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em1i2a3 · 13 days ago

Text

Nothing Matters

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Fem!Reader!

Summary: In preparation for Bucky’s wedding, Bob decides to attend dance lessons so he doesn’t have to embarrass himself during the reception.

Warnings: Fluff! Acquaintances to Friends to lovers (basically) We love a good trope y’all, and my brain just couldn’t let go of this idea, so I needed to do it!

Author’s Note: I absolutely love cheesy tropes, and I needed to do this for my own brain to be satisfied because this idea had been rolling around in my head for a week straight! Hope y’all enjoy!!

Word Count: 12,626

The sky was the colour of a fading bruise–lavender pressed into the soft yellowing hues of an early evening.

It was late August, and the air had finally started to cool. The stifling weight of summer heat had faded, twisting and turning into something gentler and more comfortable. Crickets murmured from cracks in the sidewalk, and somewhere down the block, wind chimes clinked lazily against a fire escape railing. The streetlight hadn’t flickered on yet, but they were due to come on soon.

Bob was standing in front of a dance studio, sweating through the back of his long sleeved shirt like the building was going to swallow him whole.

The studio sat tucked between a laundromat and a shuttered bookstore, it was unassuming except for the handwritten chalkboard that was leaning against the brick wall just beneath the glowing windows:

“Beginner Ballroom! No partner? No problem!”

No rhythm, either, Bob thought miserably.

Through the wide front pane, he could see warm light spilling onto the sidewalk. Inside, strangers were already forming into pairs–awkward pairs, confident pairs, mismatched pairs that were still somehow moving better than he ever would. There were mirrors lining the far wall, doubling every motion, and every hesitation. A speaker in the corner played something old and jazzy, the music was soft and smooth like someone pouring honey over a vinyl crackle.

Bob shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clutching the strap of his backpack. His palms were clammy, and his stomach felt like someone had reached in and tied his intestines up into knots.

“You could throw yourself down a flight of stairs, I’m sure you’ll heal up quickly…Or you could just vanish until the wedding’s over.” The Void murmured.

The suggestion was tempting.

Bob’s eyes flicked toward the pavement, to the way the light from the studio spilled across the sidewalk like a trap laid in honey. It glowed gold against the soles of his sneakers, making it impossible to pretend he wasn’t here. That he hadn’t shown up. That he hadn’t committed to this already by simply thinking about it too long.

Vanishing would be so simple. He was good at disappearing, he had done it before and he could do it again.

But all he could think about was Bucky’s face when he brought up this idea at the Tower a few weeks ago, just two months away from the wedding. It wasn’t even a formal request. Just something tossed between bites of takeout and laughter, like it wasn’t already making Bob crawl out of his body.

”Leila and I are doing something a little different for the first dance,” He said, tipping back in his chair and stretching out his shoulder, “We talked and agreed that we didn’t really want to be in the spotlight…We kind of just want it to feel shared. Comfortable. So we figured that the bridesmaids and groomsmen will be on the dance floor together as well! It’ll soften the focus a little bit, and spread the attention so we don’t get overwhelmed.” Bob remembered how the others reacted. Yelena and Ava had no problem with the idea, they said the more dancing the better, Walker made a quip about it giving off vibes like it was a high school prom which earned him an elbow to the gut, and Alexei said it sounded theatrical but fitting.

Everyone had taken it so well, but Bob had just froze in his spot.

He had tried to laugh it off, tried to blend in to the joy. But something in him had locked up the moment he imagined it: the eyes, the closeness, the pressure of a hand on his shoulder. A stranger’s breath near his face, the music moving through his body like it belonged there, even though it didn’t.

Not for him at least.

Bob had the grace of a malfunctioning vending machine, and the coordination of someone who had blinders on twenty-four seven.

And yet–Bucky had looked at him like it wasn’t even a question. Like of course Bob would be part of it. Like it wasn’t absolutely insane to trust him with someone as soft and human as slow dancing…Like he belonged in the frame of that image Bucky and Leila had created for themselves.

He let out a reluctant sigh, giving into the idea that he had no other choice but to face the music–literally and metaphorically. He didn’t want to add to the stress by vanishing, so he might as well bite the bullet and try to dance.

But just as he reached for the door to the studio–

“Oof–!”

A blur of movement came flying down the sidewalk. He caught a flash of warm skin, wind-tossed hair, and the unmistakable sound of hurried footsteps slapping the concert just a heartbeat before you slammed directly into his side.

You shoulder bounced off his with a solid thud, and Bob stumbled back a step, wide-eyes, hands instinctively reaching out to steady both of you. Your paper coffee cup jostled violently between your palms, but–miraculously–it didn’t spill.

”Oh my god–I’m so sorry!” You gasped , immediately pulling back to look him over, “Shit, are you–? Did I spill anything on you? I didn’t even see you, I was trying to make it on time–are you okay?” Bob blinked down at you, frozen, mouth open but saying absolutely nothing.

You didn’t notice the way he was looking at you because you were already fussing over him, your brows knit together with a frantic worry as your eyes darted over his dark grey shirt, checking for any coffee stains. You began to dig through your bag like you could undo the entire collision if you just found the right napkin.Your lips were parted in a breathy, flustered rush, as you pushed your wallet, keys, and a folded shopping list out of the way, before finally pulling out a slightly crumpled but unused tissue.

”If I got anything on you, I swear, I will buy you a new shirt or dry clean the thing myself,” You claimed nervously, holding the tissue up like a peace offering as you leaned in to inspect his top again.

Bob stood completely still. He couldn’t have moved if he wanted to.

You were so close now. Close enough that he could see the light sheen of sweat clinging to your collarbones, where your neckline dipped into soft linen. You smelled like heat and summer–clean shampoo, a trace of vanilla body mist, and the warmth of coffee clinging to your skin. Something about it hit him harder than he expected. Like sunlight filtered through cotton curtains.

Your outfit was simple, but the kind of simple that made his throat tighten. A cream-colored wrap skirt that fluttered around your legs, cinched loosely at the waist, with a thin slit climbing your thigh just high enough to reveal a sliver of skin when you ran. A rust-orange tank top, soft and ribbed, clung lightly to the line of your torso. You wore a worn denim jacket over it–probably thrown on last-minute to fight the evening breeze–and your shoes were a pair of canvas flats that had clearly been through some things. One of them was slightly scuffed at the toe.

You were warm and alive and still half laughing under your breath.

Bob’s eyes–unfortunately for his nervous system–drifted down for just a second too long. The edge of your skirt had ridden up in all the commotion, exposing more of your thigh than probably intended, and the moment he noticed, his entire body locked.

He turned red–deep red–so fast it was like someone had flipped a switch behind his ears. His gaze darted away as he cleared his throat, a strangled noise barely making it out of his chest.

“Oh Jesus Christ,” You muttered, realizing a second too late. “I’m an absolute mess today, I’m sorry…Uh–“ You tugged your skirt down with one quick, frustrated motion, letting out an embarrassed laugh as you straightened up again. “Well. At least I didn’t get any stains on you.”

Bob blinked down at himself, then back up at you, giving a small, awkward huff of a laugh. “Y-Yeah…L-Lucky you.” That made you smile–soft and sheepish. It was the kind of smile that pulled the tension off your face and made Bob’s lungs work again, if only barely.

“Are you here for the Beginner's Ballroom too? Or am I so late I’ve crossed into…I don’t know, Triple Tango Thursdays?” Bob’s face grew hotter at your little line of questioning, but then a short laugh bubbled out of him before he could stop it.

”N-No…You’re not l-late. Ballroom i-is starting soon, I think.” You raised your eyebrows at him.

”So…Why’re you out here then? Shouldn’t you be in there picking out your ideal stranger to step on?” He swallowed thickly, his hand returning to the strap of his backpack.

”W-Was just looking i-in.” You nodded like that made perfect sense, eyes flicking to the glowing windows before returning to him.

“I see, you’re scoping out the place. I like your thinking…” Then, you offered out your free hand–still faintly warm from clutching your coffee, “I’m Y/N, by the way.” Bob hesitated for a second, looking at the way you waited for him to reach out, as if you could tell he was nervous. He brought his hand to yours, engulfing it in the clamminess of his palm. You didn’t cringe or flinch, you just gave it a shake like it didn’t matter.

”I’m B-Bob,” He said softly, “I-It’s nice t-to meet you.” You gave him a kind smile..

”Likewise.” You replied, squeezing his hand gently before stepping back and pushing a few sweaty pieces of hair from your face, quickly glancing toward the glowing studio windows.

“We should go in before we actually miss the lesson,” You added with a nervous smile, shifting your coffee to your other hand. “I mean…I did run three blocks and risked third-degree embarrassment just to get here, so.” Bob gave a quick nod.

“Y-Yeah, y-you’re r-right.” He turned to the door with a flicker of hesitation, then stepped forward and reached for the handle. The old glass door creaked open on slightly rusted hinges, and he held it wide for you, eyes flickering shyly toward the ground.

“Thanks,” You murmured as you passed him, gusting another wave of vanilla body mist across Bob’s senses.

The moment you stepped inside, the world shifted.

The air was warm and fragrant–polished wood floors mingling with the faint sweetness of citrus cleaning spray and the rich, earthy musk of old building materials. There was the soft scent of sweat–not unpleasant, just human–and a hint of lavender coming from a reed diffuser sitting on the front desk.

The atmosphere buzzed with soft conversation and laughter. Shoes squeaked gently against the floor. Jazz hummed from a speaker near the mirrors, rich and syrupy, the kind of music that made you want to move without thinking too hard about why. Pairs were scattered across the room–some already holding each other in awkward positions, others simply standing in front of one another, trying not to look down at their own feet.

A few looked practiced. Most did not.

In the far corner, a stack of bags had already begun to form–a messy pile of duffels, jackets, and water bottles.

Before either of you could do much else, a woman with short silver-streaked hair and an ankle-length black skirt swept over. She looked exactly how you’d expect a ballroom instructor to look: confident, composed, and entirely unbothered by lateness.

“There’s always a few strays,” She said with a wry smile. “Thankfully, we waited.” You gave her a sheepish grin.

“Sorry, had a little incident outside.” Bob’s hand immediately went to the back of his neck to scratch at the damp skin.

”First time?” The instructor asked, glancing between the both of you.

“Not mine.” You replied.

”Y-Yeah it’s mine.” Bob admitted, keeping his eyes down on the floor.

”Perfect,” The instructor said brightly, “One newbie, and one novice. Let’s pair you two together.” You laughed under your breath,

”I’m definitely not a novice. I’ve only been to two classes. But…I guess you could say I’ve got a tiny bit of a one-up.” Bob’s eyes darted over to you–like you were leading him off the edge–and you smirked. The instructor motioned toward the open space near the center of the floor.

“Drop your stuff and take your place. We’ll be starting with basic closed position and lead-follow exercises.”

You both made your way toward the corner, where the bags were stacked. You knelt, slipping your tote bag down and gently placing your coffee beside it. Bob unclipped his backpack, setting it near yours. You shrugged off your denim jacket, draping it over your bag with practiced ease.

The moment your jacket slipped from your shoulders, Bob’s eyes darted–instinctively, like something pulled him forward by a thread.

He saw your bare arms first. Smooth skin, still faintly dewy from your run. And then–just as you turned to face him again–he caught the small tattoo inked into the back of your upper arm. Clean, black, minimal:

777.

Angel numbers that represented luck.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed loudly. You didn’t seem to notice the way he stared, you just turned toward him and offered a grin, stretching out your limbs.

”Alright Bob. Hope you brought shoes that you don’t really care about…Cause I think I might step on your toes.” The corners of his mouth twitched up, forming the softest hint of a smile.

”I-It’s okay,” He mumbled, barely above the music, “I-I don’t mind.”

You stepped onto the dance floor together.

The room felt warmer under the overhead bulbs, though that might’ve just been Bob’s proximity–or yours. Jazz was still spilling softly from the speaker system, a slow, crackling track that made it easier to move without thinking. Other pairs had started finding their spots in the open space, shuffling awkwardly through their first attempts at closed position.

You and Bob stood facing each other, hands hovering between you like the invisible pull of a magnet waiting to snap.

Being this close again gave you the first real chance to look at him.

His face was angular in a quiet, unsure kind of way–sharp cheekbones softened by the slope of his jaw, a mouth that looked like it didn’t quite know how to rest. His lips were parted slightly, as if he was mid-thought. He had a light shadow along his jawline, like he’d shaved that morning but the day had caught up with him. His hair was slightly mussed, the soft brown waves curling a little at the ends from sweat and the summer air.

And then there were his eyes. Blue. The kind that looked startled even when he wasn’t. Wide-set and endlessly expressive, like the sky right before a storm–light, restless, always caught somewhere between fight and flight. They flicked over your face and then dropped again, as though you were too much to look at all at once.

A heartbeat later, the instructor returned.

“Closer,” She instructed casually, placing one hand on your back and the other on Bob’s shoulder to gently nudge you together. “Lead with your left, follower’s right here–yes, good. Elbows up, hands soft. You’re not wringing laundry, you’re trying to float.” You bit back a smile as you felt Bob’s hand lightly touch your back. His palm hovered there for a second before he settled it–a barely-there pressure against the side of your ribs that radiated throughout your whole body.

He was boiling hot, almost like he was running a fever, but he didn’t look ill, his palen skin had a little bit of colour to it, and he definitely wasn’t sweating buckets, so you concluded that maybe he was just nervous. Your brows lifted a bit in an amused type of way, moving a bit towards the heat.

”You feeling okay? You’re kind of burning through my tank top.” Bob’s ears turned red instantly.

”S-Sorry.” He stammered, voice tight, “Always h-hot. It’s just t-the norm.” You tilted your head with a soft, teasing smile.

”Summers must be torture for you.” He gave a quick, sheepish nod, a puff of breath catching in his throat as he looked anywhere but at your face.

”Y-Yeah, an absolute n-nightmare.” Your smile only grew at his comment, the moment turning strangely tender despite the clumsy positioning and your shoes already brushing his.

It wasn’t perfect but the music played, and your hands stayed in place. You could feel something steady beginning to build between the both of you–not just rhythm, but trust.

He pressed his palm firmer against the damp lower curve of your tank top, which made your spine straighten a little and your heart thud once beneath your ribs, as if you went on high alert. Your skin was already tacky with sweat from the sprint and the heat of the studio, but if Bob noticed, he didn’t flinch away. If anything, his fingers flexed lightly–just once–before he began to move them absentmindedly across the ribbed fabric. Not in a pattern at first. Just a slow, tentative drag of touch, like he was soothing a thought out of his own head. But then…The rhythm of the song caught in his fingers. A lazy, honey-thick sway in time with the jazz crackling from the speakers.

You didn’t say anything at first. You just let him do it. Let him get lost for a moment. And when your feet stumbled a little too close to his, and his breath caught slightly in response, your hand tightened just faintly where it rested against his shoulder.

“So…” You started softly, your voice light in the space between you, “Why are you taking ballroom?” Bob looked down at you as you shifted together through another halting step. His lips parted slightly, then pressed into a sheepish, crooked smile.

”F-Friend’s wedding is coming u-up soon.” He admitted, the words awkward but earnest. Your mouth twitched, glancing down briefly at your feet, then back up at him with a sigh escaping through your nose.

”Ah. I guess we’re in the same boat.” Your heel skimmed his toe, and the two of you adjusted at the same time, bumping gently before returning to the natural pull of the music,

“My cousin’s getting married,” You explained, “She told me to take lessons because she didn’t want me embarrassing myself at the reception. Said she didn’t want her big day to end with me flailing around on the dance floor.” That made Bob huff out a laugh this time–short and slightly stunned–like it had slipped out before he could catch it.

“I-I took it u-upon myself to join,” He admitted, his voice lower now, his eyes flicking briefly to yours before falling to your shoulder, “I-I don’t think my friend had the h-heart to tell me I sucked at d-dancing.” You snorted, laughing in surprise.

”That’s kind of sweet he spared your feelings…Painful, but sweet.” He gave a shrug, his thumb brushing another distracted line across your back as you shifted closer again, feet adjusting to each other. You could smell mint, maybe a bit of basil on him, like he had walked through a field of herbs. It was earthy, and sweet, and it surrounded you, mixing with your own scent.

“M-Maybe I just…Wanted to surprise h-him. Prove I could d-do it.” You looked up at him, seeing the way his jaw tensed as he tried to concentrate on his steps, and the way his lips moved like they were shaping words he wasn’t voicing. His fingers couldn’t seem to stop moving even while he stared at the way your feet moved. You tilted your head slightly, letting your hand trail down his arm to rest a little more firmly at his bicep, adjusting your posture a bit.

”Well,” You started gently, “You’re doing much better than me, so that’s a pretty good start.” He let out a little laugh and shook his head at you, continuing to move as well as he could to the music.

———————

The lesson ended with a slow fade of music and scattered claps from around the room. Some pairs lingered, still swaying to a rhythm that didn’t exist anymore. Others parted quickly, ducking toward their bags and bottles like they’d just finished a gym class.

You and Bob stood in place for a second longer, both a little flushed, still slightly closer than necessary. When you stepped back, your arms suddenly felt colder, the heat of his body leaving yours in one quick breath.

Bob rubbed the back of his neck again, fingers damp with nervous sweat as the both of you moved towards your bags in the corner. You bent to scoop up your tote and your now half-empty coffee cup. It had gone lukewarm and watery, the ice mostly melted. You took one last sip and let out a small, disappointed sigh.

“Guess that’s a wrap on tonight’s toe-mangling,” You joked lightly, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. Bob smiled faintly and picked up his backpack, looping one strap over his arm.

“So…” You started, turning a bit as you walked toward the exit together, “What are you getting up to now? Post-ballroom debrief?” Bob shrugged, glancing over at you as the two of you reached the door.

“P-Probably g-go back home and w-watch a movie or s-something…” He replied, looking down at you with a bit of confusion echoing behind his eyes, “W-Why do you ask?” You slowed a bit on the sidewalk, the warm August air hugging your skin to replace the warmth you lost on the dancefloor when Bob and you parted.

“Well…If you’re not doing anything, I work at a coffee shop just a few blocks down. We can sit and chat for a bit, if you want. I also get free drinks and stuff so…It’ll be on me.” You said, smoothing a hand over the strap of your bag. The offer hung in the air for a second–and the ball was in his court now. Bob looked a little caught off guard by your proposal as he wasn’t even expecting to make a new friend today, but he pushed down the nerves that brewed in his throat.

”I-I could go for a c-cold drink or s-something…” Your smile brightened.

”Great!” You slipped your jacked over your arm, “C’mon, I’ll take you there.”

You walked side by side down the sidewalk, the rhythm of the evening more relaxed now. Your footsteps fell into easy cadence with each other as you passed rows of restaurants winding down for the night. The lavender in the sky had deepened to a bruised navy, and a few streetlights had finally flickered on above your heads.

”So,” You said, glancing over at him, “Do you normally watch movies in your spare time?” He smirked at the question, as he kicked a rock down the walkway, pushing his windblown hair away from his cheeks.

“I-I have some roommates t-that keep me busy, so I usually p-put a movie on to just relax, o-or for background n-noise to drown out the l-louder noises around me…” You tilted your head a bit.

”Ah, so you’ve got roommates hm? How many?” Bob hesitated just a moment too long, and you immediately noticed.

It wasn’t that the question was strange–asking about roommates was easy, normal, it was the kind of thing you asked someone you were trying to get to know. But the way Bob’s shoulders tightened, and the way his thumb scratched lightly at the side seam of his pants, told you this wasn’t just idle small talk for him. Still, he saw you waiting. Expecting something. And for whatever reason, he didn’t want to lie. Not entirely.

“F-Five,” He said finally, voice quiet, gaze fixed just ahead on the sidewalk, “I-Including a cat. But…It’s g-going to be four soon, and the cat is going to be gone soon…One of them is t-the one getting married, and he’s t-the person who brought the cat.” Your brows lifted, surprised at the number.

”Five?” You laughed lightly, “That’s more than I expected. Must be a big place to fit all of you, huh?” Bob let out a small breath that sounded like it might’ve been the beginning of a laugh–but didn’t quite get there.

“Y-Yeah,” He said, “It’s manageable with a-all of us pitching in t-though.” He glanced down at the gravel near the edge of the sidewalk, his foot nudging a small stone into the gutter. A lie. Not because he wanted to deceive you, but because telling the truth–that rent wasn’t a problem when his name was on a government payroll for being a living weapon–felt impossibly heavy for a casual walk to a coffee shop.

You didn’t press any further. And Bob felt the weight ease just slightly as the conversation drifted back into a safer territory.

It wasn’t long before you rounded the corner and approached a familiar storefront tucked between a florist and a tiny secondhand bookstore. The brick exterior was warm with the glow of fairy lights strung in a lazy swoop over the front awning. A small chalkboard sign was propped near the door, the lettering in swirling script that read:

The Daily Grind

Bob smiled at the name.

You stepped up onto the little stoop and were already halfway to the door when Bob moved ahead, reaching it first and holding it open for you like it was second nature now.

“Thanks,” You murmured, your cheeks heating up as you passed him again, just close enough for your shoulder to brush lightly against his chest.

Inside, the café was unexpectedly lively for a weeknight. The soft clink of ceramic mugs and low conversation filled the air. A rich aroma of espresso, brown sugar, and steamed milk wrapped around you the second the door swung shut. There was a faint trace of something floral too–maybe a lavender syrup or one of the loose-leaf teas steeping behind the counter.

Golden light glowed from mismatched pendant lamps overhead, casting gentle pools of warmth over each table. The walls were exposed brick in some spots, wood paneled in others, with chalkboard menus behind the counter and framed black-and-white photos from local artists spaced evenly between shelves of plants. There was a small stage tucked into one corner where an acoustic guitar rested against a mic stand, long since abandoned for the night.

Despite the hour–nearly 8:30–the place was comfortably full.

A couple sat curled up in the far window seat, sharing a laptop and a blanket. A group of college students clustered around a high-top with open notebooks and empty latte glasses. Two older men played chess near the back, barely speaking. And a solo woman in headphones was scribbling something in a thick journal, lost to the world except for the rhythmic tap of her pen.

