#trying to get back into the swing of things

[classyrbf]

NOT GOOD ENOUGH! — TOJI FUSHIGURO

SYNOPSIS...after child birth, you don’t feel or look the same as before, brining on new insecurities and anger stirring within yourself

INFO...husband!toji x fem!reader, angst with a happy ending, mentions of child birth, weight gain, stretch marks, feeling ugly, body checking, just very insecure and upset reader, slight jealousy, toji being there for you, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

toji notices how quiet you are when you both arrive back home from Shiu’s birthday party. You didn’t say a word to him on the drive back home and you aren’t speaking to him now that you walked through the door. All you do is head straight to your shared bedroom, heels clicking against the floor. He can’t understand what’s wrong, he’s trying his hardest to piece together what may have went wrong tonight but nothing comes to mind. He was hoping that this night out would be fun and special considering it’s the first time you guys have had alone time since giving birth to Megumi almost a year ago now.

But that frown on your face and the silent treatment makes a pit settle in his stomach because this isn’t you. He follows you to the bedroom where you’re sitting, turned away from him, taking your heels off. “Can we talk?” He breaks the silence, leaning against the wooden door.

“Not right now.” You clear your throat, avoiding any eye contact with him as you throw your shoes in the mess that is your closet. “Can you get out? I need to change.” You’re snatching clothes out the dresser, your tone flat and bored.

“Get out? You always change in front of me—”

“Just get out, Toji!” You walk over to the bedroom door, slamming it in his face and locking it. He stands there, confused.

But behind closed doors, you cautiously remove your dress that you’ve been so excited to wear for months now. Except, it didn’t look how you expected it to. The whole night, the moment you put it on, it just didn’t seem to look right. Your arms had extra fat, your stomach was chubby and everytime you sat down you could feel it hang over your underwear, and your thighs were squeezing against the fabric. But it wasn’t just the dress, it was everything. For weeks and weeks you’ve been feeling like absolute garbage, reminiscing over how you used to look before child birth. The dark circles were new, you the stretch marks on your stomach and thighs that seemed like they’d never go away. The brittleness of your hair, and your mood swings that had you questioning if you’re overreacting or not.

You felt ugly. That’s it. Inside and out. The way you looked and how you acted towards toji and yourself, it wasn’t you. And you would never blame your son over this, no, he was the most precious baby ever, and you loved him with all your heart. You just wish you’d had started taking care of yourself sooner. When you look in the mirror, you’re reminded that your husband can do so much better, thinking of all the attractive women that were trying to talk to him today at the party. You couldn’t help but compare yourself, how much better looking they were and how full of life they looked. Maybe he would enjoy someone younger and happier, instead of having to come home to a miserable, insecure wife who wouldn’t even let her own husband touch her.

You frowned, tears welling up in your eyes as you stared at yourself, the palm of your hand running over your stomach, feeling the loose skin. Your eyes drifted to your sagging breasts, thinking of how they only look good in a supported bra now. Tears. All you felt were the tears streaming down your cheeks, slipping on your baggy shirt and pants to hide each and every bad thing you thought about yourself.

“Mama, open the door. Are you crying?” Toji called from behind the door, twisting the handle back and forth like it would somehow magically unlock.

“I-I’m fine! I’m still getting dressed!” You wiped your tears, a weak attempt at hiding your feelings.

“Bullshit. Open the door, tell me what’s going on with you. Y/n, I swear I’ll break this damn door down. Please, open it.” You shuffled your feet across the floor, unlocking the door for him. He immediately stepped through, concerned eyes scanning over you. “Mama, what happened? What’s going on with you, hm?” He cupped your face, searching your glossy eyes.

You immediately broke, clutching onto him as you sobbed into his chest. “I’m sorry, Toji,” you hiccuped. His arms held you close, wrapping his warmth around you.

“Shh, shh. You got nothing to apologize for.” He kissed the top of your head, caressing his hand up and down your back. “Talk to me.” You shake your head, finding it embarrassing to even talk about, but he doesn’t take no for an answer. He cups your face again and forces you to look at him, wiping your tears away. “Did I do something?” He questions.

“No, no,” you sniffle. “I just…I don’t know how to explain it without feeling stupid.” It frustrates you to your core, having all these bottled up feelings inside of you but finding it so difficult to explain. It’s overwhelming, every single bit of it.

“You’re not stupid. Come here, sit down and talk with me.” He holds your shaking hand while guiding you to the bed, both of you sitting on the edge as you attempt to catch your breath.

“Tonight, I was excited to spend some alone time with you. I got dressed and did my makeup and hair, but…I didn’t feel comfortable or pretty or anything. I haven’t been feeling like that for a good while now, Toji.” Your voice cracks, hot tears brimming your eyes once more. “I look at myself and see how much weight I’ve gained, my stomach, arms, thighs, everything! And I hate it! I hate looking at myself because it makes me so angry and ugly. So, I get jealous and insecure when I see other women near you. Like tonight.” Your lip quivers, hiding your face in your hands. “And I’m sorry I took it out on you,” your voice breaks through the sobs, vision blurry. “I’m sorry that I’m not better.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Mama? Better? You’re already fucking perfect.” He sits up. “Look at me.” And you hesitantly do so, frowning, your eyes puffy and red. “I don’t care about anyone else but you and our son. Our son that you gave life to, birthed him from your own body. You’re fucking incredible for that. So, no, I don’t give a damn about your weight or stretch marks or anything else your pretty little head is making you overthink about.” He grabs your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“Toji…” you trail off. His words only make you more emotional, his reassurance providing you comfort and security.

“You’re beautiful no matter what. I married you. You didn’t marry me. I wanted you the second I laid eyes on you, mama, are you kidding?” He chuckles, making you smile in response. “See, there’s that smile.”

“Stop.” You stifle a laugh, covering your face with your hand.

“Never. You’re stuck with me. You’re stuck with me forever. I signed up for forever, okay? We could be all old and wrinkly together and I’ll still think you’re the most beautiful woman in this world. So, baby, please don’t beat yourself up because you don’t look like some fake ass super model or some random girl you see on the street. From the tips of your toes, to the top of your head, you’re all mine.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, then another and then another, before attacking you with kisses. “I’m so in love with you and so attracted to everything you do, you make it hard not to give you another baby. So incredibly sexy.”

“Toji!” You gasp in shock, laughing at him. “You horndog!”

“Can you blame me, huh?” You kisses your neck. “Seriously, mama, I apologize. I’m sorry that I didn’t realize sooner that you were going through this.” He holds you, pulling you beside him as he lays down.

“It’s not your fault. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you, and explain my feelings. I thought it was something that would go away on its own—”

“I don’t wanna hear any more apologies from that mouth of yours. Next time, just speak to me. Pull me aside, vent to me, cry in my arms. I’d rather you do that than feel like this ever again. I should’ve been more attentive to you.” The pad of thumb brushes over your knuckles.

“I love you, Toji.” You snuggle into him, basking in his warmth. “Thank you.” He knew just how to make you laugh, how to take all those bad thoughts away and lock them up. You should’ve never hesitated to come to him, he’s always been there for you since day one.

“I love you more.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “We still have the whole night to ourselves, let’s not waste it.”

“Oh, can we order some chinese? I’ve kinda been craving crab rangoon.” You raise brow at Toji.

He smirks. “Go and get the menu.”

[laceyfaeryy]

fire fighter! simon riley x single mom! reader

simon being completely enamoured by the pretty single mom that volunteered at the fire station with free lunch every friday.

pure fluff, mentions of burns and scars - might do a part 2 and not proof read teehee

he was a man of discipline - of routine, and hard work and yet he was currently staring at you moving around swiftly as she handed out cookies like a love sick boy. his eyes seemed to follow your every move, how you seamlessly interacted with his coworkers and even the other parents and children.

of course, his interest didn’t go unnoticed by his captain, price who gave him a sly smile before nudging him slightly.

“she’s single for if you want to make a move and stop ogling her.”

if looks could kill price would be six feet underground.

he couldn’t make a move, not when you were the complete opposite of him. you were the like sun, beaming no matter what as you platted each meal, you were always so positive, so selfless no matter what.

simon was convinced that someone as dark and troubled as him would dim your light, scars and burns on his body that were so ugly and gruesome it almost felt blasphemous to touch you.

“si? want some lunch?” your soft melodic voice breaking him out of his trance, you always had a way of making him spell bound, like a siren.

he shook his head with a small attempted smile. “‘m not that hungry.”

but he was really fucking hungry. though he was convinced that if he ate your food he would be addicted, begging for more.

“but fire fighters need energy!” a small high pitch voice spoke up, your daughter. “mama makes good food, try it pretty please?” her eyes wide and pleading, her small lips jutted out in a determined pout.

simon cleared his throat, “i guess a little bit won’t hurt.”

oh it wasn’t just a little bit. he came back for seconds, thirds, fourth.

simon ate like a man starved, his fork scraping against the plate as he finished it again. “told you mama’s food is the best!” your daughter beamed as she perched herself up on the step next to him, her feet swinging in the air whilst simon’s were extended out. the size difference was comical.

her gaze drifted over his uniform, her eyes wide and curious. “what’s this?” her small chubby finger pointing to his scarred hand. instinctively, he pulled his sleeves over them, shielding something so dark and ugly from her innocent eyes. “‘s nothing, kid.”

“does it hurt?” she asked, completely oblivious to simon’s insecurity. he shook his head “doesn’t hurt anymore

white lie. god, it hurts so bad not physically but emotionally. sometimes he couldn’t even stand staring at his hands, purposely trying to cover them up with gloves but it irritated the uneven skin which made it even worse.

“hey, you shouldn’t be asking questions like that missy,” you playfully narrowing your eyes at your daughter who smiled sheepishly. “thought i’d taught you better than to pry into peoples personal lives.” you raised a brow at the smaller girl whose eyes were crinkling due to her cheesy smile. “gotta go get food!” she giggled as she ran, well stumbled away.

“sorry about that, she’s a curious little thing,” your eyes glued to her as she asked another volunteer for more food. simon chuckled lowly, “‘s alright, got good intentions.”

simon’s heart felt like it was going to explode, it was never heated this fast, not even during the missions where he thought he was going to die. he felt so aware of everything, secretly hoping you didn’t notice how he was hiding his scars.

you cleared your throat, pulling something out of your pockets. “i got you something,” your tone soft and shy, completely different to what simon was used to.

gloves.

“i heard cotton is good for sensitive skin, so i thought it would be appropriate for you.”

god, what did he do to deserve you?

“if you don’t want it it’s fine, i don’t want to cross any boundaries-“

but before you could even finish he took them from your hands, putting them on. “they’re amazing,” his hands flexing under the material as he tried them on. he felt like a school boy who was talking to a girl the first time, his mind completely blank.

“do yer wanna grab sum coffee with me?”

tag list:

@happysmappy @mydickishuge560 @dolli333 @madebyyicarus @l-otti @butlerslut @vampwifee @i-wanabe-yours @bluebarrybubblez @cinnamongrl2006 @akkahelenaa @yanfeiiiiii @actualpoppy @lilyalone @other-fandoms-reblogs @goonette6969 @doubledizzy22 @lucienofthelakes @arabellatreaty @tessakate @kayden666 @ghostsd8s @ama-eve @webmvie @your-internet-tenshi @novthewolf @1ilo @simpingreader @angeldoll1e @avgdestitute @anonymouse1807 @chaieanne @i-live-in-spite

[ama3003]

could I request a Bucky x Reader where they both have secret crushes on each other, but Bucky is super cold, quiet, and avoids her because he doesn’t know how to talk to her and thinks he’ll mess it up? He mostly just stares. Reader (probs another hero) is convinced he hates her and feels hurt, and one day Bucky accidentally overhears her crying or venting about how rejected she feels. Some emotional tension and hurt/comfort would be amazing.

The Quiet Between Us

Character: Bucky Barnes

Requested: Yes! Thank you for your request!!! I had so much fun writing! Hope you enjoy!

Type: Angst/Fluff

Summary: Falling for Bucky was the easy part. The silence that came after—the distance, the rejection—hurt the most.

A.N: I know it's been a minute--thank you for your patience. I’ve been dealing with some serious writer’s block lately, and honestly, I just didn’t know what to write. I’m slowly getting back into the swing of things and trying to work through all your amazing requests as best as I can!

You always wanted to be part of something bigger.

Not in the way that meant headlines or medals or praise. You just wanted belonging. A place where your name wasn’t just whispered in fear or forgotten entirely. A place where you mattered—not for what you could do, but for who you were.

More than anything, you wanted a family.

The kind that stays. The kind that sees all your sharp edges and doesn’t run away. People who offer soft places to land after the world has chewed you up and spit you out.

You never thought you’d find it in the Red Room. But life doesn’t always make sense, and even in that cold, brutal place, something warm found its way in. Yelena.

You both were really close until Natasha's death. You hadn’t seen her since the funeral. Not until the day Alexei barreled through your apartment door like a brick wall in red spandex, muttering something about Valentina and needing your help. You tried to say no. He didn’t give you the chance.

And somehow… just like that… you were part of something new.

The New Avengers.

You didn’t feel like one. Not really. You still flinched at loud noises. Still checked the exits in every room. You were trained to disappear, not to stand in the light.

Now? You were under it.

It was overwhelming—being seen. Being known. But at least you weren’t alone.

You have a family. Yelena found her way back to you. You both would sit on the kitchen floor at 2 a.m. with melting ice cream and old music playing from the speaker. 

Alexei was a walking headache, but his heart was oddly pure. He treated you like his own, even if he had the emotional range of a brick.

Walker taught you control. He wasn’t soft, but he was fair. He never looked at you like a weapon. He looked at you like someone trying.

Ava didn’t talk much. But when she did, her words hit deep. You’d sit with her on the roof and watch the lights blink in the distance, sharing quiet like it was something sacred.

Valentina was… complicated. But she never asked you to be anything but yourself. You weren't sure if she cared or if she just enjoyed your presence. Either way, she kept you close.

Then sweet, quiet Bob. You’d sit with him in the sunroom where he painted—messy, colorful things that didn’t make much sense to anyone but him.

And then… there was him.

Bucky Barnes.

You knew of him before you met him. The whispers. The ghost stories. The living weapon with a metal arm and a haunted past.

You didn’t expect to fall in love the second you saw him—but life never cared about your plans.

He was quieter than you imagined. And softer. Not soft in the way that made him weak—soft in the way that made you ache. Everything about him felt careful. Deliberate. 

But when he looked at you? God. It was like time stopped.

You touched once. Just briefly. His fingers brushing your wrist after the fight with Sentry. He pulled you up and out of there. Your skin burned where he touched you—and not in a painful way. In a real way. Like something inside you had just… clicked.

You started to notice the little things. The way he waited for you at breakfast without saying it. The way his fingers would twitch toward yours like he was holding himself back. The way his voice softened when he said your name.

You started to let yourself believe he felt it too.

And then… he changed.

One day he was there—present, engaged, kind. The next, he was gone. Not physically, but emotionally. He avoided you. Stopped meeting your eyes. Conversations became one-word answers. He started taking different shifts. Leaving the room when you entered it.

At first, you told yourself you were imagining it. That he was just tired. Or overwhelmed.

But weeks passed. And the silence grew heavier.

You still have your new family. You still paint with Bob on Tuesdays and laugh with Yelena when she teases Walker too hard.

But there’s a hole in your chest where Bucky used to be.

You try to be strong. You’ve been through worse. You know how to survive without love.

But you don’t want to.

You just wanted someone to stay. To see the bruises under the surface and not flinch. To choose you when things got hard.

Maybe that was too much to hope for.

The team was spread across the common area—half on the couch, others in mismatched chairs and the edge of the coffee table. 

You sat tucked into the far end of the couch, elbow resting on the armrest, staring blankly ahead—your mind somewhere else. Somewhere quieter.

“Y/N.”

You flinched at the sound of your name. Your head snapped up, heart skipping. Yelena was watching you from across the room, brows slightly drawn.

“Can you stay with us, please?” she said, giving you a soft smile. “This is important.”

You blinked, nodding slightly. “Yeah. Sorry.”

She exchanged a look with Walker before continuing. “Val wants someone in Sam Wilson’s new group.”

That made everyone pause.

“She thinks they’re planning something bigger than they’re letting on,” Yelena added, pacing a little as she spoke. “We’ve been left out of too much lately. And she’s worried that we’re going to get blindsided. She wants us to be prepared. It could give us more credibility.”

The room fell into a tense hush.

Ava was the first to break it. “So… she wants one of us to spy?”

“Technically? She’d probably call it ‘intel gathering,’” Yelena replied, dryly. “But yeah. Someone would need to be on the inside. Get close. Listen.”

Walker frowned. “So… what, we’re voting someone off the island now?”

Yelena looked at you.

Your stomach dropped.

“She’s already picked,” Yelena said quietly. “Val thinks it should be Y/N.”

You blinked. “Me?”

“She said it makes the most sense. You’re the least visible. No PR trail. You’ve stayed in the shadows. You can slip in naturally, you’ll just have to pull the ‘I never fit in’ card She thinks the transition would be believable.”

You didn’t know what to say. You could feel everyone’s eyes on you, some curious, some hesitant. But then—

“No.”

The word was sharp, sudden, and heavy.

Everyone turned.

Bucky stood stiff near the back wall, arms folded, his eyes locked—not on you—but on Yelena.

“She’s not doing it,” he said flatly.

You blinked, confused. “What?”

“She’s not joining Sam’s group,” Bucky repeated, tone cold. “That’s not happening.”

Yelena raised a brow. “It’s not really your decision, Barnes.”

“She’s not doing it,” he said again, louder now. “She’s not playing double agent. She’s not pretending to be something she’s not. And she’s not putting herself in that kind of danger.”

Your heart started to thud against your chest.

You stood slowly. “Why the hell are you talking about me like I’m not here?”

Still, he wouldn’t look at you.

“Bucky, seriously,” Ava said cautiously, sensing the tension rising, “you’re kind of… overstepping—”

“No, I’m not,” he snapped, jaw tight. “This is a bad idea. I won’t sit here and let it happen.”

“Jesus, Bucky,” you muttered, stepping forward. “What is your problem?”

He didn’t answer.

“Do you think I can’t handle it? That I’m what—fragile? Not cut out for this?”

Yelena’s voice cut in, trying to keep things from escalating. “She’s the best fit for this. That’s what Val said. And she wants to do it.”

“No,” Bucky said again, and this time there was something sharper under the surface—panic, maybe. “It’ll be someone else. Not her.”

You stared at him, eyes burning now.

“If you’ve got a problem with me taking this mission,” you said, voice rising, “then have the balls to say it to my face.”

His eyes flicked to you. Finally. Just for a second.

“I’m calling Val,” he said flatly. “This isn’t happening.”

That was it. The breaking point.

You stepped toward him. “Goddammit, Buck, look at me! You’re standing over there acting like you care—like you have a say in what I can and can’t do—but you won’t even look at me.”

The room had gone still. No one moved. The air felt thick.

His jaw clenched. His fists were curled tightly at his sides.

You dropped your voice, anger bleeding into hurt. “Why don’t you think I can do this? What is it really? Is it because I’m not good enough? Because I’m not you?”

He said nothing. His silence screamed louder than any insult could have.

You laughed bitterly, trying to hold it together. “You know what hurts the most? Not that you don’t believe in me. Not even that you’re trying to control this. It’s that I thought… I thought you saw me. This is the first time in weeks where you actually acknowledged my existence let alone actually talk to me. And now I realize you’ve just been looking past me the whole time.”

His eyes snapped to yours, and for a second—just a second—you saw something flicker there. Guilt. Fear. Maybe even something like regret.

But he didn’t say a word.

He just turned and walked out.

The door shut behind him like a punch to the chest.

You stood there, frozen in place. The silence in the room was deafening.

No one knew what to say.

You glanced at the others—Yelena’s mouth slightly open like she was holding back something, Ava looking uncomfortable, Bob frowning in that quiet way he always did, his sketchbook forgotten.

You swallowed hard, blinked quickly to keep the tears down, and ran a hand through your hair.

“I’ll do it,” you said, voice thin and sharp. “Tell Val I’m in.”

And then you turned, leaving the stunned silence behind you as you walked down the hall toward your room.

The door closed softly behind you.

But the ache in your chest didn’t.

You avoided Bucky.

He avoided you, too—but in the quiet way only he could. Slipping into rooms right after you’d left. Sitting on the opposite side of the table during meals. Eyes flickering to you, then away like it hurt to look.

But this time… you didn’t chase after him.

You were tired. Tired of caring so deeply only to be shut down like you didn’t matter. Like the moments you’d shared—those long glances, the quiet jokes, the almost-touches—were just in your head.

So you stopped hoping he’d say something. You stopped checking doorways for him, stopped waiting for your phone to light up with his name. He made it clear in that meeting. You were a liability to him. Not worth the risk.

You went through the motions: trained, ate, slept, locked yourself in your room for most of the day.

And now?

Now you were curled up in the sunroom with Bob, your head resting on your arms, your brush barely touching the canvas in front of you. He was working on something chaotic again—angry reds bleeding into deep purples, gold flicked across it like a desperate afterthought.

He didn’t ask why your eyes were glassy. Why your hands were shaking.

He just handed you a clean brush.

And for a little while, you let yourself just be. No pressure to explain the lump in your throat. No questions about your silence.

Just messy strokes. Quiet breath. Stillness.

Then came the tears.

They started slow—just a few that slipped down without permission. Then more. And more. Until you were shaking, tears falling so fast you had to put the brush down, covering your face with your sleeve.

Bob didn’t say anything. He just moved closer and wrapped his arms around you, warm and solid.

“It’s Bucky, isn’t it?” he murmured, rubbing your back. “He’s why you’re like this.”

You nodded, choking on the truth in your throat.

“I thought…” you started, swallowing hard, “I thought we were something. We were getting close. He made me think he felt something too.”

Bob listened.

“And then it’s like a switch flipped. Now he barely looks at me. I—I don’t even think he respects me as part of the team.”

You pulled away slightly, wiping your eyes. “He thinks I’m a mess. Like I can’t handle myself. Like I’m some kid trying to play hero.”

“That’s not true,” Bob said quietly.

“I like him. A lot. More than I should. But this? I can’t keep feeling like this. Like I’m not enough for him to even talk to.”

There was silence.

“Maybe the mission will help,” you said after a while. “Some space. Maybe I’ll finally stop feeling this way.”

