KJ writes for FANDOM

30+, Aquarius, She/Her This blog contains content that is not suitable for minors.

[kayjaywrites]

Writing Masterlist

AO3: KayJay_Writes

Key: 🌸=fluff 🔥=smut 💧=angst ☀️=happy ending ☔️=sad ending

A Court of Thorns & Roses Azriel x Reader: Oneshots: Ink & Beans 🌸☀️ You ask Azriel to spy on someone for gossip, he does it. Series: Like Bugs in a Rug 🌸💧☀️, eventual 🔥 Connected oneshots about the first 10 years you spend in Velaris as a new member of the night court. MorriganSister!Reader Chapters: 1 2 2.5 3 (Currently Writing) 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

[akaanmo]

i think i just witnessed a miracle

[fractiousrvt]

There is always hope

[spacekittiesmeow]

Omeg★verse: In Rut .ᐟ

part one | part two | part three (still a maybe)

𑣲 synopsis he insists on handling his rut alone. pfft. as if.

𑣲 pairing alpha!LADS men x omega!reader

𑣲 warnings MDNI. unprotected sex (p in v), knotting, breeding, oral (m n f receiving), mating press, squirting, overstimulation, marking, biting, mentions of bonding.

𑣲 nya's note 1.2k special! um no, jk. i do have something planned tho. this, however, has been a wip since foreeever. god, i hope i delivered wtv ya'll expected from the fic. enjoy!

秦彻 SYLUS QIN

“you have me and you choose to sink in an ice bath?”

Sylus is flushed. Heavy body in a tub full of frozen water. He sucks in a breath at your forced entry like you stink. Rude.

“I’ll be fine, sweetie.” He tries to sound smooth but the words are forced. “nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” he’s panting. Fine, your ass. You frown at him.

“you didn’t tell me.” you hate how your own voice shudders. “you think I can’t handle it? Handle you”

His expression hardens at that. “I’m not—hngh—doubting your ability in any way.” He grips the edge of the tub, knuckles going white. “your safety is just not something I play with.”

“and neither should you.” He turns away, forcing himself to breathe slow. “now go.”

You exhale sharply and shed your pants, a foot already dipping into the chilly water—

“an adamant one, aren’t you?” he lets out a huff of amusement, stopping you mid-motion with his evol.

He rises. a thick wave of his pheromones fills the room, and you nearly whimper at how hard it hits straight to your core.

your eyes drink in all his naked glory. He stumbles, making you reach for him. his eyes meet yours. You can see the way his core tightens in restraint.

“I can’t promise gentleness tonight, kitten.” Is that supposed to be bad?

Ever since he’s put you on the bed, he hasn’t stopped kissing and biting and licking every inch of your neck. He’s especially needy. No. fuckin feral. He’s marking you like a territory.

His tongue licks a hot stripe behind your ear, making your fingers curl in his hair. Your thighs part to accommodate your big boy, letting him grind his weeping cock against your slit, slipping so perfectly between your folds, to your clit and back down to tease your sopping hole.

You’re dripping so much, you can feel how slippery it feels each time his hips meet yours. 

“p-please…” you try to push him away to get him to just sink into you already.

He pulls away with a low grumble. Wordlessly, he obliges. He hooks his hand under your knee, lifting your leg up—close to his mouth. He places a kiss on the inside of your thigh, and then licks a sinful stripe over the spot.

“sylus ple—ah!” his teeth sink into your flesh, making sure to leave a mark. Without a warning, he’s diving straight for your cunt. Tongue coming out to lap all your love juices hungrily—nose rubbing against your clit, inhaling your sweet scent.

“just begging me to breed you—” he groans, gathering your slick with his fingers and drinking it up. “should I give in to these instincts?” his eyes darken as he slips a finger in—barely. He’s gone, really. The question means nothing. Still, how can one manage to be an asshole even in this state?

He crawls up to hover over you, caging you in with his broad arms. “answer me.” but the fat head of his cock is already breaching your quivering hole.

“y-yes. yes sy—” he pushes into you, forcing your cunt open for him. he buries himself fully, rumbling deep in his chest at the way your walls welcome him with an obscene squelch.

His pheromones engulf you.

There’s no break. No breather. His pace is ruthless. Angled up—straight to your g-spot—dragging over each inch of your gummy walls. They cling pathetically to him, keeping him in, sucking him deeper and deeper.

“holymmff—uck!”

your tongue lolls out as he shifts you, making his cock sink farther—enough to kiss the rim of your cervix.

The sudden jab to your deepest, most forbidden spot has you grasping you’ve been folded like fuckin laundry. A mean mating press—knees alll the back to your ears.

You feel it in your stomach. You’re probably bulging where he ends. “as greedy as I—hah!—am.” He murmurs, his hips still unrelenting.

“look at how deep—fuuck, kitten.” His thumb traces the outline of him, poking at your lower tummy. his broad palm presses his down without warning, timing it with his cock screwing into you deeper, making you wail in ecstasy.

“issomuch! mmh too deepnggh—!”

Your eyes cross as he keeps you like that, forcing your stomach down to make you wrap around him tighter. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing tight circles on it—the heel of his palm still locked in place. It’s all too much. Your orgasm rriips through you.

“i—I’m cumming—oh please!” your eyes roll to the back of your skull. Your toes curl so tight as your body freezes, back arched like a bow. Your pussy really, really squuueeezes his cock, pulsing as you ride your high.

“fuckin hell—so tight—” he doesn’t finish that sentence. Or maybe he does and you don’t hear because the only sound ringing in your ears is how his hips move again, making your juices spill out and form a decadent translucent ring round his base.

Your overstimulated pussy is being bullied into opening for him again. your walls flutter around him, still so obedient.

“it’s a lo—ngh—ot” you coo so prettily, making his dick jump in you.

“keep up with me.” he mumbles, his palm cupping your face, leaving your poor throbbing clit alone. You’re floating. Far too wrecked to respond. You don’t know if your mouth hangs open silently or if you’re babbling shit until—

“hic wha-what…” you look down. sylus is grinding slow and deep. You swear you feel him get bigger. “sy-sylus you’re—” you instinctively try to shift but he grips your hips, holding you in place.

“stay still. You’re going to take my knot tonight, sweetie.” He rasps out, restraining himself from fucking his swell into you.

