, enjoying a shared dinner on the couch watching an old comedy from the 70s that you couldn’t remember the name of, the men finding great humor and joy in a movie you could care less about.

You remember the moment it happens, the skip in your heart as the smell of Eddie’s cologne wafts to your nostrils, admiring the straight edge of his defined jaw as he ate, the dimple that deepened as he smiled.

It was the same feeling you had when you found out you had a crush on sixth grade on a boy who was just as nervous to talk to you as you were to him, but this—it was in a league of its own, making you seek asylum in your room as you escape from dinner with a lazy excuse.

Eddie goes touring for the next few months after you arrive back, in and out of town, but you’re lucky enough to miss him by minutes, seconds, occasionally. Because as much as you had hoped that schoolyard crush would go away, it hadn’t.

The same sinking feeling in your gut returns with every appearance of his face, even the presence of his empty trailer, his voice echoing in the back of your head like he’s there.

You spent the most of his absence applying for jobs and praying for anything at this point, even if the pay was absolutely shit. You end up at the grocery store in town as a stocker, nothing crazy: the hours were flexible, the job was distracting, and you could keep to yourself.

The last thing you wanted was a familiar face from high school wondering how girl genius had dropped out of college, not that it was anyone’s business, but the judgement was the last thing you needed.

When you arrive home after a longer shift, feet scraping tiredly against the pavements as your keys jingled in your hand, trying to move quietly because you knew your father was sleeping after an equally long day, you hear the whistle from a few feet away.

You could mistake it for a bird, but given the time of day, you knew it was Eddie, the melodic hum to the whistle that has a smile tugging at your face.

“Finally pullin’ your weight I see,” he remarks with a grin, arms resting over his hood as he stares, you with no response other than your lips pulling into a tight line as you slump your shoulders, “tough crowd—‘lright, fair enough.”

“Gotta start somewhere,” you respond, gravitating toward the arm of the stairs that led to the porch of the trailer, “not all of us are gifted with the ability to perform, remember?”

Eddie chuckles at the thought, watching you fumble with his guitar, “Yeah…yeah,” he nods, fiddling with his keys and the chipped guitar pick on the key ring, “but—seriously, you’re doing okay? Your dad didn’t tell me much about what happened, so…”

“There wasn’t much to tell him,” you admit, “I’m broke, stressed, and life isn’t very forgiving to some of us,”

Eddie’s eyes squint in thought, averting awkwardly.

To you it seems as if he’s trying to think of how to comfort you, campaigning his next words on his head.

But internally, he’s fighting the thoughts that this wasn’t how he pictured you ending up; not because he thought you were above it, but because he'd always imagined you running far from this place—admittedly, you tried; away from the faded street signs and rusted trailer roofs. He stops himself from saying something stupid, knows that even if the words feel gentle or caring, they'd sting.

He can’t help but admire you either, despite that nagging feeling in his chest.

You’ve changed, grown into the permanent scowl on your face that matched your feisty personality, aware of how you carried yourself with a confidence that mimics his own, fake it ‘til you make it.

“Hey,” he says finally, voice softening. “If you need anything…well, you know I’m like—down the street.” He motions vaguely toward his own trailer, and you nod knowingly, “well, across…the grass, I guess. You get the idea, dollface,”

That was a new one.

You chew at the inside of your lip to hide the grin brought on by amusement and delirium from your long shift, wondering how you were still on two feet and listening to Eddie ramble, somehow you manage the energy to be teasing, easing back into the familiar playfulness you both threw at each other when you were younger and more naive.

“And what do I owe the great Eddie Munson for his generosity?”

He gives a dramatic sigh, flicking his wrist like he's dismissing the idea, “I’m all for charity, helpin’ out the needy.. Why? You feeling needy?”

It’s your turn to squint now, the skepticism easing into a smile. There’s a comfort in this banter and it lifts the weight off your chest in a way you can’t describe, rolling your eyes at his growing smirk.

“Careful,” you warn him, a glint in his eyes, “I’ll take advantage of you if you’re offering, just like old times,”

You wrap your grin up in a perfect bow of innocence, palms meeting at your chin to frame your face up with a picture perfect smile before you’re leaving him, yearning for your bed.

Eddie recognizes you, he thinks.

It was you, personality and mannerisms to match.

But, you’re different now.

He couldn’t admit it out loud though or even begin to linger on the thought out of fear and a sudden guilt that pinged in his gut, chastising himself over it.

–

A weekend and privacy came with a much needed bath, lounging in the comfort of the tub until your muscles stopped aching, eventually wrapping yourself in a towel after a quick shower as you walked through the living room, spending most of Saturday and Sunday alone as your father had escaped for his own getaway—the only difference this time was that you didn’t need a sitter.

It was a designated job of Eddie’s for many years, always offering to keep an eye on you.

But, you are an adult now. Fully grown, filled out. The towel is shit and thin but you hold it tight to your body anyways, readjusting it over your bare chest as the front door squeaks open on the rusty hinges and—

"Jesus!" you gasped, clutching the towel tighter.

“Oh, shit!" Eddie practically jumped back, hands up as if he were surrendering. "I thought you'd be gone. Sorry, sorry!"