It wasn’t loud. Just…Alive. Like a low hum of thought and warmth cascaded through the space.

Bob lingered just inside the threshold for a moment, taking it in with a kind of quiet awe. You turned back toward him, smiling softly as you said, “Pick a seat–anywhere. I’ll make us something.”

He blinked, then gave a small, grateful nod. “A-Any favorites?”

You tilted your head. “Do you trust me?”

He hesitated. Then–softly: “S-Sure.”

“Perfect.” You flashed him a grin and disappeared behind the counter, leaving Bob to find a seat–still smelling of roasted espresso, a little sweat, and you.

The window seat he settled on was a half-moon booth tucked just far enough from the counter to feel private. It curved around a small, round table, its surface worn smooth from years of coffee rings and notebook pages. A row of old brick made up the wall beside it, sun-warmed even at this hour, while the window next to it stretched nearly floor to ceiling–paned in black iron, like something out of a train station. The view looked out onto the sleepy street, where the occasional headlight cut past, slicing through the navy dusk.

Bob set his backpack on the low windowsill, where ivy in a mismatched ceramic pot hung lazily toward the floor. The bag slumped under its own weight with a soft thud. He eased himself into the booth seat, the cracked leather cool beneath his thighs through the fabric of his pants. For a moment, he just…Sat. Shoulders still a little tight, fingers twisting faintly at the edge of the table. His eyes traced the dim reflections in the window–people moving behind him, little streaks of amber light, your silhouette at the counter, as you turned to talk to one of your coworkers, sharing a bit of a laugh with them.

When you returned, your steps light across the wood floor, Bob straightened slightly, palms flat on either side of the table. You carried two drinks–your own in one hand, a paper cup topped with a thick, creamy cloud of cold foam. The other was clearly for him, and…Looked more like something from a sci-fi prop department than a café.

A glass full of swirling colour–bright blue bleeding into a soft, almost fiery orange. It shimmered faintly in the light as you set it in front of him.

Bob blinked at it, brows knitting as he tilted his head.

“…W-What is it?”

You gave a shrug and a cheeky smile.

“One of our new summer tea fusions. Blood orange and butterfly pea flower. I added a touch of lavender syrup to calm your nerves.” He raised his eyebrows, then glanced down at the drink again, swearing that he saw something glisten in it. You sat down in front of him, eyes shimmering with something warm, “Not that I mind you being nervous around me or anything.” You added.

Bob flushed–his whole face going soft pink, then red at the ears, his mouth parting as if to speak and then shutting again when no sound came. You stifled a small grin behind your sip of coffee.

Tentatively, he lifted the glass, fingers cool against the condensation on the outside. He paused just before taking a drink, letting the scent rise with the ice–a delicate swirl of citrus and something lightly floral. The orange was sharp and bright, but the lavender crept in softer, smoothing the sharp edges.

Then he took a sip.

The first taste was unexpected. The blood orange hit fast and tart, almost effervescent on his tongue–then mellowed into something more complex. The butterfly pea flower gave it an earthy, almost grassy base, grounding the citrus, while the lavender syrup lingered at the back of his mouth like the end of a slow exhale. Cold, but not numbing. Sweet, but not cloying. And under it all, something fizzy, faintly mineral, like it was sparkling even though it wasn’t.

His eyes widened a little. “T-Tastes like…Like citrus inside a flower shop.” You let out a soft laugh, taking a sip from your own drink again.

”Good citrus or rotting citrus?” You asked.

”G-Good, I-I mean…I l-like it.” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to cool down the skin with the cold temperature that seeped into his palm from his glass. Then his gaze dropped slightly. The truth itched just beneath his skin, and maybe the drink really had loosened something, because he added, softer this time:

“I-I’m generally a nervous p-person by the w-way. B-But the s-stuttering isn’t r-really from that.” You set your drink down on the table, leaning a bit forward on your elbows.

”Really?” He nodded, resting one hand against the side of his glass, swirling the ice gently so that it clinked against the inside.

“Y-Yeah…It’s not r-really something that can be c-controlled at this point. M-My doctor’s working on finding some h-help for me.” Another lie–but with threads of truth. He wasn’t going to come out and start talking about being an ex-meth addict, but the shell of what he said was enough to stitch something real between you.

You hummed quietly, processing, your eyes not leaving his.

“Interesting…Is it a neurological thing?”

He nodded again, not quite looking at you this time.

“G-Guess you could say that.”

The clinking of the ice filled the pause. Then your fingers curled around your coffee again and you took another sip. Steam curled toward your face.

The quiet that followed wasn’t awkward. Just…Settled, like the two of you were syncing up somehow, sharing the same brainwave.

Bob adjusted slightly in his seat, one arm draped over the curve of the booth now, and then–almost hesitantly–he broke the silence again.

“S-So you work at a coffee shop…” he began, “W-What else do you get up to? A-Apart from ballroom l-lessons…”You pushed your hair off of your cheeks, before sitting up a little bit.

”Well…I’m a part-time student at the moment…Went back to college this summer, just to pick up some credits.” You said it casually, but there was something behind it–something like hope and weariness wrapped in the same ribbon. “Trying to work toward a degree. Something that’ll help me get out of this place.”

Bob tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady and quiet. He didn’t ask what you were studying. He didn’t ask why you wanted to leave.

He just said–gently:

“G-Guess I’m glad I ran into you before you do.”

And then, as if it startled even him, his eyes widened a little and he looked away quickly, sipping from his drink again like he hadn’t just said the most honest thing of the night.

You smiled down into your coffee, and for a second, neither of you said anything else. The hum of the café continued around you–soft and unbothered, like the whole world had made room for this moment.

By the end of the night, Bob and you had spoken for hours, just getting to know each other. He walked you back to your apartment building, and you exchanged numbers, confirming that you would see each other next Tuesday for ballroom lessons before separating for the night, leaving both of your hearts skipping beats in excitement.

————————

Two weeks later, the sky was a different shade of blue. Cooler now—lighter around the edges, the kind that hinted at September quietly stretching its arms somewhere just over the horizon. It was the kind of afternoon that felt both too short and too slow, and inside the sharp, sterile chill of the suit shop, the world narrowed to the sound of shifting fabric, measured footfalls, and the occasional muttered curse from someone getting their inseam taken.

Bob stood stiffly in front of a full-length mirror, with one arm stuck out to the side while the tailor adjusted the seams of a crisp white dress shirt. The fabric clung lightly to his back and shoulders, still pinned at the cuffs and slightly rumpled along the side seams where it hadn’t yet been pressed.

His neck was bent, face half-obscured by the soft, sweat-damp waves of hair that had fallen forward over his brow. He was staring at his phone–his thumb moving with surprising ease for someone so often flustered, his lips curved in a faint, private smile that was practically a foreign object on his face. The tailor, a wiry man with rolled sleeves and a measuring tape slung around his neck like a scarf, gave a pointed little sniff before speaking.

“Head up, please, sir.”

Bob startled slightly, blinking back into the moment like he’d surfaced too quickly. “S-Sorry,” he murmured, tucking his phone sheepishly into the pocket of his jeans and lifting his chin.

Across the room, Walker was sprawled into one of the velvet-lined benches like he was trying to merge with it, both arms stretched wide along the back. He raised a brow at the exchange, then twisted toward Bucky, who was adjusting the cuffs of his own white dress shirt in front of a standing mirror.

“You seeing this?” Walker said, nodding toward Bob. “A few weeks ago we had to argue with him just to get him to answer a call. Now we can’t even pry the damn phone out of his hands.”

Bucky glanced up, eyes flicking toward Bob’s reflection. His expression shifted slowly into something caught between amusement and suspicion. “He’s been like that all week,” he said, letting his tone ride the line between dry and teasing. “Texting under the table during meetings. Saw him smiling at his phone yesterday. Like…Full-on smiling. I thought I was hallucinating.” Sam, seated in the corner with his feet up on a low ottoman, snorted into his lap as he polished the side of his dress shoe.

“Bet you five bucks it’s not a work contact…He wouldn’t type that fast if it was.” Bob’s ears were already pink. The colour bloomed up his throat like someone had tilted him toward the sun, and he ducked his head again, tugging lightly at the collar as the tailor worked a pin into the side seam.

“I-It’s n-not a big deal,” Bob muttered. “J-Just someone I met.”

“Oh-ho,” Walker interrupted, leaning forward “Someone you met? When was this? Did we miss the memo or something?” Alexei, who’d been quietly squinting at his own reflection as he tried to decide whether to button the top collar or leave it open, gave a low chuckle.

“He’s blushing like schoolboy,” He said in his thick accent. “Must be serious.” Bob opened his mouth to protest—but the tailor tapped his arm, and he shut it again with a resigned little sigh.

“It’s really n-not–” he tried, but Bucky cut him off with a knowing smirk.

”Is this the girl you met at those ballroom lessons you’ve been going to?” He asked, folding his arms loosely as he leaned back against the edge of the mirror, “Because you’re always in a rush to be on time now…And that’s very unusual for you.” At that, the room stirred with energy. Sam looked up, brows high. Walker turned fully in his seat, lacing his fingers behind his head. Even Alexei paused, one hand on his belt buckle.

“Oh my…You guys met at ballroom lessons?” Walker said, letting out a fit of laughter. Bob froze like he’d been caught in a tractor beam. His whole body tensed–shoulders drawn tight beneath the half-pinned shirt, jaw working in silence.

“…W-We’ve been…Talking,” He said finally, the words barely above a whisper.

“Talking,” Bucky repeated, his smirk edging toward fondness now. “Is that what they’re calling four-hour coffee chats and texting marathons these days?” Sam raised a hand up to try to stop the conversation.

”Wait, wait–how did this even start? Did you walk in there and trip over your shoes or something and she just swooned?” Bob, cornered and mortified, gave a helpless little sound at the back of his throat. He fiddled with a loose thread on the shirt cuff.

“I-It was…more like she ran into m-me.” Walker groaned.

”God…Two clumsy people together? Sounds like a match made in heaven.” He mocked.

“She spilled coffee on him,” Bucky added, still half-laughing.

“She didn’t spill it,” Bob corrected instinctively, then winced when they all turned toward him with shit-eating grins. “I-It jostled. A little.”

“So how serious is this?” Sam asked, letting his tone soften slightly. “You just texting, or…?”

Bob blinked. His eyes drifted back to the mirror–not to his reflection, but to the faint ghost of your last message still glowing on his lock screen. You had sent a picture of your view from the library you had been studying in, something casual, a little snippet of your day that you wanted to share with him–a half-drunk coffee on one side and a mess of notes and an open textbook scattered around the other. He had sent a picture of himself in his dress shirt, cringing awkwardly and said:

“Shirt fitting, hopefully I don’t get poked with needles.”

Your reply came fast and immediate.

“Hopefully if you do it doesn’t mess up your posture for ballroom lessons.”

That made him smirk.

You had gotten closer over the past two weeks, it was so easy especially with the rhythm you fell into. You made him feel comfortable, and even with the awkward moments ballroom lessons brought to the both of you, it was the thing that tethered you together and allowed that closeness to develop naturally. Bob was always excited to see you, and you had the exact same sentiment–you looked forward to the nights where you would sit at The Daily Grind and talk till all hours of the night, without expectations of one another. Neither of you could really describe what you had brewing between the both of you, but it was a closeness that Bob had not felt in a while–one that he burned for and craved long before you.

But now, standing in the middle of the suit shop, the words floated in the back of Bob’s head like sunlight through gauze. He cleared his throat.

”W-We’re just good f-friends, that’s all…” He muttered, trying to keep his voice even. There was a beat of silence. Like a collective inhale.

Then Bucky let out a short, knowing scoff. “Sure…” He said, as dry as sandpaper. “That’s what I said about Leila. Now look where I am.” He motioned vaguely to his reflection in the mirror, shirt half-buttoned and a pin in his collar. “Getting married at the ripe old age of one hundred and ten.”

That earned a ripple of laughter from around the room. Bob, however, turned a darker shade of red, the colour blooming like wildfire across his face.

“I-It’s not l-like that.”

“Why don’t you bring her to the compound then?” Walker said, folding his arms and leaning forward slightly, eyes glittering with challenge. “We’ll be the judge of that.”

Bob froze. Just a second. Barely perceptible unless you knew him. But his posture stiffened like someone had dropped a weight into the base of his spine.

The others noticed.

Sam exchanged a sharp look with Walker–then flicked his gaze toward Bucky, who had gone quiet.

“…She does know about you being part of The New Avengers, right?” Sam asked carefully, his voice softer now, less teasing. Bob’s expression twisted up like someone had turned him inside out, and exposed all his nerves to the sterile air of the shop.

”N-Not exactly…” There was a pause. A longer one this time. Walker let out a low groan, rubbing the back of his neck.

”So let me get this straight…” He started, “She knows nothing about your situations? Even with the whole…Killer Void and Sun God combo pack?” Bob shrugged–awkwardly, because the tailor was in the middle of pinning his sleeve, and the motion nearly knocked the man off balance.

“I-I have them b-both under control,” He mumbled, “A-And besides, it’s n-not like they’re going to appear o-out of nowhere. I usually f-feel when they need…Some…Air.”

Bucky pushed off the mirror and walked over, his voice low but direct. “Bob,” He said, eyes steady, “That only works until it doesn’t.”

“I-I know,” Bob whispered. “I-I’m careful. I swear.” The tailor, bless him, pretended not to hear any of this. He tugged the back seam taut, muttering something about shoulders and posture, but everyone in the room had tuned him out now.

Sam leaned back against the ottoman again, looking at Bob with something gentler in his face than before. “You like her.”

Bob didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

“You like her,” Sam repeated, this time with a little smile. “That’s why you haven’t told her.”

“…Y-Yeah.”

Bucky folded his arms again, but there was less teasing now. “You think she’s gonna look at you differently if she knows?”

Another nod. Slower this time.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Alexei, still standing in front of his mirror, said simply, “You should tell anyway. Before she sees without your words to explain.”

Bob swallowed thickly. The tailor twisted him around to check the hem, and he didn’t resist. But his voice was low when he said:

“I-I know.”

The silence after that wasn’t tense. Just full. Like something unspoken had finally stretched out its legs.

—————————

The café was quieter tonight. Golden hour had melted into twilight, and the usual hum of voices had dipped into something softer–just murmurs at the tables, the occasional clink of a spoon against ceramic. The sky outside was a deep, navy blue–no longer bruised, but soothed–and the string lights in the window cast a warm halo across your hair as you sat across from Bob, legs tucked under the booth, fingers curled around your coffee.

He was drinking the same thing he’d had the first time. You’d remembered–of course you had. He didn’t even need to ask.

Bob stirred his drink slowly, the colours long since faded into a dusky purple swirl. The lavender scent still lingered faintly, mixing with the sharper citrus that rose each time he took a sip.

His jacket was folded beside him. His hair was a little damp at the roots, a sheen of sweat still cooling at his temples from the final round of clumsy turns and near toe-steppings. He looked less wrecked by nerves now–more comfortable than the beginning of the ballroom lesson extravaganza–but there was still something taut around his shoulders, something unsaid bracing his spine. You watched him with a small smile.

“So…” You started, voice warm, curling into the space between you, “Now that we don’t have ballroom lessons together, what are we going to do? Join another class?” Bob huffed out a soft laugh, lifting the glass to his lips.

“I-I don’t think I-I can afford e-embarrassing myself e-even more than how I’m going to at the w-wedding on Saturday.” You smiled, but something in your expression flickered–just for a second. Your gaze dipped to your coffee for a moment.

”Darn,” You murmured, a soft, fake pout appearing on your lips, “Wish I could be there, but I’ve got my own embarrassing moment to display on Saturday too, hope all those lessons paid off cause if not I’m writing a bad review.” You joked, taking a sip of your coffee before adding,“Least we’ll be able to tell each other how it went though.” Bob nodded, setting his drink down with a soft clink.

“T-This is true…” He murmured. “H-Hope nobody h-has video evidence…M-Might have to break some phones.”

That made you laugh–low and warm. “The Cloud will always win, Bob.” He smiled at that, really smiled, but it faded a little too quickly.

Because this was it. The last ballroom night. The last excuse.

And you were sitting right there–still glowing under café lights, still looking at him like he was worth knowing–and he still hadn’t told you the truth.

His fingers tapped lightly on the condensation of his glass. Then stopped.

“C-Can I ask you something?” He said, quieter now.

You looked up, your gaze curious and soft. “Of course.”

He stared at the swirl of ice in his drink.

“If…If someone was k-keeping something from you…But it w-wasn’t because they wanted to lie. It was b-because they didn’t know how to s-say it right. W-Would…Would you be mad?”

You blinked at him.

“Depends on what it is,” You said carefully, the weight behind your words heavier now. “But…If it came from a good place–if they were scared, or trying to protect something important–I think I’d understand. At least I’d want to.”

Bob’s throat worked in a silent swallow. His hand curled tighter around the glass.

You leaned in a little, trying to meet his eyes.

“Bob…Is there something you want to tell me?”

He hesitated. Eyes darted to the window, to the ivy curling along the sill, to anywhere that wasn’t your face. The words clawed up his throat. Pressed into his ribs. But they still didn’t come.

“…I–” He started, then stopped abruptly.

“I-It’s just been…really n-nice. G-Getting to know you.” He finally whispered.

You watched him for a long moment.

Then you smiled, soft and understanding–even if you didn’t know what he wasn’t saying.

“It’s been really nice getting to know you too, Bob.”

And just like that, the moment passed.

But it lingered, unspoken. Like the beat of a song neither of you had quite learned to dance to.

—————————

The venue was buzzing.

People rushed like water down a narrowing drain–cufflinks being fastened, jackets thrown on backs of chairs, bouquets carried up and down the hall with the urgency of live grenades. Someone yelled about a missing pair of heels. Sam was still trying to figure out how to pin his boutonniere. Walker was texting Yelena between mouthfuls of protein bar crumbs.

Bob hadn’t eaten.

His stomach had curled in on itself hours ago, and the collar of his dress shirt tugged against his throat. His hands were shaking slightly as he buttoned up–slow and careful, even as the rest of the suite bustled with chaos. Alexei had already poured himself a drink from the bar cart, murmuring something about it being medicinal. Bucky had his sleeves rolled and was half-tied into his suspenders, texting Leila back updates with military precision.

The ceremony was at 3:00.

And it was 2:37.

Bob stood in front of the mirror, fingers fumbling slightly with the knot of his dusty pink tie.

The colour looked softer than he expected–like rosewater steeped in sunlight–but it still felt foreign against the collar of his crisp white shirt. He tugged it gently, trying to center the knot without strangling himself. Bob’s eyes flicked to the mirror, watching everyone move behind him in a haze. Their voices rose and fell like static–buzzing, anxious, distant.

He exhaled slowly.

Then, just as he lifted his hand to adjust the collar one last time–

The door creaked open.

You stepped in, breath caught halfway in your throat, a tablet clutched to your chest.

“Bob?”

He turned sharply, eyes wide, mouth parted like you’d hit him with a flashbang. His hands stilled completely on the knot of his tie.

The room froze.

Bob wasn’t sure what he noticed first–the way your voice wrapped around his name like a question and an accusation–or the way you looked standing there in the hallway light like it had all been scripted by some wildly dramatic god of fate.

You looked…Stunning.

Your dusty pink bridesmaid dress was floor-length and impossibly flattering, hugging the curves of your waist before flaring into a soft, weightless sweep of chiffon that moved with every tiny breath. The fabric shimmered faintly in the light, not metallic, but with a dewy glow–like rose petals in the golden hour. The bodice was ruched, gathered slightly off the shoulder, dipping into a gentle sweetheart neckline that framed your collarbones and hinted at the soft curve of your chest. The dress had a thigh-high slit that revealed a glimpse of leg with every step, the fabric parting just enough to show off your nude heels and the soft shine of your skin beneath.

Your hair was pushed out of your face, and a fine gold chain with a single opal pendant rested at the hollow of your throat. You looked radiant and out of place in the groomsmen suite–like you’d walked through the wrong door and into the last person you ever expected to see. Bob stared like someone had just unplugged his brain.

“…Y/N?” He managed to say, voice cracking with disbelief.

You blinked, then your mouth parted into a wide, incredulous smile as you gave a stunned laugh.

“This–This is the wedding you were going to this whole time?!”

Bob’s ears turned scarlet. His tie hung half-knotted around his collar. And now every head in the room had snapped toward the doorway.

Walker raised a single eyebrow. Alexei took a long, slow sip from his skull glass. Sam leaned forward like he was watching a soap opera. Bucky didn’t even blink, he just said:

“Well…This is probably one of the weirdest coincidences I’ve ever witnessed.”

You took a half step inside the room, still clutching the tablet, your brows pulled together in amused disbelief. Bob’s lips parted, but the sound that came out wasn’t even a word–just a wheeze of disbelief.

“W-What are you d-doing h-here?” He finally managed, voice cracking.

You stared at him like the answer was obvious. “Leila’s my cousin.” You looked around the room slowly, eyes drifting from Sam to Walker to Alexei, then back to Bucky standing casually against the mirror with one brow arched like this was the highlight of his day.

Then your gaze landed on Bob again.

You raised your eyebrows, gestured loosely toward the group with your tablet still clutched to your chest, and said with mock curiosity,

“So this is what you’ve been hiding?”

Bob’s jaw dropped slightly, like his brain had blue-screened. “I–I…N-No, I mean–yes? I-I mean, I wasn’t hiding–I j-just hadn’t said anything–yet, I was going to, I swear–”

“Mmhm.” You tilted your head, biting back a smile as you crossed one arm over your waist and leaned a bit into your hip, amused, “Seems like a pretty big thing to hide, Bob.” Bob’s brows furrowed, his shoulders tightening beneath the unfinished knot of his tie. His throat worked around a lump, and when he spoke, it came out quiet. Raw.

“W-Why aren’t y-you mad?”

That made you pause.

You blinked at him, brows lifting slightly like you hadn’t even considered that as an option. And then, slowly, your lips curved–not in a smirk, not teasing this time. Just…Warm. Amused in a way that softened you all over.

”Well…I mean…Because I kind of figured this was what you were hiding, I just couldn’t fully prove it…Until now at least.” His mouth opened, but no sound came out at first—just the faintest flicker of breath, like he was still trying to reboot his brain. His fingers twitched near the undone knot of his tie.