“Or maybe it’ll make it worse,” Bob said gently.

You let out a watery laugh. “Thanks. Really uplifting.”

“I mean, ice cream’s still on the table,” he offered with a small smile. “I’ll get Yelena.”

You nodded, trying to pull yourself back together.

What you don’t see—what neither of you notice—is the shadow outside the doorway. Listening.

Bucky.

He didn’t come here to eavesdrop. He came to talk to Bob. Because Bob was the only one who wouldn’t make it a big thing. The only one who might actually help him sort through the mess in his chest.

But he hadn’t expected you to be here.

He definitely hadn’t expected to hear you crying over him.

And now that he has, he can’t move. Can’t look away. Can’t unhear the words that are tearing him apart.

God, no. That wasn’t what he wanted.

He thought he was protecting you. He thought if he kept his distance, he wouldn’t ruin things—wouldn’t ruin you.

But instead, he’s the reason you’re crying into someone else’s shoulder.

He presses a hand to his chest, trying to ground himself. Trying not to panic.

He wants you. He’s always wanted you.

But wanting has never led to good things in his life. People he loves leave. Or die. Or get hurt.

And if he lets you in—really lets you in—what happens when you disappear too?

Still. As much as he wants to turn around, to pretend he didn’t hear any of it…

He walks in.

You freeze when you hear the door open.

Standing there like a ghost. Hands shoved in his pockets, face unreadable, but eyes… hurting.

“Can I talk to her?” he asked. His voice was quieter than usual. Almost unsure.

Bob looked at you. You hesitated, then gave a small nod.

Bob gave Bucky a hard look on his way out—something between be gentle and don’t screw this up—and closed the door behind him.

Silence.

You didn’t look at Bucky. Just grabbed a tissue and wiped your face.

“If you’re here to say I’m not ready again, just save it,” you said, voice rough. “I’m going on the mission. You don’t get to decide that.”

“I’m not here for that,” he said.

You stood, crossing your arms over your chest. “Then what? Here to tell me you were just looking out for the team? That it wasn’t personal?”

He flinched. “No. It was personal. That’s the problem.”

You blinked at him.

“I like you too,” he said suddenly, his voice almost breaking. “I do. I did. I have—since the beginning.”

You froze.

“What?” you whispered.

“I like you,” he said again, more softly this time. “A lot. And it scared the hell out of me.”

You stared at him, jaw clenched. “So you humiliate me? In front of everyone?”

“I didn’t mean to,” he said quickly. “I was trying to push you away.”

You laughed, cold and bitter. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“I thought if I kept my distance, maybe it’d go away. Or maybe you’d move on. Because if you got too close—if you actually started to matter—and then something happened to you—” He cut himself off, eyes full of something broken. “I wouldn’t survive that.”

Your chest ached.

“You don’t get to decide how close I get,” you said tightly. “And you sure as hell don’t get to decide how strong I am. You don’t get to make me feel small just because you’re scared.”

“I know,” he said. “I know I messed up. I fucked it up completely. I was an idiot, and I hurt you, and I see that now. And I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just—needed to say it.”

He stepped closer, hands trembling slightly.

“I see you,” he said. “You’re not weak. You’re not reckless. You’re one of the strongest people on this team and I had no right to act like you weren’t.”

You looked down, lip trembling.

“And I miss you,” he said quietly. “Every day I ignored you, I missed you. I thought I was protecting myself, but all I did was lose you.”

You didn’t speak.

“I don’t deserve you,” he added. “But I want to try. I want to make it right. Even if that means starting over. Even if that means starting as friends.”

Your voice came out small. “You really hurt me, Bucky.”

“I know,” he said. “And I’ll spend however long it takes proving I can be better.”

You looked up at him. He was watching you like you were something sacred. Like he didn’t know if he was allowed to breathe in your direction.

“I’m still going on the mission,” you said.

“I know.”

“But I’m coming back.”

“You better,” he said, a small, broken smile playing at his lips. “I’ve got months of groveling to do.”

“You do,” you said, voice softer now. “And I’m not making it easy.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

You hesitated. “Friends first.”

“I’ll take whatever you’ll give me,” he said. “As long as I get to be near you again.”

You sighed, exhaustion still heavy in your bones, but something in your chest—something warm—cracked through the ache like sunlight through storm clouds.

“You’re buying the ice cream,” you muttered, voice still thick but a little lighter.

Bucky’s lips twitched into the faintest smile. “Obviously.”

There was a pause. The kind of pause that held weight. Like both of you were standing at the edge of something fragile and real.

And then, without a word, he stepped forward.

Slowly. Cautiously.

He didn’t pull you into his chest or hold you too tightly like he used to—not yet. He just opened his arms.

You hesitated, your eyes flicking up to meet his.

And then you stepped in.

His arms wrapped around you carefully, like you were still hurting—but like he wanted to be the one who helped carry it. You pressed your face into his shoulder, feeling his warmth, his breath catching a little as he held you like he was afraid to let go.

Not a romantic hug. Not yet.

But something even more intimate.

A promise.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again against your hair.

You didn’t answer, just closed your eyes and let yourself be held—for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. And for the first time in just as long, it didn’t feel like you were breaking.

It felt like the start of healing. Slow. Earned. Real.

****

Thank you so much for all the follows, kind messages, and lovely comments in the meantime. I see them all, and I’m genuinely so grateful for every one of you.

Your support means the world. More coming soon <3

[bitters-n-sweets]

what survived the fire pt. 1 — jack abbot x fem!reader Years after battlefield promises are shattered by war, Jack is haunted by the combat medic who saved his life—until she walks into his ER, very much alive.

warnings: imagine any age you want, maybe the reader is immortal or smth | reader was in the same tour as jack once | blood, almost dying | hints at su1c1d4l tendencies | nothing 18+, but minors still go away masterlist | part two (final)

[flashback]

"Don't you die on me, Jack."

Jack's eyes fluttered, blood staining his teeth when he coughed. You caught the splatter against your cheek and didn’t even flinch. He tried to speak, and you silenced him with a firm shake of your head.

"You promised me coffee when this is all over, remember? You can't go back on your word now."

You pressed harder on his wound, felt the strain in your body, but you wouldn't give up. You wouldn't let him go. The blast had taken out a lot of people, left the rest of the convoy a disaster.

But all you could see was the man in front of you. The surgeon who had come to the field a few weeks ago, who worked with his sleeves rolled up, with his sharp senses and wit, who had made you laugh when you forgot what laughter sounded like amidst the blood and chaos.

And he was dying in your arms.

[present day]

Jack sits upright suddenly as another nightmare courses through him, sweat clinging to his skin. He's been having the same nightmare for the 3rd time this week. Always about you.

He's never stopped thinking about you. You were the one thing he looked forward to on his last tour a few years ago. He didn't even know why he said yes to the deployment in the first place, but getting to know you made it more than bearable.

Jack decides to come in early for his shift. He's got nothing better to do anyway, and it's not like he'll be able to sleep some more.

"Jack?" Robby calls as he sees him, "You're way too early."

"Can't sleep." He says, colder than usual without realizing.

"The same nightmare again?"

Jack's jaw tenses. "Yeah."

[flashback]

“What’s your life like?” you’d asked, your voice low. “Outside all of this mess.”

The two of you were tucked behind a supply tent, sharing a small, half-empty bottle of whiskey passed between gloved hands. It was late. And after a long, hard day, you both needed a friend.

Jack leaned back against the canvas wall, eyes on the stars like they might offer a real answer. “Still in the ER. Still patching people up. Going to therapy. Dodging my self-destructive habits.”

You blinked, surprised. “Therapy? Huh.”

“What?” he asked, almost smiling.

“Didn’t expect that,” you admitted. “No offense, but guys in this line of work don’t usually line up for therapy.”

Jack shrugged, taking another sip. “Guess I got tired of trying to outrun my own head. Figured I’d give something else a shot.”

You watched him in the dim light, shadows softening the edges of his face. There was something vulnerable in the way he said it—something that made you feel warm inside.

“You’re a good man, Jack,” you said, quiet and sure.

He glanced at you then, unsure of how to process what you just said. His hand brushed yours when he reached for the bottle again, but he didn’t pull away. Neither did you.

[present day]

"I can't stop dreaming about her." Jack says, knowing it's Robby behind the railing of the rooftop.

Robby steps up beside him, leaning on the cold railing. "Well what's she like?"

Jack lets out a quiet chuckle, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "She was young. But not really—she had this old soul thing going. Like she’d seen more than most of us and still came out swinging."

"She's smart. Stubborn. Brave. Had this spark that could light up the darkest places... she’d rock anyone’s world."

Robby doesn’t speak, just listens.

"I promised her we’d get coffee when it was over. I’d show her around town, give her something normal... let her into the parts of my life that didn’t hurt.” Jack’s voice breaks just slightly. "I wanted her to see something good for once." Jack fights the tears threatening to fall over.

"She saved my life, Robby. And I couldn’t save her."

"Is she...?" Robby leaves his question unfinished.

Jack sighs. "MIA. That’s all they told me. No body. No signs. Just—gone. So they slapped on a label and called it closure."

He laughs bitterly under his breath, because the system failed them.

[flashback]

"So what's your life like?" Jack asked you this time.

You looked at him and chuckled. "Not much. Been here my whole life, never knew anything else besides GSWs and traumas."

Jack went quiet.

"Sorry, that's too depressing." You laughed awkwardly. "Um, I like jazz, or blues. Whiskey is a new thing I like—thanks to you, and uh.. here's something weird, I used to want to be a writer. I don’t know, stupid dream, I guess. Never really had the time."

"It's not stupid," Jack said. "Wanting something quieter, gentler than this."

"Gentler?"

"Yeah." He said. "You're still carrying something good, something calm in you. Don't lose that."

You tried to play it off, laughing softly as you looked down at your boots. "You say stuff like that and I forget we’re sitting in a field hospital with six wounded and a crate of morphine that’s probably expired."

Jack smiled. "You make this place bearable. At least to me."

You met his eyes then. And something in your chest shifted—makes you want to lean on him.

"Someday," he said, voice low and sure, "I hope you write about it. All of it."

You shook your head with a quiet laugh. "Only if you promise to read it."

"Deal."

[present day]

Jack's back at work, buried with patients and he feels like his head is about to explode. He's halfway through reviewing charts at the nurses' station when Gloria calls him over.

"Got a minute?"

Jack doesn’t even look up. "Robby's not here."

"Wasn't looking for him."

With a heavy sigh, he sets the chart down and rubs the bridge of his nose before stepping around. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Gloria?"

"We’ve got a new trauma fellow transferring in today. She’s doing her first rotation with you."

Jack glances at the folder Gloria hands him, flipping through it without giving much thought. The name doesn’t register at first—he’s skimming more out of habit than curiosity. "Okay, is she here yet?"

"She should arrive any second now—oh, there she is."

Jack turns.

And time stops.

You’re standing just past the entrance, signing in with Ahmad, your coat slung over one arm with a stethoscope in your pocket. The light catches your face—you look older, changed, but he'd recognize you anywhere.

His stomach drops. He forgets how to breathe. Jack hears his own heart in his ears, pounding so hard it’s drowning out the sounds of the ward. He doesn’t move. Can’t.

You don’t see him at first, too busy scanning the ER. But then your gaze lands on his.

You freeze. Your expression shifts—confusion, disbelief, almost afraid. "J-Jack?"

Gloria glances between the two of you, puzzled. "You two... know each other?"

Jack doesn’t answer. He’s still staring at you like you���re a ghost—because as far as he knew, you were.

-----

a/n: i can't get him out of my head help

[ineedpaigebuckets]

Y does everyone keep requesting smut???? I need some really fluffy fluff like clingy Azzi not wanting to stop touching Paige so P does her night routine for her. Please. (btw the the smut is really good tho)

everyone freaky boi

anytime

it starts with a yawn. one of those long, full-body ones that makes azzi melt deeper into the couch and nuzzle her face against paige’s shoulder. paige feels it before she hears it—the slow, sleepy weight of azzi’s body settling in, the way her hand curls tighter around paige’s hoodie drawstring like she’s afraid it’ll disappear if she lets go.

“you should get ready for bed,” paige murmurs, brushing her thumb under azzi’s chin.

azzi shakes her head, soft curls brushing paige’s collarbone. “no.”

“baby.”

“mm-mm. stay like this.”

“azzi.”

“i am getting ready for bed. i’m cuddling you like always.”

paige laughs, quiet and crooked, tipping her head down so their foreheads touch. “you’re not even changed.”

“don’t care. don’t need to, just take my clothes off.”

“you literally said your face feels gross like thirty minutes ago.”

azzi grumbles into her neck. “you said you love me even when i’m gross.”

“true,” paige says, stretching her arm across azzi’s back and running her fingers up and down lazily. “but you’ll be annoyed tomorrow if you fall asleep with mascara on.”

azzi lets out a long sigh, dramatic and pitiful. “can’t move. limbs don’t work. too comfy in love.”

“tragic.”

“so tragic.”

paige waits a beat. then she shifts slightly, only to have azzi instantly latch on tighter like a koala.

“you’re so clingy,” she teases, not even trying to hide the grin in her voice.

“you like it.”

“unfortunately.”

azzi leans back just enough to look up at her, eyes bleary but still sparkling. “do it for me?”

paige blinks. “do what for you?”

“everything. my night stuff. i’ll make up for it. but you have to do it.”

“…you want me to brush your teeth?”

azzi nods, dead serious. “and wash my face. and moisturizer. and lip balm.”

“you are such a baby.”

“your baby.”

and god help her, she is. so paige rolls her eyes and lifts azzi gently off her chest. azzi immediately slumps into her side, clinging to her waist now instead. she shuffles along as paige drags them both to the bathroom, half-dragging her like she’s an extra limb.

azzi sits on the bathroom counter, legs bare and swinging gently like a little kid, except her body leans forward into paige like she can’t stand even a breath of space. her arms are slung loosely around paige’s neck, not pulling, just resting there, content and warm and sleepy. her cheek is tucked against paige’s shoulder, the curve of her nose brushing the collar of paige’s oversized hoodie.

“okay,” paige whispers, nudging her gently upright. “tilt your chin up for me.”

azzi obeys without a word, eyes fluttering open just long enough to find paige’s face again, then closing as paige pumps a dollop of cleanser into her palm. she warms it between her fingers first—because azzi always winces at cold—and then begins to work it across her face in slow, even circles.

it’s soft. reverent, almost. like paige is painting something she wants to remember. her fingertips glide along azzi’s cheekbones, down the bridge of her nose, across her forehead, always gentle, always steady. azzi hums low in her throat and leans into the touch, her knees bumping against paige’s hips.

“feels nice,” she mumbles.

“yeah?” paige says, her voice quiet, her smile even quieter.

she rinses azzi’s face with a damp cloth, careful not to let it drip, and then grabs the towel azzi loves—the one that’s extra fluffy and smells like the lavender detergent paige sneakily switched to because she knew azzi liked it better. she dabs her dry. no rubbing. just little pats, one after another, from chin to forehead, slow and unhurried.

azzi peeks one eye open. “you’re really good at this.”

“i do it for myself all the time.”

“do it for me forever.”

paige grins. “you’re such a baby.”

“your baby,” azzi says, like it’s the truest thing she knows.

moisturizer next. paige unscrews the lid and dips in two fingers, then dots azzi’s face like she’s connecting constellations. a star on each cheek, one on her forehead, one on the tip of her nose. azzi giggles, sleepy and sweet.

“stop,” she says, but she’s smiling.

“can’t. your face is too cute.”

paige rubs it in with gentle, circular strokes, massaging it into azzi’s skin until it’s soft and glowy and smells faintly like almonds. azzi’s eyes slip shut again. she leans into every touch like a flower turning to the sun.

then comes the toothbrush.

“open up, baby,” paige teases, loading the toothbrush with just the right amount of minty paste.

“you’re literally brushing my teeth,” azzi groans, blushing a little.

“you asked me to,” paige says smugly, and azzi pouts until the bristles hit her teeth and she starts giggling.

it’s awkward and hilarious and somehow still tender—paige holding the toothbrush, azzi laughing around it, toothpaste foam threatening to spill as she mumbles nonsense. she leans forward again, resting her forehead against paige’s shoulder while paige keeps brushing like it’s no big deal.

“spit,” paige orders, laughing.

azzi does, still smiling, and wipes her mouth with the corner of paige’s sleeve.

“gross,” paige mutters, but she’s grinning.

finally: the lip balm. the stupid watermelon one azzi always forgets to use, the one with the little cartoon fruit on the lid.

paige unscrews it and holds it up. “last step.”

azzi tilts her face up, eyes closed, lips parted obediently. paige swipes the balm across her bottom lip, then the top, then leans in and kisses it in—slow, soft, stupidly tender.

“there,” she whispers. “perfect.”

azzi opens her eyes, dazed and dreamy. “i love you.”

paige brushes a thumb across her cheekbone. “i know.”

and she does. every freckle. every sleepy murmur. every breath of trust in her hands.

“spoiled,” paige whispers as she caps the balm and presses a kiss to azzi’s nose.

“yeah,” azzi breathes, eyes soft and full of something warmer than sleep. “spoiled by you.”

they don’t even make it to bed properly. they collapse into it sideways, wrapped in each other like it’s instinct. azzi hooks a leg over paige’s hips and sighs into her collarbone.

“thank you,” she mumbles.

paige kisses her hair. “anytime.”

and she means it.

[cameronsbabydoll]

can u pls write something vvvv tiny if u have time any day <33 about puppy reader falling and hurting her knee and her whole family is trying to comfort her but she’s still just sobbing and inconsolable and rafe comes to pick her up and he’s extremely annoyed that they left her alone for long enough for her to hurt her self :( and she sees him and like won’t take her head out of his neck and like all her brothers r just like damn he has a hold on her

- 🥥🥥

you’d only tripped for a second, but that sharp sting in your knee makes your whole body shudder with tears. your brothers are all around, fussing, rubbing your back, offering to get ice, but nothing feels like enough. you’re hiccuping, the sobs wracking your small frame, and even their gentle voices can’t calm the storm inside you.

then, the front door swings open and rafe steps in, his jaw tight, eyes flicking to your scraped knee. his voice is low but sharp, and you can tell he’s more annoyed than angry. “how the hell did you get hurt? who left you alone long enough for this?”

you don’t even look up. you crawl right into his side, burying your face in the crook of his neck, muffling your sniffles. his arm wraps around you instantly, firm but warm, pulling you close like you’re the only thing that matters.

your brothers watch from a distance, silent and impressed, like damn, he’s got you wrapped around his finger already. and you don’t care — all you want is to be safe in his arms, where the pain feels a little less sharp, and the world slows down just enough for your sobs to quiet.

[mintyys-blog]

Hi there! I'm new here. I just found and read all your posts recently — it's actually impressive how you're able to take requests and make them almost perfectly accurate! I'd also like to make a request.

Can you make Main Mark and his variants react to the reader being in a relationship with them for the first time, but she has no idea how to treat her boyfriend? So, she decides to learn how to bake cookies and wants to feed them to him next time. But when the moment comes, she gets too nervous and ends up shoving cookies into his mouth nonstop at high speed. I know it sounds weird and all, but I just really want to see their reactions. Thank you, love ! ❤

HEADCANONS | variants with s/o who baked them cookies

invincible masterlist

MAIN MARK

You show up with a container of homemade cookies, heart racing. “I, uh… I made these for you. Because… girlfriend stuff.” Mark lights up. “You baked for me? That’s so—”

Before he can finish, you panic and shove a cookie into his mouth. Then another. And another. “Mmfh—wait—babe—hold on—” he wheezes between bites, eyes wide, crumbs flying.

You freeze. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know what to do! Do boyfriends even like cookies?!”

He finally swallows, grinning around a sugar rush. “Yeah. Especially when they come with a side of emotional crisis.”

He leans in, crumbs and all, and kisses your cheek. “You’re adorable. Please don’t choke me next time, though.”

MOHAWK MARK

You’re pulling the last tray of cookies from the oven, face flushed with heat and nerves, when the door swings open.

“Yo, babe—smells like heaven in here,” Mark grins, tossing his bag aside.

You panic a little. You weren’t expecting him yet. “I-I was gonna cool them first, but—um—I wanted to surprise you—”

He doesn’t wait. He grabs one right off the tray and pops it into his mouth. And immediately spits it out with a choked hiss. “HOT—holy—! It’s lava in cookie form—”

Your heart sinks. “Oh my god, are they bad? They’re bad. I knew it. I suck at this—”

He’s waving his hand in front of his mouth like it’ll help. “No! No, babe—they’re good, I swear, I just… tongue’s on fire. It’s blistering. I might never speak again.” You stare, horrified. “I poisoned my boyfriend.”

Mark laughs, still breathless. He walks up and steals another cookie—this time blowing on it like a pro. “You didn’t poison me. You’re just dangerously cute when you try this domestic stuff.” He takes a real bite and lets out a soft hum. “Yeah… totally worth the tongue trauma.” And you? You’re still redder than the oven light.

SINISTER MARK

You stand in the kitchen, hands shaking just slightly as you plate the still-warm cookies. You made them for him—your boyfriend. You’re supposed to do stuff like this now, right?

When he walks in, silent as a shadow, you freeze. “Hi. I, um… baked. For you.” You offer him the plate like it’s a peace treaty. Mark raises an eyebrow. His crimson-tinged eyes flick to the cookies, then back to you. “You cooked? For me?” he says slowly, like it’s a concept he’s still chewing on.

He takes one, bites into it without hesitation. He doesn’t speak. You start spiraling. “Is it bad? I didn’t know if you like sweet things—I didn’t want to mess up, or make it weird, or—”

His fingers are suddenly under your chin, tilting your face up. “You’re panicking. Over cookies.” You whisper, “I just want to be good at this.” He smirks—sharp and cold. “You think baking earns you affection?”

He leans down, mouth brushing your ear. “Darling… I’d eat every burnt, half-baked mess you ever make. Not because it tastes good—” He presses a kiss to your temple. “—but because you made it. And I want everything you give me.” Even if it comes with a side of emotional meltdown and powdered sugar in your hair.

OMNI MARK

You hold the little bundle of cookies out to him with both hands, practically buzzing with nerves.

“I made these for you,” you say, clasping your hands together right after, like you’re holding your breath in your chest. Mark looks down at the offering. He doesn’t say anything at first—just unties the string, unwraps the wax paper, and picks one up like it’s made of glass.