You’re standing wet and unsteady, staring at him with a mix of embarrassment and amusement while he’s caught red-handed, looking increasingly guilty as he covers his eyes with his hands.

“Sorry,” he repeats, “Your dad wanted me to check in on the place, figured you’d be gone,”

You force an awkward laugh, the tension dipping into something easy and familiar despite the situation, “Well, I’m not..”

He turned to look away now, the tips of his ears burning red. “Seriously, I didn’t mean to, uh—”

He uncovered his eyes slightly, peeking at you with a crooked grin as you responded with a teasing, “Obviously, Eddie.”

You swore he was blushing—you’ve never seen it before. Not like this. You raised an eyebrow, shifting your weight to one hip, watching him squirm as the towel parts slightly, revealing a risqué sliver of skin by your inner thigh.

Eddie clears his throat suddenly, looking up at the ceiling with a finger pointing randomly, like he’s doing an inspection of the place before he’s stumbling over his words, “I’m—gonna…go? Place is good, you’re good—I mean,”

“I know what you mean,” you interject, walking toward him as your fingers press against his chest on his backwards trek outside, pointing lazily toward his trailer as he fumbles for the doorknob, “now, if you don’t mind?”

Eddie knows he deserves a special spot in the worst parts of hell now, finding himself curious of how you’ve grown, something that has never plagued him until recently, seeing you back in town and nothing like the young girl he used to know.

Of course, you’re still you, but then again—not at all.

He can’t quite place it, but he knows this is bad.

Not good.

And he returns home to take a shower of his own, longer than necessary for a number of reasons.

–

Later that night, you perch yourself in the old, plastic chair on the side of the trailer and light the rolled joint, savoring the soft hum of nature as you wrapped the blanket tighter around your body, curled up barefoot and closing your eyes as you inhale the smoke until it burns, blowing it out through your nostrils.

"Didn't know you smoked," Eddie chirps, cigarette in his mouth as he approaches quietly, startling you slightly. He’s dressed for bed—a loose, tattered old band shirt and sweats hung low on his hips, black socks with a growing rip on the side of his left foot.

He’s always been broad, but the defined muscles of his biceps were new. Thicker, a little tanned, tendrils of muscle stretching underneath the skin as he crossed one arm over his chest.

As your heart settles, you smirk and add darkly but joking, "College changes people."

"Yeah?" He exhaled a slow cloud of smoke. "Guess I never really changed, have I?"

"You still play with the band?"

You already knew the answer, making conversation.

"Yeah," he grinned. "Not famous yet, though. Maybe next year. We’re just doing shows around Indiana—pays the bills and then some."

Eddie was well enough off, you knew that. There wasn’t a single person in Hawkins who didn’t know his name, negative connotation or not—you would have to be living under a rock to not know who Eddie Munson or Corroded Coffin was.

The conversation eventually drifted into quieter places, dragging the equally dilapidated empty chair beside you, closer, knees knocking.

He asked about school; you asked about life on the road. He admitted, too easily it seemed—that he never really caught up with most of the kids he graduated with. "Most of 'em settled down," he said. "Married. Kids. Guess I just... never did."

He'd never been shy, but something in the way he said it felt more vulnerable than usual.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” you shrug, puffing quietly as his eyes track the movement, his cigarette long forgotten before you’re offering him the joint, the corners of his mouth turning upwards quickly as he snatches it from your fingers eagerly.

“Right,” he doesn’t entirely believe you, haunted by the idea of never being able to move on—stuck in this revolving circle of trying to make it big but just coming up short.

It’s been almost twenty years, something had to give way.

"You're much better company than the guys, by the way," Eddie smirked as he took a long drag, his eyes finding yours through the haze of smoke, “you should come out to a show, too—I’ll comp your tickets.”

“I’ll make an effort,” you tell him honestly, “but—with work and trying to make sure my dad isn’t running himself into the ground…I’ll—I’ll try, I promise,”

“Do you have plans to go back?” Eddie asks, passing the joint back to you, “Like, to college?”

You shrug, “I want to, but money is tight. I’d need a fucking miracle to happen before—”

“I can pay what you owe,” he responds like it was the easiest thing in the world to offer, “if—I mean, if you want. Or, at least a chunk to help you out. It helps, living in Wayne’s old trailer. Everything is paid, I just keep the lights on and the water running.”

You stare at him, momentarily speechless.

“Eddie,” you’re unsure how to continue as his name falls out like a breath that’s been held too long, “that’s not fair to you,” you tell him, unable to ignore the weird, twisting feeling in your chest that makes your heart flutter nervously, “I can’t let you do that.”

You knew Eddie wasn’t the type to expect anything in return, but the idea—just the thought of him helping in such a way, it was tempestuous. But, you’re stubborn.

“I think I need to give myself time,” you decide, “find out if going back is something I want to do—if it’s even worth it.”

Eddie never even attempted college, so he figures his opinion is null and void.

Instead, he pokes you with a finger to your ribs as you squirm, giggling softly.

"You should come on the road with us then. Be our groupie, for all intents and purposes."

You laugh, not sure if he's joking or serious or somewhere in between. "You’re asking me—the daughter of one of your oldest friends, to be your groupie?"