“…W-What?” He finally said, so quietly it almost got lost in the chaos behind him.

You took another step into the room. The hallway light spilled around your figure like a spotlight, catching the shimmer of your dress and the soft flush along your cheekbones. You didn’t look smug, or accusatory, or even particularly triumphant. Just a little bashful.

Like you were telling a secret you didn’t plan on having to say out loud.

“I mean…” You glanced over your shoulder–once, quickly–then turned back to him with a faint, sheepish shrug. “Your eyes glowed once when we were out for coffee.”

The air in the room seemed to still. Or maybe that was just Bob holding his breath.

You kept talking, your voice gentle, as if trying not to spook him.

“It was barely anything. Just…this little flicker. I thought it was a trick of the light. Or my brain playing games with me.” You tilted your head slightly. “But then it happened again. At one of the ballroom lessons. You were laughing at something stupid I said, and it just–” You mimed a small spark with your fingers, “–Did it again.”

Bob looked like someone had physically unplugged his spine. His knees actually wobbled. Walker looked delighted. Bucky just stayed quiet, watching, his jaw flexed like he was trying not to step in unless it was absolutely necessary.

You gave a small, lopsided smile.

“I didn’t say anything because…Well, I figured if you wanted to tell me, you would. And I didn’t want to make it weird. Or embarrass you.” You shifted your weight, eyes flicking down for a second. “And now here you are,” You added softly, “In the middle of a wedding party I’m literally a bridesmaid for.” You gestured loosely around the groomsmen suite, as if this was the final piece of evidence in your long, slow build toward acceptance. “So…Yeah.”

Bob stared at you with such nervousness that it looked like he was going to burst, like he didn’t know what reality was going to hit you.

“Y-You’re…N-Not freaked out?”

You shook your head, slow and sure.

“Not really. I mean…” You looked him over, tie still undone, collar askew, ears pink with panic. “You’re still you, are you not?” Bob’s chest rose and fell like he was bracing for a hit that hadn’t landed yet.

“Y-Yeah,” He said finally, voice tight, shaky. “O-Of course I am. I’m still me. B-But…” His fingers fumbled against the loose fabric of his tie, like he couldn’t figure out where to look. “B-But I lied.”

Your head tilted just slightly.

Then–without missing a beat–you rolled your eyes.

“Bob,” you said, exasperated in the softest way possible. “You were delaying the truth more than anything.” Your mouth twitched into a warm half-smile. “But once again, the statement still stands. You’re still you. And I’m not mad.”

For a second, the room didn’t move.

Bob didn’t blink. His eyes were locked on yours like you’d just said something sacred. Like you’d handed him a version of himself he didn’t think anyone would ever see—and you hadn’t flinched. You hadn’t stepped back. You hadn’t run.

He didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

But something in his face shifted. Something deep. Like the air had finally made its way back into his lungs.

And then–your phone buzzed.

You glanced down and let out a soft, muffled laugh.

“Okay. I think that’s Leila. We’re about five minutes out from ceremony panic level four.” You looked up again and gestured loosely around the room. “Everyone good in here?”

She was asking the room. Not just Bob.

All four of them nodded.

Walker gave a mock salute. Sam lifted two fingers in a lazy peace sign. Alexei raised his glass in silence, like a Viking king offering a toast. And Bucky–smiling just faintly–gave a single, steady nod.

“Perfect,” You said, giving Bob a pointed look as you backed toward the door. “I’ll pass on the message.”

Your eyes lingered on him–just for a breath longer than they needed to.

“See you guys out there,” you added, then flicked your fingers in a soft wave. “And we’ll catch up at the reception.”

That last part was aimed at Bob. He knew it. Felt it like a tether in his chest.

You were gone a second later, vanishing down the hallway in a flutter of soft pink chiffon and grace-under-pressure poise. Bob stood motionless, still gripping the tail end of his tie, staring at the empty space you’d left behind.

The door eased shut.

A long beat passed.

Then Bucky let out the longest, most exhausted sigh known to man. “I didn’t know she was Leila’s cousin.”

There was a brief silence.

And then–chaotic, overlapping laughter.

——————————

The reception hall was a dream.

Golden light spilled from a chandelier that looked like it had been built to catch stardust–hundreds of delicate glass petals suspended in layered rings above the ballroom, glittering with every slow sway of air. The space was massive, wrapped in soft white drapery that billowed slightly with the hush of the HVAC, and warm-toned fairy lights threaded through the ceiling beams like fireflies caught mid-flight. Tables shimmered with crystal glassware and pressed linen napkins folded into neat fans, each centerpiece a floating bouquet of orchids and wild peonies suspended in water-filled vases, anchored with stones that gleamed like polished moonlight.

The dance floor stretched wide across the center of the room, polished to a mirror-finish sheen. At the far end, a live band was tuning up behind a gold-trimmed riser, their instruments already humming low with promise. Servers in black ties glided between guests with silver trays of flutes and hors d’oeuvres. The air smelled like citrus peel and champagne, like hydrangea petals and spice cake. Somewhere behind the partitioned side doors, the wedding party was being organized for the grand entrance.

And yet, Bob could only see you.

You were standing just inside the reception hall, your dress catching the low amber light in a way that made it look almost luminescent–like rosewater had been poured over candlelight and stitched into fabric. You had taken off your heels for a moment, holding them delicately by the straps in one hand as you rubbed the ball of your foot against the plush carpet. Your hair was looser now, a few strands falling into your face, and your tablet had finally been abandoned to a pile of bridesmaid clutch bags near the cake table.

When you turned and caught Bob staring, you smiled. That smile–easy, radiant, real–hit him harder than it should’ve.

He crossed the room toward you like he was moving underwater, slow and tentative, still stunned that you were here. That you knew. That you didn’t hate him.

“W-Want to grab a drink before everything starts?” He asked, nodding toward the open bar just beyond the floral archway.

You grinned, slipping your shoes back on and falling into step beside him. “Thought you’d never ask.”

The bar was draped in white chiffon and tucked behind a waist-high row of flower boxes. The bartender barely looked up as the two of you stepped forward–just gestured at the menu and asked, “What can I get you?”

“I’ll take a Sprite,” You said, glancing over at Bob.

”S-Same for me p-please.” You gave him a sideways glance, your lips curving slightly.

“Matching already. Look at us.” He flushed a little, accepting the glass the bartender handed him and taking a grateful sip before clearing his throat.

“I-I’m sorry again,” He said quietly, voice dropping beneath the swell of jazz starting to drift in from the band. “F-For not telling you about…all of this. I-I wasn’t trying to lie, I just… I was scared.”

You tilted your head toward him, your gaze soft.

“Bob…” You gave a quiet laugh, not mocking, just warm. “It’s alright. Really.”

He looked at you like he didn’t quite believe that.

You nudged his arm with your elbow. “You’re gonna make it up to me anyways.”

His brow ticked upward. “H-How?”

You sipped your Sprite, grinning as you looked out toward the polished expanse of the dance floor now being lit by rows of soft amber spotlights.

“Well…By dancing with me, of course. When Bucky and Leila have their first dance.” Bob blinked, feeling his heart fluttering in his chest like it had just heard its own name called.

“R-Really?” He asked, the question so tentative, so full of almost childish hope that it made your smile grow.

“We only did…what? Four weeks of classes?” You teased, “It would be a disgrace if we didn’t dance together.”

Bob huffed a soft laugh, cheeks blooming pink again. “Y-Yeah, I guess… It w-would.”

You turned toward him fully then, holding out your glass slightly in mock cheers.

“To not disappointing our instructors.”

Bob tapped the rim of his glass against yours. “T-To not tripping on your dress.”

You raised a brow. “You’re assuming I’m not going to step on your toes again.”

His laugh this time was real–soft and flushed, his hand brushing just barely against yours as you started walking back toward your table together. The laughter faded into a gentle hum beneath the music now blooming fuller from the far side of the room. The band had started playing something warm and dreamy–low piano chords underlaid with the sweep of a slow, golden-toned saxophone. The kind of song that didn’t just ask you to dance, it pulled you in.

At the front of the hall, Bucky was offering Leila his hand.

She took it with a radiant smile, her dress shimmering like liquid pearl beneath the lights, and the two of them stepped onto the dance floor with a quiet sort of ease that made everything else fall away. Their bodies moved instinctively toward each other–her hand settling on his shoulder, his palm resting carefully at her waist–and together, they swayed into the first few steps of the night.

The moment they did, something shifted.

The bridal party followed suit, couples pairing off without direction, like it had already been whispered into the room. The groomsmen turned toward their bridesmaid counterparts, smiles exchanged, laughter rising in gentle pockets. Shoes brushed against the floor. Champagne flutes were set down. The music held steady–soft, syrupy, rich-and the dance floor filled with motion.

Bob glanced toward you, uncertain.

You just smiled, tucking your half-empty Sprite onto the nearest table and offering your hand again, palm open and waiting.

He didn’t hesitate this time.

The moment his fingers closed around yours, something inside both of you relaxed–like you’d been holding your breath through the whole evening and only now remembered how to exhale.

You stepped onto the side of the dance floor together–out of the way of the other pairs–the sound of the band curling like silk around your shoulders.

Bob’s hands came to rest gently at your waist. His touch was light at first–tentative, like he was afraid to press too hard–but when your hands settled on his shoulders in response, steady and warm, he let out a soft breath. His fingers curled slightly into the fabric of your dress, pulling you just the tiniest bit closer. Your body moved into his like a puzzle piece slipping into place.

And suddenly, it was easy.

You were swaying. Not perfectly, not with the practiced elegance of ballroom instructors or fairy-tale waltzes, but something slower. Softer. A rhythm built just between the two of you, stitched together by trust and effort and four weeks of quietly falling for the way Bob Reynolds smiled when he forgot to be afraid of himself.

The music pulsed gently around you, and you let your eyes flick up to meet his.

“…Maybe we really didn’t have to take ballroom lessons if it was going to be like this,” you said, your voice quiet, almost teasing, but full of warmth.

Bob leaned in instinctively, the distance between you shortening by inches, his head tipping slightly toward your voice so he could catch it over the music.

The motion brought him close enough for you to smell the clean heat of his cologne–something dark and warm and faintly herbal, like pine and clove blended with skin and breath and the sharpness of new fabric. It hit you with startling intimacy.

You drew in a slow inhale, letting it wrap around your ribs.

Bob’s suit was slightly open now, the jacket unbuttoned at the front as the movement of the dance loosened him.

He looked incredible like this.

The white dress shirt hugged his frame perfectly now, smooth and fitted across his chest, the crisp fabric just beginning to wrinkle where your hands pressed into it. The shoulders of the jacket were sculpted with surprising precision, giving structure to the softer slope of his frame. You could see the tie now, knotted with quiet effort and just a touch crooked, resting against the faint rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Every now and then, the suit shifted enough to reveal a sliver of his waist–the shirt tucked in clean, the fabric of his trousers tailored just enough to give the illusion of ease.

Your fingers flexed slightly against his shoulders, pressing into the thick weave of his jacket.

You’d expected it to feel stiff. Formal. But it was warm now–softened by movement and the heat of his skin beneath. It smelled like him, too. Like effort and starch and faint cologne. Like heat built from restraint.

Bob didn’t seem to notice you were cataloging every square inch of him.

His eyes were on you–gentle, a little shy, but impossibly blue beneath the amber lights. He looked at you like he was still trying to believe you were real.

He smiled faintly and leaned in a little more.

“I-I’m g-glad we did, though,” He murmured. “T-Take lessons, I mean.”

“Yeah?” You tilted your head, still swaying with him, the movement natural now.

“Y-Yeah,” He replied, “I-I wouldn’t have met you otherwise.”

That made your breath catch–just slightly.

He blinked, startled by his own honesty again, and you laughed under your breath, shaking your head fondly.

”You really are full of surprises, aren’t you?” Bob’s palm shifted slightly at your waist, his thumb brushing a slow arc across the fabric–whether intentional or not, it sent a little ripple through you, subtle as a breath.

And then he leaned forward.

Not suddenly, not all at once. Just…Closer. Slow and tentative, like he was testing the gravity between you. His breath fanned across your cheek, warm and soft, and then–forehead to forehead—he rested against you gently.

The rest of the world blurred. The music, the clink of glasses, the soft rustle of gowns and the distant voices of guests. It all faded into static.

All that was left was the solid, careful press of him, the hush between your bodies, and his voice–quiet enough that only you could hear it.

“I-I d-don’t think it’s s-surprising,” he murmured, his words trembling like a held breath. “I-I thought it was p-pretty obvious how m-much I really a-appreciate what we h-have.”

Your lips curved into a slow, amused smile. You didn’t move at first–just let the words hang there between your bodies like fogged glass. Then, deliberately, you leaned back just an inch–enough to make him chase you ever so slightly.

It worked. He followed your movement instinctively, his hands tightening faintly where they rested on your dress. But you caught his gaze.

And held it.

His eyes–God, those eyes. Still impossibly blue. Caught between the amber haze of the chandeliers and the faint twinkle of fairy lights, they looked almost unreal. Like they were lit from within. The kind of blue that went soft at the edges, like twilight melting into riverlight–bright and vulnerable and so, so open. You could see every flicker of emotion in them.

You tilted your head, voice low and coaxing, deliberately teasing as your lashes dipped. “And what do we have, Bob?”

Your gaze flicked down to his lips—just for a second. Enough to make his breath catch. Then you looked back up, watching as his throat bobbed in a hard swallow.

He blinked rapidly, like you’d short-circuited the last five minutes of rehearsed restraint.

“I–I think…” He started, then faltered.

You watched the gears grind behind his eyes. Something about your tone–your heat, your nearness–had shorted the usual stutter filter. But he tried again, his voice raw and a little hoarse as he stumbled through it:

“I-I think…W-What we have is…” He exhaled sharply, almost a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief as he met your gaze again. “Is the k-kind of thing that…Makes me w-want to stop d-dancing just so I c-can kiss you instead.”

That landed like a blow.

You flushed–visibly, instantly. The words weren’t smooth. They tripped out of him like they didn’t know if they were allowed to exist. But they landed, all the same. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the buzz in your fingertips where they clung to his jacket.

Your grip on his lapel tightened slightly.

“…Is that so?” You said softly, one corner of your mouth lifting in a crooked, breathless smirk.

His answering smile was smaller–but so much more earnest. Pink bloomed across his cheekbones and down his neck, but he didn’t look away this time. Didn’t hide from it.

“Y-Yeah,” He whispered, “I-It’s r-really hard n-not to.” Your smile deepened, but you didn’t look away. You didn’t tease him, or draw it out.

You just leaned in a fraction more–enough for your nose to brush the side of his, for the breath between you to go impossibly still–and murmured so quietly that only he could hear it:

“You don’t have to hold yourself back on my account…You can kiss me.”

For half a second, Bob didn’t move.

Then he did.

It was like a tide rising–slow, unstoppable, trembling with weight. His hands slid up the sides of your waist with the gentlest pressure, fingers curling into the folds of your dress like he needed something solid to hold on to. His breath hitched once, and then he kissed you.

Soft. Like a secret. Like he’d been dreaming about this moment for weeks and still didn’t believe it was real.

His lips brushed yours so delicately at first, like he was afraid to push too hard, like he was giving you every second to change your mind. But you didn’t. You leaned in fully, pressing into the kiss with a quiet sigh that sent warmth cascading through both of you.

Bob melted.

His mouth parted just slightly, deepening the kiss with a tenderness that made your knees feel weak. His hands stayed at your waist, unmoving except for the slow tremble of his thumbs against your sides. His lips were soft, warm, a little unsure at the edges–but so reverent, so grateful. Like he was kissing something holy. Like this moment was something he’d never let himself ask for but couldn’t stop himself from needing.

You tilted your head slightly, letting your palm rise to rest gently against the side of his neck. He shivered under your touch, but didn’t pull back. His hand tightened at your hip just faintly, grounding himself in the curve of you as he kissed you a little deeper–still sweet, still slow, but fuller now. Like the moment had bloomed fully open, and he was letting himself feel all of it.

When you finally pulled away, it was with a soft breath. You didn’t go far. Your foreheads brushed, and you stayed there for a moment–close enough to feel his heart hammering through the space between you.

Bob’s eyes blinked open, dazed and wide, and a small smile tugged at his lips.

“…I-I wasn’t planning to do that in front of everyone,” He whispered, flushed and breathless. “But…Y-You made it really hard not to.”

You laughed–bright and warm, your nose brushing his as you tilted your head slightly and whispered back:

“Good. That was kind of the goal.”

Bob let out a low, quiet laugh of his own, forehead still pressed to yours. His hand slid up to rest lightly against your back, grounding both of you in the moment.

Around you, the reception continued–dancing, laughter, champagne flutes clinking–but none of it touched the quiet bubble the two of you had just made for yourselves.

Bob leaned in again, not quite kissing you this time, but hovering so close that his words were like heat against your cheek.

“…W-We should keep practicing,” He murmured, voice low and shy and fond, “J-Just in case we ever have to dance at…You know…Another wedding.”

Your brows lifted slightly in amused curiosity.

“Oh yeah?” you said, cocking your head. “Yours or mine?”

Bob froze.

Then–completely pink in the face–he let out a choked, breathless laugh, one hand dragging down his face in mortified delight.

“W-Way too soon,” he managed.

“Sure,” you replied, leaning into his chest with a grin, “But not never.”

He looked at you like you’d handed him the stars. And maybe you had.

Because as the music rose around you, Bob Reynolds tightened his hold on your waist–and started dancing again. Not because he was told to.

But because this time, he wanted to.

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noorpersona · 3 months ago

Note

Hey I really love the way you write it’s so fun to read and really fits the characters. I wanted to request you making small drabbles or a series on how the haikyu characters would treat you while youre pregnant. If it’s something you don’t want to write no worries. 🩷

OMGG yesss I love that idea 🙈🙈🙈 It goes so well with my other mini-series ehehe, I'm 100% adding it to the roster!! Thank you for your sweet words, they never fail to make my day.

For you! Gorgeous Human!! Enjoy <333 --

Pregnancy: Ushijima

Ushijima has been overprotective since the very beginning.

The second those two lines showed up on the test, it was like a switch flipped in him. He became your personal guard dog, nurse, chauffeur, meal planner, and human forklift all rolled into one stoic package.

It was kind of sweet—at first. The way he’d gently tug your hand away if you tried to carry anything heavier than a spoon. The way he’d Google symptoms with intense focus, like your morning sickness was a tactical challenge he could overcome with enough research. The way he sat through every prenatal appointment like it was the Olympics and he was preparing to win gold in fatherhood.

But by the third trimester?

You’re one more “let me do it” away from committing actual murder.

“I’m gonna change the sheets,” you say, bracing a hand on your lower back as you waddle toward the linen closet.

Before you even touch the doorknob, he’s there. He must have materialized from the floorboards.

“I’ll do it,” he says.

You blink up at him. “Wakatoshi—”

“The mattress is heavy.”

“I’m not flipping it! I’m just changing the sheets.”

Still, he reaches over you and pulls out the linens like it’s already been decided. “Sit down. I’ll take care of it.”

You stare at him, nostrils flaring, lips twitching, but you don’t fight it. Not yet.

Then come the groceries. The laundry. The vacuum you so much as glance at. And every time, he gets to it before you can even try. Every time, he gently insists. Every time, you swallow the urge to scream.

Until now.

You step onto the footstool to reach the top kitchen cabinet—one single bowl, that’s all you want—and he appears in the doorway like a haunted house spirit.

“Don’t,” he says sharply.

That’s it. That’s the moment you snap.

“USHIJIMA,” you explode, flinging your arms wide in a very dramatic but very off-balanced motion. “I am pregnant. Not porcelain. I can do things! I can move and lift and stretch and reach and I would like to do one thing—just ONE THING—by myself without you treating me like I’m going to spontaneously combust!”

He pauses. Blinks. That stoic face giving you absolutely nothing.

“…You were wobbling,” he says.

“I always wobble! I’m basically a giant, sentient bowling pin at this point!”

“I don’t want to take chances,” he says, calm as ever.

“Well I want to do something myself!”

He hesitates. You can practically hear the gears turning in his head. Eventually, he steps back and says simply, “Okay. Do it.”

Oh. Oh he did not just call your bluff.

You puff out your chest, grab the cabinet door for balance, and go for it. Fingers brush the edge of the bowl, victory within reach—

—and then you realize you can’t quite twist back down. You’re halfway off the stool and stuck. Pride flickers. Stomach tightens. Arms flail just a little.

“…Toshi?” you call, voice small. “I, um. I need help.”

He’s there in seconds.

Strong arms wrap around you, lifting you like you weigh nothing. He sets you gently on the floor like a queen being lowered onto her throne.

“You were saying?” he murmurs, hand on the small of your back.

You scowl. “I hate you.”

“You don’t,” he replies smoothly. “You just hate that I’m right.”

You slump against his chest, bowl in hand, your forehead hitting the middle of his sternum. His hand rubs up and down your spine. You sigh dramatically.

“You’re so annoying.”

“And you’re still holding the bowl.”

“…Shut up.”

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bueckers · 1 year ago

Text

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 ━━━ 𝐏𝐁

part two. a/n | hiii! new blog but not new to wbb or writing, i’m infact true to this! masterlist & blog introduction soon but i thought i’d get a fic out first (this is lowkey long but bare with me).

summary: in which the pleasure elicits a confession.

warning(s): smut with plot! fingering, fear of being caught, praising, pet names, scissoring, some angst at the end, angst at the end, idk paige is absolutely obsessed with you..

pairing: paige bueckers x fem reader

You hadn’t particularly expected yourself to get sexually involved with the star athlete of UConn, but it kinda just happened.

You’d met Paige Bueckers through Azzi Fudd during yours and hers junior year. Hitting it off with her and the team was no problem. You got along with everyone and it was one of the many qualities that could be admired, but Paige found a sense of comfort with you.

During the start of her recovery, she found it hard to go back to going out like she used to. But the one night she’d decided to make an appearance for the first time since tearing her ACL, she met you and it changed everything. You had morals that changed her perspective, a bright smile that lured her in, and confidence that wasn’t too cocky to be deemed unattractive. You were everything.