He gives you one last grind—emptying in you, feeding your womb hot ribbons of cum. But he doesn’t pull out. He’s only swelling.

“s’so big—” your hips wiggle a little, pussy quivering to adjust around the knot that’s swelled to it’s maximum. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes at the burn

“stop squirming.” He hisses, eyes squeezed shut, keeping you on his knot. “relax.”

He distracts you with a kiss, swallowing all your whimpers. It’s deep and soft. Making you melt immediately.

“good.” He breathes, wiping a tear away. “my good girl.”

He kisses your brow once. “you can take another.”

夏以昼 CALEB XIA

Please please please

He’s begged you a hundred times over in his mind. Ever since that night you spent together, caleb can’t stop thinking about bonding. Marking you. Fuck, it’s messed up, really. You had spent one night and known each other your whole life.

Truth be told, he’d been thinking about this ever since he manifested as an alpha. But this time, his rut is making him lose his damn mind over it.

Should he ask you? were you ready for that commitment? He’d already knotted you and god thinkin bout that still makes him go rock hard in his pants.

But this is a lot, right?

“caleb. Seriously. How long are you going to hide in there?” you don’t wait for a reply. You know there isn’t going to be one. Lucky for you, you know how to break into his room.

“you—” he groans, his hands slapping over his nose to cover it. What the fuck? You climb on the bed next to him and without a wasting a second crash your lips against his.

He resists at first but oh once he melts into it? He’s a whimpering mess.

He flips you on your back in seconds. “baby. You do realise im in rut, right?” he mutters, face in your neck, licking your pulse like a puppy. “Im not in my senses… I just—fuck are you sure you want me like this?”

You let out an exasperated sigh at his question, hand finding his bulge, palming him through his pants. God… he’s soaked them.

He groans above you and pulls your hand away, pulling it to his lips, kissing and licking your knuckles. His other hand reach down to your pants, shucking them off you.

You back arches at his touch. You didn’t notice it before but your body is trembling at the way his pheromones saturate around you.

“dripping.” He grunts, thumb plunging into your slick hole and pulling more strings of warm arousal out. “is it because of my pheromones?” he withdraws his thumb and sucks it clean, groaning at the way your taste melts on his tongue. “or because you know how thorough im gonna breed ya?”

Fuck. You visibly gulp at the delicious idea he feeds you.

He doesn’t waste more time. he’s already lining up against your puffy lips, slapping his cock to your clit once before sliding in slow, savouring the way your tight walls welcome him greedily.

“mnghh fuckin perfect…” he whimpers as he bottoms out. Only, he doesn’t stay too long. He’s lifting your thigh up, angling his hips perfectly and already giving you a deep stroke.

“ca-cayy!” you whine, hips writhing to get him deeper.

“y’want me deeper? Hm?” caleb leans forward, coaxing you to look at him while you lose your mind on his big dick. “whaaat a greedy pussy.”

He hikes your thigh higher to rest it on his shoulder and leans back down, making you bend in half for him.

Your toes curl as he begins pounding into you. and its nowhere close to gentle. His cock keeps slamming into your leaky cunt, spearing it open for him. your stomach throbs with hot pleasure.

“im going to cum, pips.” He warns, lips trailing down your neck to the spot where your scent is the strongest. He resists the urge to sink his teeth in. “ngh god—you like it huh? You just clamped so tight ‘round me. like the idea of your caleb filling you with his cum?”

His thrusts get sharper. Angled so tight to hit your sweet spot that has you clawing his back.

“y-yes—yes! need it so bad—oh?!” his thumb finds your clit, pressing down on it as he empties into you, pace stuttering only for a moment, until he’s pumping all that thick load back into your eager hole that swallows up every drop he gives.

“’course you do.” He chuckles, mauling his hips into yours—despite having finished—driving his thick head deeper into your cum-painted walls. “look at how you keep pullin me in.”

He sucks a spot at your neck, priming it for his mark that he now knows is inevitable thanks to your slutty pussy squeezing him hungrily.

He tickles your nub, pushing you closer to the edge, cock so relentlessly pounding your walls into the shape of him.

“want more?” he finally asks, unable to hold back anymore. He’s so close. His tightened balls keep slapping against your ass each time he drills into you. “want me to mark you?”

A shiver runs down your spine despite your brain being turned into mush. Your pussy speaks for you in obscene squelches and greedier pulls of his cockhead to kiss your womb.

“mm ye-yeah—”

He sucks the spot he’s licked raw, before sinking his teeth into your flesh. Sharp pain blooms in your neck. You yelp, thrashing a little against him but he holds you down, making you take it.

His fingers rub tight circles on your clit, distracting you from the pain. He pulls away, hips slowing to admire his mark on you.

“caleb I’m gonna cum-please…” you whimper, hips moving to meet his. One grind to your magical spot has you ascending into the astral realm. You almost black out by how hard you cum, milking his cock more.

“fuck. Atta girl…” he grunts, dazed, balls soo close to exploding at the sight of you marked by him.

His pace turns impatient. Your moans turn into whines and squeals as he overstimulates your utterly used hole.

“one more baby.” He wipes a tear from your cheek.

沈星回 XAVIER SHEN

A fever? You know that was bullshit the second you heard it from captain jenna. You could smell his pheromones that bled through your windows this morning. You’d thought you were imagining it but apparently not.

Jenna lets you go earlier that day.

And you head straight to his place. The door isn’t locked. The scent hits you the moment you step inside, thick and almost suffocating. It curls into your lungs, makes your pulse stutter. You’re already feeling it by the time you reach his bedroom.

He’s sprawled across the bed, blankets tangled beneath him, hair damp against his forehead. he seems to be asleep…

“you…” he mumbles drowsily. “hey.”

Hey??

“are you okay?” you sit beside him.

“mmhm. Just a fever.” he sighs, eyes still closed. You reach for his forehead. He is burning up but again. can be because of his rut. His hand clasps around your wrist, startling you, xavier pulls it against his nose, inhaling deeply and visibly melting into it.

“you smell s’good.” His tongue darts out, licking at your pulse, sucking a mark there.

Yep. Definitely rut.

“xavier.” He looks up, sleepy eyes darkened with desire now. “scoot over. I’m gonna help you.”

He makes space for you, pulling you close the minute you get in bed. “your scent… I think its making the fever worse.”