Eddie considers how it sounds, pausing as he tries to work it out in his head before he laughs, shaking his head with amusement, “Fine—bad way to describe it. You could just…come and help, or not. We don’t really have a manager, either. We’re wingin’ it. Weren’t you going to college for something in that field?”

“A minor in music management, yeah, but—”

Eddie’s eyebrows raise in intrigue and you look away with a flurry of emotions.

Amusement, forthright. You laugh, the sound bubbling around the joint between your lips, but his eyes fall so easily on you, wide and glazed over and it makes you nervous in a way you’ve never felt.

“Your dad asked me to keep an eye on you, take care of you when I could—” Eddie begins, legs spreading out as he leans back in the chair, memorizing the subtle curl pattern to his hair and his bangs that begged for a trim.

“I’m not a kid anymore,” You remind him, tilting your head to meet his eyes as he lazily pivots his head to look at you, a distant but genuine smile on his face.

“I know,” Eddie responds, his hand rubbing gently over your knee, the cold press of his rings into your skin as his knuckles curled around the bone, “doesn’t mean I don’t care or worry about you.”

It was such an innocent touch, reassurance wrapped in a perfect bow.

But, his hand doesn’t move immediately, slowed, almost as if hindered by the weed in his system. He watches the way your legs part, his hand slipping further to curl around the bend of your knee and around the inside of your thigh, fingers tucked between the space.

Your reaction is delayed too, eyes locked on the movement of his hand before you’re forcing yourself to kill the tension, wrapping your fingers around his own and returning the gesture with a gentle squeeze.

“I appreciate it, Ed,” it bleeds sincerity, “thank you—but, that is something I’d really have to think about.”

“No rush, dollface,” he grins, slipping his hand away casually.

He moves to stand, but you stop him, hand pressed against his chest.

“Don’t—don’t tell my dad,” even if you were an adult, your father still had his ideals, “that I—that we, you know…”

Your finger circles the general area before you pick up the small remnants of your impromptu smoke session with Eddie and his tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek as he nods.

“Seems hypocritical considering how much weed we used to smoke in high school.” Eddie reminisces and you only persist, hand still pressed against his chest until he gives you the answer you were looking for, “Oh, come on—I can keep a secret. Don’t worry.”

You nod slowly, unsure. Eddie grins again, a half smirk as his fingers wrap around your wrist and gently push your hand away, “You seem a little…agitated,” Eddie ponders, “are you sure you’re alright?”

His look is smarmy and cocky, a mixture that gets under your skin like nothing else can.

You shake your head dismissively, stumbling slightly on your feet as you stand with him.

“Sick of me, aren’t you?” he teases.

“I mean, we’ve seen more than enough of each other today.”

“That shit wasn’t intentional and you know it,” Eddie defends, not an ounce of bite in his tone. It’s rather playful, feels like a mirage as his eyes crease at the corner and he smiles again, a trademark look for him but you since the admiration in his gaze, beyond what it should be for his best friend’s daughter.

And you catch yourself thinking about it, too. Looking, considering any other possibility that could have happened—a slip of your towel, if Eddie had gotten worried and progressed further into the trailer, if you had forgotten the towel entirely.

This wasn’t innocent and it wasn’t a crush.

“Watch yourself, Munson,” you warn, flicking a finger at the necklace hanging over the soft cotton of his shirt.

Eddie can’t describe how it feels like quicksand at his feet, unable to move as you corner him where he stands, intimidated but enticed by every single aspect of you.

He’s in such deep shit.

–

Eddie disappears for a few weeks—not without warning, though.

It was a short stint of shows around Indianapolis and he had asked you to watch over his place while he was gone despite there never really being any worry around this side of town—it was quiet anymore, eerily.

Still, it integrates into your daily schedule. A quick glance inside before work and another check after your shift, taking a couple days to throw out any moldy food in the fridge or water his dying plants, surprised by the fact that he even had any—though, the cactus seemed to thrive amongst the death and decay, centered at his kitchen table with a small figurine buried in the dirt resembling a mystical dragon.

It always makes your smile so big that your nose crinkles.

Eddie hadn’t changed at all, really.

A few days before Eddie’s due to arrive back, you hear a concerning sound coming from his fridge and immediately enlist the help of your father who had the magic touch for everything. There wasn’t anything that he couldn’t fix, really. And this was no different.

You tried calling, but Eddie never answers.

He was busy—understandably. You leave him a note on the fridge indicating that your father had fixed the condenser fan and you could thank him another time.

When he does arrive back in town, he does so quietly and in the middle of the night.

You hear the roar of his engine around midnight but don’t stir, followed by the crack of metal as the driver’s side door closes, some rustling of keys, and then you’re succumbing to sleep again.

“Sweetheart, I think I left my screwdriver at Ed’s,” your dad tells you from across the trailer.

“Got it,” you answer swiftly, “I’ll bother him later.”

Later that night, you do.

Eddie looks tired upon first glance, hair tied up loosely but it is a welcomed change to his usually untamed mane.

He invited you in, beer in hand as he returned to the couch and laid his guitar across his lap, an unspoken and hefty amount of empty bottles lining the table.

“I’m fine,” he reassures your silent thought, catching his glance as you stand, arms tucked behind you back loosely, “gotta unwind somehow, right?”

You shrug, indifferent. You weren’t going to judge him.