You’re bracing for something. Silence. A frown. Maybe even that weird, thoughtful stare he gets before he gives a speech. Instead, he takes a bite. Then—quietly—he hums. “You like them?” you ask, barely a whisper.

He looks at you. Then, unexpectedly, leans down and presses a kiss to your temple, warm and slow. “They’re sweet,” he murmurs, lips still brushing your skin. “Like you.”

Then—completely deadpan—he steals another cookie before you can stop him. You gasp. “Hey! That one had extra chocolate!”

“Exactly,” he says, smug now. “You gave them to me. I’m entitled.” You roll your eyes, flustered. He smiles—small, but real—and wraps an arm around your waist like he plans on staying right there.

VILTRUMITE MARK

You hand him a batch of warm cookies, beaming. “I made these for you.” Mark takes one, bites into it, and lets out a low, pleased hum. “These are amazing.” He chews thoughtfully. “You know, our future kids are gonna love these.” Your entire system glitches. “Future—what?”

“You know,” he says casually, grabbing a second cookie, “when we settle down. Big house. Maybe off-world. Couple of little Viltrumite brats running around—”

“NOPE—” you panic, and without thinking, shove a cookie directly into his mouth. And then another. And another.

He blinks, mouth full, trying to speak. “Mmf—whuh—” You frantically stuff another one in. “Don’t talk about babies! I just learned how to bake!” He laughs—actually chokes a little trying to eat and chuckle at the same time—grabbing your wrists gently to stop the barrage.

“Okay, okay! I surrender!” he says, half-chewed cookie crumbs dusting his lips. You’re red-faced, mortified, mumbling, “I was just trying to be a girlfriend, not a space mom—”

He leans in, eyes twinkling, and kisses your forehead with cookie still on his breath. “Slow down, sweetheart. I’m not trying to knock you up—I’m just saying I could get used to this.” Ns Then he steals one more cookie with a wink. “…Practice makes perfect, right?”

PRISONER MARK

He sits on the stool at your kitchen counter, hunched slightly, still getting used to the quiet hum of civilian life—the lack of sirens, the absence of cold steel walls. You stand between his legs, holding a plate of warm cookies, heart pounding like you’re presenting a sacred gift.

Mark’s hands rest on your waist, rough palms steadying your nerves more than the tile beneath your feet. His eyes are on you—tired, curious, but soft. “I made these for you,” you say, voice wobbling.

You lift one to his lips. He bites it, slowly. Chews. Swallows. “Not bad.” You beam, then immediately panic and shove another one into his mouth. Then another. Fast.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he says around a mouthful, chuckling. “You trying to kill me? I just got out.” Your eyes widen. “I—I didn’t mean to! I just got nervous and then I kept going and now I’m feeding you like a malfunctioning vending machine—”

He sets the cookie down, grabs your wrist gently, and pulls you a little closer. “You’re nervous over this?” he asks, one brow raised, lips twitching like he’s holding back a grin. “You survived dating a convicted Viltrumite. You can survive giving him snacks.”

You groan, burying your face in his shoulder. “I’m the worst girlfriend—” He laughs—really laughs—and leans in to kiss your temple. “You’re the only good thing I’ve had in a long time.”

Then, with exaggerated caution, he plucks another cookie from the plate. “One at a time, though. Let’s not risk death by sugar. Yet.”

SHIESTY MARK

You’re standing in front of him, panicking, stuffing cookies into his mouth one after another before he can even chew.

“Mmfh—damn, babe—slow down!” he muffles, laughing with his mouth full. “You tryna kill me or fatten me up?”

“I’m sorry!” you squeak, red-faced. “I just—I got nervous and my hands wouldn’t stop—”

He grabs your wrist mid-cookie and grins, eyes glinting.

“You keep shoving things in my mouth like that,” he says low and playful, licking a smear of chocolate from his thumb, “I’m gonna start thinking it’s foreplay.” Your brain blue-screens.

“And if we’re doing that…” he leans in, voice dropping, hot breath ghosting your cheek— “I can stuff you next.”

You nearly drop the plate. “Mark!” you hiss, smacking his arm, face burning.

He just laughs—that laugh, smug and wicked—and plucks another cookie off the tray with his teeth. “You started it,” he teases. “I’m just following the recipe.”

[coldfanbou]

Tight Fit

Alrighty, here we go with Chowon and Juhyeon. These two ladies try to have a nice lesson, but things get a little hot when Chowon struggles with her wetsuit, and things boil over because of someone else's lust.

Length 3K

Chowon x Juhyeon X M Reader

“Let’s go!” Chowon shouted, grabbing Juhyeon's bottle of water and drinking from it. The taste was odd to her, and she looked at the bottle, wondering what could cause such an odd taste. 

Juhyeon came out of the bathroom a moment later and swiped the bottle from Chowon. “Hey, I forgot to wash that out!” She exclaimed, grabbing the bottle and placing it on their hotel room counter. “I hope she didn’t drink it.” Juhyeon thought to herself. She had mixed water and some aphrodisiacs in there, using it the previous night to get herself in the mood with some of the locals. 

Together, they left their hotel room and headed to the beach. The girls were glad that their company had given them some free time. Chowon and Juhyeon had decided to try surfing. They had seen your picture and talked about how cute you were when they signed up. They had their wetsuits in hand and headed to the changing rooms. Juhyeon got through the process easily enough. Her wetsuit was tight, but it was meant to be.  

“Juhyeon! I need a little help!” Chowon shouted from her changing room. Juhyeon huffed and walked out of her room to head to Chowon’s, the sand getting between her toes as she tossed open the curtain. She chuckled, watching the bustiest member struggle to get her wetsuit on. “Don’t laugh! I really need help here.” 

“It’s pretty funny,” Juhyeon replied, walking into the changing room. It wasn’t much of a room; three walls were laid out on the sand, and there was a curtain at the front, but it did the job, except when Juhyeon kept the curtain open and people could walk by at any time.

“Close it!” Chowon yelled, still trying to pull the zipper over her chest. Juhyeon followed along, getting involved in a long fight with a zipper. The two were struggling with it for over ten minutes.

“Just a little more!” Juhyeon cried, doing her best to zip up her friend’s wetsuit. She held her breath and used all her strength to pull the zipper up and over her breasts, but it was no use. Her strength faded, and the zipper rolled back under Chowon’s chest. Juhyeon breathed heavily, “Oh my god. It just won’t go over. Maybe we should ask the instructor for help.”

“No way,” Chowon replied, her hands crossed over her chest. “I don’t want him to see me like this.” Chowon’s cheeks were flushed, telling another story. It was true they thought you were cute, and the young woman wouldn’t mind if you stared at her, but…

Chowon was losing her point. She shook her head, “No way,” she might like the way you look at her, and your nice body, but allowing herself to be seen was a bit far. At least she thought that, but Chowon’s imagination started to explore the possibilities. Maybe you would have to have your big strong hands on her tits to get the zipper ups, squeezing them and massaging them. Chowon’s cheeks turned a bright red, her hands began to grope her tits, imagining it being you doing it.

Juhyeon could see her friend’s mind turning, her hands squeezing her breasts, and small whispering moans flowing from her lips. With Chowon’s eyes closed as she stayed in her mind, Juhyeon peeked her head out of the changing room and caught your eye, waving you over. 

“Is there a problem?” You ask on your approach.

“My friend is having a little trouble getting her suit on, and we need some help,” You nod. Chowon’s eyes open to meet yours as the curtain swings open, her hands buried in her suit on her large mounds.

“Allow me,” you tell her. This was a common occurrence for you, well-endowed women struggling to get into their suits. You reach in, your hand stretching across her breasts, pushing them together while your other hand moves the zipper up. Your fingers rub against her nipples, drawing a moan from Chowon. You ignore it, forcing the zipper up and over her breasts, ending her struggle with the suit. You flex your hand, stretching it like that, always hurting slightly. “There we go, now you ladies are ready.” You turn and walk out, heading toward the beach. Chowon holds her now covered breasts, her mind replaying the moment. She could almost feel your hands on her breasts again.

Juhyeon couldn’t hold back her laughter. “I bet you want him to help you out of it, too.”

“I-I do not!” Chowon chirped. Now that the thought was in her mind, however, it wouldn’t go away. She imagined herself dragging the zipper along the stopping over the middle of her chest and letting it do the rest of the work. Her tits would bounce as they gained control and forced the zipper back to her stomach. Then you would lower it more and snake your hand into the lower half to play with her needy slit. Chowon’s hand was over her wetsuit’s slit, rubbing her folds. 

Juhyeon shook her head. Chowon could never be honest with herself. She reached back, slapping the younger woman’s ass. Chowon let out a slight moan before turning to her friend. “Let’s go, you’re not going to be getting any if you don’t do anything.”

“I don’t,”

“Quiet,” Juhyeon said, pushing Chowon out of the dressing room. Juhyeon kept her hand on Chowon’s back, pushing her toward you. 

You turn to them after hearing their footsteps come closer. “Are you two ready to get started?”

“Yep!” Juhyeon shouted, grabbing Chowon’s hand and bringing her to the board you had set up. You get them ready, having them lie flat on their boards to practice what they would do in the water. You kneel beside Chowon, giving her advice on how to move and adjusting her positioning, your hand hovering over her ass for a brief second. The mere presence of it has Chowon biting her lips.

When you move over to Juhyeon to help her, you see the older woman staring. You assume it’s her trying to get pointers, but Chowon’s purpose was another reason. She watched as you placed your hands on Juhyeon’s hips, your fingers on her ass as you get her into perfect position. For Juhyeon, it was just help, but to Chowon, it was more. Her lust was beginning to overtake her. Her eyes lingered on Juhyeon’s ass. It wasn’t just you now, Chowon would fuck anyone to get rid of this feeling. 

She loses track of the lesson; it all goes by in a blur. One moment, she’s on the ground practicing her surfing, and the next, she is in the water trying the real thing. It went well enough; she had fallen a few times, but what she remembered about the experience was your body and Juhyeon’s. She had memorized the way Juhyeon’s ass bounced when she went from her stomach to the standing position. When it was all over, Chowon rushed back to the changing rooms, unzipping her suit partway. One hand digging into her nether regions while the other reached for her breasts. 

Feeling a little worried about how quickly she left you, head over to the changing rooms, overhearing her moan your name. Your curiosity was piqued, and hearing her call your name was making you hard. 

You know you shouldn’t, but you peer into the changing room, shifting the curtain slightly, and see Chowon fingering herself. You couldn’t resist, so you opened the curtain, much to her shock. You stare at each other for a moment before Chowon tosses herself at you. She didn’t care what happened now. You kiss her briefly before shifting your attention to her body. 

Outside, Juhyeon had finished changing out of her suit when she came across the two of you fondling each other. She couldn’t help but stay to watch, her hand moving across her slit.

Juhyeon thought for a second that maybe she could join in. She stripped out of her clothes and continued to watch, licking her lips as you got behind Chowon and nipped at her neck.

You reach into Chowon’s suit, grabbing at one of her soft mounds. The young woman moans softly, pressing her back against you. “More,” Chowon says, reaching for your other hand and bringing it into her suit and to her slit. She coos the moment two of your fingers move along her wet folds. 

You tease her, running them along her slit until she starts to whine. Chowon grinds against your hand, wanting you inside her. “Don’t tease me,” she whimpers. You chuckle seeing the young woman be so needy. You push your middle and ring finger inside Chowon. She leans forward when your fingers enter her. As you curl them inside her to rub her walls, she cries out. Even if she had imagined it earlier, the actual thing was so much better. 

While she’s bent over, you reach and pull her bikini top off. The wetsuit and bikini top push her breasts together, making them pop out. You glance over to see Juhyeon. You weren’t going to let her sit back and do nothing. You motioned for her to come closer. She takes hesitant steps, but you meet her halfway, “Open,” you tell her.

You push Chowon forward, pushing her tits into Juhyeon’s mouth. Juhyeon ran her tongue around Chowon’s hard nipple. She teased her older member's nipple, the circle she made with her tongue growing tighter until she was right on top of it. Chowon squirmed, Juhyeon playing with her nipples and you playing with her slit was making her head spin. She might’ve imagined being with you, but having her member here made her body grow hotter. 

You pull away from Chowon’s slit, she whines in response but you continue. Your hands move to the top of her wetsuit, and you work to remove it from her body. With your hand gone from her slit, Juhyeon takes it upon herself to play with Chowon’s cunt. The younger woman pushes her fingers deep into Chowon, moving them quickly. Chowon cries out, unable to do anything as you get her wetsuit off her. Juhyeon stares into Chowon’s eyes, lust overtaking both women. Chowon pulls Juhyeon's head from her chest and kisses her, the older woman’s tongue invading the younger’s mouth. Chowon’s moans flow through the air, rising and falling as she locks lips with Juhyeon again. 

You get the wetsuit to Chowon’s ankles, and you’re now able to participate again. Having to listen and watch as the two women made out had aroused you, gotten you hard. Now was your chance to do something. You pull out your cock, getting it ready for the older of the two. Seeing this, Juhyeon pulled her slick fingers out of Chowon. She forced Chowon to taste herself as you got behind her and pressed your cock against her entrance. Chowon sucks on Juhyeon’s fingers like she would never get the chance to again. “I always knew you were a little bit of a slut,” Juhyeon whispers into Chowon’s ear as the older woman moans. Juhyeon pulls her fingers from Chowon’s mouth and presses her lips to the older woman’s, silencing her as you push your cock into her needy cunt. 

“Mmmm!” Chowon hums, her mind struggling to keep up with the actions as you thrust into her and Juhyeon runs her fingertip across her nipples. She feels the younger woman pinch them, giving them slight twists and pulling on them. Pain mixed with pleasure, and Chowon was losing herself. Your hard and quick thrusts made her heavy breasts bounce. 

Juhyeon broke her kiss with Chowon and smiled at her fellow Lightsum member. “I’ll tell you a secret. I’ve always wanted to play with these nice tits of yours.” Juhyeon took one mound in each hand, squeezing them roughly while she planted kisses on Chowon’s neck. The older woman moaned loudly, her knees knocking together. You hold Chowon up, digging into her wait to support her as you drive yourself deep into her cunt with every thrust. Her walls clamp down on you as she nears her climax. Juhyeon presses her body against Chowon’s, trapping her between the two of you. One hand shifts from the older woman’s chest down to her clit.

“N-noo!” Chowon moans, pleasure overwhelming her. She bites her lips, stifling her moans as she’s being brought to the edge. Her toes curl, digging into the sand. Juhyeon circles Chowon’s clit, before running her finger over it and rubbing it quickly. Chowon shuts her eyes, her body twitches as she cums. The powerful orgasm rocks her, making her squirt for the first time. Her cum splashes onto Juhyeon fingers and legs. Her entire body tires out. If she weren’t trapped between the two of you, she would have fallen. Chowon’s breathing is heavy, her head rests against Juhyeon’s shoulder, and her eyes are struggling to stay open. 

You pull out of Chowon, your cock still hard and ready for more.  You let the older woman rest, placing her against the wall. Chowon immediately falls to her knees, holding onto the walls as she catches her breath. She watches on as Juhyeon grabs your cock.

It was the younger woman’s turn to have a go. She raises her leg and aligns you with her entrance. You hold her leg to your side as you push inside of her. Juhyeon moans softly, turning her gaze onto her Lightsum member. A smirk flashes on her face before her lips form an O, moans flowing from her lips as you bury yourself inside her. Juhyeon rolls her head back, reveling in the pleasure as you begin your thrusts. Her tight walls cling to you, holding you tightly as you move in and out of her. Her small breasts bouncing with every given thrust. 

Chowon stares, her eyes watching as your cock slide in and out of her younger member. She’s mesmerized by the sight and crawls closer. It turns out Chowon was a little more slutty than even Juhyeon had thought. The older woman got behind her and dragged her tongue along her slit as you thrust into Juhyeon. The act makes Juhyeon shiver, Chowon’s tongue moved up and down along her wet slit. The act amplified the pleasure for her. Juhyeon wrapped her arms around your neck for support, her moans coming more often as Chowon shifted her focus again. 

The older woman grabbed Juhyeon’s ass, she had watched it all day during the lesson. Now was her chance to act on her lustful desires. She spread Juhyeon’s cheeks apart and ran her tongue across the brown puckered hole. Juhyeon shivered again; it was the first time her ass had gotten this kind of attention.

She was helpless to do anything. Juhyeon’s moans turned to whines as Chowon circled her asshole. The pleasure you were giving her at the same time was training her to enjoy it. The moment Chowon slipped her tongue inside Juhyeon’s, her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Her hips bucked forward, forcing Chowon to move forward and do it again. 

The older woman gripped Juhyeon’s cheeks tightly, moaning softly as she lapped at Juhyeon’s tight asshole. Juhyeon felt a tightness in her core; She whimpered as she was being brought to her climax. Her legs began to shake. Your thrusts quickened, and in the next moment, Juhyeon came. She cried out in pleasure, waves of it washing over her as her body relaxed and let it all out. Burying yourself in her, you notice the hungry Chowon continuing to eat her ass. It made Juhyeon tremble, her orgasm subsiding slowly while she felt Chowon’s tongue against her. 

Your cock began to throb, watching it. It was always exciting to watch two women play together. You pull out of Juhyeon and let her down slowly, giving Chowon enough time to back away. She pulls Juhyeon into an embracing, kissing the younger woman and giving her a taste of her own ass. Juhyeon didn’t resist, letting it happen. “A little help here? I still haven’t cum.” You tell the women. Juhyeon moves toward you first, wrapping her lips around your throbbing shaft and bobbing her head a few times before passing it off to Chowon. The older woman kissed the tip before bobbing her head. She used the tongue, slowly swirling it around your shaft before moving back.

Chowon wanted to pass it back to Juhyeon, but the younger woman refused. Instead, they shared it, Juhyeon working the left side while Chowon worked the right. Their lips glided along your shaft, both women feeling your cock throb as you neared your climax. They knew you were close and backed off. They reached for your cock, working together to stroke it; Juhyeon’s palm rubbed against the tip, coating it in precum. Chowon had her hand on your shaft, moving it quickly. The women pressed their faces together, “Cum on us,” Chowon chirped, opening her mouth and sticking her tongue out. You let out a loud grunt as you came, your semen spurting onto the kneeling women’s faces. They giggled as the warm sticky cum landed on their faces. 

Chowon milked you, her hand stroking your cock to ensure every drop was out.  Once you were out, she let go. She turned to the younger woman, staring at her glistening features. 

They had the same idea, closing in on each other, they shut their eyes and kissed, swapping your cum. You cock twitched as you watch, it was bringing you back to life. Juhyeon glances at you and giggles. “Maybe we should head to our hotel room and keep going there. This big guy looks like he wants some more.”

“Yeah, let’s keep this going,” Chowon replied, standing up slowly and helping Juhyeon to her feet. You got in between the ladies and aided them to their room, cum still staining their faces as they walked past guests to continue their fun times.

[flux1563]

Selling Herself

Words : 4k

Tags : Creampie, BBC

"Annyeong," Minju said softly to the air as she stepped off the plane, the word echoing in the vast emptiness of the airport terminal. America had always been a whirlwind of unpredictability, a stark contrast to the quiet orderliness of her hometown in Korea. The journey had drained her, leaving her stomach grumbling like a distant thunderstorm.

The clock above the baggage claim ticked closer to midnight with every weary step she took. The air had the scent of jet fuel and the lingering aroma of fast food. A sense of urgency gnawed at her, but she had nowhere to be, no one waiting for her. The only thing she had to look forward to was a hot meal.

Her eyes scanned the restaurant signs, looking for something familiar. The neon lights flickered in a cacophony of color, each promising a taste of home. Her stomach growled impatiently, making the decision for her. She pushed open the door of the nearest establishment, a small diner with a flickering "Open" sign.

The bell above the door jingled a feeble welcome as she stepped inside. The warmth of the room enveloped her like a comforting embrace, the smell of grease and stale coffee a peculiarly comforting scent. The only other soul was a large black man, his name tag reading 'Y/N'. His eyes met hers, and she offered a tentative smile. He nodded, his expression a mix of boredom and resignation. It was clear that the restaurant was about to close.

Minju slid into a booth by the window, her reflection staring back at her. Her white skin looked almost translucent in the fluorescent light, and her long, black hair was a tangled mess. She sighed, running her fingers through the knots, and glanced at the menu. The words swam before her eyes, a mix of English and Korean. Her stomach protested again, making the decision for her. She closed the menu and called out, "Excuse me," to the waiter, who was wiping down the counter with slow, deliberate strokes.

Y/N ambled over, his heavy boots scuffing against the linoleum floor. "What can I get you?" he asked, his voice a smooth bass that filled the empty room.

"I'll have the bulgogi," she said, her voice small in the vastness.

He nodded again, scribbled something on a pad, and disappeared into the kitchen. Minju leaned back, watching the world outside the window. The occasional car passed by, their headlights painting streaks of light across the rain-slicked pavement. The neon lights outside danced a silent disco across the puddles.

As she waited, she couldn't help but feel a pang of loneliness. It was moments like these when she missed her family the most. Her mother's warm cooking, her father's gentle teasing, and her siblings' laughter. But she had come to America for a reason, to chase her dreams, and she couldn't let a little hunger or solitude deter her.

The sound of the kitchen door swinging open brought her back to reality. Y/N placed a steaming plate of bulgogi in front of her, the scent of sizzling meat and onions making her mouth water. She thanked him, and he retreated back to the counter, his eyes never leaving the clock on the wall.

As she savored each bite, Minju felt a sense of home wash over her. The tender beef melted in her mouth, the sweetness of the marinade a balm to her soul. She chewed slowly, trying to make the meal last as long as possible. When she had finished, she reached for her purse to pay, but her hand grasped at empty air. Panic set in as she realized her wallet was gone. She whipped around, but the diner remained empty except for the two of them.

Her heart racing, she checked every pocket, her mind reeling. She must have left it in the plane, she thought. But no, she had used it to pay for the airport Wi-Fi. The truth dawned on her. Someone had stolen her wallet while she was lost in her thoughts.

Her hand trembled as she pulled out her phone to call for help, but the screen remained dark. The battery had died. She slammed it on the table in frustration, the sound echoing through the empty room. Now what? She had no money, no ID, and no way to contact anyone.

The waiter looked up from his magazine, his expression unchanged. "Something wrong?" he asked, his voice as calm as ever.