“you’re in rut, xavi.” You pull his face to meet yours, lips trailing over the corner of his mouth. He mumbles an “oh” against your lips, before softly kissing you. slow at first, then deeper. His pheromones are different today. They’re pulling you into a lull. Just like he is.

“you’ll help me?” he is delirious. Eyes droopy yet blown out at your scent. Like hed pounce on you the minute you turn your back to him. “mmkay…”

His pheromones curl around you, slithering up your body, making you hot for him.

His hand captures your thigh, pulling it over his stomach, making you part for his fingers. They trail along the damp spot of your panties. “you smell sweet here.” he mutters.

God, does he even remember his name anymore?

His fingers slip into your panties, sinking into the warm mess of your hole. He pumps them once, groaning softly. “so soft.” He whispers, pulling his fingers out to watch the way your slick dribbles down his knuckles.

Your cunt spasms around nothing at the sight of him like this. You can’t help it. You pull his cock out, pumping it once before you straddle him.

“is this okay?” you ask softly. He nods, lining his cock with your entrance.

“let me in you.”

You do. You sink on him, making him gasp and let out a broken sound. He grips your hips, making you stay like that. He grinds up, instantly finding your swollen spot nestled in your syrupy walls.

“you’re swallowing my cock.” The way he says it sounds like sin itself. His eyes are glued to where you’re connected, watching the way your pussy pulls him in greedily.

His eyes don’t leave the place where you’re joined, pupils blown wide, chest rising too fast beneath you. His grip tightens, fingers digging into your hips.

“f-feel so full,” you murmur, rolling your hips just enough to make him shudder, making your sweet spot grind against his leaky cockhead.

A broken sound slips from his throat. He thrusts up instinctively, shallow at first. Your walls flutter around him, warm and honey-slicked, clenching like they know him.

“D-don’t,” he pants, head dropping back into the pillow. “I won’t be able to hold my—ngh—self.”

“That’s kind of the point,” you say softly, threading your fingers through his hair, grounding him even as his pheromones spike again.

He groans, low and helpless, and then his hips snap up harder, cock dragging slow and deep inside you. You gasp, hands bracing on his shoulders as the movement knocks the air from your lungs.

There it is. The rut taking over. He flips you, back hitting the soft mattress.

He sets a rhythm. A desperate one, every thrust chasing your depth. His scent thickens with each roll of his hips, flooding the room until it feels like you’re breathing him in with every inhale.

“hah—you’re r’lly deeeep…” you sigh, eyes fluttering shut.

“you’re so warm inside,” he murmurs, lips dragging along your throat.

You rock back against him, meeting each thrust, letting him sink as deep as he wants into your gluttonous cunt.

“Xavi,” you breathe, feeling the way he twitches inside you, the way his control is fraying. “need you to cum in me.”

That breaks him. his cock throbs with need within you, each angry vein massaging your gummy walls.

“mmh you’ll take all my cum, right?” you bite back a sob as his cock drives straight into your g spot. “lemme breed this pretty pussy full?”

He bucks into you sharply, a strangled moan spilling out as his cock throbs inside you.

“y-yes god! All of it—please!” you babble incoherently as you get every sane thought pounded out of your head, only left with the feeling of being stretched so wide as he keeps your impaled on his thick cock.

His thumb finds your clit, and it only makes you pulse and squeeze him harder.

“cu-cum for me.” he grunts, thrusts turning sloppy. Your core tightens as you finish with a silent cry. He isn’t far behind.

He empties in you with a shudder, spurting and spurting endless ribbons of cum, fucking them into you and finally plugging you full with his cock.

“lemme give you another.”

祁煜 RAFAYEL QI

The way Thomas was acting confirmed something wasn’t right with rafayel. Because since when did he stop freaking out over rafayel being a no-show at his own exhibition?

You were light-footed when you entered his studio. Yet he sensed you anyway. “how incompetent.” He hisses through his teeth.

Rafayel is curled fetal on the floor, shirt off, sweat glistening on his back. “Thomas blabbed, didn’t he?”

“no. im a genius.” You retort, finding your place beside him. he’s panting, lips parched with dehydration. Shit. This is bad. He’s dazed…

“rafayel… don’t say no—”

“no. nope. Nada. Lea—ngh.” He cuts himself off to inhale deeply and hold his breath. “please. I’m not myself. I can’t stop it when you smell so sweet, cutie.”

His eyes are squeezed shut now, nose crinkled in restraint. Fuck you really have an itch for this, don’t you.

It’s why you lean forward, lips slowly grazing his sweat slick neck, gently nibbling over his pulse. A moan rips from his throat. In one swift motion, he’s pulled you over him. “this is a bad, bad choice, miss bodyguard.” He chuckles darkly, eyes flitting to your lips. “you’re as dumb as a goldfish.”

You want to laugh at that but his pheromones drown you, making a sharp pressure shoot in your lower stomach. “raf-rafayel…” you gasp, feeling yourself gush at that.

He groans deep when he scents it, lifting the both of you off the floor and padding impatiently to the bedroom. He drops on the bed with you on him, hands quickly finding purchase on your waist to undo your pants.

His hips lift, the tent in his boxers, aching to be freed. And god you do. His long cock springs out, slapping against his abs.

“do you know…” he murmurs, as he peels your pants off you, along with your panties to leave you on display for him. “that I can smell each drop of slick you leak?”

You can see it too, see it pooling over his hips, warm string of arousal joining you two. He gathers it with his fingers, making sure his palm is coated in your essence and then he smears it over his cock, groaning deep in his throat. It mixes with the precum he keeps dribbling at the sight of you leaking on him.

Rafayel brings his palm to his mouth, licking a broad stripe. He hums in delight. “your turn to taste.”

He brings your hand down to his cock. You get what he means. You crawl down his body, lips latching onto his sensitive tip. “mnghh good… go allll the way down.” you taste your musky essence with his salty pre.

Your tongue swirls once before you take him deeper down your throat. His fingers come to wipe a tear from your cheek, trailing lower to the corner of your mouth.

He traces the tight stretch of your mouth around him, wet with your juices and spit. “your pussy looks just as pretty stretched around my cock.” He muses to himself, before pulling your mouth off him.

You gasp, panting for air. He lets you take a breath before his lips crash onto yours, tongue licking away all that you just slurped off his dick. “mmhh taste so good…”

Already impatient, you line him up with you. “rafayel just—”

“uh uh uhhh.” He angles his hips so his cock slips between your folds instead of in you. you whine at that. “you’re here to help. And you didn’t even bother asking me what I wanted.”