“Uh, my dad said he left a tool here,” you finally say, “did you see a Phillips laying around anywhere?”

“Drawer at the end of the counter,” Eddie instructs, not looking up as he fiddled with the strings on his guitar, “gonna have to give it a good tug, it likes to stick,”

You nod, moving toward the draw and giving it a sharp pull, watching as the screwdriver rolled toward the front.

Perfect.

“Did you want a beer?” Eddie ask offhand, “I’ve got a few left in the fridge,”

It was a silent invitation—but for what, you weren’t sure.

Eddie often seemed lonely back home, no real purpose when he wasn’t on the road and performing, attempting to fill his days with anything that wasn’t band practice or sound checks.

“I’m not twenty-one,” you respond, laying the Phillips screwdriver on the counter.

Eddie shrugs, hands held up in defense.

“I’m not the police, dollface,” he jokes, “I won’t snitch.”

It wasn’t like you hadn’t drank in college.

Fuck it.

The fridge cracks open as the seal separates and you reach for the bottle, finding that Eddie has approached in the flurry of motion to reach for the beer.

You watch as he brings it to his belt buckle, using it as a makeshift bottle opener before passing it back into your waiting hand.

“Show off,” you tease with faux disdain, taking a small sip from the beer as Eddie leans against the counter, one hand curling around the edge while the other nurses a bottle.

You both drank, talking about nothing in particular, until his words slurred a little and his smile turned softer, a faint flush to his cheeks.

“No plans?” he asks curiously

“It’s Friday,” you shrug, “I should make some, but I haven’t reconnected with anyone since I’ve been back.”

Except for Eddie, obviously.

“You’re all dolled up,” he notes, though there isn’t much to be considered notable aside from the dress shifting mid-thigh and your bare shoulders on display, bare-faced.

“I showered,” you laugh, brows knitting together in confusion, “but—thank you, I guess?”

He’s terrible at this, isn’t he?

Eddie clears his throat, chin tilting down as he his shoulders square and you feel the undeniable urge to tease him, though your eyes are stuck on the way the muscle moves underneath his shirt.

“You should wear your hair like that more often,” you suggest, nodding toward his messy up-do as you sip at the beer, “it’s…cute.”

“Cute?” Eddie throws his head back and laughs, watching a few strands slip from the bun as he shakes his head.

You reach forward, invading his space, brushing a hair away from his cheek as he tenses slightly, reveling in the subtle effect it had on him.

“Undeniably…adorable,” you reiterate, patting his cheek gently, his eyes trained on the way your eyes linger over his face before you smile, stepping away.

“So, you tease me and ask me to keep your secrets,” Eddie says, counting on his fingers.

You feign innocence, looking him up and down in a way that Eddie could easily misconstrue, part of you prays that he will.

"You know," he said, gaze sliding lazily over you in a similar manner, "I always knew you'd grow up to be trouble."

"Trouble?" you laughed, but something tightened in your chest.

"Yeah." He drained the rest of his beer and set the bottle down with a thunk.

It was like a silent challenge, begging him to elaborate.

But Eddie just smiled, lopsided and knowing.

He leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms, nodding a subtle invitation for you to follow him to the couch, your task forgotten as Eddie shoved his guitar aside to make room for you beside him.

“How were the shows?” you ask curiously, one foot pressing to the couch as the other crossed behind your heel, separating your dress and exposing your skin, barely attempting to cover the slip of your panties underneath as the fabric fits between your thighs, your hand pressing against the cushion of the couch to keep it in place.

Eddie watches it happen, how easily you’ve slipped out of your shoes and made home on his couch, like you were always meant to be here, like this had always been your home, too.

He sinks into the couch beside you with a deep sigh, the furniture shifting with the weight.

Tipping his head back, he shrugs.

“Same old,” he replies easily, fiddling quietly with the thick skull ring on his middle finger, flexing them, your eyes watching the insistence of his movement, “things are weird though, lately—like we’re all feeling stuck but no one wants to bring it up.”

“Complacent?” you inquire and Eddie nods with a smirk.

“Complacent,” he tries the word out on his tongue as he looks over at you, an immense amount of appreciation on his face, “that’s the word—smart ass.”

“I think the words you’re looking for there are—thank you.”

Eddie shakes his head nonchalantly and the corners of his mouth turn down, “No…no, I think you enjoy being a smart ass.”

Your fist digs into your cheek as you lean against, “Okay, well—go and run to my dad and tell him how you’re being bullied by his daughter,” you reach a finger forward and poke at the dimple in his cheek, “that you’re feeling oh so threatened by me.”

Eddie has a limit—a bullshit meter if you will.

Before, it would end with him sending you on your way back home, a smug but annoyed expression on your face. But, as you sit here now, he doesn’t feel the urge.

He reaches forward, dexterous fingers attacking the sweet spot underneath your ribs before he’s tickling you into submission, jumping forward to latch onto his right shoulder, attempting to wiggle away from his grip.

He’s relentless, though.

One hand turns into two and soon enough you’re leaning over his lap with your hands on the empty cushion beside him and panting, begging for mercy.