From hangouts with the group to study sessions and finally hanging out alone, you found yourselves entirely comfortable with one another. So much so that the team had gotten so used to seeing you together, that they asked where the other was when you were by yourself.

One night when Paige had decided to stay over at your dorm, you’d been wrapped up in a conversation about relationships and the complexity that came with them. You both had similar ideas just like you did on nearly everything. Paige not being able to really commit to anybody with her busy schedule, and you just simply not being into dating. It never went well for you. The last girl fucked up and if there was one thing you always got sick of, it was waiting for people to change.

An idea sparked your mind, and just like always, you spoke it. It was a suggestion that would possibly change your dynamic forever, but as Paige watched the words slip out of your mouth and your eyes dart between her lips and eyes; something you always did but it seemed different this time, she couldn’t say no. It felt like a bad idea. She really liked you and wasn’t sure where that would lead the two of you, but she would’ve taken any part of you she could get her hands on.

Now, a little less than a year later, it was safe to say your dynamic had changed. Completely. Paige was at the highest point in her career, her popularity only expanding just everyday. Your casual sex continued, but the more intimate you got, the more Paige found it hard to deny the feelings she felt for you. She distanced herself. You didn’t talk the way you used to and surely didn’t hangout the way you used to, because those hangouts always turned into more.

You missed Paige. You had her but you didn’t have her, and although you knew what your suggestion would bring, you still couldn’t pinpoint why she couldn’t open up to you anymore. Why she avoided conversing with you alone. It was an abrupt change from the comfortability she’d showed when everything first started, exploring each other in ways past imagination because that’s what the agreement was for. But everything changed so quickly, and Paige found more meaning in the words she whispered while reaching her high, more meaning in the flirty jokes, and more meaning in your lingering gazes. She over-analyzed everything, and it was fucking driving her crazy.

Nobody knew. You couldn’t even fix your lips to tell Azzi how you’d been hooking up with her best friend. You were sure everyone had an idea though; paige could hide a lot of things physically but the glint in her eyes when she looked at you was undeniable, and although KK and a few others had pointed it out jokingly, you two brushed it off like it was nothing.

Currently, you’d been sitting at a table with some of the team members at the bar. It had been getting late despite you only being on your second drink and not feeling a bit of it, engrossed in a conversation with Aubrey about all kinds of things. Sometimes you wished you were a lightweight.

A few minutes later, Paige slid onto the stool next to you, but you didn’t acknowledge her. You hadn’t talked to her in a little bit over a week, and finally decided that if she wanted to play the distant game, you would too. She seemed a little tipsy to you, her continuous movements you caught in the corner of your eye proving so. You could admit she looked good when she first walked in. She must’ve worn braids to practice or something because her wavy locks had been flowing over her broad shoulders, a look she knew you fell weak to.

Your attention averted at the sound of Azzi’s voice. “I’m heading out!” She announced loud enough for her friends to hear. They bid her with goodbyes as you began to gather your things, stopping at the feeling of Paige’s hand creeping up on your thigh. She turned to you, a look on your face that you could’ve mistakened for a slight pout.

“I wanna take you home,” was as all she said, and your eyebrows furrowed for a moment. You understood her words, but found it hard to comprehend as her thumb began stroking the crease dangerously close to your center.

Regaining composure, you cleared your throat. “‘S okay. I rode with Az, she can take me home,” You replied almost sharply. You didn’t question her silence over the past week, not in the mood to cause a scene; just responded like everything was normal, yet one thing you could never hide was an attitude.

As you turned to get up, content with the few words exchanged, Paige twirled your stool back around to her with her opposite hand, stopping you. “I wanna take you home,” She stated again, her voice low but firm. You knew Azzi had been stalling as she waited for you, so as you locked eyes with Paige’s piercing blue hues, you knew what you had to do. What felt right but so wrong.

Averting your gaze, you whipped your head to Azzi’s direction, immediately catching her eye and jerking your head to the side slightly to indicate that Paige would be taking care of you (in more ways than one). She gave you a knowing look, causing you to roll your eyes and spin back around to Paige. She had her suspicions, but they weren’t confirmed so it didn’t matter.

As soon as you did so, Paige easily stepped down from the barstool, grabbing your hand so she could help you down, a bigger challenge for your height. “We’re heading out too,” She stated simply, and the crew eyed your exchange, little chuckles escaping their lips. The entire group had their conspiracies about you two, simply because they’d never seen Paige act like this around any other girl.

Saying your goodbyes, you hadn’t realized Paige’s hand still interlocked with yours as she looked around the bar, seemingly antsy and ready to go as you said goodbye to her teammates. As you dragged her out, she glanced down at your hands, quick to pull them apart and cover it up by reaching to slip her lanyard out of her pocket, the ringing of the keys interrupting the silence.

You only stared at her a second longer before sighing, licking your lips as you crossed your arms. Your position didn’t falter the entire way there, and the walk from the campus bar to Paige’s dorm felt like ages.

“Is there a reason for that lil’ attitude you got?” Paige chirped, the two of you barely making it through the door as she walked in before you, her back turned as she flung her keys to the counter. You scrunched your face up as you shut the door behind you, your arms finally uncrossed.

“What are you talking about?” You asked in fake oblivion. You were aware of the sharpness in your tone when you first replied to her. Your demeanor the whole walk here even.

Paige only chuckled, turning around swiftly as she leaned against the island. “Heard it there too,” she said, pointing out the way you’d responded. “I do something?”

It was your turn to chuckle, audibly shocked that she had the nerve to even ask such a thing. “How’d you decide that tonight was the perfect night to have sex with me again after ignoring me for a week?” You ask rhetorically, a smile on your face. You wanted to punch the stupid smirk off of hers. She was too cocky for her own good, and you knew your words would only ignite that trait.

“If you wanted me sooner you could’ve hit me up, you know this,” She replied, her arms now crossed over her chest as her tongue swarmed her mouth. She was amused.

You scoffed, walking closer as you spoke which was something you tended to do when you were upset. You got in people’s faces. “That’s not the point, Paige.” You stuttered out, looking for the right words. Only Paige could make your normally nimble-minded self stutter at such a comeback.

Her eyes scanned your face. “Then what is the point, ma?” Your heart skipped a beat at the sudden pet name. This girl knew you in and out and she was using it to her advantage. It hurt, but you blamed yourself.

You stopped in front of her, trying not to let her looks get the best of you as you bit down on your lip. “You’ve been distant,” you mumbled, avoiding her gaze as you stared at the ground. You felt pathetic— something you’d only felt a few days out of the year. It was rare. “And I hate it.” You finally emphasized, peering up at Paige who seemed to have lost any of her previous confidence at your words.

Her lips were plump and parted as she stared at you. It was enough to know you’d noticed and that you cared, but she didn’t want to address it, she wanted to kiss you. In one swift motion, she dropped her arms to their respective places, like a default and they knew where to go: one gripping your waist like her life depended on it, and the other cupping your face like she was being handed something she was told to take care of.

Your body trembled as you softened underneath her, your lips automatically moving against hers as you used all your pent-up emotions to keep up with her. You’d forgotten all about your said attitude and the way Paige had totally dismissed the conversation, but right now, it was the last thing you cared about.

Her tongue slipped into your mouth, eliciting a whine from you at the quickness that made Paige’s knees buck. She loved to hear you. She loved any sound you made. You made her weak.

“Can never get e-fucking-nough of you,” she breathed out, the comment more to herself. It was words like these that made you question how casual your hooking up was. She got so poetic and warm in the world of sex with you, and you loved it. It didn’t matter if she was praising or belittling you because you would eat it up every damn time.

Your hands roam through the waves of her hair, finding a spot that you comfortably grip and tug, the motion causing Paige’s lips to part from yours as her head tilted back slightly. You brought your lips down to her jaw, peppering kisses down the line and to her neck as you held her by her hair, Paige smiling above you. It always started like this— a constant fight for dominance that Paige always won. It was why she’d been smiling so hard.

It didn’t take long for you to find that good spot of hers, her smile instantly becoming a face of pure satisfaction as you sucked a light hickey onto her neck within seconds. You never did that because you knew Paige would only have to cover it up, but it felt right.

As Paige’s hands hooked under your legs and hoisted you up, you yelped, following the gesture with a giggly laugh that Paige couldn’t help but crack a smile at. She missed you. “Tired of standing,” she mumbled, carrying you to her bedroom. During the short way there, your lips had found her face again, never getting enough of all of the places you could leave a wet, sensual peck.

Setting you down at the edge of the bed, Paige turned around so she could shut and lock the door. She slid her UConn sweatshirt off in the process, pivoting back to you as you sat there in all your glory, laid back on your elbows. Paige immediately got to work, pulling off your pants as she hovered over you, her bottom lip sitting snug in between her teeth.

Glancing up at her, you immediately wanted her closer as she took them off painfully slow, and as soon as she was done throwing them into a corner of her room, she didn’t have any time to fully turn her head before you were pulling her into you, kissing her eagerly for the second time that night.

Her hands roamed beneath your engulfed bodies as her mind already knew where everything was without having to look. If there was one thing she learned from having sex with you, it was your body. She knew it as if it were a topic she’d studied for hours. Her fingers glided over your clothed cunt, causing your body to squirm at the unexpected touch.

She smiled into the kiss at your reaction and the feeling of your wetness, her body falling next to you as she propped herself up with her elbow. She pushed the fabric to the side with two fingers, her lips continually moving against yours as she circled your clit. Without warning, she pushed her two middle fingers into you. You never needed much foreplay because of how wet you got so easily, but that was a gift only Paige received.

You instantly pulled away from the blonde at the feeling, your head glancing down to her moving fingers as your mouth fell agape. Paige’s hooded eyes stared at the side of your face as your head eventually settled back onto her leaned arm with a gasp. She licked her lips, looking at the way her fingers moved in and out of you so effortlessly. “Look, baby. Doin’ so good for me.” She praised, your moans sounding like music to her ears as your eyes fluttered shut.

Suddenly, she curled her fingers, eliciting a loud, pornographic moan from the depths of your throat. “I told you to look,” she stated firmly. You opened your eyes slowly but surely as Paige lifted her arm underneath you so your head was at an elevated angle to see the bottom half of your body, and you swore you would come simply at the sight and Paige’s strength that had been showcased from her holding you. “So fuckin’ pretty,” she cooed. Another praise. Paige never cursed, but when she got in bed with you, it was inevitable.

“I’m gonna come, baby,” you told her, and although your mind had been completely fucked out, you were still good at picking out the things Paige got weak about, which realistically would be everything, including when you called her baby.

Her breathing picked up, the room becoming hot. “Yeah? Can’t wait any longer?” Paige questioned, and you automatically shook your head through moans, turning to look at Paige who had her eyes locked on you. She took a snapshot of you with her eyes, a picture she would frame in the Louvre if given the chance.

“N-no. Can’t wai— fuck!” You came undone on Paige’s fingers with a loud groan as her pace quickened inside of you, your juices coating her fingers. She couldn’t revert her gaze from your glistening cunt and the way it reflected on her slender hands, getting an urge to taste you, yet she held off.

Your chest heaved as she slowed down, a noise being made as she slipped out of you. You laid back once more despite the fact that Paige’s arm must’ve fallen asleep by now, watching through half-shut eyes as her fingers came into view. She shoved them into your mouth, her lips parting as she tilted her head slightly and watched you lick your own slick.

“Mmm,” she mumbled, nearly drooling as you grabbed her hand with your own, pushing her digits further into your mouth. You indulged at your own pace, peering up at her, knowing the thrill it would give her. Your tongue slid between the two fingers, working its way to slurp everything off. Finally, Paige had enough.

She forced her fingers out of your mouth, sliding out with a pop because of how tight you’d wrapped around them. She got up and made her way around the bed, settling with her back against the headboard. You followed her there with a crawl, laying in between her slightly spread legs as you leaned into kiss her. As your lips moved, you felt the urge for more, pulling away abruptly. Catching your breath, Paige couldn’t control her own as she looked at you, eyebrows furrowed. “What?” She breathed out, her hands still cupping your cheeks.

You looked down, your head moving in between her cupped hands. “Too many clothes.” You panted, prompting a smile from Paige who was quick to lift her hips up, your bottom halves crashing for a moment as she slipped her sweatpants off, throwing them off the side of the bed. You followed suit with your shirt, leaving you in a lacy, purple bra that made your tits look fucking phenomenal.

Paige leaned back against the headboard, taking in the sight as you sat up before her, teasingly running your hand up the strap of your bra while you looked down. You knew what you were doing, purple is Paige’s favorite color. Eventually, you brought both hands to the clasp in the back, finally glancing at Paige who seemed to be stuck in a daze. You smirked slightly, not tearing your eyes away from her as your tits fell from its holder, and Paige was ready to dive into you.

“C’mere.” Her voice was husk as she whispered for you to come closer, and you obeyed, crawling back to your previous position between her legs with a smirk. Thinking Paige was going to kiss you once more, you brought your lips closer to her, but she dipped her head to your collarbone, her mouth immediately getting to work as you moaned softly, bringing your hand up to play with her hair.

She began sucking, and you swore you started to feel dizzy. You glanced down at the pink-ish mark forming on your skin above the place she’d now been getting to work on, making you a bit confused in the mist of your heavy breathing before you glanced down at the spot on Paige’s neck that had now been a dark purple color. You didn’t think she’d noticed, but obliviously she had. Paige knew it wouldn’t be a good look to her friends, but she didn’t care. It was fair game and she couldn’t resist you.

She then moved down, beginning to fondle with your breasts. She massaged one with one hand, attaching her lips to the other, her tongue swarming your nipple. “Missed you so much.” You whimpered, bringing your hand around to tuck her hair behind her ear, getting a good sight of her. How pretty she looked beneath you like this was all you could think about.

A few moments later, she pulled her lips away, seemingly content with the work she’d done. She hastily pulled her boxers down afterwards, you following eagerly with your soaked panties, the same ones Paige hadn’t even bothered to pull down when fingering you. Just as the two of you tangled your legs together, your beating cunts an inch away from igniting the longing pleasure, the jingle of keys and distinct chatter interrupted the moment, making you whip your head around towards the door.

You could make out the voices of Amari and Ice, realizing they must’ve left a little bit after you and Paige. The walls were too thin for this.

Without notice, Paige pressed her bottom half into you, making you moan out. She was quick to cover your mouth before you could yourself, your eyebrows furrowing through pleasure and fear of being caught. “You know I love hearin’ you but you’re gonna have to be quiet for me, baby, okay?” she whispered, making you nod. Although the chances of being caught were high because of the unlocked door, the warmth of Paige’s clit hitting yours over and over was enough to make you forget about all of that.

You moved against her in a way Paige thought was painfully slow, a bead of sweat already forming at the top of her head as you both couldn’t tear your eyes away from where your bodies interlocked. She brought you down to her face, peppering soft kisses to your lips as you could barely build up the strength to kiss her back, all of it going into the way you moved.

Through low curses and pants, you finally mustered the strength to move your hand to Paige’s cunt, her reaction resulting in her dropping the hand previously over your mouth, her bones feeble. “Shit, keep going,” Paige murmured, her words enough to make you speed up your motions. Your hips bucked back and forth on her, whining as you tried to get as much as friction as possible.

Paige’s hands shot down to your waist, gripping them as she admired the way her fingers molded into your skin. They trailed down to your ass, her head tilting to the side a bit so she could get a good view of the way you looked from behind. She couldn’t quite fathom how you looked good in every position.

Dazed and breathless, you both felt your high bubbling within you as you continuously moved, the sound and smell of sex filling the room. “Paige, I’mmm.. fu— almost..” you could barely get any words out, but the blonde could make out what you were trying to say as she pushed her hips up further, getting any resistance she could.

“I’m right with you, fuck,” Paige dragged her words out, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to hold off a little longer, but she physically couldn’t. Her stamina was a bit better than yours overall because she was an athlete, but tonight she wasn’t holding off.

You leaned down to rest your head in the nape of Paige’s neck, the slightly new angle pushing you both over the edge. You felt intoxicated as you came undone, Paige’s center never giving the throbbing a rest as she came right with you like she’d promised. “Sh-shit.” Paige’s voice had gotten high for the first time that night. “I love you so fuckin’ much, fuck.” Paige admitted, her words rushed out. You only panted, bringing your head up to rest against her forehead as your chests heaved and you both stopped moving. Paige opened her eyes at your touch, only being able to stare into your eyes for so long— caught in a different universe as your lips hovered over hers.

Still breathless, Paige managed to wrap her arms around you and set you down next to her, your wet, sweaty body hitting her sheets. Coming down from the sacred high and finally having room to think, you’d only just then comprehended what Paige had said, knitting your eyebrows slightly from next to her. You turned your head, realizing she had managed to hoist herself up and put her clothes back on, grabbing scattered pieces of clothing in the process. Your scattered pieces of clothing.

You propped yourself up on both elbows, her comforter covering your chest. You realized that if anyone were to walk in right now, there would be no hiding the fact that you’d indeed just fucked— your mascara smudged, your hair an absolute mess. You cleared your throat, indicating you were back in the right state of mind and Paige’s body shook. Her back was turned to you, but she could already feel the tension heavy in the room.

Paige had never, not once said those three words to you. And with the way she was acting, you could tell it wasn’t one of her heat-of-the-moment sayings. She’d meant it. “Paige—“ she cut you off before you could address it.

“You should go. It’s late.” Despite her attempts to shake you off, Paige knew better than anyone that she wouldn’t get the last word with you. She might’ve been too full of herself, but you were one quick-witted individual.

You chuckled from behind her, an attempt to hide the actual hurt in your tone. “You’re serious?” you asked, although you knew she was. Your eyes were widened and you couldn’t believe she’d said such a thing before literally kicking you out.

She turned around and effortlessly tossed your clothes onto the bed, the garments landing right in front of you. She didn’t have to say anything. You could fucking feel it. You didn’t have the energy to put up a fight or an argument because it simply did not seem like she cared enough for it. Her words would only hurt you more. You’d known and learned this girl through and through and you would’ve never thought she’d do such a thing. You normally stayed the night, took a shower together, or even just stayed in each other’s warmth until having to tend to something. But tonight, she’d dropped a bomb and resulted in acting like an asshole.

You had a slight frown on your face as you hastily gathered your things, your clothes sloppily thrown on your body like you were sneaking out from a one-night-stand. You tucked your hair behind your ears as you put your shoes on, ignoring the unreadable expression on Paige’s face as her eyes shot daggers into you. Why weren’t you saying anything back? Why weren’t you shouting the most cruel things in her face? She felt like she’d deserved some backlash for what she just did, yet you seemed more hurt and eager to get out of her room than angry.

Without a second glance at the blonde, you rushed out of the room, nearly slamming the door behind you which elicited a slight jump from Paige. Waltzing across the living room, you almost didn’t catch the widened eyes of Amari and Ice in the kitchen. You didn’t care that their speculations had been confirmed, because it was shut down now. Despite being the only girl Paige had been fucking for months on end, she treated you like just another fling tonight, and you were hurt. You were hurt because you loved her too and she didn’t care enough to say it again.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers fanfiction #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x reader #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #wlw #wlw ns/fw #lgbtq #paige bueckers headcannons #uconn women’s basketball #bueckers’ works 🍒

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writesvani · 3 months ago

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say you remember | 01

idol!minyoongi x writer!reader

SUMMARY: You don’t expect much when your eyes meet his across the café-bar—just a fleeting glance, a moment that should mean nothing. But then there’s another look. And another. Before you know it, you’re tangled up in something that isn’t love, isn’t commitment—just an escape wrapped in late-night encounters and whispered goodbyes.

It’s fine. Until it isn’t.

When feelings start creeping in, you both decide to walk away before things get too complicated. It should have ended there. But fate has other plans. When your friend starts dating Jungkook—his best friend, his bandmate—you find yourself face to face with Yoongi once again.

The past lingers between you, heavy and unresolved. The question is—was it ever really over?

strangers-to-fwb-to-strangers-to-lovers

TRIGGER WARNINGS: dry humping, making out, oral (m. receiving), jerking off, spanking (one time), dick rubbing on oc's face (whoopsie daisy), deep throating, dick spanking on oc's tongue (i'm not sorry, okay?), fingering, painfully angsty love-making, the angstiest smut you're gonna read, finger sucking, dirty talking (brief), usage of nicknames (baby mostly), angst, mutually established parting, feelings (a lot of them, okay?)

comment here for to Say You Remember taglist;

SERIES M.LIST;

— next chapter (pending...)

wc: 3,2k // date: 1st of April 2025

CHAPTER ONE — no room for love; happy reading my gummies...

AN: okay, everyone, let’s all collectively GASP because i’m starting a fic with SMUT. i know. i’m just as shocked as you are. but would i be me if i didn’t also make this as devastatingly painful as humanly possible? absolutely not. i hope you get the vibes—this isn’t just about them fucking, okay?? i was focusing on emotions here. the depth. the yearning. the angst. UGH. i genuinely can’t with myself. do y’all like this or what??

now, about the note goal… i have no idea how to set it since this is the first chapter, but since the masterlist has 300 notes, let’s roll with that. 300 notes, and we’re diving straight into chapter two. no delays. no mercy. no survivors.

love you all. MUAHAHAHA (yes, i am laughing evilly. be afraid.)

There’s an eerie kind of quiet that surrounds Yoongi and you.

It’s bound to be comforting—bound to let you interlock each other in a net you can’t fathom to escape from. It’s bound to be a lot of things, but, unfortunately, those things have to stay silent.

Quiet.

Just like the hum of the air spreading around your bodies. It’s raining outside, you notice. You’ve always liked rain—whether it's the scent of trampled, wet grass, or even the husk of the wind during storms, you were always particular about the rain.

About the wind.

About the storm.

But now, the weather pangs on your uneasiness even more. It makes you shift on the couch, Yoongi’s couch, as you try to move your body in a comfortable position—as if this would diffuse the eventual outcome.

Difuse the fact you’re about to lose Yoongi.

For good.

His eyes trace your body, from the top of your head, the nape of your neck, to the swell of something utterly and unmistakingly you.

You don’t know what’s this supposed to be, but you are sure it isn’t this.