Is he honestly teasing you right now? Still, your cunt flutters at that. He smirks. Asshole. He probably smelled it.

“get on your stomach.” His voice dips. You don’t waste a moment. You’re arched for him so beautifully that it makes his cock jump. “I want… to be deep in you. right at your womb when I cum in you.”

You choke on a moan at his words and at his weight that slowly descends over you. his cock slips between your folds, coating his tip with your juices again. “you’ll help me with that, won’t you, cutie?”

He sinks into you, slowly pushing your walls apart to open for him. “rafa—mnghh…” your eyes roll back. You bury your face in the pillow beneath you, arching further to accommodate his huge length.

“now.” He starts thrusting. Shallow but intense. Your clit rubs against the sheets beneath you, making your thighs tense and quiver as he begins to pound into you. “where is it…”

He thrusts deeper at each stroke. His hand slips under your stomach to lift your hips for him, allowing him to reach the depths of your pulsating walls.

He’s drilling into you. tip rubbing against your g spot and way past it. “rafayel please!”

The depth is maddening. Your toes curl tight as he hits deeper and deeper—

“ahfuckk—!?” the fat head of his cock reaches the end of you.

“there she is.” He murmurs behind you. rafayel kisses your neck as he starts grinding into your cervix, making you delirious with molten pleasure. Your cunt spasms around him, milking his cock for warm cum.

“mm you want this too, cutie?” his fingers find your clit now.

“ohgod—it’s too much!” you whimper, yet pushing your hips back to grind against him. your hand finds his but he just pulls it away to pin it against your back.

He gives you a slow, punishing grind, right against a deep, forbidden spot that has your gushing around him with a broken sob. “fuck fuuuuck raf—” you can’t stop spraying all over his sheets.

“cutie. You’re gunna make me cum.” He moans, hips stuttering. Another spasm of your cunt has him losing the last bit of his sanity.

“hngh you want it, don’t you? want my cum?” Wet plaps of skin against skin fill the room as he really starts pounding you hard enough to bruise your cervix at each hit. “want me to paint your so walls white that your pussy stays branded?”

You wail at that, mumbling yeses despite your pussy being so overstimulated. He finishes in you with a long groan, shooting every drop of his load right into your hungry womb.

Just like he promised.

黎深 ZAYNE LI

“Leave.”

“please…” his voice quakes, muffled through the door.  Ever since Zayne spent that night with you, he’s been avoidant. Distant. and you’re not stupid. You know exactly why. His pheromones shoved you straight into heat last time. Now he’s the one in rut… and the effect his scent could have on you is anyone’s guess.

Ignoring his protests, you open the door—only to be met with a humid presence of his raging pheromones. the effect is immediate. One breath and your belly throbs with heat. Your knees give for a moment. But you gather yourself.

Zayne is hunched on the bed, breath stuttering, snowflakes drifting lazily around him. Frost trails up the sides of his neck and blooms across his forearms.

“y-you never listen, do you?” he sighs in defeat, sucking in a breath and holding it in.

You stand in front of him, hooking a finger under his chin and lifting it up. His eyes are glazed with unadulterated desire. And fear. “I’m going to help you.”

he isn’t in the right mind to argue. If anything, his cock jumps at your voice alone.

“fine.” He hisses through his teeth. He pulls you to sit on him.

He feels hotter. And his scent is making you lightheaded and warm. Your pussy keeps clenching around nothing at each wave of essence he lets out.

You can’t hold back anymore. Your hands fumble with his zipper, finally pulling his long, pretty pink cock out. Fuck. All those angry veins running up to his thick leaky head has you drooling on it. Your pussy clenches around emptiness in response.

You’re caught in a trance. Of course, you are—as you pump it once. Twice. Covering his head with your palm to gather his juices and smearing them over his stupidly large dick. You draaaag your hand back up, making more of his precum dribble out.

He twitches under you, grunting low. “hngh—stop teasing.” He looks up, flushed. “just—sit on it.”

You let him go to undress. You feel a dull ache in your stomach. Maybe his pheromones were inviting your heat.  

He whimpers when you finally sink on him. the warm tight clamp of your pussy has him nearly passing out from ecstasy. It’s a stretch. It has been long after all.

Your tight little hole is struggling to take him yet greedily swallowing every fat inch you feed yourself. You can’t take him to the hilt. Yet.

Still, you rock on whatever is stuffing you full.

“ohfuck, zay—give-give me a moment…” you breathe, trying to relax around him but your pussy just keeps shamelessly fluttering around him like a desperate little thing. His eyes are squeezed shut. The last semblance of his control is leaving his body at every centimetre of your hot walls he feels.

“take a deep breath.” He murmurs, hands gripping your ass.

“wha—” he doesn’t let you finish. his cock drives into you in one long thrust, filling you up to the brim. “ohh?! Mmhh—!” your voice cracks and you see stars in a closed room.

“is—s’deepmmhh.” You slur, drunk on his cock.

“forgive—ngh—me.” he pulls out, only to bottom out again. he’s pounding into you now. Relentlessly delving into your slick mess over and over again, molding your tight little cunny to the shape of his thick length.

Your nails dig into the flesh of his shoulders, holding yourself up as he angles perfectly to hit your magical spot buried deep in your walls.

You’re choking his cock with your syrupy cunt and it’s too much.

“i—” he starts, pace never slowing. “I can’t.” he snags. Your eyes snap open.

“I’m going to knot you at this ra—nnhgg—.” His jaw tightens at the way you grip him like a vice at his words.

“don’t run from it.” You whisper, bouncing on him, using it to massage your swollen spot. His pheromones fume at this. His eyes squeeze shut, still fucking you deep from below.

“cum around me. I need—” he lets out a groan when his fingers rub your clit. “need to feel it.”

His pace is frantic. Your poor pussy can barely keep up with the way he drills into you so fucking perfectly.

Your eyes go white as you cum. He doesn’t stop. Zayne keeps grinding that thickness into your cunt, ruuubbing your sweet spot, making your orgasm hit you wave after wave.