“Stop—stopstop,” you plead, “Eddie—fuck, please,”

Something there lingers, trying desperately to shove his hands away but finding yourself slipping backwards in the process. A soft yelp rips from your throat as you slip back, but Eddie’s already got a hand on your thigh, tight and harsh as it digs into your skin to keep you upright.

Your face morphs from momentary fear to frustration, a harmless scowl forming on your face as you shove at his chest.

“Sorry,” Eddie responds playfully, trying desperately to ignore how warm your skin feels against his palm, maneuvering you back into your spot beside him, “shut you up though, didn’t it?”

“I think if you wanted me bent over your lap you could have just asked,” you retort with a fire in your chest as you readjust your dress, fixing the straps on your shoulders.

Eddie looks surprised at your outburst, eyes wide.

You shoot him a look that tears right through his ignorance, “What? It’s not like you’re some sexless virgin, we’re both adults, aren’t we?”

The silence is especially deafening on his behalf.

You quickly come to the conclusion on your own, “You’re the lead singer of a metal band and you’ve never had sex?”

Eddie avoid answering outright and instead attacks, “Okay, now you’re just being a little shit and judgy.”

He won’t meet your eyes as you stare at him, the faintest hint of a smile on your face, finding his innate shyness over the topic immensely endearing.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just—seriously? There’s no one just throwing themselves at you?” you ask curiously, “All this time and you’ve never once got caught up with a groupie?”

You sit back on your legs, having never been more interested in a conversation in your life, helplessly curious.

“Not ones that I want,“ Eddie admits, “besides, one thing or another happens and it just…doesn’t work out.”

Huh.

You’re quiet, processing the information.

You’re not sure why it shocks you, but it does.

Any idea or assumption you’ve ever had about Eddie was completely shattered, like you were staring at him for the first time, eyes averted. The chain on his wrist jingled as his knee shook anxiously.

You curl your fingers around his kneecap, similar to how he had weeks before, calming him.

“I’m sorry…for assuming,” you apologize, “it’s just…you’re—“

“Old,” he says deadpan and you can’t help but laugh.

“You’re not old,” you reply in defense, “what do you consider old?”

“I’m the same age as your dad, dollface.”

“My dad hasn’t worn an Iron Maiden shirt since ‘95, so I think you’re still safe,” you tease, squeezing his knee.

Eddie smirks, but there’s a touch of vulnerability in his eyes that makes your chest feel strange and soft. He’s silent for a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

He should cut the conversation short, but then you’re opening your mouth again.

Another question, another step further.

“So, I mean,” you pause, adjusting yourself to sit criss-cross to face him, hands resting in your lap, “what qualifies?”

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” Eddie replies like an empty threat, wincing at how eager you look to receive the information, a split second away from a sticky situation.

“No sex,” you start to recite to yourself, thumb jutting out as you count on your hands like he had earlier, “oral is a no-go, I’m assuming,” pointer finger out as Eddie watches you work through the list in your brain and he’s nothing short of mortified as his lips part and he stares at you with a wild gaze, “fingering? What about fingering? Have you ever kissed anyone?”

You look up eventually to find him speechless, his cheeks reddening as you continue and you shrug so nonchalant he can’t believe this is reality, “What? I’m curious.”

“Well, get un-curious,” Eddie retorts with a lazy chuff of laughter.

“You were the one who asked me to be your groupie, remember?”

Eddie scoffs, slapping your hand down gently where it was lingering near him, fingers still laid out in count, “Bad choice of words, remember? This is—”

“What? Am I not your type?”

And, there it was.

Eddie gulps, his hand curling into a fist as his knuckles dressed into his thigh, the fabric creasing under the pressure and he doesn’t answer outright.

You hold your hands up in surrender, “Okay, fair—I’m not offended if I’m not—”

“No,” Eddie quickly interjects, “it’s not that.”

He flattens his hand against his leg, tension slowly loosening as he huffs out a breath.

So, you were his type?

“Is this a morality thing?” you cut through the tension, “Because if we want to go down the list of things that make us adults I think I might have you beat, you know—graduating, college, relationships, a steady job,”

Two of those were a shaky defense at best, but you were trying to prove a point.

Any qualms Eddie had were built solely around his hesitancy to defile his best friend’s daughter or even suggest the implication that he might want to—that he might even find your the slightest bit attractive now, grown up and incredibly sure of yourself, oozing a raw confidence that Eddie has learned to fake.

With you, it was genuine.

You knew exactly what you wanted.

“Is it?” you repeat.

“No,” Eddie breathes out, “I mean, yes—kind of. I just don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“Oh god, Eddie,” you say, exasperated. “I’m not a fucking kid.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he says desperately.

“Then what?”

Eddie’s mouth opens and closes twice before giving up altogether and just staring at you.

You stare back, unyielding.

He sighs again and shakes his head, “You really don’t get it.”

“I think I do,” you insist and then you hear yourself say, the words just tumbling out, “I’m into you too.”

Eddie’s eyes widen comically. “Shit,” he mumbles.

You can see the shift in his features, the way he’s chewing at his lip like he does when he’s working out a new song or trying to find the right chord.

Eddie always had this way about him—passionate, intense.

Your lips curl into a teasing grin, but there’s understanding behind it.

He’s struggling, caught in the moment, unsure whether to take you seriously or play off your relentlessness with humor and break the growing tension.

“Can I try something?” you ask curiously.