"My wallet," she gasped, trying to keep her voice steady. "It's gone."

Y/N's eyes widened, and his hand hovered over the phone. "You okay?"

Minju took a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts. "I... I think someone stole my wallet. I can't pay for the food."

Y/N's gaze didn't leave her for a moment. "But u need to paid the food," he repeated, his tone not unkind, but firm.

"I understand," Minju said, her voice small. "Can I pay it tomorrow?"

Y/N studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. The silence grew thick, heavy with the weight of her desperation. "I promise," she added, her voice stronger now, "I will come back tomorrow. I swear."

"I am sorry," he said, his voice a low rumble. "But I can't let you go without paying."

Minju looked at him, desperation etching lines on her youthful face. "I swear, I didn't mean to cause trouble. I don't have any money. Please, can't you make an exception?"

Y/N sighed, his expression still unreadable. "Look, I can help you out, but it's not free," he offered, his words measured.

Minju felt the color drain from her cheeks as she processed his proposal. "What...what do you mean?" she stuttered, her eyes darting around the empty diner.

Y/N leaned in, his gaze intense. "You pay with your body, I pay for the food. It's simple. You owe me a night, and I'll cover the bill."

Her stomach lurched. Was he serious? She searched his face for any hint of a joke, but found none. The gravity of her situation crashed down on her. She had no money, no identification, and no way to contact anyone. This was her only option.

Her eyes fell to the plate, the food now cold and untouched. She knew what he was saying was wrong, but the alternative was unthinkable. Slowly, she nodded. "Okay," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Y/N's expression didn't change. He took the plate away and wiped down the table with the same slow, deliberate strokes. "Come with me," he said, gesturing to the back of the diner.

Her legs trembled as she followed him, her mind racing. She had never done anything like this before. The kitchen was a stark contrast to the cozy dining area, cold and sterile with stainless steel surfaces gleaming under the harsh lights.

He led her to a small room in the back, the door creaking as he opened it. Inside was a single bed, the blankets rumpled. She could feel the heat radiating off his body as he stood behind her.

"Take off your clothes," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.

Minju's hand shook as she reached for the button of her blouse. She felt the fabric part, exposing her pale skin to the cold kitchen air. She shivered, but not from the temperature. Her eyes remained downcast as she slipped off the garment, revealing a black bra and matching panties. They were simple, but they clung to her in a way that highlighted her curves. She felt vulnerable, like a deer caught in headlights.

Y/N's eyes roamed over her, his gaze lingering on her breasts, which heaved with every anxious breath she took. She felt his warm hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him. His touch was firm, but not harsh. He studied her for a moment, his gaze intense.

"Take it off," he said, nodding to her bra and panties.

Minju's heart hammered in her chest, but she complied, her fingers fumbling with the clasp of her bra. It fell away, revealing her small, pert breasts, the tips already hardening with fear. She slid the panties down her legs and stepped out of them, feeling the cold floor against her bare feet. She kept her eyes on the floor, unable to meet his gaze.

He took a step closer, and she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. His hand reached out, gently tracing the curve of her spine. A shiver ran down her body that had nothing to do with the cold.

He turned her around and she saw the hunger in his eyes, a stark contrast to the calmness he had displayed earlier. He took in her naked form, his gaze lingering on her most intimate parts. For a moment, she felt a flicker of something other than fear. Desire? No, she couldn't be feeling that, could she?

"You're beautiful," he murmured, his voice a rumble in the quiet room. He stepped closer, and she could feel the heat radiating from his body. He reached out and cupped her face, tilting it up to meet his gaze. "But don't get any ideas," he warned, his expression serious. "This is just business."

He led her to the bed, his hand on the small of her back, guiding her like a gentle force. She sat down, her legs dangling over the edge. He sat beside her, his weight making the bed squeak in protest.

"Lie down," he said, his voice firm.

Minju took a deep breath and lay back, the coldness of the bed seeping into her bones. She felt his hand on her thigh, his touch sending waves of heat through her. His thumb traced small circles, moving higher and higher until it brushed against the sensitive flesh between her legs.

Her body responded despite her fear, a betrayal she couldn't control. She bit her lip, trying to muffle the soft gasp that escaped her. His hand moved away, and she felt a moment of relief, but it was short-lived. He leaned over her, his breath warm on her face.

"You're mine tonight," he said, his voice low and commanding. "And you will do everything I say."

He kissed her, his lips rough and demanding. She didn't resist, her body going limp beneath him. As he kissed her, his hands began to explore, his touch growing more insistent. He tugged at her nipples, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger, eliciting a moan from her.

Her mind screamed at her to fight, to run, but her body was a traitor. It responded to his touch, her hips moving of their own accord. His hand slid down her stomach and into the wetness between her legs, his fingers sliding easily inside her.

He broke the kiss, looking down at her with a smug smile. "See," he said, his voice thick with lust, "you want this."

Minju's cheeks burned with a mix of shame and anger. She knew she had to find a way out of this situation, but she also knew that right now, she had no power. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for what was to come.

Y/N's fingers continued to probe her, his thumb circling her clit with a skill that was surprisingly tender for a man who had just forced her into this situation. Despite her resentment, Minju felt herself growing wetter. His touch sent waves of pleasure crashing through her body, making her toes curl and her breath hitch.

"You're so wet," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "It's like you want this as much as I do."

Minju's eyes snapped open, and she looked at him with a mix of anger and defiance. "I don't want this," she spat out.

Y/N's smile grew wider, a hint of challenge in his eyes. "You're a bad liar, sweetheart," he said, his fingers still working their magic. He stood up and began to strip his body, each article of clothing hitting the floor like a declaration of war. His shirt came off first, revealing a chest that was a tapestry of muscles and tattoos. Her gaze was drawn to the dark ink that swirled over his skin, telling a story she couldn't read.

Her eyes widened when he unbuckled his pants, the sound of the zipper echoing through the room like a gunshot. He stepped out of them, and she couldn't help but stare at his erection, which was thick and imposing. She felt a strange mix of fear and fascination. This was the man who had just taken control of her body, and she couldn't help but wonder what he was going to do to her.

"No, it's so big," Minju said, her voice shaking with a mix of fear and disbelief. It was a reflexive protest, a last-ditch effort to maintain some semblance of control. Y/N chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that seemed to resonate through the room.

"Don't worry, I'll make it fit," he assured her, his confidence unwavering. He climbed onto the bed, his weight pressing her into the mattress. His hand slid down her body, his fingers playing with her wetness once more, spreading her open. The anticipation was almost unbearable, her body trembling with each touch.

Y/N's tongue replaced his fingers, tracing the delicate folds of her sex with surprising gentleness. Minju gasped, her body arching off the bed. The feeling was overwhelming, and she couldn't help the moan that escaped her lips. His mouth felt hot and wet, his tongue flicking against her clit with a skill that was both alarming and exhilarating. She had never felt anything like it before.

Her hands found his hair, tangling in the soft curls as she pulled him closer. His tongue delved deeper, licking and sucking with a fervor that was both terrifying and thrilling. She could feel her orgasm building, a pressure that grew with every stroke. Her legs quivered, and she was powerless to stop the sounds of pleasure that spilled from her mouth.

As she approached the edge, his fingers slipped inside her, curling to find that spot that made her eyes roll back in her head. He began to pump in and out, matching the rhythm of his tongue. Minju's moans grew louder, her body writhing beneath him as she gave in to the sensation. The fear and anger were momentarily forgotten, replaced by a need so primal it was almost animalistic.

Her orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave, making her whole body convulse. She screamed his name, her nails digging into his scalp. He didn't stop, riding out the waves of pleasure until she was limp and trembling. Only then did he pull back, his mouth glistening with her arousal.

"How does it feel?" he asked, his voice filled with a smug satisfaction.

Minju stared up at him, her eyes glazed with a mix of lust and anger. "It feels..." she began, but her words trailed off. How could she explain the tumult of emotions coursing through her? The fear and disgust were still there, but now they were tangled up with something else, something that made her body feel alive in a way she had never experienced before.

"Good?" he prompted, raising an eyebrow.

She nodded, unable to form coherent thoughts. Her cheeks burned with a mix of pleasure and humiliation. "It felt good," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper.

With surprising tenderness, Y/N helped Minju to her feet, his strong hands guiding her shakily to stand in front of the mirror. She looked at her reflection, the fluorescent lights highlighting every curve and angle of her naked body. Her eyes searched his, looking for any sign of pity or disgust, but all she found was a smoldering hunger.

He positioned himself behind her, his chest pressed against her back, his arms wrapping around her waist. She could feel his arousal, hot and insistent, pressing into her thigh. His breath was warm on her neck as he whispered, "You're going to pay for every bite of that meal."

Minju's heart raced as she nodded, the reality of what she had agreed to fully setting in. But she had made her choice, and now she had to live with the consequences. "Be gentle," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N's grip tightened, but his touch grew surprisingly tender. He kissed the side of her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "I'll be as gentle as you need me to be," he murmured, his breath tickling her ear.

Minju felt him position himself behind her, his cock nudging against her wet entrance. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for the intrusion. Slowly, inexorably, he pushed inside her, filling her in a way she had never felt before.

"FUCKKKK, it's so big," she screamed, the sensation overwhelming. His size stretched her, a mix of pain and pleasure that made her head spin. Y/N's grip tightened on her hips, holding her steady as he pushed deeper and deeper, his movements deliberate and measured.

Minju's eyes were squeezed shut, her nails digging into the bedspread. "More," she panted, surprised by her own words. She had never felt so full, so claimed. The initial pain had given way to a deep, gnawing need that was insatiable.

Y/N chuckled darkly, his teeth grazing her ear. "I ain't done yet," he said, and she felt him push against her, the last few inches of his thick length sliding into her with a slow, deliberate thrust. The sudden stretch was intense, and she let out a cry that was half pleasure, half pain.

He didn't move for a moment, letting her adjust to his size. She could feel his heart pounding against her back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His hands slid up her body, cupping her breasts, his thumbs flicking her nipples. The sensation was almost too much, and she felt her stomach clench around him.

"Ahh, it's inside my stomach," she moaned, the words slipping out of her mouth without thought. His chuckle was dark and smug, and she felt his grip tighten on her hips as he began to move.

Each thrust was a symphony of pleasure, sending Minju spiraling into an endless cycle of orgasms. Her eyes remained glued to the mirror, watching their reflection. The sight of his large, muscular body claiming hers was a heady mix of fear and desire. His thrusts grew faster, harder, the sound of their skin slapping together echoing through the room.

"I can feel you," she gasped, her voice hoarse with need. "You're so deep."

He grunted in response, his eyes never leaving hers in the mirror. His strokes grew more demanding, more powerful. She could feel herself losing control, her body responding to his every command.

"Cum for me," he ordered, his voice low and guttural. "Cum all over my cock."

And she did. The orgasm ripped through her like lightning, making her scream and buck against him.

Her body convulsed around him, her muscles contracting in waves of pleasure. He groaned, his own release imminent. The sound sent Minju spiraling into another climax, her legs giving out beneath her.

Y/N caught her, his strong arms wrapping around her waist as he pounded into her, his eyes locked on their reflection in the mirror. The sight of their bodies, joined so intimately, was both erotic and terrifying. She could see the pleasure etched on his face, his teeth gritted with the effort to hold back.

"Ahhh, ahh, ahh," she moaned, the words spilling out of her mouth like a chant. She could feel every inch of him, filling her completely. It was as if she was being split apart, remade in the image of his desire. And yet, she wanted more.

Y/N's pace grew erratic, his breathing ragged. "Again," he growled, his hips smacking against her ass. "Cum for me, baby."

Minju's eyes rolled back in her head, a whimper escaping her lips. "Again," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Y/N's grip tightened on her hips as he pumped into her with a fervor that bordered on desperation. She could feel his muscles tense, his body poised on the edge of release. The sight of their reflection in the mirror was almost too much to bear, a visceral reminder of the depraved act she had been forced into.

And yet, Minju couldn't deny the pleasure that was building within her. It was a wildfire, uncontrollable and all-consuming. She threw her head back, her eyes squeezed shut as she screamed out her orgasm. The sound was guttural, primal, echoing through the empty diner like a war cry.

"I'm gonna cum, Minju," Y/N growled, his voice strained with effort. She could feel his cock pulsing inside her, and it only served to push her closer to the edge.

"No, not inside," she panted, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's not safe."

Y/N's eyes narrowed in the mirror, his gaze intense. "You're mine," he said, his voice a low rumble. "And I'm going to fill you up."

Minju felt his cock swell even more inside her, the pressure building until she thought she would burst. "Please," she begged, her voice a desperate whisper. "Not inside, please."

But Y/N was past the point of reason. With a final, savage thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, and Minju felt the hot flood of his cum fill her. She gasped, her body convulsing around him as he emptied himself with a roar of triumph. His eyes never left hers, and she knew in that moment that she had lost any semblance of control she had clung to.

He held her there for a moment, panting and spent, before finally pulling out. She felt his warmth slip away, leaving her feeling empty and used. The room was silent except for the sound of their heavy breathing and the distant hum of the diner's kitchen appliances.

Y/N leaned in and kissed her neck, his breath hot against her skin. "You're mine," he whispered, his voice still thick with lust.

Minju nodded, unable to find the strength to speak. The reality of what she had just done settled heavily in the pit of her stomach. The taste of him was still in her mouth, the smell of their sex filling the room. She felt soiled, used, but also...satisfied. It was a confusing mix of emotions she didn't know how to process.

"It is so good," she whispered to herself, trying to convince her racing thoughts to calm. Her body felt like it was on fire, each nerve ending still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. She had never felt so alive, so...consumed. It was a feeling that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

"What did you say?" Y/N's voice was gruff, his chest still heaving from his exertion. He leaned over her, his weight pressing her into the mattress, his eyes searching hers in the mirror.

Minju licked her lips, tasting him on her mouth. "Your dick," she said, her voice still a little shaky. "It's amazing."

The smug smile that spread across his face was almost infectious. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear. "I knew you'd like it," he murmured, his voice full of satisfaction. "But tell me more. What makes it so amazing?"

Minju's cheeks flushed a deep red, but she couldn't stop the words from spilling out. "It's so big," she said, her voice breathy with awe. "It fills me up like nothing else."

His chest rumbled with a laugh, his hands sliding down her body to grip her thighs. "You're so tight," he said, his voice filled with wonder. "It's like you were made for me."

The compliments rolled over her like a warm wave, soothing some of the fear and anger that had been building. "It's true," she murmured, her eyes fluttering closed. "It's like nothing I've ever felt before."

Y/N leaned in, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "And the way you cum around it," he said, his voice a dark promise. "It's like watching a firework display."

Minju couldn't help the shiver that ran down her spine. "It's...it's just so much," she admitted, her voice trembling. "It's like nothing I've ever experienced."

"I know," he said, his voice gentle now. "But you're safe with me. I'll take care of you."

The words were like a balm to her soul, and she found herself nodding, her body relaxing against his. "Thank you," she murmured, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

Y/N leaned back, his gaze never leaving hers in the mirror. "You don't need to thank me," he said, his voice thick with lust. "You paid for your meal in full."

Minju's stomach twisted at the reminder, but she couldn't deny that there was a dark thrill to his words. She had given herself to this stranger, and he had taken her with a passion that was both frightening and thrilling.

"Can we do it again?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N's smile grew wider. "Oh, baby," he said, his voice a low purr. "We're just getting started."

[kooklovee]

Drunk in love (m) - JJK

Jungkook takes care of his adorably drunk girlfriend, in more than a few ways.

Pairing - bf!Jungkook x gf!Reader

Oneshot - 2.5k words

Genre - 18+, established relationship au, fluff, smut MDNI

Warnings - mention of drinking, Jk's cute lil gf and her drunk talks, kisses, Explicit smut - unprotected sex, creampie, soft dom Jk, nipple play, fingering, marking, riding, sideways missionary, sleepy sex vibes?, brat calling in a cute way (once), aftercare

a/n - well you can tell by now, that I'm loving fluff writing more n more

divider credit - @uzmacchiato

Masterlist kofi

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It was supposed to be a chill girls’ night out. Just a weekend meet-up with your friends after months of hectic schedules. You hadn’t planned on drinking much—your alcohol tolerance is embarrassingly low, and you rarely drink to begin with.

Now... well.

The table is a half-chaotic mess. Your head slumped against your folded arms, face half-squished. The music is loud, the lights spin in every direction, and your cheeks ache from laughing too much.

Around you, the girls aren't doing much better. Mina is giggling uncontrollably at her own joke that no one else had heard. And Nari is hugging a pillow she had stolen from the lounge couch nearby.

Sooah is the only sober one.. and well unimpressed as well. “Okay, that’s it. I’m calling all your boyfriends.”

It didn’t take long for the boyfriends to show up like a well-trained rescue squad.

Yoongi was the first to appear, scanning the room, and finding Nari. He lets out the softest little sigh before walking over to his girlfriend and gently pulling her upright.

“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, slipping her arm over his shoulder as she blinked slowly up at him, smiling like she's just seen her favorite person in the world.

Jungkook is the next to walk in.

His eyes landing on you instantly- slumped over the table on your folded arms, head resting sideways on them, lips blabbering something.

With a slight amused shake of his head he makes his way to you, crouching beside the couch with a hand reaching out to touch your shoulder.

“Yaaah,” you slur, with eyes closed, voice muffled and adorably dramatic, “Don’t touch me.”

He freezes. “Baby?”

You lift your head just a little, squinting without really opening your eyes, and raise a wobbly finger in his direction like a threat.

“My boyfriend’s gonna fight you,” you warn seriously. “He’s got lots of muscles, okay? with tattoos and all..”

Yoongi snorts, overhearing from beside you as he pickes up Nari’s purse.

“Is that so?” Jungkook asks, lips twitching as he tries not to laugh. He rests his elbow on the table, leaning closer to your flushed face.

“And he sings like an angel too..”

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Really?” he whispers.

You squint, frowning just a bit as your eyes try to focus on his face.

“You look like my boyfriend,” you mumble suspiciously.

Jungkook smiles, lips curving as he tilts his head a little closer. “That’s because I am your boyfriend, baby.”

You blink again, before whispering in awe, “Kookie..”

He bites back a laugh, gently brushing your hair behind your ear, gaze impossibly soft. “It's me baby. Come on, let’s get you home.”

Jungkook holds you close as you both step out of the club, and then scoops you up in his arms, carrying you all the way to the car, your head lolling against his shoulder, mumbling incoherent things, with your boyfriend agreeing to them all.

Jungkook opens the car door, carefully settles you down in the passenger seat.

You begin singing along to the radio, off-key and loud while he just smiles to himself, laughing quietly as he drives.

When you reach home, he lifts you into his arms again, carrying you up to your shared apartment while you cling to him like a koala, humming nonsense.

He sits you down, removing your heels with ease.

You nod mindlessly, legs swinging from the edge of the counter when he brings you to the bathroom. He grabs a makeup wipe and gently starts cleaning your face.

“Don’t move so much, baby. Let me wipe your face, yeah?” he murmurs.

You look at him through half-lidded eyes and grin.

“You look so cute today” you say, blinking slowly. “Like… too cute. Illegal levels of cute.”

He chuckles under his breath, “Thank you, drunk princess.”

You close your eyes, letting him gently wipe your makeup off, his movements tender. He pauses every now and then to place a soft kiss on your forehead, your cheek, the tip of your nose.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs as he works, tucking your hair behind your ear.

You beam lazily.

Jungkook was just finishing wiping off the last bit of your lipstick, leaning in to kiss your clean cheek, when you throw him a question.

“Do you also want four kids?” you ask out of nowhere, your voice slurred.

He freezes, the used wipe still in his hand. “Huh?”

You didn’t even notice the way his brows shot up. You were too busy swinging your legs and playing with his tshirt.

“Yuri said Taehyung wants four kids after they get married,” you mumble, nodding. “Four’s a lot, right? I mean... not toooo many but still..”

He lets out a broken sound—a flustered, breathless laugh as he covers his face for a second. “You’re gonna kill me.” He mutters behind his hands.

“Just answer,” you poke his chest with one finger, lips forming a pout.

Jungkook moves your hand aside gently, stepping between your knees again. His voice soft as he replies, “However many you want, princess. Even if it’s four.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He smiles, brushing your hair back again. “But maybe let’s talk about it when you’re not drunk off your cute little ass.”

You giggle, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his.

After making sure you were watered, and settled, Jungkook climbs into the bed beside you- shirtless, as always.

He kisses your shoulder, then your hair, murmuring a soft, “Goodnight, baby.”

“...Kook,” you whisper after some moment.

He hums sleepily.

“Kookie...”

Another hum, this one softer. "Hm.?"

You turn around in his arms, blinking at him with a sleepy pout. “I really love you, y’know?”

He smiles, sleepily pecking your nose. “I know, baby. Now sleep.”

Your pout deepens. “You love me too, right?”

His voice comes out fond. “I do, baby. So much. Now sleep, my love.”

“...Would you still love me if I turned into a caterpillar tomorrow?” you mumble seriously.

Jungkook lets out a groggy groan, with a breathless laugh, tightening his arm around you. “Babyy...”

“I’m serious,” you slur. “Like a little green one. All squishy.”

He chuckles again, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Yes, baby. I’d still love you the same. Caterpillar, worm, butterfly—anything you feel like turning into.”

You smile, satisfied, but still had more to say. “But what if—”

Jungkook silenced you with a kiss.

“No more ‘what ifs,’ princess,” he mumbles, pulling you fully against his chest, tucking your head beneath his chin. “Sleep now. I’ll take care of you tomorrow when you’ve turned into a little caterpillar, okay?”

You giggle softly, melting into his hold. “Mmkay…”

Jungkook smiles to himself, stroking your back gently as sleep finally claims you both.

It was nearly dawn, when you stir. The room's quiet, but something else was slowly pulling you out of sleep.

You shift slightly and that’s when you feel something hard and familiar pressing against your lower back.

You stayed still for a moment, unsure if he was awake, but the subtle way he exhaled against your neck, still deep in sleep, told you he wasn’t.

The alcohol from last night still lingered faintly in your system, making everything feel warmer, and more intense.

A soft gasp slips from your lips as Jungkook unconsciously pulls you tighter, his arm around your waist securing you against him as his hips pressed forward just a bit—his hardness now snug against your ass through the thin layers of fabric separating you.