It isn’t supposed to be the fact that his eyes speak with your soul in ways others' can’t with their words.

It isn’t supposed to be the fact that his touch ignites every single part of you on fire.

Isn’t supposed to be the fact you feel more comfortable in his arms then in your own home.

Isn’t supposed to be the fact that you’re horribly, inevitably, desperately in love with Min Yoongi.

Isn’t supposed to be the fact that he loves you more than music. That you love him more than the words you write.

Yoongi’s gaze settles on your eyes. He feels like he’s drowning. Like he can’t escape. And he doesn’t want to.

But he has to.

It should have been only an arrangement, set by certain rules—one of which the loudest is ‘no feelings’. But bloody hell, fuck you if the feelings were even slightly possible to run away from. There was no way to hide from each other—not when you could read every shift, every movement, every damn word that left each other’s lips. Not when you are so imperfectly made for each other that it seems impossible to protect yourselves from whatever this is—whatever type of pain this is going to bring.

There’s a quiet hustle of his body as he moves quietly through the night, through his room, through your heart. He sits beside you.

For a moment that feels eternity too long, Yoongi just watches you. He was always the one to watch—watch you write, watch you edit, watch you go through the whole publishing process not once, but twice.

He was always the one to hold out a hand of comfort when things got too heavy, too overbearing—just like he does now. His fingers trace the warmth of your skin, doing a small lazy dance across the back of your wrist. You gulp. It should bring you peace, it really should, but this feeling of dread in the depths of your stomach only worsens.

Only grows.

Because this is the last time.

It has to be.

People like him and you aren’t cut out for love—there’s something else that’s bestowed upon you. A life of creation, a path made of art. It’s a lifestyle you’re both thrown into—him being the main rapper and producer of the worldwide biggest sensation band, and you, although being a bit more in the shadows, still a very respected and very much known author.

Yet, for all of your poetic misery and his genius mind, you never knew you’d fall in love, but that’s the grave you have to lay in now.

Your breath hitches when his hand goes higher, moves through the delicacy of your hand to your shoulder. His touch grows a little more erratic, maybe even shakey, if you think more about it.

It grows bolder, until it reaches your neck and rests on the back of it. His fingers stay there, toy with the little hairs, twisting them slowly in the way it tickles.

“Fucking hell,” he sighs, bringing his forehead to gently bump against yours. You stay like that—silent and locked away from the rest of the world.

Skin against skin, eyes closed, basking in each other’s warmth.

Then, something shifts, his fingers twitch. He frantically grabs the back of your head and he crashes his lips on yours. His lips feel a little dry, but there’s still that softness in them—the one that screams Yoongi.

His mouth is firstly gentle on yours, like he’s savouring every bit of this very ending of yours. It's tentative, the way he kisses.

Painfully slow.

Simply painful.

Your heart squeezes. You feel a tear roll down your face, but you choose to ignore it. You grab his cheeks with urgency, trying to bring him unbelievably closer than he already is. His other hand trails to your waist, grabs it so hard it’s probably going to leave an imprint there—an imprint of him.

And then, finally, torturously slow, he spreads your lips with his tongue. He rolls inside your mouth as if it’s his second nature—which it probably is, considering how much time he spent exploring it. You moan against his lips, roll your tongue against his. It’s a clash of two desperate souls desperate for each other. This kiss is everything but gentle now. He’s molding your lips against his with such fervour you can’t but let out a needy whine. His tongue plays with the hem of your own, prods, takes, gives, touches the inside of your cheeks, the warmth of your mouth.

“Mmh, shit,” he lets out a groan, breathless, as he lifts you on top of him. Your hands immediately move towards his hair—one of his weak spots. You grab his hair in a fist, so his head tilts back. His eyes stay closed, lips parted as you trail butterfly light kisses against his jawline. His hips jerk against you, dick trailing a line against your clothed pussy.

A breathy shudder leaves him as his hands find their way towards your ass. He grabs it wildly—like a prisoner who’s getting his last dish served.

And maybe he is just that.

He kneads at the flesh of your ass, gropes it, moves his other hand to your boobs, cries out on your tongue. Your lips part to let your tongue do its job—you lick a trail down his jawline to his neck, touching, teasing, exploring. You sit down on him completely. Your pussy rests against the growing hardness underneath you, a long string of saliva connecting you to his neck. For a second, you’re both breathless.

His hands are still on your ass, yours are still in his hair.

He cocks his head as if he’s challenging you.

And then—all hell breaks loose.

You move slowly at first. You grind down on his dick as if you’re taking your sweet time, which, damn be you, you are. A moan escapes you as you watch Yoongi’s eyes darken. They dart out to where you’re both connected to, his tongue peaks out to wet his now swollen, reddish lips. You move again, this time harder, roll your hips against his as your left hand runs to rest on his shoulder—searching for an anchor.

You roll against him again, you feel the pang of heat spreading through your body down to your pussy lips as you’re grinding into him, your eyebrows furrow.

It’s urgent.

You’re moving against him as if you have a point to prove—you probably do.

Is anyone going to be this fucking perfect for him?

It’s the thought that passes both of you.

Your voice vibrates against the walls of his apartment. Yoongi’s panting, sweat coating his forehead as his hand moves through the air to leave a spank on your ass.

“You like this?” He grows impatient, hands steading himself to roll you against him in a pace that won’t leave him this tortured, this fucked out. You moan in response, feeling yourself growing bolder, more insane on him.

“Knew you do,” he mumbles, his lips crashing on yours, “Mmh—always—such a… a needy little thing for me.” Your hips, knees, heart buckle under his words, a loud moan escaping you. “Yeeeah, just for,” you pant, heartbeat panging against your ribcage as Yoongi’s tongue traces against your cheek, licking the sweat off of you. Your throat pulses underneath the swell of his tongue. “Just for you,” you sigh, chasing after his lips.

Your teeth crash again, he grazes your bottom lip and tugs it gently, parting it from you. You open your eyes to see him already looking at you, half lidded, completely fucked out, as his teeth hold your lip.

Shit, it makes something awaken inside you. He feels it too. He takes off your shirt, tugs your bra now to free your tits. He doesn’t waste any time, just takes your nipple with the wetness of his mouth as his tongue rolls against it. Your pussy moves on instinct, chasing, clamping against his clothed dick, as you feverishly cry out.

Foreplay is good, okay?

Foreplay is amazing.

But all you want right now is Yoongi, his tongue on you, his dick inside of you. This is too little. You need more. You crave more. “Want you,” you plead, “Fuuck baby, please, want you so bad.” “Patience, sweetheart.” His lips part from your tits with a soft pop, eyes find your lost ones.

“Can’t be patient,” you murmur, your fingers already playing with the button of his jeans, and Jesus, if this doesn’t take Yoongi out, nothing will.

He needs to make this longer—to have you against him longer, but you’re already making it too difficult. He can’t form a coherent thought, he can only oblige to you unraveling him. You unbutton his jeans, jump off of him to tug them down.

And then you sink to your knees.

Above you, Yoongi looks like a devil in an angel's disguise. His lips are bloody red, eyelashes fluttering, cheeks pinky as he looks at you. But his eyes—they’re pitch black as he stares you down. You point a finger at him, motioning at his shirt. “Take it off.”

He listens.

Of fucking course he does.

His shirt is already forgotten, tossed somewhere behind his couch, left collecting dust. He is lean, broad, tummy soft and you’re already foaming just taking in his figure. His skin gleams with sweat, droplets of it falling down his chest, coiling his stomach. His breaths come ragged, as your lips press against his briefs.

You take in the breath he’s holding, as you lick a long stripe over his dick. He feels your mouth over his boxers and Yoongi swears he’s going to lose it. “Shiiit.” It comes out deranged, his words barely a mumble as he hoists his hips up to ease the ache forming in his balls.

You part your mouth, take him still clothed in your mouth.

His eyes roll back as a string of courses leaves him, hands clamping down on the sofa to steady himself.

And then finally, you take his boxers off.

His dick rolls out and saliva streams down your chin. Pink, with a vein decorating it, slightly curved to the left, it welcomes you, already swollen and begging for more.

And who are you to deny?

You leave kisses and licks against his length, trailing lower to his balls—his Achile’s foot. Yoongi whines, desperate as you take his balls in your mouth, swirl your tongue against them, and soon your hand joins the play, trailing against his begging cock. “Just like that,” he praises, as he watches you with such gentle eyes that almost remind you how this has to be the last time.

You lick a long strip from his balls to the tip of his cock, until you finally take him in. You start out slow, tongue flattening out to welcome him in and he moans devilishly, eyes cast down to look at how his dick meets your lips. You hollow your cheeks to take him deeper—can feel every vein of his, every curve and shift of Yoongi.

You press your thumb in the depth of your palm—a life hack you’ve seen somewhere that helps with deep throating and boy, does it really.

It eases down on your gag reflex so you can grasp him fully now, and when his tip finally reaches the back of your throat, Yoongi loses it completely.

His hand finds his way to your hair to shove you even further down his cock and small tears glisten on your cheeks as your saliva drips down him, mascara ruined, nose watery. You move your right hand to fiddle with his balls and Yoongi whines, whispers under his breath, “You’re insane.”

Wetness coils your panties and you think of how ruined they must be right now, how wanting they are of him. How badly you crave him right now. He fucks into your mouth like a ragged animal, hips lifting to clash against your throat, and then by your surprise, he lifts your head.

He takes his cock into his other hand and you already know what he wants.

You flatten your tongue as you watch him spank his dick against it and you give him a little smile he swears it’s going to drive him nuts. “Spit on it,” he says and oh boy you do. He takes his dick and smears it around your face, your cheeks, forehead, nose. “You—ahh, you love it so much,” he curses as he watches you look so horribly ruined.

It’s messy.

Disgusting.

So fucking amazing.

“C’mere,” he whines and you move on instinct as he pushes you to lay on his sofa. Yoongi kisses you and he can taste himself on your lips, on your tongue.

His fingers trail a path down your tummy to your leggings and as much as he’d like to torture you some more, he feels like he might die if he doesn’t fuck you soon.

So, he yanks your leggings off.

His fingers cast along your hip bone until they finally come to a rest where you need him most. He finds your clit instantly—Yoongi has studied your body so many times he knows it like the back of his hand.

He rolls it with his thumb as he lays his lips against yours. You’re whining and pleading against him and you feel like you can’t take it anymore. He circles your clit, as he shoves fingers of his other hand between your walls. You’re so fucking wet it physically pains you. His hand is wild inside you, searching, looking for something.

And then he finds it—a little numb of nerves inside you, and he presses against it. “Yoongi,” you gasp as he tortures you with kisses down your neck, one hand inside you, another toying with your clit. You feel it bubbling, growing, clashing, until you can’t control it anymore.

You’re gasping and shaking, crying out his name like a prayer until you feel yourself clasp around his fingers. Your breaths are uneven, pornographically dirty, pupils blown wide as you stare at him.

“Wanna lick you,” he whispers as he starts moving down your body, but your hands yank him by his hair to stop him.

“Want you to fuck me already.”

“Gonna fuck you with my tongue first.”

“Please—ugh. Yoon,” you moan as he bites the soft flesh of your tummy, “Just fuck me.”

You don’t know why you’re denying both him and you the pleasure of having him between your legs.

Maybe it’s the fact that you need him so much.

Maybe because you’re so desperately trying to convince yourself that he can do it next time.

Maybe because the intimacy of having his mouth on your sex is going to wreck you forever.

Yoongi looks at you through his bangs and he feels his heart ache for this.

For you.

For the rawness of this moment.

He stills for a second, fingers twitching on your body, like he doesn’t know what to do. “Okay,” he whispers softly, bringing his head up again.

His thumb, the one that’s previously been on your clit now rests on your mouth.

And you it him in.

Your tongue swirls around it as you hollow your cheeks, face wet with a simple need—him. Yoongi is a goner the second his dick touches your pussy lips. He doesn’t know where to look first—at the sight of him connecting with you or the way you’re sucking his fingers just like you sucked his soul just mere minutes ago.

He goes in slowly.

Face falls in the crook of your neck, where he leaves small open mouthed kisses. For a second you both stay like that—him inside you, his finger in your mouth, his head on your neck.

And then he moves.

The room is bruised by the sounds of skin slapping, his grunts, your whines. His pace becomes erratic, uneven as he pounds into you, his teeth crashing against yours. It’s dirty—the way his tongue explores your mouth, the way he sucks your lips, the way his dick pulses inside of you.

You’re feverish and hot and you can feel yourself clamming down on him, trapping him inside yourself. Your nails dig against the silkiness of his back, creating patterns that are going to last there—on him, for days.

What you don't know is that you have already created a pattern that's going to stay inside of him for years.

Yoongi and you are usually more talkative during sex—this moment though, feels too sacred, too pure to be tainted with any words. You feel like your heart might explode every second now, but you’re far too gone to care.

You feel another orgasm approaching when he puts his fingers on your clit, when he fucks you like you’re the only thing he’s ever going to need.

So you let yourself go.

You let yourself cum on his dick, on his fingers, whole body vibrating against his. You know he’s nearing his end as well, but you’re so sensitive. “Fuck baby, gonna—ugh, gonna cum,” he pants, through his kisses, like doesn’t want to spend a moment not kissing you,

“Where do you want it?”

“Inside, please,” you whine, “cum inside.”

So he does.

Of course he does.

His imagination goes wild just by your words and he can’t take it anymore.

He lets himself go.

He paints your insides white.

Jerks against you like you’re the only thing keeping him sane.

Yoongi collapses on top of you breathless and sticky.

Both of you are panting, limbs unable to move.

You wrap your arms against him, pressing him closer to you.

For a few minutes, you just stay like that, listening to each other’s breaths.

To the storm outside.

You can feel him leaking from inside of you. And then you part. He lays next to you, his eyes darting to look at you.

Neither of you says a thing.

Because when the end comes, there is nothing else left to say.

Nothing to soothe the ache.

To wipe away the pain.

Your eyes meet his and you think how your knees would give out if you were standing now. Thank God you aren't.

Yoongi smiles at you gently.

He interlocks your fingers with his, squeezes them like that’s going to do any good right now. “You know this is the last time, right?” You prop yourself up, yank your hand from his soft grasp.

Detach slowly from him—or at least, try to.

“Mhm.”

“I’m sorry, Yoon.”

“Me too, baby,” he whispers, lifting his eyes to the ceiling because Yoongi can’t look at you without coming apart right now. “So fucking sorry.”

taglist: @park-littlecrane @decadentcoffeecandy @gyozajoon @knjs95s @jajabro @peacenpigeons @supertopsecretleebit @glossyfanfic @mar-lo-pap @kittyyyminnn @kiki-zb @stelliferousphoenix @jennierubyjem @ot72025 @marissarive @yohoosoju @diame93 @ryryvna @taekritimin123 @baechugff @enfppuff @amarawayne @134340-kr @mikrokookiex @futuristicenemychaos

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oddlylovingaddiction · 2 months ago

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What Clark Kent (Superman) as a your yandere would be like…

Tw: Morally bad behaviour and stuff that nobody should do, and if you catch a guy doing this beat him call the cops.

Yandere Clark Kent is probably the best (worst??) yandere because no way are you ever catching his ass.

He definitely fell for you in his civilian form. I think he accidentally saw you committing a single kind act, like let’s say you pet a stray animal, helped an old lady cross the street, comforted a crying child or something else entirely and that’s how he first got hooked. He won’t immediately become a yandere but after a phew months of just being aware of you as a person, his obsession would escalate.

Good thing about Clark is his love for humanity. He will definitely not cross your boundaries. Tell him you don’t like being hugged or kissed a certain way? Done. He’s definitely not one to force you to do what you don’t want. He also won’t isolate you from friends or family instead he chooses to win them over.

However…. He definitely will create situations where you’re required to get close to him. Great example is that he’ll befriend you and then one day, your apartment gets suddenly shut down because turns out the landlord was actually a criminal and when you go to your friends or family to stay with them for a bit while you get your shit together, they all coincidently have reasons they can’t let you stay until the last one your left to turn to is him. During the time you stay with him he’ll definitely turn the charm to the MAX. For example, First thing you wake up to is the smell of cooking in the morning, and he’ll serve you your favourite breakfast but he will act like he had no idea it was your favourite.

He uses super hearing a lot to collect information on your likes and dislikes, also because when he goes to sleep at night he likes to hear your heartbeat as he falls asleep it soothes him. He also uses his powers to protect you from danger, walking home alone in the dark? He’ll eliminate any threat.

When you finally get together, he’ll be the most perfect boyfriend ever. Absolute gentleman. He’ll also be an absolute fool in love, you’ll catch him just occasionally staring at you like you’re the most beautiful sunset. he’ll sometimes randomly grab your hand to kiss it.

I think he’d finally tell you he was Superman when you both are cuddled up in bed. “My love… I have something to confess, but I need you to swear on the moon and stars you won’t tell a soul.” He’d probably say, making you super nervous because it sounds like he committed a murder or something. “I’m Superman.” To which you’d laugh like a maniac. You’d know if your boyfriend was superman right?! Besides your lovely boyfriend couldn’t be— then he steps out of bed and lifts the entire bed up with you on it with one hand. Without struggling.

Shit your boyfriend is superman.

That definitely took some time to process and to talk about your future together, however you ultimately decide to stay with him. Thank god really because if you chose to break up with him… he won’t do anything. he’d just make sure you never date anyone else, Like your newest date suddenly cancelled because of a leak in his house or something that type of thing if you broke up. Cause if you ain’t dating him you dating NO ONE LOL.

Once he tells you he’s superman he’ll definitely propose. But he’ll be superrrr particular about it. Like he’ll measure your finger just right, get your dream ring (screw the cost, if he can’t buy it, he’ll just become a welder and make it for you.), he’ll plan the perfect spot etc.

“I never knew I would fall so deeply in love with someone, to the point where if you were to disappear it would be like the sun had stopped shining. That’s how much I love you, you’re my sun. my dear, will you please marry me?”

Bro starts crying when you say yes like he didn’t expect you to say yes to the most jaw dropping proposal ever. He still picks you up and hugs you gently when you do though…

The wedding is also perfect by the way, he makes sure every step of the way it’s the perfect wedding for the both of you. He’ll make sure nothing is too overwhelming for you and is always agreeable. If something makes you anxious he’ll remind you “I don’t care how the wedding will be as long as I marry you. I’d marry you in the middle of a desert.”

NSFW and mention of pregnancy but it’s short & optional UNDER CUT

By the way for your first night after you get married… save your stamina up. Best advice because he’s showing all his possessive sides, he’ll growl in your ear when putting you into the meanest mating press, “Who’s your husband.” To which you’ll be forced to scream out his name over and over again. He’ll keep fucking you until the sun comes up.

And if you can (and want to duh.) get pregnant do expect to be having to take a phew tests in a phew weeks.

#🩷 ~ short fics || oddlylovingaddiction #x reader #gender neutral reader #reader insert #gn reader #superman x reader #superman x y/n #superman x you #dc blurb #dc x y/n #dc x you #dc x reader #clark kent x reader #clark kent x y/n #clark kent x you #yandere superman #yandere dc

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stunie · 10 months ago

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TIMELESS! ❤︎ — Umemiya Hajime x f!reader ﾉ Sfw ﾉ Established relationship ﾉ Submission for @17020’s ORQUÍDEAS event ^ ^ ﾉ 1.3K

IGUAL QUE UN ÁNGEL — To love is to adore, to be vulnerable, and devoted. To him, you're just like an angel, loving him purely and unconditionally. He's eternally grateful for your presence, making him feel as if he's God's favorite.

Summary: Umemiya just wants to surprise you with origami flowers.

“What are you doing?” Kotoha peers over at Umemiya from behind the counter, broom in one hand and the other resting lightly on her hip.

It didn’t take her very long to take note of the pile of crumpled paper surrounding him slowly accumulating throughout the night, but he doesn’t seem to pay it any mind even when the fan blows a couple sheets onto his lap.

Umemiya’s still hunched over the counter, calloused fingers working to diligently fold the tiny sliver of paper back onto itself as he hums a gentle tune. “..Ah!” He finally takes notice of her after she’s moved directly in front of him, “I’m trying to make a flower.”

Her first thought is to question why he’s chosen to do origami at Pothos fifteen minutes before closing, but she closes her mouth as soon as her eyes catch onto the redness of his fingers. If he wasn’t so focused, she’s sure he would feel the sting in an instant.

Although he doesn’t seem to care very much about that right now.

“You should take breaks too, you know,” she leans over the counter with a heavy sigh. “Need some help?”

His eyebrows raise a bit at the offer, and he’s quick to start nodding only a second after. “I want to surprise her,” his eyes visibly soften at the thought, “but I’m not sure how to make them look better.”

“Give it to me.”

She doesn’t bother trying to hide the smile that starts to tug at her lips when he reaches forward to drop a new piece of paper into her hand. His fingers are shaky, swollen red at the tips and she wonders how he’s even able to control them so well in such a state.

He’s really fallen hard for you.

“Don’t worry. Watch me,” she says through a grin, “it’s easy once you get the hang of it.”

“Is it?”

He’s practically bouncing in his seat, watching closely as she tucks a stray bit of hair behind her ear before she’s slowly moving to fold the paper, his eyebrows furrowed as he tries his best to commit the process to memory. “Be gentle when you shape the petals. Like this… and that’s it. See? It’s not so bad.”

“That’s no fair. You made it look so easy.”

Kotoha lets out a gentle sigh before glancing at her broom again. Usually she’d be finishing up by now…

“Wait— don’t leave yet. Watch me make the next one…please?”

She doesn’t have it in her to make him leave. “..Fine.”

Umemiya takes in a sharp inhale before he’s shakily taking another piece in his hands, cheek puffing out as he tries to replicate Kotoha’s flower. He just wants to make it pretty for you. Making you a paper bouquet wasn’t just some random idea that popped into his mind one day. He had been thinking about how to make you smile a little harder for a couple days now, and this seemed perfect.

He just hopes he can do it right for you.

It’s been almost one year since he’s picked up this routine of giving you a flower every time he sees you. They’re never the same either. On some days, he gives you one singular flower that he thought looked prettier than the others. On another day, he decides to give you a full bouquet that’s decorated with ribbons and bows.