“Zayne—! hic s’toomuch.” Your g-spot is still being bullied mercilessly by his tip. You’re spasming around him, choking his cock with every pulse, gripping and gripping and—

“I’m going to pu—hah—out.” He attempts to lift you off but you sink back down on his cock. “it—I’m going to knot you.” it’s a plea. A warning.

He’s already almost there. You can feel the way his cock kicks so eagerly in you, fighting against the constraints of your gooey walls, spreading them to make space for his knot.

“knot me, then.” You mutter, thighs moving to fuck him, take him deeper into you.

He groans deep before burying his face in your neck. His own hips move, absolutely shattering your rhythm. He slams into you once before he’s spilling into you. ropes of warm cum fill you, painting your honey-soaked walls white.

And then you feel it. “hah—i—it’s…” he whimpers into your neck as the knot locks you down on him, stretching you so far you feel split open, stuffed full of heat and pressure that you feel in your throat. And it burns. Fuck it buurns. In the best possible way But it keeps swelling.

“Zayne it’s—a—ngh lot!” fuck. Your cunt flutters around him, instinctively tightening even as it struggles to stretch around the huge swell plugging you full.

His fingers find your clit again, rubbing gentle circles over the sensitive bud. “try… try to relax around it,” he murmurs, rocking the knot deeper into place with slow, coaxing motions.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your hair, apologizing between kisses, voice shaking, hands soothing as your tight little cunt twitches and spasms around the knot. “after that night… all I could think about was breeding you. like this.” he admits and it only makes you moan in response.

The pressure builds unbearably, until it crests again—

Your body clenches around him in another sudden orgasm, pulsing obscenely around the knot, milking more cum from him straight into your overstretched, already-full womb.

Seriously this is what he was afraid of?

[spacekittiesmeow]

Omeg★verse: In Heat!

part one | part two | part three (maybe?)

₊˚⊹♡ synopsis: You lied about being a beta. But now you’re in heat, and someone’s about to find out the hard way.

₊˚⊹♡ pairing: Alpha!LADSmen x Omega!reader

₊˚⊹♡ warnings: NSFW! unprotected sex, loads of breeding (pun intended), knotting (caleb cuz why do you think he can help it?), omegaverse, dumbification, inappropriate use of evol, fingering, cunnilingus, mild angst+loss-of-control trauma(zayne), multiple rounds of feral fucking.

₊˚⊹♡ nya's note: passed out from period cramps and resurrected only to type this—in. one. night. so forgive me since it isn't exactly proofread. however i do hope i fed you well, my naniis.

if you wanna be tagged for the sequels, do lmk in the comments.

and finallyyy—reblogs, feedback, unhinged thoughts—all are deeply appreciated.

秦彻 SYLUS QIN

It’s all a blur—the cramps twisting inside you, your head spinning, vision blurring. The gun slips from your shaking hand, but Sylus doesn’t notice that. He notices the way your scent changes, sweet and sharp, his pupils shrinking in horror before widening with something worse.

You barely hear him call your name before glass shatters and his Evol drags you both out of danger.

Fuck. This wasn’t how he was supposed to find out you weren’t a beta. You’d been so careful—suppressants doubled, routine perfected—but you hadn’t accounted for a high-risk mission throwing your cycle off balance.

“Pheromones,” you croak, clutching your stomach, curling fetal in the passenger seat.

He doesn’t hesitate. Soon, the car is heavy with his presence. His pheromones wrap around you—warm like a leather jacket left in the sun, like the earth after rain, rich and grounding. Your cramps dull…for a moment. Until they hit again.

“Please. m’sorry,” you murmur, guiding his hand to your cunt, soaking through your pants.

“Kitten.” His jaw is tight—warning—or pleading—it’s impossible to tell apart.

“For fuck’s sake, Sylus. Please.”

That’s all it takes. His hand shoves into your pants, sliding two fingers in while the other stays on the wheel.

“Fucking soaked,” he grunts, his pheromones thickening as your cunt holds him in a hot grip.  

He groans once more as you clamp tight. “Heat suppressants. Is that why this is that bad?”

You give him a look. But he just curls his fingers in you, making a whorish moan rip from your throat. “Fuck—fuck me. please.” You cling to his arm like a lifeline.

“Sweetie.” His brows furrow but God he’s so hard at that. “Do you realise what you’re saying?”

“Just shut up—for once and listen to me.” your jaw tightens as you hold back a sob.

It’s how you’re on his bed, pants off, the angry tip of his cock already dragging between your soaked lips. his face is close to your hot one, his arms secured around your arched body.

His cock slips into you. he pushes forward once—his delicious weight crushing your body. And the draaaaag of his stupidly thick dick along your pulsating walls—ohhh—

“Sy—!” a weak moan escapes you as you cum around him.

“Already, kitten? I’ve barely filled you.” he cradles your face as your eyes open. Your hips rock once, pushing his head deeper.

He sighs, and lifts off you. you nearly whimper at the lack of his skin against yours. But soon, his pheromones come alive, drowning you. his hand snakes below you knee, hooking it up and pressing it way back to your chest.

“Now that you’ve come to,” he drawls, pulling his hips back until only his tip remains. “Let us begin.” And with that, he surges forward, filling you in one long stroke.

You mouth hangs open as you fall limp under him, your cheek wet from drool. Your cramps have dulled and there’s only the pressure of his dick filling your womb so perfectly at each brutal snap of his hips to yours.

Your body rocks at each thrust. Strings of whimpers fall from your mouth as he fucks you. You don’t know if you’re imagining it but his pheromones tickle your skin like they have a mind of their own. How long had you been suppressing your heat?

“Stay with me.” Sylus grips your chin, his cock never stopping its heavenly abuse.

“mmpph—please more,” where do you find the audacity, truly?

He chuckles darky until he pulls back and thrusts hard. “ah—hah yes fucking perfect!”

His finger finds your clit, just keeping it there, still, it has your body quivering. He buries himself to the hilt once and spills into you with a deep groan.  

And as if your womb has a brain of its own—you cum with him. Just at the taste of his cum.

“Your pheromones are going haywire.” He rasps, eyes closing briefly. You’re so ferally horny that even the syllables he articulates has your pussy fluttering around him. Why wouldn’t you though? Sylus had always been such an alluring alpha. And now that he’s bred you, you wanted more.

…you wanted his knot.

Yeah, you’ve lost your mind.

“Tightening around me,” he groans low in chest, keeping you full of his dick, kissing your womb each time. “If you keep this up, I might knot you.”