Heat was curling low in your belly, you bit your lip, suppressing a soft whine. but you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Kook…” you whisper.

Your boyfriend doesn't answer.

You snuggle back against him, your hips pressing into his as you call again, “Jungkook...”

A sleepy groan rumbles from his chest, and his hold around your waist tightens slightly, but his eyes stayed closed.

“Koo...” you whimper softly, need laced in your voice this time.

This time, he blinks slowly, his eyes heavy-lidded as they flutter open. He looks at you from behind, disoriented and adorably dazed.

“Mm... baby?” he rasps, voice rough from sleep. His brows furrow slightly as his body adjusts to the feeling of your soft curves pressed against his arousal. “What’s wrong?”

You turn slightly to meet his gaze, eyes pleading, “Need you..”

His expression slowly changes as sleep wears off. He glances down, feeling your legs shift, your chest rises and falls faster.

licking his lips, he leans in just a little. “You want me now, baby?”

You nod, biting your lip. “Please.."

“Come here.”

You turn around fully in his arms, your eyes locking with his for a split second before his lips find your neck. He kisses you like he has all the time in the world. His mouth is warm against your skin, leaving a trail of heat as his hands slip under your oversized t-shirt.

His palm meet your bare breast, and you gasp, your back arching into his touch. He groans softly, cupping you fully as his thumb brushes over your nipple, already hard. He pinches them drawing out a breathy moan from you.

He hums against your skin, lips brushing your collarbone.

“Kook please...”

“Please what?” he whispers, hands already trailing his down your stomach, fingers ghosting over your skin.

You grab his wrist, guiding him lower. He chuckles breathlessly, letting you- his hand slips past the waistband of your panties cupping you.

“Fuck, baby... you’re so drenched,” he rasps, rubbing you slowly with his fingers, making your hips buck. “You wanted my cock that bad, huh?”

You nodded desperately, your breathing already heavy.

He bites into your neck gently making you gasp, before his fingers finally slide your panties to the side. Without wasting another second, he pushes two fingers in.

Your moan is instant, your body arching into his chest as he curls his fingers inside you.

“There you go,” he murmurs into your ear, his fingers working rhythmically. “God, you're so tight even for my fingers, baby.”

Your legs tangle with his as his thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles, driving you closer and closer.

“You gonna cum just from my fingers, hm?” he teased, voice thick with arousal.

You could only whimper, burying your face in his neck as your hips moved helplessly against his hand.

His fingers keeps moving inside you, curling just right, his thumb pressing firm circles on your clit until the tension inside you snapped. You moan into his neck as your body trembles and breath stutters as you come around his fingers.

He holds you close, whispering sweet things as your body calms, pressing a soft kiss into your hair.

"How do you want me, baby,?" he murmurs in his raspy morning voice that always made your stomach flip.

Your hand drifts down between your bodies, cupping his hard length through the fabric of his boxers. "Wanna ride you..."

Jungkook lets out a rough groan, eyes dark and half-lidded with desire.

"Fuck.. go on then, baby."

You lean down, kissing over his skin, trailing lower, lips brushing his stomach before you hook your fingers into his waistband and ease his boxers down. His cock springs free, already hard and leaking for you.

Straddling him, you reach between your legs, sliding your panties aside. His hungry eyes were on you the whole time, thumbs brushing gently over your thighs as you aligned yourself with him.

Both of you moan in unison as you sink down, as he fills you inch by inch. Your hands brace on his chest as you bottom out, thighs trembling.

You stay still for a moment, adjusting to the fullness. Jungkook’s hands immediately grip your hips, and another one slides up beneath your t-shirt, fingers soothing along your spine as he pulls you down into a kiss.

You start to move, slow rolls of your hips at first, grinding down on him as his head tilt back into the pillow, lips parting with a shaky breath.

You watched his lashes flutter, his jaw tense. His hands guide you, his fingers flexing on your waist as you find a rhythm, moaning softly each time he hit that spot inside you.

“That’s it, my love... just like that,” he whispers, eyes meeting yours.

You ride him for a while, your thighs burning as you moved up and down. His hands roam, guiding your movements, praising you in breathless whispers.

“So fucking good, baby...,” he groans, gripping your hips tighter.

Jungkook takes over, flips you to the side—keeping himself buried inside you, bodies still perfectly joined, when your movements falter from exhaustion.

His tattooed hand slide under your thigh, hiking it up as he settles between your legs on his side, chest pressing to yours, lips brushing your temple.

You gasp, moaning as your head falls back against the pillow, as he speeds up with harder thrusts.

“Fuck, Jungkook—” you cried out, clinging to his shoulders.

His teeth graze your jaw, breath hot against your skin. “Couldn’t wait till morning to be filled by my cock, huh?” he rasps, voice wrecked with lust.

You whimper, unable to form any words.

He growls, driving into you deeper—your body jolting with each thrust. You moan louder, biting his shoulder as he slams into that spot that made your back arch and your legs tremble.

“Fuck baby... so tight... I’m—” he breathes, losing rhythm as he chases both your highs. “Let go for me.”

Your body clenches around him, eyes rolling back as you come hard with a loud moan of his name.

He follows moments later, hips stuttering, as he spills inside you.

The room falls quiet, save for your soft pants. His hand slides up your back slowly, stroking soothing.

“You did so good,” he murmurs, kissing your hair.

He pulls out gently, earning a small whimper from you, and immediately grabs the tissues from the nightstand, cleaning you up with the softest care, his fingers feather-light, as you blink up at him sleepily.

“Come here, my little brat,” he teases with a smile, pulling you into his arms.

You let out a weak laugh, pressing your face to his chest, lulled by the sound of his heartbeat.

His fingers trace lazy patterns on your back, and just as you were starting to drift into sleep, you hear his lazy chuckle.

You blink slowly, murmuring, “What...?”

He laughs a little more, voice fond. “You haven’t turned into a caterpillar yet.”

You furrow your brows in confusion. “Huh?”

“Nothing” he whispers, smiling into your hair, pressing another kiss to your temple and pulls the blanket higher around you both.

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[angel-writes-skz-here]

School Girl Crush

Non idol!Felix x AFAB! Reader Synopsis: Felix needs help in Spanish, or does he just want to get you alone? Warnings: SMUT! Fingering, oral (both receiving) unprotected p in v, small bit of darcryphilia, creampie? Pet names (Baby, slut, etc), public sex. A/N:This gif gave me the idea for this fic. I don't know who made it, so if anyone does plz let me know so i can give credit. I apologize for any bad Spanish, I used google translate. Comment to be added to my taglist✨ I hope you loves enjoy. Requests are OPEN - just slow

Felix watched as she meandered the halls, stopping at her locker, talking to her friends at lunch, the way her skirt swayed when her hips moved side to side as she walked, he watched her like a hawk, but y/n? She tried convincing herself she didn't care.

Felix is no good, that’s all she’s ever been told. She’d made it a point to avoid him whenever possible. Not sitting by him in the classes they shared if possible, hardly, if ever, looking his direction if she could help it, not even getting involved with his friends. She knew he was undeniably cute, almost every girl in school wanted him, but she knew he was bad news, or that’s what she had been told when she transferred.

The first day of Spanish class he was late, per usual, but the only seat open was one next to y/n. That day he really got a good look at her and noticed the way the light caught her cheek bones, the soft curve of her jaw and the way she looked when she was deep in thought, let’s just say there were many times he would convince himself she thought of him; thought of him naked.

It was weeks of obvious glances, one’s y/n was sure that if she ignored them, he’d get the picture, but what she didn’t know, Felix is a persistent guy especially when he wants something.

When pining quietly didn’t work, Felix resorted to more cruel ways of getting y/n’s attention. Knocking her pencil off her desk so she would have to bend over and pick up, giving him an obvious view of either her chest or ass. He would pick on her, calling her names like 4 eyes due to her glasses, or mocking her by calling her sweetheart, baby, or some other nickname that would, for better or worse, make her blush. But it wasn’t for the reasons most thought, no, she liked it. She liked everything he did, despite herself and better judgment. She liked having his attention. That’s why she tried to stay away from him, but he was making it so damn hard.

“So sweetheart, what’d you get for number 5?” he whispers during a Spanish test. Y/n shoots him a death glare, the color of her eyes making his mouth slightly dry. God she’s perfect. You put your eyes back on your paper to finish your test.

You get up to take your test to the teacher, your ass unintentionally being in his face and Felix bites his lip at the proximity, wondering how it would giggle if he were so smack it and leave behind his handprint. He seen the teacher’s desk and the thought of bending her over it enters his mind. How good her pussy would feel clenching around his hard cock; the image so real Felix swore he could feel it. He could feel it, what the naughty thoughts were doing to him. He watched her walk back, the way her tits bounce of so slightly underneath the white top she’s wearing. She swings her hips around to sit back down in her desk, Felix’s staring more than obvious. You try ignoring it, tapping your pencil against your desk, but Felix watches you like a lion on the hunt, and notices the pink tint on your cheeks once you catch him looking at you. He watches as you adjust in your seat. Before he realizes it the bell rings, signaling the end of class. You gather your things in haste and dash out of the room. He hadn’t finished the test, so he leaves it on his desk and chases out after you.

He notices you speed walking to the doors that lead to the courtyard, and though his class is at the other end of campus, he’s following you.

“Baby girl,” you hear the aussie drawl. You ignore it.

“Sweetheart,” he sings knowing you can hear him. He jogs up to you, cutting you off.

“Oh light of my life,” he smirks. You look up into his dark eyes, the sun catching them at just the right angle. You huff.

“What Felix?” the way his name rolls off your tongue makes him shiver with delight.

“Mm, say it again,” he teases with his signature grin.

“I don’t have time for this,” you put your hand up to push past him, but he catches it.

“Let me go,” your voice comes out shaky, the contact making you blush.

“Aww, why? I thought we were having fun,” he fake pouts.

You try to pull away but it’s no use, his grip is tight, and your mind can’t help but what wonder what his hands would feel like around your throat, the thought causing heat to rush between your legs.

“What do you want?” you snap not able to look him in the eye.

“I need a tutor. I’m failing Spanish,” he begins and you can’t help but giggle.

“What’s so funny?”

“If you’d actually pay attention in class, you’d realize how easy it is.”

It’s not that Felix couldn’t do it, when he did pay attention, he got it instantly. He knew more than he let on, but he also knew that keeping his eyes off you was hard. Those tight tops, short skirts, that tie that he could use to pull you to him like a leash, his mind is what had him failing, not his capability.

“Well, when I have such a cute classmate it’s hard.” He winks at the innuendo. You quirk a brow until your eyes travel down, noticing the outline that has you snapping your eyes back up, a pink tint spreading down your neck from your cheeks. Felix backs you up against the wall just outside the doors.

“See what you do to me, princess? I’d be passing Spanish if it wasn’t for your slutty little skirts and knee-high socks.” He purrs in your ear. His voice deep despite the angelic appearance he holds.

“It’s-it’s the uniform, I,” you wiggle against his body and the brick behind you.

“Shhh, it’s ok, baby. I won’t tell you anyone you wear it for me,” you can hear the smirk in his velvety smooth voice.

“What do you say, y/n?” The way your name flicks off the end of his tongue should be a sin.

“Tutor me? If you tutor me, I can promise payment.” He smirks.

“I don’t want your money,” you scoff as he lets you push him aside.

“I didn’t say it’d be in money. I’m more of a, “let me show you how thankful I am,” kind of man.” You furrow your brow. He laughs lowly at your confused face.

“I hope you never figure out another thing again. That sweet innocent face,” he brushes your cheek with his thumb just before you turn away from him. Your knees feel weak, your pulse is sky high, and you’re doing everything in your power to not give in to his tempting ways.

“Please, y/n? I really need the help. I’ll stop picking on you, I swear. I’ll leave you alone.” He puts his right hand in the air like he’s swearing an oath. You sigh heavily but the way he looks at you, eyes vulnerable, you find yourself agreeing to him.

“Ok, ok fine. Meet me in Mr. Perez’s room after school. If you don’t show up by 3:15 I’m going home. Understood?”

“Yes ma’am,” his deep voice confirms and you could swear you felt a wet a spot in your panties. You purse your lips and nod, headed off into the direction of your last class of the day.

The last class you have is history, but truth be told your stomach is in knots and you can’t pay attention to anything the teacher is talking about. You’re too focused on the way Felix’s bright smile lingers in your memory, the way his plush lips brushed your ear before class, the way his fingers, long and nimble grabbed onto your wrist. You wondered what they’d feel like, what he feels like. You can feel your face heating up and all too soon, the bell rings dismissing class for the day.

The walk across campus is too short, your knees are like jello the whole way, your heart is going ninety miles an hour and have to take a few deep breaths to steady your nerves. Why was this something you were anxiously excited for? Only time would tell.

You enter the classroom, at 3 pm sharp, and Felix, as you suspected is no where to be found. You say hello to Mr. Perez letting him know Felix asked for a little extra help. He informs you he has a meeting to get to, and you nod.

“No problem. I don’t anticipate us being here for more than an hour. If that,” you smile politely and your teacher walks out. Right behind him is Felix, early for once in his life. His cheeks are slightly rosy and his hair is damp, little bits of water dripping onto his uniform shirt.

“What happened to you?”

“Gym, but I washed off,” he immediately informs you. You nod with raised brows, trying to feign interest. Felix shuts the door behind him and you quirk your brow.

“What? It’s noisy out there.” He defends.

“Just get your text book out.” You say as you set your things down to retrieve your own. You begin to copy a problem out of the book onto the board, but Felix’s eyes go straight to your ass. It’s plump, round underneath your skirt, he watches the way it skates over the backs of your thighs, like it’s silently begging to be pulled up.

He can already feel it again, the growing length in his pants. He’s got you alone, in that uniform, with said desk from the earlier fantasy, and he was trying to keep himself together.

“Ok, translate this sentence.” You say holding your book to your chest before walking over to him with the dry erase marker in hand. You hop onto the teacher’s desk as he begins to study the sentence.

“María quería que yo se lo diera.” His deep voice reads aloud.

“Mary,” he begins hesitantly, “wanted me,” he says casting his eyes to you and you nod, “to give it to her?” he asks. You nod your head in approval.

“Good job, Felix.” He smiles, a real genuine smile, not the normal cocky asshole smile he sports when talking to you.

Truth be told, Felix knew what it said, but he had to act like he was struggling or you’d leave. And he wouldn’t get to thank you. You walk over to the board writing another sentence for him.

“Los muchachos dijeron que ellos nos lo darían hoy.” He reads.

“The boys,” he says sure of himself, “said that they would,” he takes a moment to think, “give it to us today?” he looks to you once more for approval.

“Great job, I thought you said you needed help.” You quirk a brow as you hop down from the desk and erase the sentence. You’re erasing the board when you feel the heat from his body come up behind you. His lips are pressed gently against your ear and your body freezes as his hands find your waist.

“Mi amor, quiero besar tus labios.” (My love, I want to kiss your lips.)

You gulp at his words. You can’t move. He chuckles in your ear. His fingers let go of your waist and he steps back as if he didn’t just say anything at all.

“Let’s just work from the book,” you say nervously. You stand over at the teachers desk with your book, Felix all too close. You're flipping through the pages trying to find something harder for him to work on.

“Eres hermosa,”  (you’re beautiful) he whispers in your ear. You gasp as he places a kiss to your cheek.

“Felix, focus on the lesson at hand,” you squirm away from him and he peers at the book. You manage to look down and catch sight of his cock in his pants, the outline obvious even in the dark pants. He glances over at you and notices your staring. When you realize he’s caught you, you clear your throat and walk to your backpack.

“Y/n,” he says as he follows you, stopping behind you, hands back on your hips, crotch pressed into your backside. Its hard, long, and what you can’t see is how bad it’s leaking.

“If you aren’t going to focus we don’t need to do this.” You state as you turn around, breath hitching at how close he really is to you. He looks you up and down licking his lips. Before you can push him away, his lips are on yours, hard and quick. You jump in surprise, but he puts his arms around your torso holding you closer to him.

“God you taste so good,” he praises against your mouth. He feels it, the way you’re holding back, not kissing him or giving into the desire’s he swears he can pull out of you. You can't help but taste the mint flavored gum you assume he'd been chewing. He’s pulling his lips away when your fingers curl into his shirt and you pull him to you, a mix of tongues, lips and teeth. You moan into his mouth as his hands move from your back to the buttons on your shirt.

“Felix,” you mutter against his lips. He pulls you over to the desk helping you hop onto it.

“Felix,” you breathe out but he’s undoing the buttons on your blouse, exposing your bra to him.

“What if someone see’s us,” you gasp and he rolls his eyes.

“Chill, baby.” He licks a stripe up your neck.

“Want me to lock the door?” he asks peering into your eyes. You nod sheepishly. You should tell him not to. That there’s no need because nothing is going to happen, but both of you would know that’s a lie.

He locks the door, even putting the little safety blind down.

“Now no one can see you but me,” he rasps as he walks back over to you, connecting your lips and sliding the shirt down your arms, leaving the tie around your neck. Your bra is quickly discarded and once your tits are free, he moans at the sight.

“Fuck, pretty and smart. God baby,” he sighs before his lips connect to your neck, thumbs brushing over your nipples.

“Lix,” you whimper as the waves of pleasure are sent to your core.

“Mm, say my name again,” he chuckles.

“Felix,” you wiggle beneath him as he begins to kiss down your chest, flicking over your nipple with his tongue before gently wrapping his lips around it to suck your tit gently. Your hands thread through his hair, gently tugging as your eyes close. His own eyes flutter closed as he worships your chest, his hand coming up to tease the other. You gasp as your head is thrown back. You let out a guttural moan.

“Shh, baby, gotta be quiet, don’t wanna get caught.” He teases. You bite your lip as he kisses down your stomach. You lift your hips and he pulls your panties down, flipping up your skirt.

“Fuck you’re gonna feel so good,” he moans as he bends down in front of you. You chew on your lip as he leans forward, his tongue flicking out to taste you. He groans at the taste of your arousal on his tongue.

“I knew you tasted good,” he mutters to himself before diving in, tongue circling over your clit. On instinct you push his head further into your heat, he chuckles against you and takes your ankles, forcing your legs to bend as he sets your feet on the desk. Your back falls down against the hardwood.

“Sabes deliciosa,” (You taste Delicious) he purrs against you. Your head is spinning, the realization of what all this was actually for occurs you way too late.

“Ah, fuck Felix,” your face scrunches as he adds a finger, slowly pumping it in and out of your wet hole.

“Fuck, holy shit,” you gasp as your hips begin to roll with his movements. His finger curls hitting the spot inside of you that has you desperately wanting to scream his name.

His mouth detaches from you for a minute, as he uses your tie to pull you up to his face.

“Look at me when you cum,” he commands, his knuckles white from he grip he has on your tie, as if he's the one who needs to be grounded. Your breathing is turning into gasps as you feel the coil in your stomach tightening, your heart rate climbing and your body wanting to go rigid.

“Felix,” you whimper as your eyes shut on instinct, hips rocking against his hand.

“Ah,” he stills his hand and your eyes slam open meeting his dark brown ones.

“Eyes here, pretty girl,” he says in his deep tone, moving his forehead to yours. You whine, your right hand holding onto his arm, the left bracing against the edge of the desk. Your mouth falls open as your orgasm crashes into you heavy and hard.

“Felix,” you moan as you force your eyes open. He pumps his fingers helping you ride out the high, foreheads together. Once the aftershocks hit, your eyes close as you compose yourself, and Felix removes his finger licking and sucking it clean. He sits down in the teacher’s chair and looks at you, mesmerized.

After a brief moment you find yourself falling to your knees in front of him. Your hands go to his pants, undoing them and he slides his shirt and tie off, revealing his abs. Your hands freeze as you stare at his toned stomach. He chuckles at your mesmerized state. You stand up, and kiss his lips passionately. His hands go to your bare torso to hold you.

“Who knew you were hiding all this under your uniform,” you smirk before your lips go to his neck. You kiss your way back down to your knees, licking over his abs and worshiping them with your mouth, feeling his muscles tense with every stroke of your wet tongue. You smirk to your self as you let your teeth graze him in your wake, kissing down to his pelvis, nipping at his hips.

You a suck a purple mark onto his right hip, a mark easily hidden, but also easily felt as he gasps and groans at the harsh way your mouth marks him.

“Possesive huh?” he drawls, attitude something between cocky and satisfied.

“Territorial,” you smirk up at him before pulling his pants down. You suck your bottom lip between your teeth as you stare at his bulge, running a single manicured finger over it, noticing a small twitch. You giggle to yourself at his body, the way he plays it so cool when it’s obvious he’s so desperate.

“You gonna tease me or are you gonna make me cum down that pretty little throat like the slut you are?” He smirks, masking his impatience to feel your mouth wrapped around him.

You pull his underwear down, his cock springing free. It’s red, leaking and oh so ready to be used. You lick your lips, the desire to taste him growing. You look up at him, eyes big and innocent and he groans again.

You take his cock in your hand, pumping it a few times, spreading the precum over him with your thumb teasing his slit a little.

“Fuck,” he breathes. His head falls back and you lick a stripe up the bottom of his shaft before wrapping your lips around the head, swirling your tongue moaning at the taste. Felix’s hand grips into your hair, not to force or push you down, but to anchor himself to something.

You slowy sink your head down, the sounds he makes causing your thighs to rub together. The wet sound of him in your mouth a beautiful symphony with the sounds falling from his lips.

“Y/n,” he whimpers as your nose touches his pelvis, his cock ticking the back of your throat. Felix’s eyes squeeze shut at the overwhelming pleasure.

“So wet,” he groans as you raise your head up only to descend once more, finding a steady rhythm.

“Fuck, keep going, feels so fucking good,” he moans, an arm going over his mouth to keep himself quiet. His hips lift off the chair, causing a slight gagging sound.

“Fuck that’s hot,” he says as he looks down, noticing your eyes watering and a tear escaping.

“Cry on my dick, baby. Such a good girl,” he grunts as he repeats his actions, forcing another gag from your throat.

“So pretty when you cry for me,” he takes a thumb wipes away the tear, sucking it into this mouth. Your tongue swirls around the head of his cock, and he arches his back off the chair with a moan.

“Fuck, i’m gonna cum, baby.” He says as he can feel the orgasm building.

“Mmf, don’t stop, don’t stop,” he mutters as you see his face scrunch and his cock twitch in your mouth. You feel his hot load squirting down the back of your throat. His arm is over his mouth, keeping himself quiet as he moans into it, his nose scrunched and eyes screwed shut.