The smile you always give him in response never gets old no matter how many times he sees it. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get entirely used to it either. There’s really only one issue, and it’s the fact that he absolutely hates to see your precious smile falter when you remember that flowers can’t live for eternity.

Every part of him wishes he had the power to change that for you.

“Haji..” your voice sounds beautiful even when it’s just a memory playing out in his head, “I’m a little sad. One of the petals fell off today— and I’m taking really good care of it too. I just wish the flowers you give me could last forever, you know?”

Maybe his paper flowers could make you smile for just a little longer. Even if it was only one second longer— he’s sure it would be worth it.

“Like this?” Umemiya raises his flower up, the paper wrinkled and crooked from making a couple wrong folds, but the shape looks almost identical to the one she made. “Mhm,” Kotoha smiles at him, “you got it.”

He loses track of how much longer he spends at Pothos after that. Time seems to fly by as soon when he starts to get better at folding, and at some point- he forgets the concept of time entirely. It’s so natural for him to get lost in the moment once he starts thinking of you again.

He thinks about what you might be doing right now. He wonders how you’ll react to his bouquet, and his face breaks out into a deep blush when the thought of you missing him comes to mind.

Kotoha doesn’t think she’s seen him this happy in a long time.

The scratches on his fingers don’t sting anymore when he finally gets to see his hard work pay off. It’s early in the morning— the first rays of sunlight illuminating your face perfectly, and you really look like an angel standing in front of him.

Your face lights up as soon as he offers it to you, his fingers brushing against your own when you bring your hands together to gingerly cup the gift. You hold it like it’s made of glass. You always hold him like he’s made of glass too.

“Haji… this is for me?” He feels his heart skip a beat when he hears his name roll off your tongue, and it starts beating a little faster once you glance at him again. He never really got used to your gaze either. “You made these?”

You bring them closer to your face to inspect each petal, and he can’t hide the sheepish smile he gives you at the sound of your cheerful voice. “How pretty! They must have taken you a while, huh? So detailed.”

It takes you a little more time to finally notice the wrinkles on them, and then the realization finally hits you. “Wait.. this really must have taken you a while. Haji… let me see your hands.”

He tenses.

“Ah, don’t worry about that!” Umemiya is quick to give you a dismissive wave of his hands, frantically moving them back and forth— but he freezes in place as soon as your fingers wrap around one of his wrists.

He falls completely silent when your brows furrow a bit, taking in the sight of bandages and scratches littering each and every one of his fingers. They look swollen too.

“The bandages make them look a little worse… doesn’t it? I know. But don’t you worry! I can’t feel a thing. Not one thing-”

He forgets how the concept of time works again the second he feels your lips ghost along his fingertips. It’s gentle. You’re always this gentle with him, and he starts to think the world might be treating him a little too kindly. What good deed did he do to warrant someone like you falling for him?

You kiss each finger. Slowly.

His cheeks heat up more at this, and he’s suddenly aware of just how loud his heart sounds when it pounds against his chest like this. He doesn’t even realize that his mouth has fallen open into a surprised ‘o’ until you start laughing at him. Your laugh is soft too.

“Thank you, Haji. I love you.” You smile at him, and he swears for the thousandth time that day that he’d rather die than fail to protect that angelic smile he’s fallen so hard for.

dividers by @cafekitsune <3 how cute !!!

#wind breaker #wind breaker x reader #wind breaker (satoru nii)#umemiya #umemiya hajime x reader #hajime umemiya #umemiya fluff #wind breaker fluff #windbreaker x reader #windbreaker umemiya #umemiya x you #wind breaker umemiya #windbreaker x you #windbreaker #wbk x reader #wbk umemiya

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deer1nheadlight · 2 months ago

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j a i l b r e a k

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big brother!Shimura Tenko x little sister!Reader

Rejecting Tenko is never a good idea. Running from him is even further down the good ideas list. Your brother loves you so very much, and nothing may stands in the way of his mission, not even your mom nor yourself. It's high time he stopped stealing your panties.

WARNING: rape, non-con to dub-con, incest, somnophilia, panty kink, breeding kink, manipulation, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, almost caught sex, squirting. MDNI. Please block me and block the tags, as I would block you for your benefit if you do not like the content.

A/n: This is set in a quirkless alternate universe and we're fixing that one abominable character in my baby boy's life iykyk. I'm using his real name, and Tenko is 100% a pro gamer in our era change my mind (you can't). If he got to grow up normally, would his personality be different? Yep, absolutely. Am I gonna consider that fact here? Absolutely not <3

Word count: 7460.

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Your washed panties have been smelling a bit strange recently. Not just one or two, but the whole drawer of them. It's not a bad smell exactly, but it's this sort of musty musk that you'd expect more from a guy. You've never had such a problem before, and you're unconvinced that it's your poor pussy’s fault. You take care of yourself well, after all.

Another, probably bigger, problem is that they've also been disappearing gradually. You can't wrap your head around it at all, especially when a pair that you thought you'd lost forever suddenly reappears one day at the back of the drawer, even though you could have sworn you had emptied the whole thing to look for them before.

They're a pair of bunny-patterned underwear that's both cute and comfortable, perfect for any sports day. You'd always reach for them first after doing laundry until they suddenly went missing, after which you realized a few pairs were gone as well. But now they're here again, and you're crouching on the floor inspecting them as if they've committed first-degree murder. They… look exactly as you remember. Well-worn, with their tag cut off because it kept digging into your skin and several bunnies running around innocently.

But, they smell surprisingly normal. Like freshly washed laundry, what all your panties used to smell like — which ruins your last theory as to why your whole drawer has been taking on that musk. You were thinking that the wood itself might be emitting the scent, which then got on them. Theoretically, if that was the case, then the pair that have been lost inside there the longest should have the strongest smell as well. Yet, it's the opposite.

You're at your wit's end. You've tried washing them in hot water, washing them by hand, drying them in the direct sun, soaking them in detergent, just about every method the internet told you to try and at first, it would work, getting rid of the musk, but after a few days, that scent would return again. Maybe there really is something wrong with your lady part itself?

As you begin to pull down your skirt, intending to try and diagnose yourself, the door to your room swings open with no warning. Your startled screech does nothing to deter your intruder, who doesn't seem the slightest bit fazed to see you on the floor, hunching over a small pile of your own panties.

“Dinner's ready, be down quick or I'm eating all the karaage.” He grumbles, and as quickly as he came, he left, shutting the door on your floundering form. You curse him extra loud for good measure, but if he heard, he didn't bother to snark back. Damn Tenko and his inability to knock. You've told him a million times to stop barging in like that, but despite his ability to memorize every little fucking ability and stat of the characters in his game, he can't seem to remember your request.

Scooping up your clothes and shoving them haphazardly back in the drawer, you decide to continue the investigation another day. Maybe you'll just have to accept the strange scent, as embarrassing as it is to admit that you might smell like a man. You rush downstairs to have dinner, hopping into the seat next to your brother as usual. Tenko threatened to eat all the food, but like always, he gives you anything in his bowl that you want and picks off the things you don't like.

“If you keep letting her get away with not eating carrots, she's not gonna be able to run fast like a hare!” Hana, your eldest sister, chides him and tries to knock away his chopsticks reaching into your bowl. She's often had to bear witness to Tenko’s excessive babying of you ever since you were born. Not that she babies you two much less, but her little brother is probably bordering on sheltering you now, and sometimes she worries it's terrible for the both of you.

“That makes no sense, and you know it. Plus, didn't the turtle win the race?” He rebuts, taking your carrot pieces anyway, and is rewarded with your happy grin.

“Speaking of, when is your next race, hun?” Across from you, your mom asks. You stop stuffing your face with food to think and suddenly remember what caused you to dig through your panties drawer earlier: your missing elastic underwear, specifically designed for long races. You know for a fact that the washing machines can't have swallowed them all, because you haven't even washed them in the first place. And your last practice was just three days ago, so you can't have forgotten to use them for that long either.

Strangely, all three pairs aren't in your hamper nor in your drawer. And they're terribly expensive; you don't know how you can explain this to your parents. “Kid?” Your dad asks, pulling you back from your spacing out. “Isn't it pretty soon? This Saturday, if I recall,” Tenko helps out. He always remembers your schedule, even when you forget it yourself, and you nod appreciatively. But your earlier scrunched-up expression causes Mom to worry. Maybe a lie won't hurt anyone.

“I… I think I may have outgrown some of my clothes. Or maybe I've gained some weight, or muscle?” Your dad raises an eyebrow when you don't seem sure of it yourself but luckily doesn't question you. Mom claps her hand, “Oh? Why don't you bring her shopping tomorrow, Tenko? You're dying to treat her with your big boy money, aren't you?” Beside you, your brother blushes slightly as he turns away huffing but doesn't deny the accusation.

Tenko is apparently some big shot in his industry or something. Ever since he started making money, he's been treating the family quite often and also saving up. However, he refuses to move out and favors splurging on you so obviously that everyone would make fun of him. Every weekend, he forces you to eat out with him for no reason in particular, and your closet is full of outfits you've only been able to wear once.

You don't quite understand the games he's lauded for being good at either, you only know that he's popular enough that the boys in your class were astonished to learn you're the sister of “Shigaraki Tomura.” Nevertheless, just like how he comes to every single one of your races, you also come to all of his tournaments. You tried to learn how to play his games once but gave up after you cramped your hand trying to reach the keys. You're much more dexterous with your legs anyway.

Usually, you don't mind going out with him for clothes shopping, but on this occasion, you're planning on getting both everyday panties and sporty underwear. You’ll probably have to visit a lingerie shop, and dragging a guy, especially your brother, along would just be awkward. So before Tenko could even pretend to be bothered about taking you out, you interjected, “Can you take me instead, Mom? Or maybe Hana-nee, if you're busy tomorrow.”

His chopsticks stop moving, and if you aren't so in tune with his body language, you probably wouldn't have noticed either. But you do, because Tenko and you share a deeper bond with each other than anyone in your lives.

“Why?” He already beats Mom to it before she can begin to ask. You want to answer, but in your struggle to find the words to dance around mentioning underwear in the middle of a family meal, he's already jumped to a conclusion. “I guess you're too good to hang around me anymore, huh?” He bitterly grits, a piece of carrot falls out from his bowl.

“No! That's not it, why would you say that?” You frown harshly. Tenko has this terrible habit of expecting you to randomly abandon him the moment you don't openly receive all of his affection. As a child, you learn quickly to never push him away. Why he latches onto you instead of literally anyone else, you don't know, but you love him enough to welcome it all willingly. Which is why you're offended to know he has so little faith in you. He can be so stupid sometimes.

Your brother doesn't respond and chooses to finish the rest of his food in silence, promptly cleaning up and then leaving the moment he's done, even when Grandpa tempts him with ohagi for dessert. Your mood stays low for the rest of the evening, and it doesn't help when you later on find two of your missing sporty underwear at the very bottom of your hamper, hidden inside your running shorts as if you've forgotten to separate them. The whole argument could have been avoided.

The next day, after Hana took you shopping, you knocked on Tenko’s door trying to make amends. Aside from underwear, you even bought a new skirt, which you hope if you pretend to try on for the first time for him like how you would if he'd taken you out, he would stop sulking.

“And, look, I even brought you my portion of ohagi I saved from yesterday!” You yell into the door, and finally it swings open. But before you could get a word in, the plate of mochi disappears from your hand, and he shuts you out again. You jiggle the door handle and rap on it insistently.

“Nii-san! Quit being childish! It's not a big deal, what the hell!” You slump against the wooden barrier. It's not a big deal, you said, blissfully unaware of how further and further away you keep running from Tenko. Your legs are really too quick, sometimes he wonders if he should cut their tendons off once you finish up your last year and move out with him. You used to rely on him for everything, from walking your first steps, to bathing yourself, to doing one plus one, he would teach you all he knew. Now that you've grown so big, you demand more and more independence from him every day. If only he'd been born a lot earlier, he would have stolen you away as soon as he could and not taught you anything so that you would always stay with him.

Your begging is cute; Tenko wants to listen to it forever. That is, until you become impatient and yell out something not cute. Something that maybe Hana has always wanted to say but doesn't have the guts to.

“Stop being so controlling of me!”

You regret it the moment it comes out of your mouth. By instinct, you know it's wrong, whether or not it's true. Your big brother has devoted his entire self to you since the moment you opened your little eyes. Despite being only 3 years older, he takes care of you just as much as your parents did. Hana can't even hold a candle to how carefully he watches over you. Even now, when you're technically an adult, you're still choosing those animal print panties when your friends are shopping for pearl thongs, evidence of his constant hovering. But still, calling him controlling is violating an unspoken rule, because he's never actually forced you to do anything. You yourself enable his behaviors by always being such a good baby sister.

The door slowly cracks open to reveal your brother. He's glaring at you so meanly you feel tears welling up in your eyes. In the dim hallway light, his eyes almost look red, and coupled with his recently dyed pale blue hair, he seems like a different person entirely. His dry lips tell you he's forgotten to drink enough water again, but it's hardly the time to remind him when he's towering over you so suffocatingly.

“I-I’m sorr—”

“Go away then.”

That's two firsts today. You've never even insinuated that you want your brother to stop being involved in your life, and Tenko has never told you to go anywhere without him, least of all away from him. You feel as if a bucket of ice got dumped over your head, and at the same time hellfire licks your heels. Your words hurt him, and his words hurt you, so you do what you do best: run back to your room and stew in your own guilt-colored anger.

By Saturday, when you're having your next relay race, you siblings still haven't reconciled. Tenko has been shut in his room the whole week and only comes out for food and to go to the gym. You torture yourself with math homework even when you desperately need help and can't even ask Hana since she's gone on a camping trip until Monday. Your parents and grandparents tried their best to ease the tension but couldn't get you to make up. When things are awkward for the youngest and the middle child, everyone is affected. Even worse when the only other child is gone. No one laughs at the adults’ jokes, and even your normally stoic dad feels awkward as well.

In the girls locker room, you take your time getting ready. You're afraid of stepping out of the doors and facing what your gut is already telling you. Irrationally, you hope that if you try to delay the inevitable, maybe it won't come after all. But by the time the announcer starts his second round introduction, you know you're out of time.

Tenko isn't in his usual seat on the bleachers. In fact, he isn't here at all. You tell yourself that it doesn't bother you and take your frustration out on the tracks. When your teammates cheer and congratulate you for securing the team's place in the finals, you only feel more lonely because he still hasn't rushed up to sweep you away from the commotion.

Dad often has to come home late, Mom needs to take care of the house, Grandma and Grandad can't always make it to your games because of the heat, and Hana can be busy with university work. Only Tenko, who has never missed a single one of your races, nor a milestone, nor a life event, was always there to hug you despite your sweat and tell you how proud of you he is. For the first time, you experience what you think your beloved older brother feels each time you grow up a little.

No one can tell that you're crying a little in the shower. Your friend gets off a few stops before yours, and the rest of the bus ride home is silent as your sadness turns to anger. You've never had to go home by bus after an event before. Tenko would always drive you to get ice cream afterwards. He's horrible, absolutely evil to abandon you like this, all over not getting to take you out one time.

When the front door slams open without a greeting, your mom peeks around the corner just in time to see you stomping upstairs to your room. She knew something was up when Tenko came home without you. When he left earlier, she thought he'd finally stopped being stubborn and went to make peace, but apparently that was not the case. Being the good mother that she is, she decides to make sure your favorite dish comes out perfect today to celebrate your win.

Passing Tenko’s room, you stomp extra hard to make a point. If he's got any remorse, now would be the best time to show his ugly face and apologize. But he doesn't, even when you wait for another moment at the foot of the stairs to your room. Your anger boiling over, you walk back to confront him yourself and barge inside without knocking, like how he loves to do to you so much, only to find… the room empty. Which is strange, because you clearly saw his shoes at the entrance, and his bathroom’s light is not on.

The confusion quickly deflates you, and you walk back to your room without bothering to stomp around. That would be your mistake, although there is no conceivable universe where you would be able to avoid this event anyway. Tenko probably wouldn't have stopped even if he could hear you thundering back to your room, only that he might have been able to prepare better. Because as of right now, sitting half-naked at the edge of your bed is your older brother with one of his hands wrapped around his—his thing.

Your panties drawer is open, and the neatly folded rows of garments are messily strewn about the floor. In the palm he's fucking into are your panties; the stripes tell you that it's the newly bought pair you were wearing only yesterday. In his other hand, the one currently right up against his mouth, is the pair of elastic underwear that went missing a little over a week ago. It's turned a dark blue from the usual cyan, soaked through with what you can only infer is his spit.

“Ten…ko… nii-san?” Your brain hasn't caught up, but you manage to croak. And like the cruelest joke, spurts of semen spill out of his closed fist not a second later. As if—as if he's enjoying your reaction too. There's the most depraved grin stuck on his face that makes you the most frightened you have been in your life. He leans forward a little and spreads open his palm as if to show his cum off to you.

“Look what you do to me, brat.” Without warning, he flicks his wrist and the fluids fly across the room, landing on your exposed legs and thighs. You think some drops got on your face too, but you don't want to process that right now. His sudden movement causes you to flinch backwards and like a spindly-legged fawn, you trip over air to fall on your own butt. It's hard to make out what emotion you're feeling right now because fear, shock, and confusion are screaming for first place, creating a cacophony of noise so loud you start to actually hear a ringing in your ear. You're petrified, the realization of what happened strangles you like a snake. You could hardly breathe, but you know this familiar scent that is permeating the room.

“You're why—why my underwear has been—”

“Been missing and smelling like my cock, yeah. Honestly, why were you even embarrassed to ask me to go panty shopping?” He stands. “Coulda saved me the huge headache had you just been honest,” a step, “I would have driven you to that mall in the next prefecture,” another step, “be your damn pack mule like usual,” he's in front of you now. Your room has never felt smaller; there's too little air and you're suffocating. You're trembling, shaking, and scrambling away, about to either run or roll down the flights of stairs but two hands wrap around your ankles and yank, pulling you back inside. The door slams closed without locking.

Five fingers lock your jaw shut before you can let out a single yelp. The wooden flooring is too cold to be pinned down on in just your shorts and T-shirt. A choked sob wracks your body, which can't even writhe around because the weight of a grown man is on top of you. Where did he learn to apprehend people like a cop? You can't even kick up at his exposed crotch, you have no grip and no oxygen.

“Scream, and you'll never see me again.” His voice is the only clear thing in this situation, because your eyes are useless from the tears and your mind is shutting down. Never see him again? As in, he will run away and abandon you forever like today? After all of this, isn't that a good thing? It should be, but instead of yelling at the top of your lungs for Mom the moment he releases the hand muffling your mouth, you bite down on your own lips to stay silent instead. You can excuse this, you can keep quiet. Maybe he was too pent-up from never having a girlfriend, even at 21. Maybe he watched too much porn and was possessed by lust. Maybe he is just pranking you, a sick prank that was the idea of his friends.

Unfortunately, this makes you keep not breathing. You're turning pale and you don't even know it. Not until Tenko has to lean down to pry your lips apart with his teeth and force air down your windpipe do you remember the one basic bodily function you need to keep doing. Little by little, he feeds you the oxygen your dumb brain needs to work. After which it becomes a slow, sloppy kiss that mellows you out like a pacifier. You forget to struggle against his grip and your eyes become half-lidded on their own.

When he pulls away, a string of saliva still connects your mouths. He's smiling like he's genuinely happy, and his pupils look red like the other day. “See? Why can't you always be honest like this?” He cups your face, all five fingers caress your cheek and the thumb wipes away your tears. You give up wrangling with him because you know you can't overpower him, no matter how fast you can run. Since you can't fly, fight, or freeze, the only other option is to speak.

“I h-hate, hate—hic—you, nii-san! That w-was my firsh—first kiss,” you sound pathetic. It pains him to see you so boldly lie to his face. It seems that you still don't understand that he knows you and your body better than you know it yourself.

“Don't worry, it wasn't.” Even though you know that's not true, you can't confidently deny his statement when he's smiling so lovesickly like that. It scares you, and his next question scares you even more. “Do you never notice how you're so damp when you wake up in the morning?”

Your brother presses a kiss against your forehead. The act is anything but pure when his other hand is sliding your shirt up to your neck. It's more like a reminder to use your itty bitty brain.

“Remember your last birthday? When you had your first cocktail and beer?” He peppers kisses down your nose. “I strained my throat warning you not to pass out around men; you didn't fucking listen.” The kisses trail downward, deliberately missing your lips. “Any innocence you had was lost on that day, brat.”

No. No, no, no. No, that's not true. That day, he brought you to the bar after the family celebration. He was there, you were in good hands.

Ah.

You were in his hands. The same hands that are taking off your shirt, shorts, and bras right now, and are tying your wrists with the underwear strewn on the floor. Same hands that are picking your near-naked body up and laying you on the bed. You wished you had bought the cheap pairs that tear with a touch. The ones you have can hold up a suspension bridge.

“After every win, I'd reward you too. You're still too damn dumb to act so independent. Why do you think just a bottle of cider can knock anyone out cold, to this day? And that your pussy gets sore from running?”

It's so scary to be able to understand what he's insinuating. If only you were stupid enough to just take everything literally, maybe you wouldn't be crying again. He pushes your hands above your head, exposing you like a fish on the cutting board.

It's also scary when he doesn't act like how you imagine a rapist might act. You can't say it's molesting when his hands are petting you so tenderly. They're cold, and they soothe your burning skin, from your ribs to your waist, to down in between your thighs, then pressing against your still-clothed pussy. Instantly, you know something is wrong when Tenko pulls the gusset back and releases, it slaps against you with a splat instead of a noiseless pap. He grins because he knows that you know. You know that you're drenched.

“Hear that? I trained you well, didn't I?” You can only shake your head no, pressing your leg shut to prevent him from humiliating you further. It must be sweat, or maybe pee. You are really scared, after all. “Why are you, doing—hic—this? You're my br-brother, it's wrong!” You whisper between sobs. Why are you not screaming?