“Try what?” His voice is wary, but there’s a glimmer of intrigue underneath.

You pause for the briefest of moments and then decide to seize it.

You lean forward, resting your hands casually on his knees where he’s angled his body toward you. It’s enough to make him freeze, his eyes locked onto yours with a flicker of panic, like he’s suspended mid air and unsure if he’s going to survive the drop.

“Don’t freak out, okay?” you murmur and Eddie nods as you grin every so slightly on your approach.

His breath catches when you close the space and press your lips to his.

It’s tentative at first, slow and steady like testing the heat of running water, but sooner than later you feel his resolve slip. His hand ghosts upward almost involuntarily, right where it should be, finding its place at the back of your neck and pulling you closer.

He inhales sharply and parts his lips to meet your tongue with his own.

Alright, he’s not clueless.

You sigh softly into his mouth as your fingers dig into his thighs, an eager pace growing as you lick into his mouth, the faintest hint of beer on his tongue and thick layer of lust invading your collective brains before Eddie was pulling you fully into his lap from where you’re already halfway leaned over him, taking his silent guidance in stride as your thighs spread out over his and your arms fall over his shoulders, taking his face between your hands as you slow the pace of the kiss.

You pull back eventually, just slightly to gauge his reaction.

His eyes are still shut tight, as if he’s afraid that opening them will make you run for the hills.

Instead, when he finds that you’re not returning, he does.

It was tentative, a peek through one eyelid before he decided to open both.

You’re not smiling, rather observing, a curious wonder on your face.

“Your dad,” Eddie gulps, “he’s waiting for you, isn’t it?”

You nod quietly, his face still cradled in your hand.

A man you’ve admired for years suddenly feels small in your hands, delicate.

“You’re gonna go home,” Eddie instructs softly, “we’re not gonna talk about this, alright?”

Your shoulders slump in defeat but you understand—there were too many cons, too many worries.

“Say it,” Eddie encourages.

“I’m gonna home,” you appease him, “we’re not gonna talk about this.”

“Go on, dollface,” Eddie nods toward the door, helping you off of his lap like a gentleman despite the rejection he’s throwing your way, unknowing of the immense amount of self-restraint he’s using to end this before it starts.

He watches you leave, but not before pressing a kiss into your hair.

He’s done it before, a gentle gesture.

The door locks behind you and the blinds are quick to shift closed, the lights to Eddie’s trailer turning off soon after—from your point of view, he’s resigned to bed, kicking you out for the night.

But, for Eddie, it was an attempt to control himself.

To not let things ramp up so far he couldn’t find a reason to come down.

Usually, he’ll relieve himself in the shower but his cock was straining hard under the confine of his dark-washed jeans, belt jingling loudly as he struggled to rid himself of the fabric until it pooled at his ankles, sinking back into his couch with his shirt pushed halfway up his stomach, letting out a sharp curse as he wraps his hand around his cock.

He can’t deny the fact that he’s thought about you before like this, almost a constant paint imagine of you in his head after he’d caught you at home, a few quick flashes before then that he couldn’t even bring himself to admit—ever since you had showed up in town again, you were everywhere.

He felt you in the similar sense that you did with him, but the problem for Eddie was that he didn’t have a reason for any of this—and it was a suffocation of guilt trailing his immediate need for release before he blew his load in his jeans like he was a goddamn teenager.

It was long, hurried strokes with an iron grip; Eddie knows your hands would be softer, gentler. But, he doesn’t allow himself that thought for longer than a moment, white knuckling his cock until his head looks bruised, red and pulsing. It’s embarrassing, the melody of skin against skin matched with his pathetic grunts, chest heaving with hurried breaths until his cock twitched violently, pearly white strips of cum spurting over his stomach in mindless pleasure, eyes slipping shut.

“Gah—fuck,” Eddie says in a guttural groan, “fuck!”

He’s not sure how long he lays there in the dark, breathing heavily with a slick mess coating his front and jeans still pooling around his ankles. But, he knows one thing—he couldn’t let you near him again.

–

You don’t hear from him for weeks and that’s fine.

Sort of.

Not really.

He’s been aorund the entire time, coming and going, but he’s been home.

He sees you when you’re coming back from work or when he’s leaning against the railing of his porch as he smokes his morning cigarette without anything more than a nod of acknowledgement.

Maybe you had pushed things too far, been too forward, overstepped some boundaries.

But, you know Eddie—he would have told you.

It was the weekend of your twentieth birthday when his silent treatment festers to a head, invited over by your father for a small cookout—it was only ever the three of you anymore, aside from a few lingering friendly neighbors that your father was more than happy to pass a plate or two of food too.

When you weren’t looking at him, he was always looking at you.

You feel it.

It was a heat that prickled the back of your neck and every time you turned to catch him in the act, Eddie was already haphazardly engaged in conversation with your father—talking about work or music or whatever.

An intentional silent standoff that lingered into the night, the summer bugs buzzing in the grassy courtyard as the two men and a small group of neighbors laugh amidst their supposedly riveting conversation.

You didn’t like the cake or big celebrations, so by the end of the night you were curled up on the stairs and staring down at the trail of ants that traveled through a crack in the pavement, bare feet against the grass and not hearing the voice that calls for you until the fifth try.