You pull your mouth off him, allowing him a moment to collect himself.

“Fuck that was so good,” he breathes as his chest rises and falls. He stands up, kissing you as he puts your back against the desk, standing between your legs. His fingers trace your folds.

“Fuck again? Hearing me do this to you, baby girl?” He asks and you whimper into his mouth tongues dancing together.

“Just fuck me already,” you whimper.

“Mm,” he chuckles against you.

“Someone needs to remember her manners.”

“Please Felix, i need you. I want you. Fill me,” you whisper as you turn your head and your right hand splays over his cheek and jaw.

Felix’s hand goes down his length, all ready getting hard again from your begging, he pumps himself a time or two.

“I don’t have condom,” he says pulling away from your lips. You shrug.

“Raw, next question.” You joke and he smiles. He pulls you down, bending you over the side of the desk.

“Fuck,” you breathe as he allows you a brief moment to adjust. He feels your hips attempt to rock, and he smirks. He stills your hips, grabbing a hand full of your hair for leverage and drills his hips into yours. Your face is pressed onto the desk, the shelving and books and things at the back of the classroom in your vision. You screw your eyes shut, another orgasm quickly on the brink of explosion.

“Fuck, harder,” you beg as your hips try to force themselves backwards against him. You whine as you rest your forehead on your arm, breath in your face as it hits the desk right below you. Felix groans as your walls flutter around him like a vice.

“Fuck,” you squeak out as his fingers come around your body to rub tight circles on your clit. Your body begins to stiffen, heart rate speeding up, and breathing becoming gasps for air as your orgasm hits once more, your walls sucking him in as he fucks into you harder, helping you drink up every bit of pleasure available to you. As you shake against the desk, Felix’s thrust's get sloppier, his own high crashing into him as he slumps his body over yours slightly, giving you everything he has.

The two of you are naked, sweat covered and exhausted. Once the two of you are are able to breathe normally again, Felix hears voices down the hall.

“Shit!” he curses as he pulls out of you quickly.

“Get dressed!” He tosses your clothes to you, both of you quickly, and messily, getting dressed before sitting down in the desks beside each other.

“So how would you say that in Spanish?” you ask trying to act as if you’re still studying once the teacher opens the door.

“eso fue asombroso,” (that was amazing) he smirks at you. You blush, glancing at the teacher who’s completely oblivious to you as he works on his computer.

Tags: @breakmeoff @thelovelybireader

Please do not repost my work

Love notes, comments, and requests are appreciated!

[muli-wam]

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦　⁺ 　 . ✦

Track Runner!Ryomen Sukuna hated being bossed around. He was the epitome of "I'll do it, but not because you told me to," mentality. He liked doing his own thing for his own benefit. He's never really had anyone to look out for him, that's why he does the job himself. Alone.

So it's safe to say that Sukuna was not taking your correction that well.

Although today, he took it a little differently than normal.

Sukuna didn't like to admit it, but he was still ashamed from last weeks events. He blamed it on the rough week he was having, with his little brother Yuji being extra difficult, and his school work on top if it all, Sukuna was just...extra vulnerable, he liked to say.

But, that was last week. He's moved on. Kind of.

This week, Sukuna promised himself he would do better and not let your annoying ass get to him the way you did.

You two planned a private practice outside of normal practice hours after school since coach was adamant about sukuna being prepared for nationals.

The sound of Sukuna's spikes striking against the red floor of the track with every step he took created a steady tempo—a song Sukuna had memorized by heart.

Sukuna was finishing his second lap when you stopped him, signaling towards the bleachers where you were sitting.

"Your upper body is too rigid," you explain, demonstrating with your own shoulders.

"You're fighting against your own momentum. You can't force your speed—you have to find it."

Track Runner!Ryomen Sukuna would be kicking and crying and huffing and puffing (he is in fact, huffing and puffing) if he was any less than a man.

"Here, come here," you nod him over. He walks up to you and goes stiff when your hands touch his shoulders, turning him so his back is facing you.

"Relax your shoulders," you say, kneading and working at the muscles in his upper back and neck. Sukuna feels the tension dissipate, dissolving into nothing. His eyes close for a moment, basking in the feeling before realizing what the fuck was happening.

"What are you doing?" He grumbled, annoyance laced in his tone.

You ignore his question, instead suggesting, "Try rolling your shoulders back."

"Now let your arms swing naturally from there. Like this-" you continue, your fingertips ghosting across his shoulders, trailing down the length of his arms with a touch so light it leaves goosebumps in their wake. Your hands find his wrists, and for a moment—just a moment—he forgets how to breath.

Suddenly the track isn't the only thing making his heart race.

But Track Runner!Ryomen Sukuna ignores this feeling and practically sprints out of your grasp and back to the track, trying to remember what you told him to do but he can't even focus because of you and your stupidly soft hands.

Track Runner!Ryomen Sukuna thinks about this incident for the next two days. The way you spoke to him so softly, and worked at his shoulders so gentle yet firm at the same time. But those two days turn to four. And then a week, and then two weeks. and then a whole month and Sukuna wants to throw himself off a bridge because why the hell is he thinking about his coaches daughter like this. He hated you.

Well, he's suppose to.

Track Runner!Ryomen Sukuna needed to focus. Track nationals were here, and he couldn't have any distractions. Yes, that means he can't daydream about your hands. Or you, for that matter.

Track Runner!Ryomen Sukuna was warming up with the rest of the team like normal when you had he audacity to plague his mind again.

You walked over next to coach, holding a water bottle carrier on each shoulder. you weren't dressed in anything crazy, just leggings and a school tee shirt but...were you always this pretty?

Was your voice always so soft and angelic? Were you always this nice to everyone? No, that cant be right.

Maybe.

Track Runner!Ryomen Sukuna was all over the place after that. He was tripping and falling, he almost ran straight into a hurdle because he forgot to jump, and he tripped over his laces because he was too busy thinking about you while putting on his spikes that he forgot to tie them.

He thought he could shake it off. Get into the right mindset before he goes up for the 400 meter run.

Nope.

He finished in 3rd. It wasn't bad, but both him and coach knew he could do better.

"Sukuna!" Coach calls from the side.

"What's goin' on? hm?" Coach asked. Sukuna could hear the subtle aggressiveness in his voice, like he was going to bite at sukuna any moment.

"J'st got a lot on my mind." Sukuna says, fixing his gaze on you. You were handing waters to the rest of the team, laughing and conversing with those idiots and for some reason sukuna felt like he couldn't breath. And not in a good way.

Was it jealously? The way you were laughing with stupid Gojo and another team member he couldn't care to name. Gojo wasnt even on the track team. He played soccer.

Track Runner!Ryomen Sukuna freezes in his tracks when he hears what coach says to him.

"You like my daughter?"

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A/n: I wanted to continue this chapter and keep the momentum yk? but I gave up saurrrr yeah srry

Series masterlist

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[worlds-we-write]

Midnight Cravings

pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

summary: Late-night cravings lead to pancakes, flour fights, and soft confessions with Joel.

Tags: established relationship, domestic fluff, late-night softness, sleepy cuddles, pancakes, gentle Joel, comfort fic

My Masterlist

You wake up to the sound of your own stomach growling. At first, you try to ignore it, shifting under the blanket and curling further into the warmth of Joel beside you. But sleep won’t come.

You glance at the clock. 2:13 a.m.

Typical.

Carefully, you slide out from under Joel’s arm and tiptoe your way out of the bedroom. The floors in his house creak like hell, and the last thing you want is to wake him. He’s been sore from patrol all week — knees aching worse than usual, back stiff, and mood swinging like a goddamn pendulum. He deserves the rest.

You tug his flannel shirt around you tighter and pad into the kitchen, rubbing your eyes.

What are you even hungry for?

You open the pantry. Crackers. Old jerky. A jar of questionable preserves. You wince at the label’s date and shove it back onto the shelf. Maybe toast. If the bread isn’t stale. Or a spoonful of honey?

Your stomach rumbles again — louder this time. You sigh and flick on the oven light, bathing the room in a warm amber glow, soft and dim enough not to feel too awake.

That’s when you hear it: the shuffle of bare feet on hardwood and the low, gravelly voice you know better than your own heartbeat.

“You tryna sneak out or somethin’?”

You spin around. “Shit—Joel.”

He’s standing in the doorway, shirtless, hair tousled and sticking up in wild directions, eyes half-lidded and squinting against the light.

“You scared me,” you whisper, heart still fluttering from the surprise.

Joel just gives you a slow once-over. “And you’re in my shirt.”

“Your shirt’s comfy,” you murmur, tugging at the hem. “And I was hungry.”

“Hungry at two in the damn morning?”

“Midnight cravings don’t check the clock, Joel.”

He runs a hand down his face, scratching at the stubble along his jaw. “You could’ve woke me.”

You shrug. “Didn’t want to bother you. Figured I’d sneak a spoonful of peanut butter and crawl back into bed.”

Joel walks past you toward the cabinets. “We’re makin’ pancakes.”

You blink. “Wait—really?”

“Yeah, really. But you’re helpin’. Ain’t gonna be your damn short-order cook.”

You grin and follow him to the counter, grabbing the mixing bowl.

Joel pulls out the flour and a half-empty carton of milk while you grab eggs from the icebox. He’s still squinting, clearly not fully awake, but his hands move on autopilot. You get the feeling he’s done this before — maybe for Ellie, maybe for Sarah.

You don’t ask. You don’t need to. His quiet comfort in the kitchen tells enough stories.

“You got a real specific kind of hunger,” he mutters, cracking eggs into the bowl like it’s a challenge. “Can’t just eat a piece of bread like a normal person. No, gotta make pancakes from scratch in the middle of the night.”

“I never said you had to make them,” you reply, reaching over to snatch the whisk from him. “But now that you’re here…”

Joel grunts and raises a brow, but you catch the tiniest smile tug at the corner of his mouth.

You start mixing the batter while Joel greases the skillet. The scent of butter begins to drift through the kitchen, rich and warm and nostalgic. The kind of smell that makes you feel like a kid again.

But it wouldn’t be a late-night kitchen scene without a little chaos.

You’re scooping flour when Joel bumps your elbow reaching for the sugar, and half the cup dumps across the counter. Some of it lands squarely on your shirt—his shirt—and dusts the front like powdered snow.

“Joel!” you gasp, flailing slightly. “You flour-bombed me!”

“I didn’t do nothin’,” he says, deadpan, though you can see the amusement in his eyes. “Clumsy woman’s makin’ a mess in my kitchen, that’s what I see.”

You retaliate with a light sprinkle of flour to his chest. It clings to the soft hair there and leaves a ghostly handprint. Joel blinks down at it, then narrows his eyes.

“Oh, you’re askin’ for it now.”

Before you can back away, he dips his fingers into the batter and smears a line across your cheek.

“Joel!”

“You started it.”

“You ruined the pancake batter!”

“Nah, I improved it. Gave it some character.”

You stare at him, eyes wide with playful indignation, and then you both burst into laughter. It echoes off the tile and the quiet, sleeping walls of the house. You realize how rare this is — not just the moment, but this version of Joel. Loose. Soft. Light in his eyes. Laughing with you like nothing else in the world exists.

Once the batter’s somewhat salvaged and the skillet is ready, you both settle into your makeshift system. You pour; Joel flips. He grumbles every time a pancake gets too brown, and you tease him for being a “perfectionist pancake dad.” He tries to act annoyed, but his little grin betrays him every time.

“You ever do this?” you ask softly, handing him a plate.

He doesn’t look at you. “Do what?”

“This kind of thing. Middle of the night, pancakes, talking.”

There’s a beat. His eyes stay on the skillet as he flips one more cake with practiced ease.

“Used to,” he says eventually. “Long time ago.”

You nod. “Thanks for doing it with me now.”

Joel finally looks at you — and there’s something tender in his gaze, something wordless that wraps itself around your ribs and holds.

“I don’t mind,” he says. “Not with you.”

The pancakes turn out a little lopsided and uneven in color, but neither of you care. You stack them on mismatched plates, drizzle what little maple syrup you have left over the top, and sit cross-legged on the kitchen floor like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The oven light glows warm behind the stovetop, casting golden shadows across Joel’s bare chest and sleepy smile. The air smells like vanilla and sugar and him.

You take a bite and hum, mouth full. “See? Worth waking up for.”

Joel watches you, head tilted just slightly, fork in hand but untouched. “You got syrup on your lip.”

You swipe your tongue across it and shrug. “Fixed.”

He leans in — close enough that his knee bumps yours, close enough that his breath brushes your cheek. “Didn’t say I didn’t wanna get it myself.”

Your pulse skips.

He kisses you, slow and sweet, one hand braced against the floor and the other curling gently behind your neck. The kiss is soft but unhurried, like he’s tasting the syrup and you all at once, and savoring both. When he finally pulls back, your lips are sticky and smiling.

“Better,” he murmurs.

You roll your eyes and bump his shoulder. “You’re such a sap.”

“And you’re a damn menace,” he replies, nudging your foot with his. “But I like you anyway.”

The house is quiet, the rest of Jackson asleep, and yet the space between you feels full. Full of laughter and syrup and the warmth of something that stretches far beyond pancakes on the floor.

Joel finishes off the burnt one — because “wastin’ food’s a sin” — and then sets his plate aside, rubbing his hands on his sweatpants.

When he shifts, he opens one arm toward you in invitation. You don’t hesitate.

You crawl into his lap, your back against his chest, your body fitting like it always belonged there. Joel exhales like a weight lifts off his shoulders just having you close. His arms wrap around your middle, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“You warm enough?” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Perfect.”

You sit like that for a while. No need to fill the silence. Just the occasional deep breath, the soft drum of his fingers tracing lazy circles over your arm, and the contented hum he gives when you nuzzle into his neck.

He starts to sway just slightly — not quite rocking, but a rhythm so natural you barely notice it until your eyes get heavy.

“Sleepy now, huh?” he whispers.

You hum back, already halfway there.

Joel shifts a little and curls his hand protectively over your thigh. “You want me to carry you back to bed?”

You shake your head against his chest. “Can we just… stay here a little longer?”

He kisses your temple. “As long as you want, baby.”

The hardwood floor isn’t exactly comfortable — not like Joel’s bed, not even close — but wrapped up in him, you couldn’t care less.

Your legs are tangled together, your cheek resting just over his heart, where the steady thump lulls you closer to sleep with every second. His fingers trace patterns over your thigh, your hip, the curve of your back. Absentminded. Reverent.

You’re barely awake when you hear him speak.

“So, uh…” he murmurs, voice thick with hesitation and sleep. “This kinda thing. It’s real easy with you.”

Your breath catches, just a little. “Yeah?”

He nods against your temple. “Don’t usually—y’know, let people see me like this. Bein’ all soft, makin’ pancakes like a damn idiot.”

You smile, eyes still closed. “You’re not an idiot. You’re sweet.”

Joel lets out a small huff of a laugh. “Don’t spread that around.”

“No promises,” you tease. “You did smear pancake batter on my face, so... I’m definitely telling someone.”

“Traitor.”

You turn your face just enough to press a kiss over his heart. The thump beneath your lips stutters, then steadies again.

Joel’s arms tighten around you, and for a moment, neither of you speak. The silence isn’t awkward — it’s peaceful. Soft. Like the world outside doesn’t exist, and all that matters is the two of you in this sleepy kitchen, with syrup on your fingers and love in your bones.

Then, quietly—so quietly you almost don’t hear it—he whispers it:

“I love you.”

Your eyes open.

Not because you’re surprised. You knew it. You’ve felt it in the way he looks at you, how he shields you from the cold, how he always walks on the outside of the sidewalk. But hearing it—so unguarded, so soft—makes something bloom in your chest.

You shift just enough to meet his eyes.

“I love you too,” you whisper back.

And god, the way he looks at you then. Like you hung the stars. Like you’re the reason he stayed soft all this time.

He kisses you again — slow, deep, sleepy. One hand curls into your hair, the other pulling you tighter like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

“You ready for bed?” he murmurs against your lips.

“Nope.”

He huffs. “You plannin’ to make a nest on the floor, then?”

“Maybe,” you mumble. “Kinda like it here.”

Joel laughs under his breath, low and rough. “Yeah. Me too.”

Still, he stands with you cradled in his arms like it’s the easiest thing in the world. You bury your face in his neck, and he walks you both back to the bedroom with slow, steady steps.

You’re half-asleep before your head hits the pillow, tucked into his side. His flannel shirt still wrapped around you. His fingers tangled with yours.

And before the darkness fully pulls you under, you hear him again:

“Next time you wake up cravin’ somethin’…”

“Mm?”

“Just wake me. We’ll make waffles.”

You laugh, barely. “Deal.”

[howiswhatawhy]

Dive - Bucky Barnes x reader

A/N: Ugh I've been so busy with schoolwork and maybe this is the only fic I'll be able to finish in the next 3 weeks or so (i hope not tho). As always this fic is based on the songs in my bucky playlist. Pairing: college athlete! fuckboy(?)! bucky x tutor! reader (can you guys guess my fav trope?) Summary: Being halfway in love with Bucky is hard when your worlds don't collide. So you try to fit in more in his world by going to a party when asks you to, but it becomes more apparent now than ever that you don't belong. Word Count: 3.7k Warnings: longing, slight angst, soft! bucky, kinda hurt/comfort, reader thirsting over bucky, reader being a bit quirky, uncertainty, no use of y/n, no thunderbolts spoiler. Playlist:

Oh, maybe I came on too strong

Maybe I waited too long

Maybe I played my cards wrong

Oh, just a little bit wrong

Baby I apologize for it

You tap your fingers against the table, an absent rhythm that matches the way your thoughts are tumbling over themselves. The café is warm, soft light pooling over the tabletop, and yet your palms are cold. Why do your nerves always betray you like this?

You weren’t good at this. At pretending like you aren’t halfway in love with Bucky Barnes, if even halfway.

The door swings open, and you look up too quickly, too eagerly. He catches the motion, eyes crinkling just slightly in amusement. You scramble to look casual, adjusting your jacket, moving your coffee cup an inch to the left like that’s something normal people do.

Bucky just shakes his head, grinning as he slides into the seat across from you. "You're cute when you overthink," he murmurs, and your heart stumbles over itself like your hands did a second ago.

“What do you mean?” You pick up your drink. The empty drink. The one you finished ten minutes ago. Smooth.

Bucky slides into the seat across from you, his gaze settling with easy amusement. He’s biting back a smirk. “You’re acting real normal," he teases.

You scoff, or tried to at least. “I am normal. We’re just doing our usual topic, right?” 

"Sure," he muses, tipping his head slightly.

——

I could fall or I could fly

Here in your aeroplane

And I could live, I could die

Hanging on the words you say It started when coach Alexei asked you for a favor. A little academic charity for a star athlete who, according to everyone, just needed someone to "keep him on track." You didn’t expect much beyond forced study sessions, maybe a few half-hearted attempts at getting him to care about coursework in between practices.

But Bucky had surprised you.

To be quite honest, you half expected to hate Bucky. He’s known as a fuckboy, and he’s broken countless hearts. So were you really at fault for thinking that he’s just some kind of jerk who doesn’t care about anyone but himself? Not really, but that thought was  proven to be wrong when you got to really know Bucky.

You don’t really know about how men should treat women. After all, you’ve only dated one person before. And that guy cheated on you twice, and blamed you for it. 

So no, you don’t really know how men are supposed to treat women.

You just know how Bucky treats you.

He listens.

At first, your conversations never strayed beyond class material. But even then, he listened, really listened, which surprised you. You’d expected him to zone out, to fake interest just to get through the session.

But Bucky didn’t check his phone mid-sentence. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t roll his eyes or act like he had somewhere better to be. He met your gaze. He asked follow-up questions. He made you feel like what you were saying actually mattered.

It threw you off at first, how attentive he was. You kept waiting for the catch. Maybe he was just trying to butter you up before a big exam, or maybe this was just another version of the charm everyone warned you about. But it never came.

And little by little, the conversations began to shift. You started to get to know him, and he starts to remember things about you too. Like how you don’t like the smell of coffee, which is why he doesn’t drink coffee on Wednesdays, your tutoring day. Or how you need to eat sweet snacks when you’re stressed, so he brings some when it’s nearing exams season. 

It was in the quiet moments that you began to notice things about him. Like the way he chewed the inside of his cheek when he was concentrating. Or how he’d tilt his head when he was confused.

You also noticed the girls that watched him when he walked by. The way their eyes followed him down the hallway, the way they whispered to each other behind barely concealed smiles. You saw the way some of them lingered after class, trying to catch his attention with light laughs and playful touches. And you saw the way he smiled and flirted back at them.

Bucky is a sweetheart. He always has been, and he always will be. And maybe that’s the problem. He’s sweet to everyone. 

He holds doors open. He offers his jacket without thinking twice. He remembers names of people he met once. And he never makes anyone feel stupid for not understanding something right away. That’s just who he is.

So when he’s kind to you, part of you wonders if it’s just habit. If you’re reading too much into something that isn’t meant to mean anything. You wonder if this is the reason why he got the “heartbreaker”label in the first place, because he’skind.

Too kind.

Because when someone like Bucky Barnes looks at you like you’re the only person in the room, even just for a split second, it’s easy to believe it.

Easy to fall.

So you let yourself hope a little. Hope that you’re the only one he texts after a long day —

Don’t forget to eat tonight. You always forget when you’re overwhelmed.

And you hope (more than you probably should) that you’re the only one he makes space for in his schedule. Not because a professor asked him to. But because he wants to.

The only one he calls “smart girl” with that low, proud smile tugging at his lips. Like you mean something more.

You hope that the way he leans toward you when you talk isn’t how he leans toward everyone. That the way his voice softens when he says your name isn’t automatic. That when his knee brushes yours, he does notice, and he leaves it there on purpose.

Because Bucky Barnes is sweet to everyone.

But you want to believe he’s gentle with you. Specifically.

Deliberately.

And maybe that’s naive. Maybe he’s just kind, effortlessly, carelessly kind. And none of it means what you want it to mean.

But when you reread his message for the third time,

when you show up and he’s already there, waiting,

when he hands you your favorite snack without being asked, you let yourself hope.

Just a little.

That maybe, just maybe, you’re the only exception.

———

And I've been known to give my all

And jumping in harder than

Ten thousand rocks on the lake

You don’t fall in love often. In fact, you only fell in love once. And the experience made you careful. 