“Ah? Wrong? What's so wrong about being in love?” Large hands try to force your thighs apart. When your legs prove to be the harder limbs to manhandle, unlike your twig arms, he folds them upwards instead, bending you into the letter L. Your entire pussy is still accessible this way, but Tenko doesn't get to see your face. He has a love-hate relationship with this part of your body. On one hand, he would be happy to die between them. On the other, he wants to take them away so you can't run from him ever again. It's a blessing that his sanity is intact. Who knows what other versions of himself would do in another universe.

“What's so wrong with treating my girlfriend well?” Instead of taking off your panties, he did the opposite. Your brother pulls on the fabric so it would hug tighter against your pussy, the wet gusset outlines every one of your folds. Not that it even needed to, he's got his face pressed up all over your cunt and filmed it from so many angles, he could make a 3D model of it from memory. But touching your pussy and creaming it is arguably the best part, right up there with watching your knocked-out face make the lewdest expressions when you cum.

“And if you yell at me for being a little sister-fucking monster,” he pulls the fabric to the side, “then you're a fucking hypocrite, brat.” Three fingers plunge in at once without any warning, as if to prove a point. There is no resistance; your pussy accepts them greedily. You strain against the knots around your wrists and can no longer keep your legs in the air, they fall apart just like that. His meal looks a lot more appetizing now that he can always glance up to see your face.

“Why are you so wet knowing you've been raped in your sleep by your nii-san, huh?” His fingers keep pumping in and out of you roughly, every jerk makes sure to abuse your sweet spot inside and your clit outside. “You're still gushing when you know that your big brother is rubbing his cock on all your clean panties. That he likes putting the dirty ones in his mouth and on his dick.” His tongue replaces his thumb on your clit, swirling it around to make obscene noises, which still doesn't shut him up. “I would have marked them with my cum if dried semen wasn't visible. I bet your cunt remembers my cock. It must leak all the time when you wear them.”

It's hard to focus on crying when you're being eaten out for the first time—that you're lucid for, anyway. His rambling doesn't make sense, his scent can't be the cause of why your pussy gets wet at random times. It should have been the opposite, that your pussy discharges more and is causing the smell. But at this point, you can't tell. Things you thought weren't possible are happening in front of your eyes; or, well, your pussy.

It's getting harder to think too, something is welling up as his hand increases its speed. He's sucking your clit lightly, lapping up your juice as it spills out and the other hand reaches up to pinch your nipple. You can't stop it, your hands are bound, but the sensation feels oddly familiar, as if you've experienced it many times before in your dream.

“Hey, have I told you before? You can squirt sometimes. It's why I have so many towels. But wet your bedsheet today, slutty sister.” So you did, at his command. However, Tenko is cruel. Instead of letting the stream runs its natural course, he pulls the gusset of your panties back in place, interrupting the spurts, which forces you to feel everything run down your butt. You do it involuntarily, and you almost scream because you thought you'd peed yourself. Though when you peek at yourself, it's a clear liquid; the kind you can only make when you overhydrate yourself, which you didn't do. You've only heard hushed whispers about the ‘squirting’ phenomenon from your friends, that only some women might do it. You didn't think you'd find out that you're one of them today.

Up was down and down was up for a moment in time. After your first orgasm, you finally understand what all the fuss around it is about and why your girl friends coveted it so. The experienced ones bemoan their boyfriends’ inadequacy, complaining about how they have to fake it all the time. Isn't it nice that your very own sibling, the one who loves you so very much, can give you one as easily as drinking water? Or, in this case, sucking the water out of your panties.

Then a bite on your neck grounds you back to Earth. It hurts a bit, but you don't think your skin broke since it doesn't sting. Tenko lazily crawls up to plant a proper kiss on you after that, making you taste the remnants of yourself. It's not as good as he makes it look, but the strangest, stupidest thought crosses your mind about what his cock might taste like instead. You immediately write it off as an intrusive thought born from your high. For some reason, your bound wrists that were above your head slowly draw down to wrap your arms around his neck. You feel his lips smile against yours. And he doesn't say anything, doesn't taunt you, or humiliate you. Tenko knows you really haven't broken just yet, but for this moment, he likes to pretend it's a year from now and you're pulling him in with love.

After a few minutes and you're aware again, you push him away. Then you're back putting on your indignant act, all high and mighty as if you hadn't just squirted from a bit of cunnilingus. You cum so quickly when you're awake, he'd have to eat you out for at least two orgasms before you'd start squirting in your sleep. Sometimes, he wishes he could jailbreak you as easily as he can with your phone and laptop. If only there was a manual on how to turn you into his good incest doll quickly, he'd read every page and learn every technique. But it's alright, he'll figure it out himself. For now, it's time to remind you who owns you.

“Flip over, ass in the air, baby.” Of course you don't obey immediately, only with a few slaps to your pussy and a pinch to your nipple do you squirm onto your stomach to hide away. He makes you present your butt to him in the most embarrassing way possible, with your panties clinging onto your crevices like a second skin from the mess earlier. Finally, finally your brother takes them off. In a normal situation, that would be a major cause of concern, but for you it's a relief to stop feeling like you've just wet yourself. He folds them neatly on your bedside table, away from the rest on the floor.

“This is my memento for today, you know? I'm gonna dry it and sniff it whenever I miss you.” The imagery is enough to make you cry, from your eyes to your pussy. You can't understand it, you feel gross but it is so happy, it betrays you for the nth time. “Cause you're awake today. And I'm finally fucking you from the back, baby sis…” A suspiciously delayed spurt of liquid escapes you, interrupting him. “Ah? Hah, so you get off on me reminding you that you're my littlest sister, huh?”

“No!” You deny too quickly and he chuckles. It's a terrible habit of yours, can't lie to your brother to save your life.

“Really? Don't want a reminder of who this cunny belongs to?” He taps on it gently, as if questioning it and not you. “Remember, it's big brother's property. Ten - ko - nii’s. Now let me fuck it properly so it can't forget.” At his words, you see the black hoodie he's had on tossed to the side and feel a hot rod shoved between your butt cheeks. It rubs up and down, threatening to slip further south and press inside of you. Terror rises again, this would be your first time, no matter what he told you before. It feels way bigger than three fingers, and everyone told you the first time would hurt like being ripped apart.

But when he sinks his cock in with one fluid stroke, you feel no pain, just unimaginably full and out of breath. It feels like he's inside your stomach, or your womb, and his veins keep rubbing against your pleasure spot inside, making your vision swim. The new position must be doing things to Tenko as well if his staggered inhales are any indicator. He's glad you can't see his face, it may make you pee yourself if you catch the feral way he's snarling to not moan out loud. Globs of drool drip down his chin to land on your anus, sliding down more to help lubricate your entrance, if it even needed help in the first place. He has to leave that other hole alone today, it needs to be worshipped properly on its own another time.

Being a good big brother, he allows you to catch your breath. But then, you both hear thuddings that aren't the ones from your hearts. They're from the floor, from outside. Someone is coming up to your room. Either that, or they're going to go do laundry. Tenko bites his lips to stop a groan because your cunt is clamping down harder. The thudding is right outside now, and it soon slows to a halt.

The door isn't locked. Out of everyone in the house, only Tenko would barge in with no warning. But sometimes, Hana does too, especially if she's excited. He leans down, presses his defined abs onto your back so you can feel every ridge and whispers in your ear, “Why don't you scream for help, huh?”

“Hun, are you alright?” Your mom knocks lightly. Thank gods, it's Mom. But oh gods, it's Mom. Her middle child is diddling her youngest on the girl's own bed inside the room right now, she might get a heart attack if she opens the door. She's checking up on you after your little attitude show earlier. If you yell, she'd come in straight away and stop this madness.

“Why aren't you yelling for Mom? Don't you hate this?” You do, you don't. You don't know, he's being so mean. Why is he goading you into getting him caught? And oh god, why is he starting to move? It's a terrible, slow rhythm that's more appropriate for lovemaking than fucking you from behind. You apologize to your mother in your head profusely. The two abominations that came out of her are copulating just on the other side of the door, or more accurately, one is raping the other. If she turns the handle, your once normal family might just disintegrate to dust.

“Hun? Are you there?” She knocks again, and you have to answer soon, or she'll come in and check on you herself. In your ear, Tenko breathes, “Hey, just scream, and you'll never see me again.”

It's the same line that he used earlier, but it's taken on a different meaning now. If you scream, he will most likely get thrown in jail, get disowned, and get ostracized. You'd be saved, never have to see your rapist big brother again. But then, in a moment of extreme wisdom, you realize you'd be the one abandoning him. You don't want that. You'd hate that.

“Y-yeah, Mom! I'm here. I'm o-o-okay,” you swallow your spit and try to focus in spite of your melting mind.

“Dear? Are you crying? I know you've been upset with your brother. Speaking of, do you know where he is? I could have sworn he came home earlier. He even told me how you won!” She asks, and you suck in a moan that's threatening to come out as Tenko reaches down to touch your clit. He's still pumping into you, not even letting up as you try to speak. In fact, when you have to answer, he seems to thrust in even deeper and harder. It's unfair, especially when he gets to bite down on your shoulder to stifle his noises. It makes you want to make him anxious as well.

“Yeah, he—he's in my room, actually. We're making ou- up, making up!” A hand grabs your hair and pulls back, forcing you to get on your elbows instead of resting your cheek on the pillow.

“Oh! Good, you're in there, Tenko?” Her voice is a lot more chipper now. Your poor mother, clearly she's thinking her sweet children are reconciling and peace will once again be attained in the household, clueless to the fact that they're actually trying to fuck up the family tree. Without missing a single beat, he answers her, “Yep, I'm apologizing to her. We're having a chat. Can we have dinner later?”

“Alright, hun. I'm sure everyone will understand. Make sure to talk, okay?” She happily reiterates and leaves. The moment her footsteps start to fade, a sharp smack reverberates off the walls. Your butt immediately turns a cute pink, and your pussy clenches sinfully. Booming laughters comes from behind you, smug and cruel as if he knew you would cover for him all along.

“What'd ya want to happen, hah? Wanna get back at me? When I'm being such a good big brother too. Say it.” He yanks your hair lightly and slaps your ass again when you don't respond, a handprint forming.

“You're a, you're a good b-big brudder!” You blabber through squeals and breathy moans. It feels too good. Your brother shouldn't be making you feel this way, but somewhere inside your brain, you understand that only your brother can make you feel this way. “Yeah? Now the place I'm knocking on is your cervix. Past that is your womb, where my cum belongs. I'm gonna—fuck, gonna breed my baby sister. What do you think?”

“Noo! P-Pull ouuut! I, I, don't wannaa—wanna get p-pregnant!” Mewling it out like that sounds more like an invitation than anything. "W-well, too fucking bad. I'm creaming my lil sis' tight cunny a-and, sh-shit—and seeding it today.” He releases your hair all of a sudden, making you hang your head limply, too fucked out to use more muscles. Then you feel a pressure on your lower stomach, and you open your eyes to see that a hand is pressing down on it. You can now feel every drag of his cock in and out of you even more vividly, stirring up your insides and you can't do anything but leak more slick at the disturbing sight.

“Feel that? I'm in y-your stomach—my little wife’s stomach. If you get your period in a few days, I'm spanking this stomach until it gives me a baby. S-so make sure it takes today,” he moves his other hand to toy with your button again, tapping it even more roughly than how he'd treat his keyboard. The squelching noises from his brutal fucking fill the entire room and your head, you're afraid everyone downstairs may just hear it. This is the first time being on the third floor has done you any good. You know your bedsheet is drenched, just like Tenko wants it to be, because your knees are slipping and sliding against the copious fluids from your baby-making.

It's genuinely scary, the threat of impregnation. You're much too young, you only just got your university acceptance letter last week. But the more he says it, the more appealing it sounds somehow, being a stay-at-home mom and his trophy wife, married to the only guy you care for. No other boy your age could do what he does, they don't take care of your every want and need, don't treat you like a princess, don't understand your feelings at all. He's the only one who could, and in every classmate who confessed, you always try to find his look-alike. Your pleas become so weak and fake, they make him laugh aloud. “Tenko-niii, p-pleash don't d-do it…” So you say, but your hips are canting back and chasing his cock with every thrust.

A mean chuckle tickles your eardrum. “You suck at reverse psychology. Lucky for you, I love you so fucking much. Don't you love me too?” What can you say? You know the love he feels for you is different from yours for him, at least you think so. That's what you're trying to tell yourself. But it doesn't matter, because there's really only one answer to that question regardless of context. “I…I love y-you as well.”

Tenko kisses your cheek. How perverted, to do such a normal and sweet thing like he's still just your old Tenko and not the monster whose balls are slapping on your pubic bone. He pets your head, brushing away the hair strands sticking to your face. “C’mon, cum on my cock and I'll give you your treat…” Gentle, disgustingly tender voice coaxes you. You're ashamed of yourself for getting off on the dichotomy between his soft actions and the revolting things he says. It seems that he's also at his limit, his pumps become more erratic but much harder, trying to push himself as deep as he could. With every drag, his cockhead scrapes and teases your insides, kissing up your womb entrance as if it's welcoming him home. Your labias are spread apart by his index and his ring finger, for no discernable reason other than to expose your shameless pussy to him.

“I wish—I wish I could get past your cervix, but I can’t, so just make sure not to spill anything, okay?” He warns, and not a second later, he thrusts forward so forcefully you topple over from your elbow to land on your face, ass still up in the air. Immediately, burning hot ropes of thick semen fill your insides, pushing straight into your womb. The virile seeds stick to your walls, and he only thrusts shallowly to fuck them in further. Your pussy, finally getting its long-awaited creampie, convulses and pitifully sprays your orgasm all over Tenko’s lap. The addicting pleasure broke something in you. But he doesn't stop thrusting, his cock instead tries to bury itself deeper with every squeeze of your pussy. You think he has hooked a thumb inside your anus when you started cumming because you feel so full, too full. It doesn't help that like second nature, that hole starts to contract and immediately sucks on his thumb. It took everything in him not to pull out and share the load with your pretty anus as well.

Little rivers run down his thighs, painting him in your essence. When he leans back to peek at the mess, whatever cum he had left in his balls all spurts out at the sight of a creamy white ring around his cock every time he pulls away. You really are fast, to have managed to put a ring on him before he can even nail down a design, and it's the most gorgeous thing ever.

Spread apart on his dick, his little sister came and squirted for him. It's so much better to hear you helplessly beg him to pull out while your cunt is milking him for all he's worth than to fuck you when you're drugged and barely conscious. He doesn't know if he can go back to forcing himself on you that exact way anymore when he can now fuck your fully awake brain out of your skull whenever he wants. Though, that wouldn't be rape, now would it? Especially when you're already so addicted to his cock just from one round.

He hesitates to pull out, but a lightbulb goes off above his head when he's searching for something to plug you up with. He unties the panties on your wrist, now red and chafed, then slides one of them on you. You blearily blink your eyes open when he manhandles you on your side and pulls you into a cuddle, which shouldn't feel as comforting as it does with his cum trying not to escape your pussy. This soreness in your body, your legs, and your crotch is far too familiar, something you've always written off as muscle fatigue after an intense race. He so very lovingly soothes over your injuries with his hands, which always feel like they can destroy anything, and coos praises in your ears that you can only half-heartedly deny.

Tenko is happy. After midnight, he'll take you out for ice cream. He'll properly apologize then, for pretending not to come see you perform today. It's an arduous journey to jailbreak one's sister, but he is nothing if not dedicated. Plus, you're the best little sister in the world, he has every faith that you'll excel at anything you put your mind to. The pecks to your forehead and affirmations of brotherly love lull you to sleep.

#tw.incest #bnha smut #tw.somnophilia #tw.noncon #tw.dubcon #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic

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perpetuallyburntout · 11 months ago

Text

S4!Five Hargreeves x Reader

Strawberry Blonde - Mitski

‼️SPOILER WARNING FOR SEASON FOUR OF UMBRELLA ACADEMY BELOW THE CUT‼️

Okay so I know I wasn’t the only person absolutely crushed by season four of Umbrella Academy, but in the middle of grieving over it, I had the best/worst idea. Technically a fanfic idea, but I don’t know if I have the commitment to write the whole thing, so if someone else would like to, by all means :)

The events of season four start six years after the end of season three. Six years of (mostly) peace. Let’s just say Five met someone in that time (for the sake of making sense, I’ll refer to them as Lover). Met someone he found himself falling for. And they fell for him, too. And it was perfect. And for the first time in a painfully long time, Five was happy. Content. He had his suspicions about how long this peace would last, but… for now, things were good. More than good, they were wonderful. He’d met the love of his life.

And then the events of season four begin to happen. And Lover is there with the group the whole time. At this point, they’re family, too. They want to help, and Five wants them to stay close to him.

Until he and Lila decide to go on their own on the subway, leaving Lover with the others. And in the seven years Five and Lila are stuck together, the same thing happens. And when they finally return, Lover knows something is off. And when the truth comes out, their whole world comes crashing down.

Diego grows angry. Lover just grows somber. It’s even worse, because when they look at Five again, his expression is different. The aching love that used to shine in his eyes whenever he looked at them… it’s dulled to something faint. Still there, deep down, but… unsure. As if he’s questioning himself. Questioning what he should do now. Who he’d pick if given the choice.

Of course, he’s not given the choice. Not even the choice to take Lover far away and talk to them and really explain and try to do something. No, no… the world’s ending. For the final time. And he knows how to make sure it never comes to an end ever again.

Lover’s there for the entire conversation. Every bit of grief and anger they’d felt towards Five suddenly melts away, replaced by desperation. They’d let the world end for the rest of eternity if… if it meant maybe things could be different. If it meant maybe he’d love them, and maybe he’d never love anyone else besides them.

They’re eventually forced to leave with Lila’s family and get on the subway. And while everyone else is confused and emotional, they’re curled on the ground, gasping and sobbing, knowing what this means.

And the Hargreeves stop the world from ending. And all the timelines reset. And everyone else in the world gets their happy ending.

And Lover thinks they’re happy. They do. But they never fall in love again. For some reason, every time they think they find someone, an aching pain in their chest makes them hesitate. An unfamiliar voice calling their name makes them pause. A flash of something, perhaps a memory, too fast to register but not fast enough to ignore the heart wrenching pain of, makes them withdraw. It’s almost as if…

They’re waiting for someone that never existed.

°。°。°。°。°。°。

So! When I had this idea, I was listening to Strawberry Blonde by Mitski, and here’s how the lyrics played out in my head:

I love everybody because I love you

When you stood up, walked away, barefoot

And the grass where you lay left a bed in your shape

I looked over it and I ached

(12:00 PM. August 8th, 2024. Lover’s enjoying their day in the park, sitting in the grass, eyes shut against the light breeze and warm sun. They turn to their side, almost as if to tell someone about how lovely the weather is. But no one’s there. A weird pain begins to ache in their heart.)

I love everybody because I love you

I don't need the city, and I don't need proof

All I need, darling, is a life in your shape

I picture it, soft and I ache

(Others—perhaps friends or family—come over and greet Lover, noticing their confused and distant expression, and ask what’s wrong. Nothing, they say, though they can’t escape the deep longing in their chest for… something that was never there.)

Look at you, strawberry blond

(Flashback timeeee- or… alternate timeline time? Flashback to a time in an alternate timeline, there we go.)

Reach out the car window tryna hold the wind

You tell me you love her, I give you a grin

Oh, all I ever wanted was a life in your shape

So I follow the white lines, follow the white lines

Keep my eyes on the road as I ache

(Shows Five and Lover together, in love, making memories together. Happy.)

Look at you, strawberry blond

Fields rolling on

I love it when you call my name

Can you hear the bumblebees swarm?

Watching your arm

I love it when you look my way

Look at you, strawberry blond

Fields rolling on

I love it when you call my name

Can you hear the bumblebees swarm?

Watching your arm

I love it when you look my way

(Events of season four began to play out, but ofc with Lover being part of the story.)

Look at you, strawberry blond

Fields rolling on

I love it when you call my name

Can you hear the bumblebees swarm?

Watching your arm

I love it when you look my way

(The climax of the story. Flashes of the last two episodes. Five and Lila returning, the explanation, the heartbreak, Five finding out how to save the world for good, Lover meeting his gaze one last time as the subway pulls away forever.)

Isaiah, Isaiah, Isaiah

(Lover repeating his name to themself, trying to remember for as long as possible, not able to let go.)

Isaiah, Isaiah, Isaiah

(Flashback ends, returns to Lover in the grass on that sunny day, murmuring the name to themself. They’re not quite sure why.)

°。°。°。°。°。°。

I hope you all enjoyed this little idea! I got a little rambly and wrote WAY MORE than I planned on, but it’s an idea I’ve fallen in love with this past hour and I wanted to be able to share it with all of you <3

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okaysonny · 5 months ago

Note

Pls can you write James Lee dating headcanons and Diego Kanga dating headcanons. Like they are same person but their personality and mannerism are completely different.

Also your write is very good it sticks to character perfectly and feels great to see a fellow Indian❤️

dating headcanons ╏ james lee + diego kang

a/n: yasss india mentioned 🇮🇳 james/dg...very difficult to grasp...he is kind of annoying ❤️ so these are very much HEADcanons. enjoy!

JAMES LEE

✦ highschool romance troupe obviouslyyy

✦ imagine this scenario: james always sees you studying in school...when everyone has left already. at first he doesn't care, but you're just always in there and he eventually asks what you're doing.

✦ as if you'd admit to james lee the prodigy that you're struggling with school 🤣 you have one sided beef with this man.

✦ surprise, surprise...you end up talking and an acquaintanceship forms.

✦ your relationship with james...it's not really a relationship. more of a situationship, tbh. just an unspoken pining that eventually develops.

✦ james is really angsty in terms of romance, imo. the only time you see each other is when you're there after school and he's come back from another rampage.

✦ i think he'd eventually tutor you, much to your annoyance. but the next day, you show james that you did well on the exam!! he'd play the nonchalant gimmick, but there's something warm settling in his chest.

✦ drops lollipops in your bag when you're not looking 😆 awww

✦ like i said...he's angsty as hell. imagine asking james what he wants to do after school, and he has an ANGSTY look because he'll be committing WAR CRIMES

✦ you bring up boring office jobs, but you figure james lee the prodigy would have a more exciting career anyways. but...he finds himself imagining a normal life, having a boring office job...maybe with you.

✦ for obvious reasons, he can't. james doesn't even entertain the thought.