“Do it,” you feel him throb inside you. Hard. Like he was swelling—

“don’t—” he bites his tongue, nostrils flaring as he tries to calm the way his blood pumps to his cock. He gives you another thrust regardless—before his energy links slither around your body, flipping you on your stomach.

You whine. But he has to. If he doesn’t—if you keep your slutty mouth running—you’re gonna have a thick knot swelling in you, plugging you and keeping you full of his warm cum.

his hand snakes around your throat, bringing your face back close to his. Your back is arched, ass flush against his hips as his cock drives deeper into your pliant hole. Already overstimulated from finishing so wildly.

“g-god sy—too deep—please!”

“Why did you lie?” his thrusts turn punishing. Sharp.

“I—ngh! Thought you didn’t want a weak partner.” His fingers curls around your neck. Your face feels hotter now. Your thighs press together as you inch closer to cumming hard on his heavy cock again.

“Weak?” he nearly spits those words out. “Kitten. You’re the last person on this planet I’d describe as weak.”

His hand comes down again, to find your clit. His cock screws into you with precision. Making your gummy walls pulsate happily around him.

“fuuuuck. fuck sylus!” you cry out.

“Alpha, beta or omega. It doesn’t fucking matter to me. you’ll always be the strongest woman in my life. And you’re the only one I’d want by my side.”

You’re soaking up the sheets at this point. Your juices spilling and spilling endlessly.

“cum for me.” his lips trace the shell of your ear, before biting your earlobe. And that’s it. You cum around him. Desperately. Pathetically.

Pussy wringing him for his cum. Begging to be bred full. And he gives you. Loads and loads and loads of his cum. It doesn’t stop. And your pussy doesn’t let up on milking him until he’s completely dry.

“You’ll spend your heat cycles with me from now on.”

Who are you to argue.

夏以昼 CALEB XIA

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

You thought you could skip your heat suppressants this month. Your doctor had listed all the side effects of the pills. So maybe since you were all alone this weekend, you could let your body be for once. Caleb wasn’t coming over this week. Or so he said.

But here he was, outside your door.

How were you supposed to know he was planning a surprise?

You can’t stop your pheromones. you can’t pretend Caleb’s not knocking on your door and louder now that he can smell your essence flowing through.

“you got an omega in there?” the knocks get insistent. Shit.

“y-yeah. just—just leave for today, okay?” you lie through clenched teeth, one arm over the couch for support. Did you truly think this would repel him?

The door opens. When did he get the key—

The minute his eyes fall on you, he freezes in horror. “no fucking way…” he breathes.

“Caleb I—lets discuss this—” you tremble, falling to the ground. He rushes to crouch beside you. Caleb’s pheromones come alive in response to your wild ones. He has to hold his breath to keep himself in check. And you sense it. His restraint. The only way to escape the interrogation is—

Your lips crash to his, and it doesn’t even take him a second to devour you right back.

“make it stop. Please.” Your hand trails down, low to his hard on. Of course.

That pretty much seals your fate. He lifts you with one hand, and within ten paces he’s putting you on the bed.

He’s on you, nose buried in the crook of your neck, drinking in that sweet scent you keep spilling.

“fuck is this what you needed? An alpha to make it all go away?” his hand traverses down, between your legs where you keep oozing your love juices. You whimper at his words, back arching with need.

“caleb please—”

“you think you’re in the place to make demands pips?” he murmurs darkly. And then you feel it. The way his cock springs free and hits your stomach. Hot and heavy and—you look down—leaking precum that makes your cunt spasm. He taps your clit with the angry red head of his cock.

Before you can let out the whimper stuck in your throat, he pushes in.

“ohh—oh please—” your legs spread wider to accommodate him to no avail. He’s too big. Filling you up too much. Your walls are forced to open for him. “too—hic—big!”

He doesn’t give you a moment to adjust before he’s driving into you again, tits bouncing at each hard thrust, allll the way back out and then alllll the way in. your jaw falls slack, eyes glazed with need.

“pretty pussy takin me so well though, baby.” He leans back, watching his dick get smothered in your juices as it keeps disappearing in your little hole.

His finger finds your clit, wetting it with all the mess you dribble out around his cock.

“hngh—! Cale—”

“why’d you hide it from me?” he asks, yanking you closer by your thighs.

“you’d—mmph—treat me like a baby—” your eyes flutter shut as he slams his cock right against your sweet spot buried deep in your gummy walls.

“like what? Do things for you?” he smirks, his thumb teasing your hole as his cock stretches it. “don’t you like it? Me spoiling you?” he groans to himself at it.

You manage to shake your head even as every thought gets fucked out of you.

“no?” he stops abruptly and you whine so pathetically that it reverses each statement of self-respect you’ve made.

You feel weightless as his evol lifts you and places you on him, slamming you back down on his cock. “Well go ahead. Show me how much you hate it when I do the work.”

Your thighs shake as you attempt to move. You try to move. To prove something. But your legs quake, your body burns, and you end up grinding helplessly against him. Not deep enough. Not full enough.

“Fuck, Caleb—”

He cups your face, brings you nose-to-nose.

“Just say it,” he whispers. “Say you need me.” you nod erratically at that.

Wet thwops echoing as he fucks up into you, bullying your hole into swallowing him deeper. “ohmygod—mmfuck!” your head lolls back, eyes shut as he drives into you from below. One sharp thrust and it has you pulsing around him as you cum.

One more thrust and he’s spurting ropes of his cum into you. but then…

“ca—caleb—?!” he grows. His cock gets bigger, and you pussy keeps milking it as his knot swells inside you.

“sorry pips. I need to.” He groans deep as his knot keeps all the thick seed in you—plugged. He lasts only a moment until he’s grinding you on his knot.

“hahh! Istoomuch!” his knot probes your g spot, and the more he grinds, the more it massages that spot making you see fuckin stars even though you’re mad overstimulated, pussy still fluttering in the aftershocks. Tears fall free now.

“Take it. Cum ‘round my knot, baby.” He grunts, pulling you against him, his knot shifting to a delicious angle, pressing so perfectly against that swollen spot—your pussy just dumbly clamping around him, sensitive from all that overuse.

His thumb finds your clit, rubbing it in slow, torturous circles.