Your father tossed Eddie’s keys into your hand as you looked up, barely registering what was happening but able to snatch them before they hit you square in the face.

“He’s on a call,” your dad mouthed to you, “beers?”

Uninterested but compliant, you stand and make your way across the yard.

The kitchen is still close enough with the chattering of your father’s friends that you don’t hear Eddie trailing behind you until you’re stopped at the fridge, fingers curled around a handful of cold bottles.

“I got it,” he interjects and you pull a face out of habit, annoyance overtaking your features as you pull the beer away from him.

“So now you decide to talk to me?”

“I’ve been busy,” he replies defensively, scratching at his jaw. “I didn’t think—”

“You know, if you’re scared of me you could just say that—”

“Scared?” Eddie chuckles, “Of you?”

You drop the bottles on the counter, one nearly toppling over but Eddie catches it before it hits the floor. He sets it back upright and just stands there, contemplating. Eventually, he holds up a finger.

“Don’t leave, alright,” he tells you, scooping the beers into his arm, “I’ll take these to your dad and come up with some excuse—just, stay, alright?”

He’s standing there, waiting for an audible response before you eventually throw your hands up in frustration, urging him to move.

Eddie scrambles then, gone and back in under a minute, slightly out of breath as he closes the door to his trailer behind him and locks it, “I told him you needed some quiet,” Eddie explains.

“Are we…okay?” you ask impulsively, hand twisting anxiously around the edge of the counter.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t we be?” Eddie asks, taking a seat on his couch and placing his guitar carefully against the adjacent wall.

“You haven’t spoken more than a word to me in almost a months,” you confront his facade, “I kissed you and suddenly you wanted nothing to do with me, sorry if that gave me the wrong impression but—”

“It…wasn’t that,” Eddie explains, “things have been picking up for the band lately...kinda, out of nowhere. These big record companies in LA are interested in signing us but we’re all…older and they’re hesitant. I’ve been busting my ass trying to prove our worth, but,” he throws his hands up, “seems kinda pointless.”

“That’s good though, right?” You ask, seating yourself on the arm of the couch near him, whatever frustration you had toward him dissipates quickly, “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Eddie leans his head back, eyes tracing the ceiling. “Yeah. Just didn’t think I’d have to sell my soul for it.”

“That’s a little dramatic, besides—s’kinda your brand,” You try to catch his gaze, but he’s staring to the side, lost in thought, “so you’ve just been busy?”

“Yeah,” Eddie insists, “busy.”

You study his face, trying to decide if he’s lying to you or himself.

And when he turns to you his eyes are sincere, pleading almost.

“And the kiss?” you press, unable to stop yourself. “You didn’t freak out because of that?”

Eddie sighs, his foot tapping anxiously against the leg of the coffee table. “I didn’t freak out,” he says. “I just—didn’t want to ruin things for you. I mean—your dad, and sweetheart, I’m twice your age.”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest, looking down at him, “Well—if you make it out in Hollywood you might finally find the right one,” you tease him, “they can snatch that illustrious title from you.”

Eddie chuckles softly, “I don’t care about that,” he admits, “I never have. I don’t think about it…or talk about it. I’m not ignorant about it, you do understand that, right?”

“The way you kiss, I would fucking hope not,” you admit in a crass manner.

“Frankly, I think you’re only interested in defiling me,” Eddie jokes, your brows perking up at the mention before a laugh bubbles from your chest, “I feel like you’ve had it out for me since you got back.”

His eyes are focused on the bare skin of your thighs under your dress now, exposed by the way you were sitting, the back of your calf resting over his knee as you leg bounces idly, his hand grazing over your shin to stop that insistent movement.

“You know, I used to think it was because of what you were,” you explain openly, “I thought you were cool—cute, out of my league obviously and off limits. I dated and every time I thought I found the right one—I couldn’t help but think…well, they’re not as cool as Eddie. I had a huge crush on you but I almost admired you.”

“So, s’just because you think I’m cool?”

“I think you’re sort of an asshole now, actually,” you admit, “But, I know you think about me, too—I know you kept staring at me tonight. You always are…and the way you touch me,” your eyes linger on his hand now, his fingers molding against your skin.

“What about it?” Eddie asks.

“You’ve always taken care of me,” you remind him, ”let me take care of you.”

His thumb press gently into the sinew below your knee, his hand curling around the back of it.

Eddie slowly guides your legs apart, revealing the thin fabric covering your cunt.

His hand lingers on the inside of your thigh as if he was weighing his options.

You know that he is.

Too considerate and focused on all the other things surrounding you both to actually be present in what’s happening now. Always worried about the right thing to do, always considering everything.

His eyes flick up to look at you briefly, your hand pressing into the back of the couch as you lean back, balancing on the arm of the couch as you take a small breath.

“I’m just saying…this is a terrible idea,” Eddie sighs out, his voice low as he feels like a rabid animal, watching your skin tense under his touch, “we shouldn’t.”

“Suit yourself,” you tell him lazily, aware of how he hasn’t bothered to stop touching you, “but I think you’ll regret it.”

Quietly, you reach for his hand and cup your hand around the back of it, pressing his palm flat against your cunt, the heel of it adding a delicious pressure against your clit under the fabric.