✦ corny "he only feels this way around you" troupe 🤣😭 one day you decide to ruffle his hair and james suddenly feels like a normal high school kid.

✦ ANGSTY RELATIONSHIP -> ANGSTY ENDING. weather it be you not showing up anymore (after finding out he mutilates people!!) , orrr him not showing up, because he has a path laid out for him.

✦ it's tragic, because there was no intimacy at all!! no hand holding, no kissing, nothing! yet the late hours in the classroom all built up to something. for all his perfection, i'm not sure if james would realise what he's feeling.

✦ when he sees corporate employees laughing together after becoming diego kang, he still wonders what a boring office job would be like. with you.

DIEGO KANG

way more fun and light hearted, i promise!

✦ dg would absolutely nottt date a fan. if you know him, but don't really care about him, he'll be a bit more open to the idea. buttt, i think you'd have to somehow not know who he is to really pique dg's interest.

✦ don't get me wrong, it's not a "...i've never met someone who doesn't know diego kang 😳" type of thinking. he just doesn't want power imbalances in a relationship.

✦ with dg, very much opposites attract. i think he's drawn to bubbly and funny people.

✦ two words: 𝒔𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏 🫦

✦ makes you aware the relationship has to be secret and all that shebang.

✦ i feel like dg's music only appeals to a...certain demographic (teenage girls) and he KNOWS that too. so if you give his tunes a listen and tell him: wow...this is shit, he'll find it oddly endearing. dg is surrounded by yes men, so he likes the honesty that his shitty songs are shitty.

✦ you already know the gifts + pampering would be out of this world 😮‍💨 it would be rude to not spoil you, considering the secrecy of your relationship + his constant absence.

✦ like i said before, for all his perfection, he doesn't really understand that sometimes you don't need an apology necklace for dg being away, you're just happy to see him again.

✦ late night motorcycle rides when he's feeling a little 𝒂𝒅𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒔. alexa, play cool for the summer

✦ you make fun of him when he does cringe things for the fans lmfao...that was the first time diego kang felt humiliated.

✦ another CRACK in his perfect persona: i think dg can't make funny jokes. even when he was james lee he couldn't, but the cocky persona masked it. now that he's more calm + stoic, it's very apparent.

remember when dg acted like he was gonna use the USB as a bargaining chip against eugene, but then said: "i'm kidding 😜"

🤣😭 THIS WEIRDO! idk if it was a silent warning, but it's my headcanon that it wasn't - he just genuinely thought it was funny.

✦ imagine that troupe of you know...it wouldn't kill you to crack a joke every once in a while. and dg is surprised because he thinks he's a hoot. so he says a shit joke and you actually laugh because of how bad it is. but...dg thinks you're laughing because it was funny, and feels a sense of pride.

✦ he's defo the type to laugh at a crude comment from you and then quickly cough to act like it wasn't HILARIOUS.

✦ now that he's retired, i think dg would go public with your relationship. he's trying to break out of that kpop idol image + show that he's serious about you.

✦ anddd i think he'd tell you about james lee and gapryong once he's absolutely sure you won't leave him. (i don't mean that in a creepy way lmao)

✦ despite my disdain for this FREAK i'd feel very safe with him as my bf ☺️ always arranges a body guard to accompany you if he's not there. but the most comforting thing is his hugs. i think dg gives the best hugs...and he doesn't even realise :')

✦ with you, diego feels free, yet bound in the best way possible.

divider: @thecutestgrotto

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gnohomotho · 5 months ago

Text

Just a game (part 3) ۶ৎ

Pairing: Hwang In-ho / Front Man x fem!reader

Summary: The Front Man decides to meet you, finally, only...you don't know that. How better to toy with you than by being right next to you? He seems to have something in store for you, something that could help you - or perhaps himself. Musings, touchings, lots of inner machinations and pulls. Jealousy. Slow burn. He really does seem to like you. Warnings: It's still the God damn Front Man Possessiveness, stalking, touching, drugging, kidnapping, unauthorised GDPR implications, dominance play, general 18+ TW, age gap. Likely medical malpractice, but who am I to talk. Word count: 4k Proofread, and, unlike my thesis, I actually do know where this is going. Requests open. Link to previous Link to next

You were waiting.

The street was full of people, and you watched them walk on. Standing next to the post, just a little behind the hustle and bustle, so you wouldn’t be too ostentatious. You didn’t like being seen, nor being seen first. Which is ridiculous, you think, since this is a terrible idea, and you have no idea who you’re even waiting for. Of course they will see you first, fu---

You breathe out. Look at your shoes again. You check your bun, your hair still firmly in place. You’re wearing a large coat, but under it, you decided for full protective mode. Long sleeves, black stockings, sensible skirt, clingy but warm dark top that held your waist and neck in place. You check the time again. Always too early. The street keeps changing its momentary inhabitants. You sigh and check for pink, pink calms you down a tad. You did tell your housemate you’re doing something stupid and to watch his phone for emergency messages, then again, he’s used to you saying that and knowing you don’t do stupid things. Not anymore. He likely thinks you’re breaking into (arriving at a sensible time) an owl enclosure and committing grand larceny (petting owls). You smile to yourself and adjust your glasses. The ones you wear more for an additional barrier to shield from the world than eyesight. You don’t mind the world being a bit blurry and not seeing faces too well without them. You prefer it. Faces are…rather intense, too much going on at once. Just as a reflection in a puddle is safer and more informative than whatever it is reflecting. Barriers, barriers, glassy barriers, you humm a melody and forget to breathe again.

To recap, you think, “alright. You absolute dumbass. We have a man…” you ponder a second, “likely a man…” as you go through his actions of the last 24 hours, scanning the surroundings as you bury your mind in thought again, “who is likely absolutely fucking unhinged, knows far too much about you, is sending you creepy, lecherous, borderline sweet gifts, knows where you live, has some way of watching you do everything and now you are actively, of your own free will, doing as he says and placing yourself directly not on the red line, nooo, you jumped the red line and are firmly planted wherever they make the red lines to begin with.”

Then again, you shift your eyes to the left and back, you have nothing to lose. Eyes dropping a bit, you linger on the thought…really, nothing to lose. Smiling a little drily, a little bitterly to yourself, you think that even if he manages to hurt you, at least it’s not the same old same old “Roses are red, chocolate is brown, I expect nothing and I’m still let down.”

Just as you’re humming the third IRA anthem to yourself and wondering how exactly does Semtex fit into birthday candles, someone is coming your way. Slowly approaching you is a figure, in dark, well fitted trousers, neat shoes, a very normal, very elegant winter overcoat that reaches just above his knees. It’s beige, but you notice the rest of the outfit is dark. His hair is neatly swept to the side, turtleneck accentuating his dark eyes, and, well…

“Oh no, he’s hot.”

That was a joke, you say to yourself and don your perfect plastic smile that makes people think of escaped shop mannequins. You notice he’s almost an unnoticeable smidgeon taller than you, which is unusual and doesn’t alleviate your worries at all. There goes your tall feminine dominance technique. Making a small bow and immediately hating yourself for it, you try to say something adequate to the situation:

“...”

It’s 15:00.

He’s exactly on time.

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In-ho was ready at 12:00. He had everything planned and ready by 12:05 and patiently waited for the right time to leave. Everything was exactly outlined, down to his wardrobe, down to the last signal he’ll give to his last henchman. Wear something non-threatening which gives an air of protection. Hair down and neat, not brushed back. No limousines, no guards, no displays of power. Let’s not scare anyone just yet. Taking off his gloves as he finished the thought, he lightly held his index finger to his neck. Frowning, he placed the gloves on the table. His pulse was elevated. Is he excited? Giddy? Interested? No, of course not. He’s barely amused. Just a means to ease the monotony, nothing more. How better manipulate someone than by dangling their life before them? One hand offering the safety of a rope, the other holding the knife that cuts it.

He was in place at 14:30 and stood unseen. At 14:45 he saw a figure that caught his gaze. Tall, but trying not to be. Elegant. Sweet. Unapproachable. Amusingly, it seemed she accidentally stole his demeanour, looking like a schoolboy’s fantasy between a strict teacher and a sweet older friend on a night out. Guarded by every hint of her being, down to the last thread. But he didn’t sense fear, which surprised him a little. That was a tad disappointing. Intriguing, though. He straightened his stance and looked at nothing, people flowing by like a nondescript river. He can alleviate that, if need be. Oh, he definitely can.

This was the first time since seeing you with your ex-companion that he’s truly close to you. Actually close to you, breathing nearly the same air, seeing you in the flesh. Oh, the phone screen truly didn’t do you justice, he sighs, face still a mask. Somewhere his thoughts tried to revert – scanning you to find evidence of monotony, boredom, garish normality.

Projecting, doubting, reassuring himself. Making a perfectly balanced equation: his dreams, imagination, and whatever was left of his heart on one side, and his true self on the other.

So much time spent with you, meticulously going through your entire life. Every letter, every deleted message. He’s been with you ever since he first saw you. He’s been smiling at the way you speak when you’re almost giddy, catching himself softly chuckling with your jokes. The more he knew about you, the more he felt for them – seeing you truly saw the light at the end of the tunnel as another train. He’s been calmly extenuating his patience with your other interactions you would not wish to recount – and coldly reading things you wouldn’t tell if held at gunpoint. He’s been listening to your voice when you speak slowly, when you speak in poems, when you recount what makes you glad to speak of. He knows the voice you use with friends, with colleagues, and the voice you use when you’re truly fond of someone. He likes the words and rather higher, sweet tone you use when you’re a bit tipsy and your laugh when you forget to hide it – and he relishes your vocabulary when you decide to place someone in their place – politely, kindly, in a low, clear voice. He even knew the voice you used when someone needed help, when you listened, or when you helped spiders out of windows. Caring. Loving. Gentle. Inauthentic and a bit tired if they strained your patience, but you never retaliated. He went back into your past, sorting each and every paper, document, photograph. The further he went, the more his smile dissolved away from his eyes and grew into a cold, stable expression again. He did lean into them for a moment, turning off his orchestral music, and leaned back staring at nothing for quite a while. Musing, he then went back to the present and read reports on your interactions – be it with your ex-companion, housemate, friend, potential love affair you would never have. Faint intrigue grew into something of an affliction, though he’d never admit it, and became something that needed disproving or breaking before it got out of hand, but even then, it needed a fair trial and a good, balanced equation. Yet the lady now before him was actively kicking the base of the scales.

14:59.

Let the game commence.

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“Y/N?” The man smiles at you exceptionally disarmingly. His entire demeanour changes before your eyes, like watching dark embers huddle and ignite into warm orange light – there is a nice older man with dark eyes, looking very subtly down at you, stance as safe as a falling autumn leaf, not invading your personal space.

“I do hope I did not keep you waiting.” He chuckles and quickly looks from side to side.

“The boss said you’d be here and didn’t exactly give me the best description.” His smile reaches his eyes as he laughs a little once more, you notice his body language is directly mannering his words and expressions – little movements, fidgets, correct turning of the head with his gaze, never looking at you as you’d expect…his boss? To look at you. Everything seems to fit perfectly in place, in time. The back of your head is tingling, but you put it to rest. The sigh of relief you breathe likely butterfly-effected a hurricane on the other side of the globe.

“Oh thank God.” You bend a little in the knees and let out a nervous, quiet laugh. “This is so fucked up,” you think to yourself immediately and straighten again. No matter how much you subtly raise your spine or position your legs, he is still everso minutely looking down at you.

“Your boss?” You take off your glasses for drowning precautions. You do have a thing for dark eyes and creepy bodies of water.

The man nods, still lightly smiling. Somehow, his forearm is closer to you than it was before, though you didn’t notice movement. His fingers are beautiful, you catch yourself resting your eyes between their milky skin and their firm elegance. You notice a few healed scars, and shift a tad further, up his wrist. You like firm, gentle hands and arms. Not blind strength, more so hidden fervour of a pianist or a longbowman. Subtle, perfectly balanced, not a movement wasted. But strong enough to snap your neck. Pulling yourself away at least mentally, you listen for his breath, search for some hint of subterfuge or wrongness, or even nervousness – it would calm you down. If he just went full Anton Chigurh on you right now, you’d probably be calmer due to expecting such a thing and being far more used to it. But no. The curve of his darker lips rests as it did before, no sighs, no wasted breaths. His eyes are pointed but not invading, as if taking you in his own little bubble in front of him. Nothing more, nothing less. The visage breaks as he lifts his hand to yours and smiles again.

“May I offer an arm as we walk?” He placed his arm before you, and before you could say “I think the fuck not,” he was already pulling out a light scarf and wrapping his arm where you were offered to hold.

“I would not wish for you to be uncomfortable,” he leans his head to the side ever so slightly in a very sweet gesture, still smiling politely. “It’s for safety, not intrusion.” You carefully hooked your palm under and around his arm and tried to at least keep the rest of your body at a distance from his. He truly was quite disarming. For safety? What a polite way to say, ‘my boss told me you’re about as stable as a two-legged horse on a bender and if you manage to faint on the street, you’ll attract too much attention.’ As you walked and tried to slow your racing mind between bursts of apathy at how dangerous your situation truly was, you kept thinking that something was familiar here. You’ve never seen this man before, who is probably as scared as you are, if that’s the boss he has to work with, and he seems quite lovely. Dark, silent, but quite lovely. But something is gnawing at the back of your head, some faint sense of déjà vu, something familiar and very wrong.

“Is everything alright, Y/N?”

Again, it sounded pleasant, kind, with no ill intent... But cold. Something still missing. As if he were reading a poem, reciting, without feeling.

“You seem to be shivering.”

You look down. “Just a bit cold, mister…” oh. “Mister…?”

He gave a half-hearted smile, “I’m sorry, miss Y/N, the boss forbids us to share too much personal information.”

Your turn to frown into the palm of reality that just slapped you across the face.

“Can I call you anything else, kind-not-named-sir? Something that you might like? It doesn’t have to be a name. Just so I may speak to you, as we are.” You smile and stop, looking into his eyes. He didn’t say a thing as seconds slipped by, looking back into yours.

“I’ll have to clear that with the boss, but don’t worry. I will. Once our affairs are in order.” He turned himself away and lead you on.

“But more importantly, miss Y/N. How are you feeling?”

That sentence. Again and again. You don’t think he’ll actually listen. You’ve been in enough doctor’s rooms and enough self-help groups and enough therapy to loathe the sentence almost as much as the lack of interest behind it. No matter how well this man carried himself or his momentary assignment with you, no matter how immediately your body reacted to his presence and how your brain wished to both cower and study him intently, and perhaps shut him up with a kiss (just to make sure you definitely wouldn’t enjoy it and go home), this man wasn’t safe.

“Kind not-named-sir, I think I would like to be silent.”

Somehow, the streets seemed emptier, or perhaps the distance between you and everyone else seemed to deepen. Though his hand wasn’t squeezing yours and it was your will to hold onto his, it felt like a shackle you would not be able to break if you tried. And if you called out, you felt like you would be muffled before you got a gasp out. As if you were carrying around a field of a chasm. As you walked, you felt his eyes on your body, everso subtly. Not in a lecherous way, moreso in a way that conveyed study and care. Precaution. If someone got too close, you felt a slight pull to sway his way. When you slowed down because you were not doing so well, his eyes darted from your neck to your stomach to your face again. But he didn’t say a word. On one occasion, you noticed crows above you, squawking their beaks off. Perhaps a warning, you think, but got back to your typical thoughts – a hello. One of them seemed to gutturally wish to cry something rather important. Stopping to look up, your not-named-sir stops as well. But his head doesn’t copy your movements, he’s staring at you.

Still looking at the crows, you feel more at ease and less invested in being corporeal. They seem so free, so lovely, so wise. So beautiful. You don’t look at the man as you speak.

“I used to know a man who thought of me when he saw or heard crows.” Your voice is low, slow, and grows…thoughtful. “He would tell me they have dialects. He would speak to me of having trouble hearing me each time we called each other, since they pooled around him and cawed and cawed and cawed their hearts out; he would open his window for me to see and leave me there to keep watch. When I told him I saw none but tried to caw at them very quietly as a youngling calls to its mother, he lit up like a Christmas tree.” You smile, warmth unravelling in your chest just enough to keep the cold at bay, only to yourself, eyes still flying with the crows. “When I fell into his arms week after week, having no concern for gravity nor control nor being too heavy in body and mind, finally leaving it up to someone else, someone I trusted…” Your smile wanes into a wistful line and your eyes sadden down, “God knows he cared very little for me, but I could pretend. Just like I am doing now, kind not-named-sir.”

You look directly at him, sinking your gentle gaze into his dark pools.

“A game of pretend.”

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As you walked together, In-ho didn’t let his eyes wander without purpose. A stationed guard in plain clothes stood at every corner, the walk meticulously planned. Down to the colour of the shawl he wrapped around his arm for you to hold. He watched you, though. He listened to your voice – that melodic voice he had only dreamt of as of late. When you spoke of yourself, you were barely audible, more a hush than a voice. When you inquired for his name, your voice went up an octave and the words came out clearly, with interest and genuine wonder. Care…even. You truly seemed to compartmentalize each second with him and around him, and within them, you placed care on an unwitting underling who could, and should, have your worst interests at heart. In-ho caught himself smiling when you weren’t looking. The curve of your lips, the inviting roundness of your cheekbones, the gentle but intense eyes…they made him think of players who gave up and failed the game.

Yes, that was it. Weakness. Or…he scanned further. No, not…quite so. Weakness is what he wanted to see. But it…wasn’t quite there. Those players died, yes, but they did so with purpose and disregard for a prize. Their eyes saw Death and greeted Them as an old friend. You walked as someone who had walked a path before. Someone who cares more for a curious spider along the way to the gallows than the hangman tying the noose. His head was having trouble wrapping around it, and discontent wasn’t a state he felt too often nor too fondly. In-ho was a very intelligent man, and he knew quite well that he wasn’t going to sense the sought-for weakness. He, in the back of the back of his mind, knew exactly what was in front of him and why, but he didn’t wish for it to be that way, and it did not align with the manner of his games. He truly hoped to see weakness, an excuse, frivolity. Verification for the rules he had put in place so very long ago. Perhaps he would discard you altogether. Perhaps drive you mad first. Use you. Break you. Leave you empty. Yes. Perhaps. That would be best. His grip on you tightened for a moment, thoughts growing colder, bathing in a darker pool. Anger. He felt anger towards those players. That wasn’t the way of the game. That wasn’t how the world worked. It didn’t fit his equation he based the better part of his life upon, it was entirely incongruent with his preconceived notions, his carefully planned life. People are disposable, weak, cowardly – barely insects. They will eat their own for a chance to step on another face. Then came your voice once more, humming through his brain.

You didn’t know, of course, but In-ho was well aware of who you were referring to. Down to his address and last whereabouts. And you couldn’t have chosen a worse moment to become so very wistful. To let your voice breathe a poem for another man, a man of nothing. The caring, gentle tone, with words wrapped in silk, slow, slow whispers for someone else, someone who gave you nothing in return. Those eyes softening as they gazed at the birds above you, the lips so eager and sweet. Your chest lifted as you spoke, allowing more breath and you seemed so…peaceful. In-ho felt his fingers twitch; the anger was cold, as cold as a flame that has traversed all colours and arrived at nothing but white. Though he reminded himself that he felt nothing for you, his control was slipping. In his presence alone, you allowed such incredible insolence, in the face of a man who could end your life in a gesture – such incredible audacity, while being and sounding calm and polite. Even without a name, you managed to call him “sir”. Then came your last sentence and In-ho might have lost an inkling of his balance were he not chained to the cold stone by sheer resolute thought of consequences specially crafted for you. Might have lost his balance if it didn’t intrigue the anger right out of his chest.

How did she know?

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She didn’t.

You arrived at your destination, and he took you inside a rather normal looking building. It was different than offices you were used to, there was nobody else around and the chairs were heavy. No running off. It was different than the hospitals you grew to loathe, but still. The henchman said nothing more, only guided you. You noticed he was more reserved. He left the room as you spoke to a woman, then a man, then another woman – all clothed in white with no names on their doors or clothing. You barely heard their words; your brain was full of each and every door that closed behind you. “Operation, procedure, aftercare…” It all slipped into one river and carried on around you. You didn’t sign anything, you wanted out. Too many doors, too many ways of escape blocked. Too many masked faces. You should have known you were walking into trouble when you tried to write your housemate and someone took your phone for safekeeping, disappearing into the white halls. You tried to remain calm, as you were sitting in the third heavy chair of the day clinging to your knees with faintly shivering hands, and quite simply decided to excuse yourself and make a run for it the moment the lady in front of you turns her back.

Yet it wasn’t until you felt a hand on your shoulder and a brush against your ear that you knew you messed up. Messed up fatally. The woman in front of you seemed to grow fainter, leaving a blur of a shape behind her as she stood up to walk out of the room. Throat. Pain. Brush. Cold touch. A small gasp left your lips as you feel the prick in your neck begin to hurt and spread and you…you try to get up. Fast. And fail. Aided by the unseen figure firmly pushing you back down; your legs wouldn’t be able to carry you anyway. You slowly, painfully, with a frozen streak running down your back realise you are at the mercy of someone who is, at best, cruel. The last thing you remember is a hand caressing your neck in place of the pain, circling a fingertip around its tender centre. A hushed voice hums in your ear, soothing you with words that did not belong here.

“Shhh, little one…hush.”

You cannot move away, when you try to, his low murmur drags you back and his lightly placed fingers dig in to lean you back into him. Your heart tries to leap in panic, but it is tired. Your chest is tired. You are so very, very tired. Your head is heavy, leaning back on its own accord into the man behind you, next to you, you are no longer sure. You let him cradle you in his hands as you slip away. As he slowly runs his fingers through your hair to the rhythm of his breathing, you feel long, gentle fingers, like those of a piano player, hold and cradle your heavy mind. His hands caress you through your hair, meticulously, slowly, reassuringly. You let yourself fade into his touch.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N…you’re doing so well for me.”

Miles away, you smiled up into the dark – someone said you did well. How lovely. The touch was so lovely. Everything seemed safely dark; you felt for his voice and his faint breath on your neck to hold onto.

“My good girl.”

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