Because you’ve seen first hand what you’d do for love. Even when it hurt. Even when it wasn’t returned the way you needed. Even when it meant shrinking yourself just to keep someone else comfortable.

You bent until you were unrecognizable. Forgave things that should’ve never been. And stayed longer than you should’ve, hoping that things would get better.

You loved hard. And it cost you.

So now, you walk slowly. You check for signs. You second-guess the warmth in someone’s voice, the meaning behind their smile. Especially his smile.

Because Bucky Barnes has history. A long one. With countless of girls in smudged lipstick and dreamy eyes. Fast flings. Short chapters. Open-and-shut hearts.

So it’s hard not to wonder: what does someone like you mean to someone like him?

Because the stories don’t exactly paint a picture of someone who sticks around. And yet, when he’s with you, there’s a quiet difference. A stillness that wasn’t there before.

But questions don’t disappear just because you want them to. They sit there, tangled up in every glance and every word unsaid. Still unanswered.

———

You're a mystery

I have traveled the world, there's no other like you

No one, what's your history?

Do you have a tendency to lead some people on?

'Cause I heard you do, mmh

It’s hard to convince yourself that Bucky doesn’t have feelings for you when you spend half your days daydreaming about him and overanalyzing his texts for the 20th time in a row. But it’s also hard to convince yourself that he’d choose you out of all the girls that are lining up at his feet.

Your worlds don’t exactly collide. You get to hear feel the difference when he talks about what happened at the parties he went last Saturday, asking you to come with him just this once. He always spurts out something in the lines of Come on doll, just this once? You never have fun. You need to relax.

Even if you don’t hear it, you’d see it when you walk with him on campus. The way heads turn when he passes, how girls smile just a little too wide, flipping their hair, biting their lips. Some are bold enough to walk right up to him, completely ignoring you beside him.

“Hey, Bucky,” one of them says, hand brushing his arm lightly, eyes doing that slow scan from his face to his chest. “You never texted me back.”

Or “You still owe me a drink, remember?” with a teasing smirk and a wink that makes your stomach twist.

He just laughs it off, saying “Sorry, sweetheart, been busy,” or “Did I? My bad,” followed by that grin. And all the while, you shrink a little more beside him.

It’s not jealousy, not exactly. It’s this aching feeling that you’re just… background. That you don’t belong in the glittering, easy world he moves through. You’re the girl with ink-stained fingers and mismatched socks, the one who prefers quiet cafes to crowded parties, novels to nightclubs.

You wish you didn’t feel so small beside him. Wish you didn’t shrink into the shadows every time someone looked right past you to get to him. Wish, just once, you could stand beside him and feel like you belonged there. So when he turns to you this time, saying “So, is this the week I finally can convince you to come with me to the party?” You open your mouth, ready to say no, ready to remind him that crowded rooms and flashing lights aren’t your thing. That you wouldn’t know how to blend in, wouldn’t know how to be anything other than the quiet, unnoticed girl beside him.

But this time, the words don’t come. Instead, you think about the way people look at him, like he belongs everywhere, like the world molds itself around him. And for once, you wonder what it would be like to step into that space, even if only for a night.

Would it really be so terrible?

Would you really feel so out of place?

So you let out a breath, glancing up at him, and the smirk he wears softens just enough to make your pulse stumble. "One time," you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

His grin sharpens, triumphant, like he knew you’d cave eventually.

"That’s my girl."

And suddenly, the party doesn’t feel quite so impossible.

——

And I've been known to give my all

And lie awake, every day

Don't know how much I can take

Okay, credits to Bucky, the party isn’t so bad after all. He introduced you to his friends, Steve and Sam, which were welcoming in a way that made it easier to breathe.

"Didn’t think you had it in you, Barnes," Sam says, nudging Bucky’s shoulder. "Our girl here doesn’t seem like the party type."

Our girl.

The words stick in your chest, warm and unexpected.

Bucky just grins, glancing down at you. "Told you she just needed the right crowd."

And somehow, surrounded by laughter, by the buzz of conversation that feels less suffocating now, you start to believe that maybe you’re not entirely out of place here. The warmth lingers for a while.

The easy laughter, the way Sam and Steve talk to you like you’ve always been part of the group, the way Bucky’s hand ghosts over your lower back whenever someone nudges too close, it’s all enough to make you believe you could stay.

So maybe you got too comfortable. You don’t realize how much until the world tilts slightly when you stand. “You okay, doll?” You glance up. Bucky stands close, the party lights casting soft shadows over his face, making the sharp cut of his jaw look even more unfair than usual. His brow furrows slightly, concern flickering behind his eyes, but all you can focus on is his hand.

It’s at your waist, steady, grounding, not that it’s helping, because if anything, it’s worse. His palm is warm, the heat bleeding through your shirt, his fingers curling just slightly like he already knows you’d stumble if he let go.

It’s ridiculous, really, the way your pulse trips over itself just because Bucky Barnes is looking at you like this.

Just because his voice is this deep.

Just because his thumb presses ever so slightly against your hip.

So you try to focus on something else, you drag your gaze away from his thumb and falls to.. his lips. Soft, curved into something dangerous. Just slightly parted, inviting you to kiss- Yeah, maybe you’re a little drunk. "I—yeah. Just need some water," you manage, but it doesn’t sound convincing. His eyes flick over you, slow and assessing, like he doesn’t quite believe you either. "You sure?"

And damn him, because his thumb presses just a little firmer against your hip, like he’s testing the steadiness of your stance. You inhale sharply, ignoring the way your pulse betrays you completely, and step back just enough to pull yourself out of the gravitational pull that is Bucky Barnes and his hands and his voice and his everything.

"I’m sure."

You turn too quickly, squeezing through the crowd toward the kitchen, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck, ignoring the way your skin still tingles where his fingers had been.

You stayed in the kitchen for a while, trying to calm yourself down, even though nothing seems to be working. The cool air in the kitchen should help, but it doesn’t. Neither does the water you sip slowly, hoping the chill will settle something inside you. But the ghost of his touch lingers.

Then, his voice.

You hear it from just outside the doorway, low and easy,  "Doll—"

You turn instinctively, heart skipping.

But just when he was about to come in, other voices cut in. You don’t register them at first. The thrum of the party is too loud, your pulse beating too harshly in the silence of the kitchen. But then—

"Come on, Buck, seriously?"

It’s right outside the doorway. Close enough that the sound slips into the quiet space you’d created for yourself. You freeze.

“You’re really not gonna entertain us tonight? Just because you’re stuck with that loser chick that clings to you like a leech?”

The words sting, but not as much as the rush of heat crawling up your neck. It’s humiliating, really. To hear such cruel words come out of people who don’t really know you. But even more, because it burrows deep into something you’ve already thought about yourself. Because it feels like the truth.

So, you don’t wait. You don’t stay to hear what Bucky says in response, don’t pause to see the way his jaw tightens, the sharpness in his voice when he does shut them down. Because it doesn’t matter. Not really.

What matters is that you’re done.

Your fingers tighten around your phone as you push through the crowd, slipping past bodies that suddenly feel too close, voices that are suddenly too loud.

You need out.

You barely register the night air when you stumble outside, the chill biting at your skin, grounding you in ways nothing else had tonight.

—— So don't call me baby

Unless you mean it

Don't tell me you need me

If you don't believe it

So let me know the truth

Before I dive right into you

Bucky comes out right after you. The door clicks shut behind him, muffling the noise of the party. He steps closer, warmth lingering despite the bite of the night air. His gaze flicks over you like he’s trying to figure out just how deep the words inside hurt you.

"You shouldn’t have left like that," he murmurs, voice softer now. "Didn’t even let me shut them down properly."

You exhale sharply, gripping your phone tighter, unsure if it’s anger or embarrassment twisting in your chest. But before you can say anything—

"Come on, doll” he says, just barely above a whisper. "Talk to me."

Your breath shudders, the weight of everything crashing down at once.

You don’t fight it this time. Don’t try to swallow the sting in your throat, don’t bother blinking back the tears burning behind your eyes. You just let it break.

The first tear slips free, then another. Your shoulders shake, and you hate how weak you feel, how exposed.

“Baby,” His voice is softer now, careful, like he’s trying not to make it worse. But it does. It does because it’s confusing and it’s cruel. You don’t know what he means by calling you that. Bucky moves closer, hand lifting to wipe away the tear trailing down your cheek. His fingers are warm and comforting in the same way they hurt and break you. Because you can’t take it if he touches you like that, looks at you so gently, calling you baby without it meaning more. You pull back, sharp, sudden.

"Don’t call me that."

The words cut through the night, sharper than you meant them to be, but you mean them. Bucky’s hand lowers, his eyes searching your face. “I—“ He tries. “No, Bucky. I know you’re nice and you’re sweet and you defended me from those girls just now, but they were right. I cling onto you.” Bucky’s brows furrow, the weight of your words sinking in. His mouth opens, like he wants to say something, like he wants to argue. But you continue before he could. “I cling onto you, I make it weird. I make us weird. And you let me, because you're polite, but that’s all this is, isn’t it?”

You hate how your voice wavers. Hate that the confession burns so much. Bucky exhales sharply, shaking his head, something frustrated sparking behind his eyes. "That’s not it. You know that I need you just as m—”

“No, Bucky, don’t say things like that,” you cut in. “You can’t say things like that and expect me to not fall in love with you.” The words come out without you even realizing it. Your chest is tight, emotions making it feel suffocating. The words hang between you, sharp and trembling, like you’ve just cracked something open that can’t be forced back into place.

Bucky stills.

His breath is uneven, his gaze heavy, like he's staring straight through the layers of doubt, insecurity, everything you've tried to bury.

“You know what? Just forget it. I know you’ll never feel the same way. I’m sorry for making it awkward. I’ll just tell the coach that you don’t need me anymore so I can stop embarrassing myself, so I can—"

"Stop." The word is firm, sharper than his usual softness. Bucky steps in again, closer this time, like he's daring you to run. "You think I don’t—" He stops himself, his jaw tightening, like the words are fighting their way out of him.

"You think I don’t feel it too?" His voice is raw now, stripped bare, no hesitation, no restraint. "You think I don’t lose my damn mind every time you're near?"

Your pulse thrums wildly in your ears.

"You think I call you baby just to be nice?" His voice dips, frustration laced with something else. something deeper. "I call you that because I don’t know how to say I want you without completely losing my goddamn mind."

Your breath stutters, chest tight, thoughts spinning too fast for you to catch them. "You—" You start, but the words die in your throat. Bucky is right there, closer than he’s ever been, watching you like you might slip away again if he lets go. Your breath is uneven, your hands trembling at your sides. Bucky is right there, eyes locked on yours, and the weight of everything presses between you, suffocating in its intensity.

“Tell me the truth,” you say, daring him—begging him. “Because if I fall, if I let myself believe it, I need to know I won’t be the only one drowning.”

Bucky exhales sharply, his chest rising, falling. He looks at you like he wants to grab you, shake you, pull you in so close there’s no space left to doubt. But instead, his hand lifts—fingers grazing against your jaw, featherlight, reverent.

“You think I don’t want you?” he murmurs, his voice so quiet, so fragile, it feels like it might break apart before it reaches you. “You think I don’t feel it every goddamn day?”

Your pulse thrums wildly, but you don’t move. You don’t breathe.

“I’ve tried,” he continues, shaking his head like he’s frustrated with himself, like he’s unraveling right in front of you. “I’ve tried to hold back, tried to pretend it’s nothing, but it’s not. It never was.”

His thumb brushes against your cheek, and it’s the softest thing, the gentlest touch, but it wrecks you. Because this is it. This is what you’ve been afraid of, what you’ve been desperate for.

“I want this,” he says finally, no hesitation, no restraint. “And if you dive, I swear to you, I’m right there with you.” Slowly, Bucky moves, pressing his forehead against yours. His warmth seeps into you, into the spaces that have always felt empty.

“I want you,” he murmurs, a breath away. You don’t know how to answer because this has been everything you’ve ever wanter ever since the second you met him. It leaves you breathless, speechless. So you don’t say anything. Not in words. You lean forward, fingers curling into his jacket, holding onto him like he’s the only thing keeping you steady. And he pulls you in. Lips searching for yours in the softest way. And with the way his fingers trace the line of your jaw, a gentle caress that anchors you in the moment, you melt into him, into the warmth that seeps into your bones, into the feeling of being held, wanted. There’s no need for words now. This is the answer. This is home.

[differenteagletragedy]

Part Nine of Simon Riley x Single Mother <3

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight

Simon doesn't want a long engagement. He wants to be married to you immediately -- tomorrow would be good, ten years ago would be better. He's never been what anyone would describe as giddy, but thinking of the security marriage would bring ... it makes him smile.

But, as always, he follows your lead. Lets you consider what route makes the most sense for Charlie and Emma, how best to fully integrate him into their lives. It'll take some planning, but that's fine with him. He's got a mission coming up anyway, he figures you can use the time to figure out exactly how you want to play it.

He leaves, trying not to think about how it's getting harder every time to pack his things and walk away from you, from the life he's building. But when he comes back home, something's different.

It's in the way you rush outside when his heavy footsteps start up the steps on he porch, closing the door behind you and quickly pulling him in for a tight hug. There's something a little bit desperate about the way you move. A sort of anxiety he hasn't seen in you since he put that ring on your finger.

"I'm so glad you're home," you tell him, voice clipped. "You're ok?"

"Perfectly fine, sweetheart," he answers, eyes moving to the front window as if he could see through he curtains. "And you?"

Turns out, not so much.

You tell him a quick version of the story, all while your hands fidget with his collar -- your ex is in town, Charlie and Emma's father, and he's inside now with the children.

"I'm sorry," you tell him softly, wincing like you're worried he'll be upset with you. But before he can express just how ridiculous the notion is, the door swings open and out comes Charlie, howling with glee at the sight of Simon.

"There's the lad," he says, gruffly but fondly, as Charlie hugs him around his legs. "Been taking care of little sister like we talked about?"

Even as he says them, the words feel strangely domestic -- a bit of a conversation that he could never have imagined himself having just a year ago. As always, Charlie distracts him from getting into his head too much with sheer, unbridled energy.

"Come inside, Daddy," he says, pulling on his arm. "I mean, Simon."

It's the first time Charlie's ever corrected himself when he slips up and calls him that, and Simon tries to push down the strange little bit of hurt he feels when the boy opens the door and leads him inside.

The hurt is replaced by another darker feeling, some mix of anger and jealousy and fear, when he sees a man sitting on your couch, watching Emma play with blocks on the floor. When the man looks up and sees Simon, he smirks. It almost looks like a challenge.

"So, this is the guy that's been playing house with my family while I was away?" he asks you.

Simon already knew, but this is another piece of proof that you and your children have made him a better man, because the old him would have torn him apart for that remark.

You step up beside him, hands on your hips with a disapproving glare as you say, "Robert, really?"

The man, or Robert, apparently, laughs -- a grating rumble with no humor in it.

"Come on, I'm just joking. Relax."

You sigh, taking a step closer to Simon. His fingers twitch. It's not a possessive anger, not really, because he knows that at some point, you'd had feelings for this man, and it was his blood that ran through your children's veins. Not Simon's.

Still, you're upset, and he's belittling your feelings, and Simon doesn't care for it. But before he can say anything, you ask Charlie to take Emma to go play in their room.

Once the door closes behind them, there's a fire in your eyes as you turn to Robert, telling him, "You can't say that stuff in front of them, they're just little."

"Yeah? And what'd I say that was so wrong?"

"Everything!"

Simon watches the exchange with a clenched jaw. At this point, he knows all about the man on your couch -- he knows how poorly he treated you, and how you tried to give him love that he let squander. You tried to make it work with him for Charlie, so much that you carry a bit of guilt for just how long you tried to make him into someone you could depend on. And then when you found out Emma was coming, it was a wakeup call. You kicked him out, changed the locks, and learned pretty quickly that he was not interested in being a father if he couldn't take advantage of you in the process.

When Robert stands, Simon takes a step forward -- not a threat, just a warning. The man lets out that cold, annoying little laugh again and glances at him before he looks down at you.

"Got yourself a guard dog now, huh? This is the guy you've been begging me to sign adoption papers for?"

It's as if Simon can feel all the blood rushing from his face. You're shocked too, he can feel it in the way you tense beside him, but it's like your reaction is happening through the fog of the bombshell your ex just dropped.

A few things happen all at once, and he's only distantly aware of them. You step forward, saying something to Robert in a very displeased tone, and you usher him to your front door. He protests, and Simon is on alert, but you don't need him to handle this. A moment later, he's gone and it's just you and him, the children still playing down the hall in their shared bedroom.

"I didn't ..." you begin, but trail off. "It's just ..."

You stop and start a few more times, and finally he's able to pull himself out of the stupor he'd been in. He takes a breath, and puts his hands on your waist, strong and steady as always, even though he feels anything but.

"It's all right, love," he says quietly. "Don't have to explain anything to me, you know that."

"No, I do," you insist. "Because I don't want you to think the wrong thing, about all that."

"About the ..." Simon says, but it's his turn for his words to fall off -- he can't say the word "adoption," not yet. "What's the right thing?"

You gaze up at him with anxious eyes, your face lined with worry, and he can't help but lean down and press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"Told you, it's all right," he says again, landing another kiss, this time on your temple. "Don't look so concerned."

"How is it all right? Now you think I've been talking to my ex about... about you adopting the kids, and that's not what it was, not really."

The way you say the word makes it clear that you're struggling with it too. Which makes sense — it’s a heavy concept, he thinks. A formal process, paperwork and he's honestly not sure what else, all so that he'd be Charlie and Emma's father, legally. It's a lot to take in, but it's certainly not an unwelcome thought. An adoption would provide more security. He could get benefits for them more easily through the job; he could —

“Simon?”

You pull him out of his thoughts, and he fixes his eyes on you.

He’s steady now.

“If I say it’s all right, sweetheart, it’s all right,” he tells you, his voice a murmur and his eyes soft. “You think I’d think you’re scheming somehow? That I haven’t considered it myself?”

He sees your smooth neck work as you swallow your nerves, and you say, “I was just asking him about it for the future … if he’d do it. I just wanted to know, that’s all.”

“And what’d he say?”

“He said no, but he’s just being difficult.” You glance down the hallway before looking back at him and lowering your voice. “He doesn’t care about them, he never has. Not really. Not like …”

He looks at you, waiting, wanting to hear you say it.

Finally, you do, your fingers toying with his collar as you say, “he doesn’t love them like you do.”

It’s not the first time Simon has felt this feeling with you: a rush of pride, a strange wonder at doing something so important, so delicate, and somehow doing it right. He’d never known he had it in him, any of this, but now it’s his favorite part of himself. He can take care of you, and he can take care of Charlie and Emma, and he can do it well. Well enough that you’ve been thinking about making it even more permanent.

He smiles, only realizing it when your lips turn up too, then he presses his forehead to yours. It’s sweet, but that’s not why he’s doing it. He’s doing it because he wants to make sure you hear him.

“We’ll figure it out, yeah?” he says, his eyes glued on yours. “If that’s what you want, if that’s what they want, then that’s what’ll happen.”

“Promise?”

He grins, and he moves a hand from his waist to find yours. He links your pinky with his, something he learned from Charlie.

“You only do this when you really, really mean something,” the boy had told him earnestly. “Because this means you can’t take it back.”

And Simon doesn’t know if he’s ever meant anything more.

“Promise.”

[ineedpaigebuckets]

like fire

synopsis: you play paige bueckers, she falls hard right on your ass, and you stumble your way into her hotel room

the crowd is loud.

like can’t-hear-your-coach loud. like heartbeat-in-your-throat loud. every inch of the arena packed. big-time broadcast, primetime spot. you’re playing uconn, playing in the kind of game that gets circled on calendars months in advance.

you’re locked in — or, you were. up until the second quarter. up until the moment she did it.

paige bueckers. golden girl. blue jersey. face flushed from the pace, and locked directly onto you like she’s hunting.

you don’t know when it started — the lingering looks, the extra seconds of eye contact across the floor, the faint smirk when she body-checks you in transition. she guards you tight. chest to chest. arms all over. and you can’t help it — you chirp right back. you push. you jab. you give her that fire she seems to want.

but then you come off a dribble handoff, hard to the right, and she sets the screen.

it’s clean — perfectly timed, solid — but you don’t see it coming. you hit her shoulder full force, go down fast. palms slap the hardwood. chest, then stomach, then hips. the fall knocks the wind out of you for half a second.

and then she lands on you.

not just on you — on you. hips to your ass, her weight pressing down, chest flush to your back, a grunt in your ear as she catches herself with a hand next to yours.

your whole body goes still.

she doesn’t move. not right away. her hips shift once — trying to get up, maybe — but it just pushes her closer, presses her tighter. you gasp, and she hears it. her breath hits the back of your neck.

“shit,” she murmurs, low enough that only you hear. her voice is wrecked — not from the game. not from the fall. from you.

your stomach flips.

when she finally pushes off you, her hands linger on your hips for just a second too long. her palm grazes the waistband of your shorts. her fingers flex like she doesn’t want to let go.

you don’t say anything. can’t. not when your skin feels electric. not when your heartbeat’s thumping behind your ears harder than the student section screaming your name.

you get up slow. she’s already halfway down the court again, ponytail swinging, but when you pass her at halfcourt, she doesn’t look away. her eyes drop to your stomach, then lower. she licks her lips.

and you’re so in trouble.

⸻

the rest of the game is impossible.

you try. god, you try. but she’s everywhere. hand grazing your back when she cuts past. fingers brushing your hip when she’s on-ball. during a stoppage, you walk past her and her knuckles drag across your lower back — casual. barely anything.

but it sets you on fire.

you push her the next chance you get — elbow to her ribs on a box-out, hard shoulder on a drive. she laughs. laughs. and then grabs your wrist, presses her fingers just beneath your hand like a secret.

“that all you got?” she mutters under her breath, her chest against yours, heartbeat pounding against your sternum.

“you want more?” you shoot back.

“i want a lot of things.”

you don’t even realize you’re smiling.

⸻

you both keep missing shots.

you chalk it up to the defense — to the pressure, to the pace. but you know the truth.

your hands are shaking.

you spend the whole fourth quarter brushing against each other like magnets — pulling, tugging, touching just barely out of view. on the floor, you pretend it’s nothing. in the huddle, you can still feel her hip between your thighs. when the clock winds down and the game’s tied, you both look up at the jumbotron like it’s just a game.

but it isn’t.

not anymore.

because you already know what’s coming.