Your mouth parts in anticipation, watching him repeat the action on his own a few times before he’s pushing the fabric aside on his own volition, fingers drifting through the short, but coarse patch of curls as his middle finger drags down the seam of your folds, the digit glistening with a sticky slick.

“You’ve done this before haven’t you?” you ask curiously.

“Specifically, this?” he asks, “A couple times...I’ve been told my fingers are like magic if that helps.”

You pull your lips together and let out a soft pfft as you laugh quietly, gasping when his finger breaches your hole, pressing inside with gentle pressure, wrist angled so his thumb can catch over your clit in the same, sinful motion.

“I…like more,” you direct him with a soft voice, “like, uh—”

“Like what?” he asks, genuinely curious.

“Just…more,” you explain, “I like the pressure, the stretch…it—”

“Feels good?” he finishes for you and you don’t have to look to know he’s smiling.

You nod jerkily and feel his pace quick, your head dropped back and eyes closed as his unoccupied hand holds your thigh open, the fingers digging into your flesh occasionally when you squeeze around his fingers.

“I like..the feeling,” you gulp quietly, “of being filled, you know?”

“Uh huh,” Eddie answers idly, focused intently on your pleasure alone as he pumps his finger, then two, eventually three, until your fingers are tight around his wrist and he has no other option than to focus on your clit, rubbing over it in tight, quick circles until your letting out a sharp gasp, his hand pulling away in an instant as you cunt spasms around nothing, thighs shaking as your orgasm washed over, completely unsatisfied but overwhelmed with momentary euphoria.

When you finally resurface, there isn’t a moment lost.

Eddie moves with you, just as eager.

You quickly unbuckle the belt to his jeans, bunching your dress up and lifting it over your head as Eddie shifts his pants down, cock bobbing free against his stomach as you pause, noticing the flush in his cheeks as a smile grows on your face, his eyes locked on you.

“This is probably a bad time to mention I don’t have condoms,” Eddie jokes, your hand reaching forward to wrap around his cock, thick and uncut, pulling the skin back as your thumb swipes over the slit of his head, rubbing the precum over the top.

“You’ll pull out,” you assure him with a smile, “don’t worry.”

Eddie nods obediently, suddenly aware of how fast his heart was racing, watching you position yourself over his lap, his hands raising up to squeeze at your hips nervously, chin tilted down in awe.

“Waitwaitwait,” Eddie interjects, eagerly waving you forward with a hasty motion of his hand, “c’mere.”

You’ll bite, leaning forward obediently, he latches his lips onto your neck, gentle kisses that trail slow until he’s reached the valley of your breasts, tongue curling around your nipple before he captures it between his teeth, squeezing dutifully at the other, squealing quietly at the sharp sting of his teeth.

Slowly, his cock presses inside with your guidance.

He chokes out a gasp into your skin, wet and hot against your breasts.

“Shit,” he curses, turning his head to lean against your chest, his hands returning to your hips as you begin a slow, gentle, and manageable pace for him to adjust, but also to allow yourself to adjust to the stretch of him.

Eddie was trying so desperately to not blow his load right there, focusing intently on the steady beat of your heart, fingers tangling into his hair as you kept him tight against your chest and moving your hips in slow circles, occasionally raising your hips for the inevitable descent that made Eddie’s chest tighten.

His moans are broken, soft gasps as you bounce on his cock with an eventual quickened pace, his hands roaming insistently for anything to anchor him, met with your softer gasps and the gentle murmur of his name, “Oh, Ed,” you whine, “you’re doin’ good, I promise.”

He nods dumbly, barely acknowledging your praise as he felt you squeeze down, a cry ripping from his chest as he squeezed tight at your hips, turning his head to look up at you, cradling his face in your hands as he stared you with glazed over eyes, lips flush and parted.

“Baby, I—” He breathes, eyes squeezing shut as your heart clenches at the sight and sound of his voice, “I’m not gonna last, m’sorry—I can’t—you’re so fucking…god,” he groans, his head falling back as he relaxed in your grip and let you take control, controlling the pace until it was nearly unbearable for him, the small hint of tears forming in his eyes as he desperately, but gently shoved you back.

He’s been in this position before, not so long ago, hand gripped tight around his cock and wish you were there—but this is reality even if it seemed like a fucking dream, jerking himself until the pressure at the base of his cock swelled and pushed to the head, coming in long, thick spurts over your stomach, his head rubbing against the skin as he squeezed from base to tip with a fucked-out expression, groaning through the high of his orgasm.

“That was fucking close,” Eddie says after a long pause, watching as you grabbed his hand—specifically a finger and dragging it through one line of his cum and gathered it on his finger, bringing it to your mouth with your tongue presented out, licking the digit clean, “oh, fuck—”

He laughs so hard it makes him cough.

“Fuck, I’m sorry—I didn’t even get to…while we…” Eddie begins, but is quickly silenced by your palm over his mouth, shaking your head insistently.

“I’ll survive,” you tell him, “seriously.”

Eddie laughs again, mostly out of disbelief.

“And here I was, thinking I’d be taking advantage of you.”

You smirked, leaning until you were a hair's breadth away from Eddie’s face, taunting, “Not a chance.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things #joseph quinn #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x y/n #my writing

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