“gonna cum—hah—again, pips. You’re gonna take it like a good girl, riight?” his eyes fall on the bulge that forms in your lower tummy. “fuck, you ready to be bred?”

Your nod’s barely a tremor, but it’s enough. He grips your hips, thrusting up hard, deep, relentless. Wet, obscene sounds fill the room. Your orgasm crashes through you, violent and shattering, and his follows—hot and heavy—until you feel it.

And after hours, your heat finally tames into dull cramps.

Maybe having Caleb find out wasn’t as bad as you had thought.

沈星回 XAVIER SHEN

The Association knew your ABO type. Not your cute coworker-slash-neighbour living upstairs. And really, you hadn’t even lied. When he’d assumed you were a beta, you’d simply… not corrected him. A harmless omission.

Until one day, your heat hits. The consecutive missions had been weighing on your mind. Enough to make you forget to take your heat suppressants for the month.

You’d shut all the windows, even taped the edges halfway before a worse wave of cramps hit and you had to curl in fetal on the couch. And as you’re trying to take controlled breaths, you see a basket being lowered onto your balcony. Curiosity drives you toward it.

it’s from Xavier. Painkillers, lavender essential oil and a note. Fuckin hell he knows.

I had some painkillers at home. and the other stuff. Hope it is helpful.

And so, one thing leads to another and you’re begging him to come downstairs.

He has you close to him—back pressed against yours, hands in your panties and two of his fingers in your cunt.

“Xavier… this isn’t helping.” You croak helplessly, hips grinding back against him. You hear him suck in a sharp breath. His pheromones start feeling thicker now.

“you want my cock?” it’s a sultry whisper in your ear. Far from innocent.

“y-yes…”

Your panties are slid aside as the blunt head of his cock teases your hole, coating his own cock in your warm syrup—before slipping in, making you stretch open around him inch by inch.

You whimper into the pillow when he buries himself to the hilt.

“m’so full.” You mewl, hips chasing it.

“and you still want more?” he raises a brow behind you. “okay.”

And he drives back in. filling you once more. Your thighs tremble, pressing together as he fucks you slow and deep. The angle makes your head spin. He’s nestled against that deep spot so well that you’re already close.

Still, you whimper for more—restless. For that itchy emptiness in your womb to be filled. His palm rests on the side of your waist as he leans close, making the head of his cock shift closer to where you want him.

“what’re you begging for?” his voice is low whisper in your ear.

“wanna-wanna be filled.” You manage. You feel him halt for a moment before he hikes up a thigh. You yelp in surprise but he’s already pounding the blunt head of his cock back into your gummy walls.

“hngh—Xav-Xavier.” You babble incoherently the minute he kisses your cervix. His essence comes alive, encompassing you as he brands you with his cock over and over again.

By the time he slows his pace, you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve cum or how many times he’s filled you full.

Xavier pulls out, only to see your walls push out his creamy spend in a weak pulse. The sound you make is barely human. He exhales something rough, something that sounds like he’s losing the last thread of restraint he ever had.

His thumb presses lightly to your swollen rim, puffy pussy lips tingling with need, circling it once as if testing how sensitive you are. The answer hits him immediately when your whole body jolts.

“…greedy,” he mutters under his breath, voice ragged. “You don’t want to let any of it go, do you?”

“mmh—no—please—”

Your hips twitch, your hand reaching back for him without thought. He catches your wrist, pins it to the small of your back, and watches another bead of slick roll down your thigh.

Then he pushes two fingers back inside you.

You gasp, going taut around them, sucking them in like your pussy recognizes him now and refuses to let him go. His fingers curl, gathering the creamy mess he left inside you and nudging it deeper, deeper to your womb.

“you’re—,” he murmurs, leaning over your spine, his breath hot against your ear. “Still clenching. You’re not done.”

Your breath stutters. “Xavier… please… need—”

“You need me to keep you full,” he finishes for you, like he’s reading straight out of your instincts. He withdraws his fingers, slick and dripping, and you feel the heavy drag of his cock settle between your thighs again. Thicker now. Harder, if that’s even possible.

He guides himself back to your messy pussy lips, tapping lightly against your overstimulated hole before pushing the head in, slow enough to make your eyes cross. The stretch burns in the sweetest way, your walls fluttering as they try to pull him deeper.

“Good,” he whispers when you moan. “Open for me.”

Your legs fall apart on instinct.

He shoves in with a single, unhesitating thrust.

Your mewl against the pillow as his hips mold flush to yours, your body accepting him like it’s starved for it. His chest presses to your back, trapping you under him as his hand slides under your lower belly, holding you in place while he grinds deeper, deeper, deeper—

“Stay like this,” he says against your neck. “I’m not stopping until your heat settles.”

You sob in blisfull agreement.

Xavier starts moving.

Slow at first. Deep enough that your toes curl with every roll of his hips. Then faster, his rhythm tightening into sharp, precise strokes that spear straight into that molten spot inside you. Your breath breaks, your vision shatters, and you’re already trembling before the next orgasm even crests.

Your body clamps around him so hard he groans into your skin, low.

“That’s it,” he hisses. “Keep milking me. You’re going to take all of it this time.”

His hand slides down, thumb working tight circles over your clit while he fucks you deeper, the bed shaking underneath both of you. Pressure coils so brutally that you’re practically ripped open by the pleasure when it hits, your walls spasming around him in relentless waves.

Xavier isn’t far behind. His pace stutters, his grip on your waist bruises, and with a groan that sounds dragged from the bottom of his lungs, he spills inside you again, thick and hot and endless.

Your body shudders, overstimulated and so full it aches.

Xavier breathes hard against your shoulder, but he doesn’t pull out. His fingers hold your hips steady, keeping every drop inside you.

“Not done,” he mumbles, voice a deep, exhausted rasp. “Your heat’s nowhere near finished.”

You whimper, already trembling under him. And he rolls his hips again.

祁煜 RAFAYEL QI

Your fork barely touches the plate before the first cramp hits. You try to school your face, but Rafayel’s eyes are on you instantly, bright and nosy as always.

“You good, cutie?” he drawls, tipping his head, curls falling over his cheek. “You look like you just saw your report card.”

You force a shaky laugh and wave him off. “Just… gas.”

He hums, unconvinced. Meanwhile, your heat is blooming too fast, rising under your skin, threatening to drag you under. Why weren’t the suppressants working well?