//

you don’t see her in the handshake line. don’t see her in the tunnel either. you’re half convinced she disappeared — that maybe the fall, the touches, the whispers, all of it, were heat-drunk hallucinations.

and then you turn the corner.

and there she is.

leaned casually against the cinderblock wall of the hallway, still in full uniform. sweat-damp hair twisted into a bun, jersey clinging to her stomach. just her and her duffel bag and that infuriating, knowing look in her eyes.

you try to keep walking. like you didn’t see her. like you’re not thinking about her hands on your waist, her hips pressed into your ass, her breath catching when you moaned under her.

but as you pass her, she taps your ass.

low and quick and confident. a full palm. the kind of touch that isn’t accidental. the kind that leaves heat blooming in your stomach instantly.

you freeze. turn your head.

and she leans in close — lips brushing your ear, voice low enough to wreck you.

“you looked so fuckin’ good under me,” she whispers. her breath is hot, and her mouth brushes your earlobe. “should’ve stayed there.”

you don’t breathe. can’t.

“next time,” she adds, teeth grazing your skin now, “i’m making you beg for it.”

and then she pulls back — calm as ever. tosses her bag over her shoulder and walks away like she didn’t just shatter your sanity in ten words.

you stand there alone in the hallway, flushed and stunned, your whole body throbbing.

and all you can think is: next time.

//

you’re still in your uniform.

you should’ve showered by now, should’ve eaten something, should’ve done anything to come down from the game — from her — but your legs feel too shaky. your fingers keep brushing the spot where she touched you. the back of your shorts. your lower back. your neck.

your phone buzzes.

paige bueckers

how’s your ass?

your stomach drops. and then flips.

you bite back a smile. thumbs hover for a second before you type.

you

sore. thanks to you.

she replies instantly.

paige bueckers

good.

looked even better in slow motion.

i’ve been replaying it.

over and over.

you swallow.

you

you always watch film like that?

paige bueckers

only when i’m obsessed.

and right now?

i’m fuckin obsessed with the way you sounded when i landed on you.

thought you were gonna whimper for me.

your thighs clench involuntarily.

you

you were grinding on me.

paige bueckers

was i?

shit.

guess i got a little carried away.

wasn’t my fault you were all laid out like that.

you made it too easy.

you pause. your heart is pounding. everything in you is hot and twitchy and ready to combust.

you

if you stayed any longer i would’ve pushed my ass back into you

and let you take your time getting up

you don’t even wait.

she responds with a photo.

paige bueckers

sent a photo

caption: thinking about that.

she’s shirtless. just her torso. toned stomach, compression shorts slung low, hand inside. the edge of her phone visible in the mirror. the flash catching the tension in her body. she’s not faking it. she’s touching herself already.

your mouth goes dry.

you

god.

i want your hands all over me

i want you to press me to the floor like that again

but this time with no one watching

paige bueckers

baby i’d pin you to the hardwood and fuck you so slow you’d forget what team you played for.

one hand on your hip.

one around your throat.

just to keep you right where i want you.

you moan. out loud. alone in your room with your phone lighting up again.

paige bueckers

i wanna hear you.

face down.

you moaning my name.

you hit call.

it rings once.

twice.

and then her voice — breathless, low, wrecked — fills your ear like a lightning strike to the spine.

“fuck,” she says, like she wasn’t expecting you to actually do it. like she’s already touching herself again just from hearing your breath hitch. “you sound ready for me.”

you don’t speak. you can’t. your hand is already slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts again, hips tilting into your mattress. she hears it. the rustle of fabric, the way your breath stutters.

“you touching yourself?” she asks, soft and slow, like she’s savoring every second. “wish it was me. wish i was there with you. i’d have you face down, ass up, crying into the pillow before you could even beg.”

your hips jerk.

“baby,” she says, voice trembling now, more desperate than smug. “you gotta come here.”

you freeze.

“seriously,” she murmurs. “come to my room.”

there’s silence. your heart thunders.

“i wanna feel you,” she whispers. “i want you in my lap, i want my hand around your throat, i wanna make you come with my thigh pressed between yours like we’re still on the fuckin court. just—” she groans. “please.”

the word hits you hard. not just because it’s paige bueckers whispering filthy things at you, but because she means it.

“room 602,” she adds, voice thick with want. “door’s open. if you don’t come in the next five minutes, i’m coming to get you.”

you don’t hang up.

you just move.

shorts hit the floor. hoodie gets yanked over your head. your legs are shaking and your heart is racing and your phone is still clutched to your ear when you throw on whatever’s closest and bolt down the hallway.

you don’t knock. you just push the door open.

and she’s there — sitting on the edge of the bed in a white tank and boxers, legs spread, chest heaving. eyes dark. mouth already parted like she’s mid-sigh.

“there she is,” she murmurs, eyes dragging over every inch of you.

you shut the door behind you.

and lock it.

she doesn’t say anything—just watches you.

eyes burning into you like they already have hands. she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, legs spread like she’s daring you to come closer, tank top clinging to her chest, one strap sliding halfway off her shoulder. the white fabric is practically see-through in the low light. she hasn’t cooled down at all from the game. neither have you.

you step forward. she leans back slightly, arms bracing behind her on the mattress, lips parted like she’s about to say something—

but she doesn’t.

because you’re already climbing into her lap.

your knees slide to either side of her thigh. her breath catches. her hands instinctively grab your waist, fingers digging in like she’s trying not to pull you down too fast. but you’re already moving. already sinking into her, your thighs tight around hers, your core flush against the muscle of her leg, heat pressing to heat.

“fuck,” she breathes, jaw going slack.

you rock once—slow, barely-there, just enough for friction—and her hands fly up to your ribs like she needs to feel all of you at once. “do that again,” she says, but it sounds more like a plea than a command.

you do.

her hands move, greedy and shaking—up your back, down your hips, fingers slipping under your waistband to find skin. she drags her nails along your spine, then cups the back of your neck and pulls you in like she’s drowning.

you crash into her mouth.

the kiss is messy. not sweet. not slow. she licks into you like she’s starved, teeth clashing, lips bruising, tongue hot and insistent. you’re grinding down harder now, the press of her thigh hitting right—and you gasp against her.

“that’s it,” she groans. “just like that. fuck, i wanna make you come just like this. ride me, baby. you’re so fuckin hot when you’re desperate.”

you whimper into her mouth.

she grabs your ass with both hands, pulling you harder against her thigh. her muscles tense beneath you—flexing like she knows exactly what she’s doing, how to hold you just right—and every grind sends a pulse through your whole body.

“look at you,” she murmurs, mouth trailing to your jaw, then your neck. “all this from a game? from a screen?”

you don’t answer. you can’t. her tongue is already on your pulse point. she’s sucking, then biting, like she wants the bruise to last longer than your win-loss record.

“told you i wanted you face down,” she mutters against your throat, voice breaking with how wrecked she sounds. “but this might be better. get to see your face when you fall apart.”

you let your head fall back, hands buried in her hair, riding her thigh like your whole season depends on it. every breath is her name now. every moan is for her.

her hand slides up, fingers curling gently around your throat—not tight, just enough to own you.

“you’re mine now,” she whispers. “you know that, right?”

you nod.

you’d say yes, but your mouth is too busy gasping. her thigh is slick from you. you’re so close. she knows it. feels it. she leans up, mouth brushing your ear, voice breaking:

“come for me.”

you do.

shaking in her arms, face buried in her neck, thighs twitching as she holds you through it—whispering your name like a prayer, like she’s not gonna let go.

not now.

not ever.

your pulse is still skittering, your body slack and molten in her arms when she pulls back just enough to look at you. her fingers are in your hair, her thigh still wet from where you came, and she’s smiling—barely. it’s not smug. it’s something darker. hungrier.

you feel it before she says anything.

“turn around,” she murmurs.

you blink, still dazed. “what?”

“face down,” she says, voice like gravel now, thumb brushing your cheek. “i wanna see you like that. need to.”

you shiver.

she kisses you once—soft, reverent—and then helps you shift, guiding you down onto the mattress with hands gentler than you’d expect from someone who just wrecked you with a single thigh.

your cheek hits the pillow. your back arches instinctively. you hear the soft shuffle of clothes hitting the floor—hers, now. and then the bed dips behind you.

“god, look at you,” she breathes, hands roaming over your hips, your waist, your back like you’re something holy. “you don’t even know what you do to me.”

you try to respond, but then she presses—her body against yours, chest to back, heat to heat. her hand slides up to your shoulder, holding you down just a little, and she grinds her hips forward, slow and torturous.

you gasp.

“yeah,” she murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “you feel that? that’s what you do to me.”

you arch again, desperate for more, and she groans low in her throat.

“you’re so fuckin responsive,” she says, kissing down your spine now, breath hot and open-mouthed. “i don’t even have to try. you just give it to me.”

her hand slips between your thighs again, and you sob into the pillow when she finds how wet you still are.

“still so ready,” she whispers. “how are you still this wet?”

“you,” you manage to choke out. “it’s you.”

she laughs—quiet, breathless, wrecked. “say it again.”

“you, paige,” you whisper. “you do this to me.”

you feel her hips twitch against your ass, feel the way she groans deep in her chest, almost losing control.

“i wanna ruin you,” she says, voice ragged. “i wanna fuck you until you forget who won tonight. until the only thing you can say is my name.”

you’re still in your underwear. she is too. nothing fancy. just sweat-slick cotton and heat between you. but the way she moves—slow, controlled, rolling her hips into the curve of your ass—makes you feel wrecked already.

not because of anything she’s doing with her hands.

not because of anything inside you.

just her.

just the way she presses against you—grinds against you—with rhythm, like her whole body is saying stay right there.

your hips push back without thinking. she groans when you do.

“yeah,” she breathes, mouth at your neck, teeth grazing your skin. “grind on me, baby. fuck—just like that.”

her thigh slides between yours, and you gasp when your core presses down onto her.

it’s fabric on fabric, sweat on sweat. but it feels like skin. it feels like everything.

she moves with you—slow and sinuous—pressing her hips forward while pulling yours back, creating that perfect, maddening pressure. the friction builds. and every time she rocks into you, you feel her breath catch like she’s right there with you, falling apart inch by inch.

you moan into the pillow. she kisses your shoulder, your spine, the back of your neck.

“you’re so wet,” she says, stunned. reverent. “you’re fuckin soaked.”

you can’t answer. your fingers are clawing the sheets. your thighs are shaking around hers.

her hand snakes between your legs—not inside, not even all the way under. just cupping you over your underwear, feeling everything.

she groans like she’s in pain.

“i wanna make you come like this,” she says, breath ragged. “just from grinding on me. from riding my thigh. how bad you want me.”

you do.

you grind harder. her voice breaks. she moves with you, matches you, loses herself in you. it’s not fast. it’s not even desperate. it’s deliberate—that slow, perfect rhythm you both found in the dark. her body guiding yours, her thigh soaked through with you, her breath in your ear like it’s tethered to your pulse.

and when it happens—again—it sneaks up on you the same way the first one did.

no fingers inside.

no hand between your legs.

just the weight of her, the pressure of her, the feeling of being so seen you can’t breathe.

you cry out—her name, fractured and hoarse—and your body seizes in her arms, thighs shaking, hands fisting the sheets. the pleasure hits hard, second wave, like it had been waiting in the wings for the moment she really made you feel it.

and she knows.

“fuck,” she moans, holding you tighter. “that’s twice, baby.”

you nod, barely. your cheek pressed to the pillow. breath stuttering.

“twice without me even touching you,” she says, in awe, voice rough. “you came just from grinding on me.”

she sounds wrecked. like she might fall apart from just the fact of it.

you feel her smile against your skin.

“my baby,” she whispers, again, quieter now. almost like a secret.

and you are.

completely.

you’re still catching your breath, body limp beneath her, cheek pressed to the pillow, heart pounding in your throat. but somewhere under the exhaustion, something else burns. a flicker of pride. hunger. a little payback.

because she made you fall apart twice—twice—without even slipping a hand between your legs.

and now she’s the one shaking behind you.

you feel it in the way her hips falter. the way her breath hitches. the way her hands are clutching your sides like she’s hanging on to the last of her control.

“baby,” you murmur, voice rough. “lay back.”

paige blinks, breathless. “what?”

you push up on shaky elbows, twist just enough to face her, still on your knees.

“your turn.”

her pupils blow wide. her mouth parts.

you guide her down gently, pressing her back against the mattress, one hand on her chest, one on her hip. she’s still in her underwear, but they’re soaked now, clinging to her in the dim hotel light. her legs fall open like she wants you to see.

“you were so good to me,” you whisper, crawling over her, mouth hovering just above hers. “and i wanna return the favor.”

her breath catches. “you don’t have to—”

“shh,” you whisper, kissing her softly. “just feel.”

you straddle her thigh first—grind down, slow, teasing—and she gasps, hips jerking beneath you. her head tips back into the pillow. your hands slide under her shirt, palms flat against her stomach. her muscles twitch. you kiss her neck, her collarbone, the spot just under her jaw where she always goes quiet.

“you like that?” you whisper, lips brushing her skin.

“yeah,” she breathes. “fuck—yeah.”

you rock your hips once more—her thigh between yours, your mouth now at her ear.

“grind up on me,” you murmur. “let me feel how bad you want it.”

and she does.

paige bueckers—so composed, so locked-in on the court—is desperate beneath you now. her hands on your hips, her thigh lifting into you with every movement, grinding back like she’s trying to chase that high she just gave you. her mouth opens. a gasp. a curse. your name.

your hand cups her through her underwear, just pressure at first, and she arches like she’s on fire.

“fuck—don’t stop,” she pleads.

you kiss her hard. then again. and you whisper, “you gonna come for me just like this?”

you press down — not too rough, not too soft. just enough to make her hips stutter beneath you, to make her eyes flutter closed, mouth part in a gasp so raw it carves through your chest.

your fingers move slow, steady. not inside. just over her, palm cupping her through the soaked cotton, the heel of your hand pressing in tiny, perfect circles.

paige arches like she’s being pulled upward by the tension in her own body, like every part of her is straining toward the edge you’re holding her against. her hands scramble at your waist, clutching at you, grounding herself. her thigh flexes beneath you with every shift of her hips, chasing the rhythm, chasing the friction, chasing you.

“baby,” she whimpers. “oh my god—please don’t stop.”

you don’t. not for a second.

you whisper to her, soft and firm. “that feel good?”

she nods frantically, her eyes squeezed shut. “yeah—please.”

her breathing gets shallow. her stomach clenches under your palm. her legs start to shake, just barely, and you know she’s close.

“i got you,” you murmur, lowering your body over hers, your forehead resting against hers. “let go, p. you’re right there.”

her hips jerk. she gasps—sharp and desperate—and you feel the way her whole body tenses under your hand. then breaks. shatters.

it rolls through her slow, like a wave, like her body doesn’t quite know how to hold that much pleasure at once. her thighs trembling, her mouth falling open on a moan that’s half your name, half something wordless and wrecked.

you don’t stop moving your hand until she whimpers and pulls at your wrist, too sensitive, too raw.

you let go instantly, pulling her into your arms, kissing the sweat at her temple.

paige's chest heaves under yours. her face is flushed, eyes wet, lips parted like she’s still trying to catch up to her own breath.

“holy shit. that was so hot,” she whispers, laughing a little. “you really—i didn’t even think i could come like that.”

you smile against her skin.

“mhm,” you murmur, brushing her hair back. “without even getting your underwear off.”

she kisses you with shaky lips and breathes, “okay. we’re definitely not even anymore.”

and she’s already plotting how to get you back.

you’re both quiet for a while.

paige's body stays pressed to yours, her cheek against your shoulder, breath evening out slowly. your fingers drift through her damp hair, and her hand, still trembling a little, rests over your heart like she needs to feel it beating to believe any of this was real.

but it is.

you’re both here, flushed and slick with sweat, underwear clinging to your bodies, chests rising and falling like waves settling after a storm.

then she shifts.

slow at first, like she’s just adjusting, but you feel the intention in it — the way her thigh presses between yours again, the way her lips graze your neck with a softness that leaves heat behind.

“hey,” she murmurs, almost shy.

you hum, eyes still closed.

“can i…?” she trails off, hand sliding to your hip.

you turn to face her, noses almost touching. her eyes are glassy, pleading. hungry.

you reach between you and push your underwear down, slow and deliberate. she watches, lips parted. then she does the same — kicks hers off under the covers until nothing’s between you but heat and skin and need.

you guide her hand to you. she sighs when she feels how warm you still are.

“again?” she asks, already breathless.

you nod.

and this time it’s slower — not rushed, not teasing — just intimate. her fingers dip between your thighs, and you gasp, the contact making your whole body jolt. she holds your gaze the whole time, like she’s watching every reaction, every stutter of your breath, every twitch of your hips.

you don’t grind.

you don’t need to.

she curls her fingers inside you, just barely, and you moan low, mouth dropping open, head tipping back into the pillow. she presses her forehead to yours, kisses your cheek, your temple, your mouth.

“you’re so perfect,” she whispers.

you don’t mean to start crying again.

not like last time — not messy or sudden. just this soft, shuddering kind of release that slips down your cheeks before you realize what’s happening. her name falls from your lips, not like a cry this time, but like a prayer. quiet. reverent. grateful.

paige doesn’t stop. not for a second.

her fingers inside you are slow, steady, perfect — curling just enough to make your stomach clench, your legs tremble. her thumb brushes over you with the lightest pressure, like she knows exactly what you can take and exactly what you need.

your forehead presses into hers, your hand gripping her wrist like you’re holding on for dear life. and maybe you are. not because you’re afraid — but because you’ve never felt this safe coming apart in someone’s hands before.

your body trembles. breath hitches. every inch of you is buzzing — hot, overwhelmed, open in ways you didn’t even know you could be.

“that’s it,” she whispers, brushing her nose against yours, her voice thick with awe. “you’re okay. i’ve got you.”

your hips stutter, fingers twisting in the sheets. the heat crests sharp and fast, and then it’s everywhere — flooding through you, bursting in your chest, leaving your mouth open in a soundless gasp. your thighs squeeze around her hand. your entire body pulls taut and then breaks, slowly, beautifully, until you’re slumping forward, boneless, collapsing against her.

your face finds her neck. you breathe her in.

“fuck,” you whisper, voice wrecked, barely there.

she holds you through it. lets you shake in her arms, lets the tears wet her shoulder. kisses your temple, your cheek, your jaw.

you can’t speak.

not yet.

you just lie there, pressed into her, as she eases her fingers out and cradles you like something sacred.

and even in the silence, you can feel the words she doesn’t say:

you’re safe. you’re loved. i see you.

and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe it.

when your body finally stops shaking, you kiss her.

not urgent. just close. warm. slow enough that she melts under you again, her lips parting, her hands still cradling your jaw like she can’t quite let go yet.

but she doesn’t have to.

you flip her gently, fingers skimming down her sides, dragging the covers with you until she’s bare beneath you—flushed and quiet and waiting. her eyes search yours like she already knows what you’re about to do, but she needs to hear it anyway.

you kiss her neck. her collarbone. your lips trail over her chest, and you pause just to press your mouth there—to feel her heartbeat under your tongue. it’s racing. she whispers your name, breath catching.

you keep going.

lower. slower. the tip of your nose skims her stomach. she squirms, hips arching ever so slightly. by the time you settle between her thighs, her legs are already falling open for you like instinct, like trust.

you hook your arm under one of them, wrapping around her thigh to hold her close. the other hand reaches up, finds hers in the sheets. she grabs it like she’s drowning.

and then you touch her.

not with fingers—with your mouth.

your lips part, tongue sliding soft and slow over her, just enough to make her gasp and jolt, her hand tightening in yours. you groan softly against her heat, the taste of her dizzying. she’s already soaked. already shaking.

you take your time.

small, purposeful circles—your tongue learning her, drawing out every little sound she tries to swallow. she moans your name again, but this time it’s not soft—it’s shaky, desperate. her free hand tangles in your hair, pulls just a little. not to guide—just to feel.

you hum against her, and the vibration makes her hips buck.

“baby—” she chokes out. “please—don’t stop. please.”

you don’t.

you give her more. open-mouthed kisses. your tongue flattening against her, slow strokes that make her thighs tremble, make her chest rise and fall like she can’t catch her breath. you pull her closer. hold her tighter.

she’s everywhere—under your tongue, in your hands, in the soft gasps filling the room.

her thighs start to shake.

“i’m—fuck, i’m gonna—” her voice breaks. she presses the back of her hand over her mouth to muffle the sounds, but you grab it—lace your fingers together again, grounding her.

“i want to hear you,” you murmur, voice rough against her. “you’re so good. let me hear it.”

and she does.

she cries out, your name on her lips, your hand in hers, your mouth dragging her through it—slow and shattering and full-body. her hips lift, stutter, freeze. her breath catches. her whole body clenches and then melts all at once.

you don’t stop until she’s pulling at your hair, thighs twitching, breath wrecked.

you kiss your way back up her body. her lips. her neck. her shoulder.

she pulls you into her arms like she needs you there to survive the comedown.

“holy shit,” she breathes, chest still rising and falling. “you’re gonna kill me.”

you smile into her skin.

“that was the point.”

and she just laughs—quiet, dazed, delirious with love—as she pulls the blanket over both of you and whispers,

you’re both lying there, flushed and breathless, tangled in sheets that smell like sweat and skin and something impossibly tender.

paige's arm is slung around your waist, her forehead pressed against your temple, and she laughs—low, soft, smug. “we’re not sleeping tonight,” she murmurs, voice still husky, fingers brushing lazy circles along your hip. “not a chance. i’m keeping you up all night.”

you smile, half-lidded, already sinking into the warmth of her body. “yeah?” you whisper, barely able to keep your eyes open.

“yeah.” she kisses your shoulder. “gonna make you—”

but the rest of the sentence never comes. she trails off midsentence, her breathing slowing, her arm tightening slightly as she tucks herself even closer to you. within minutes, her chest rises in a steady rhythm, soft breaths fanning across your neck.

you blink once. twice. and then you’re gone too—your face tucked into her hair, her body molded perfectly against yours.

so much for not sleeping.

wrapped around each other, hearts still racing but minds already slipping into dreams, the only thing either of you manages to keep is the quiet promise of you’re mine, even in sleep.