Another cramp snarls through your abdomen. You grip the table edge.

His eyes narrow. “Okay. That wasn’t a ‘gas’ thing. What’s going on?”

Your pulse skitters. You need relief. Something to anchor you. You swallow hard and manage, “Your… your pheromones. I just—what do they smell like, again?”

There’s a beat where he just blinks. Then his brows lift, slow, almost elegant.

“My pheromones,” he repeats. He leans in like a cat catching a scent trail. “You’ve been hiding something from me, miss bodyguard.”

The way he says it feels like a fingertip down your spine. You don’t answer. You can’t. Another wave hits and you shudder, breath hitching.

Rafayel’s expression shifts, his dramatic flair flickering into something sharper. Calmer. A tone you’ve never heard from him.

“Come here,” he murmurs.

It doesn’t take him much time to drive you back to his place. He carries you down the hall, pushes into his room, and sets you on the bed with a care that barely matches the tension in his body. The scent of him settles around you, curling warm and sweet, thick enough to make your thighs part on instinct.

Rafayel’s gaze drops between your legs, breath stuttering. “Cutie… your scent is driving me insane.”

Your heat spikes at the sound of his voice. You reach for him, dragging him in by his shirt. He kisses you immediately, deep and dizzying, his mouth soft but insistent as your body arches up against him. His pheromones hit you in a hot wave and you moan into his lips.

“Lie back,” he murmurs.

You do, chest rising and falling too fast, the need clawing through your skin. He slides his hands up your thighs, pushes your panties aside, and the moment the cooler air hits you, you gasp.

“cutiee,” he whispers, eyes darkening as slick gathers between your legs. “You’re already dripping.”

You try to squeeze your thighs together but he stops you, fingers pressing them open again. He leans down, kisses the inside of your knee, then your thigh… then settles right between your legs.

The first slow lick of his tongue makes your hips jump. The second pulls a broken sound from your throat. He sucks gently at your swollen clit, breath warm against you, one hand holding your thigh steady while the other slides under your ass to lift your hips closer to his mouth.

Your heat flares. Hard. Violent. You grab at his hair as your back arches off the bed.

“Rafa—Rafayel, I can’t—”

“Yes you can.” His voice is thick, hungry. “You need this, don’t you?”

Before you can answer, he flattens his tongue against you and pushes two fingers inside you. Your body clamps down instantly, drawing them deeper. The relief is so sharp you whimper, hips rocking helplessly.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against your skin. “Let me take care of you today, miss bodyguard.”

You fall apart on his fingers, pleasure hitting so fast you barely manage a gasp before the orgasm crashes over you. He doesn’t pull back. He keeps licking you through it, his spit mixing with the sweet syrup you ooze out. He keeps fucking you with his fingers until the overstimulation burns into need again.

You’re shaking when he finally lifts his head. His lips and chin are slick with you. His pupils blown wide.

“Round one.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then crawls up your body, kissing your stomach, your ribs, your throat. “You’re not done, cutie.”

You barely register his clothes being pulled off him, his body settling over yours, his cock heavy and leaking against your soaked entrance. He cups your face, brushing his thumb along your cheekbone.

Your eyes meet his and his pheromones roll out in a deep, sweet rush that goes straight to your spine.

The second he pushes into you, your breath breaks. The stretch is intense, perfect, your walls gripping him so tight he groans against your ear.

“Warm… so warm…” His hips snap forward, burying him fully inside you. “suuuch a sweet pussy. Clinging so pathetically.”

You cling to him, heat twisting your nerves raw as he starts to thrust. Slow at first, deep enough to make your toes curl. Then faster, his grip tightening on your waist as he pounds into your syrupy cunt, every stroke hitting the spot that makes your vision blur.

Your legs lock around him. “ohhmmhhh ye—rafayel—ah—please—”

He catches your wrists and pins them above your head, leaning down until his forehead touches yours. “I know. Just take it. You need it reeal bad.”

His thrusts get sharper. Harder. The bed creaks. Sweat slicks your bodies together. The smell of your heat and his pheromones mixes into something thick, intoxicating. Your climax builds hot and brutal, tearing through you the moment his thumb drops to your clit.

You cry his name. Your poor cunt spasms around him. He groans, hips jerking as he presses as deep as your body will take him.

He fills you. Hot. Thick. Pulse after pulse until you’re trembling under him, stuffed full of his creamy goodness.

But he doesn’t soften.

He kisses your jaw, breath shaky. “That’s two.”

“wha—angh!”

His hips roll again, slow, deliberate, keeping everything inside you.

“You’re not done,” he whispers, licking into your mouth as he starts moving again. “Your heat wants more.”

And he gives it to you. Again. And again. Until the room smells like nothing but the two of you tangled in instinct and sweat and pleasure, until you lose count of rounds and the world narrows to the feeling of his body claiming yours until your heat finally, finally settles.

Rafayel collapses beside you, pulls you against his chest, and presses a kiss to your temple.

“Next time,” he murmurs into your hair, “just ask nicely, baby.”

黎深 ZAYNE LI

"breeding.”

—Is the last word you’d use with Zayne. much less ask for it. Yet here you are after his little pheromone outburst at the hospital. You’d lied about being a beta right from the beginning. Avoided the Akso hospital to get yourself checked, avoided Zayne half your high school after you bloomed late.

All because of one thing—like his evol, Zayne had a hard time containing his pheromones. and being a decently dominant alpha, his pheromones would often push omegas around him into heat.

As it did to you when you thought of visiting him to drop by lunch. The moment you entered his office, your knees weakened. Your stomach twisted in painful knots. and he—he had to rush you back home after learning everything. Even your unhealthy dosage of heat suppressants that you ingested each month because of him.

“I’m not leaving until you’re alright.” He kneels by your bed as you curl up in pain.

“s’not your f-faul-fuckinsonofa—” you breathe once as a cramp hits. “just leave. It’s—” a breath again “…fine.”

“untrue.” His jaw flexes. Adamant idiot. It’s the pain that makes your brain fry enough to forget all boundaries.

“breeding. Tha—aghh—! Is what’ll stop it.”

You don’t give him a chance to process before your lips are crashing with his. He freezes for a moment until he melts into it, slowly rising from the floor and onto the bed when you clutch his collar.

“there is a high chance this might result in unwanted—”

“I know. We’ll get me some pills.” You huff, guiding his hand to your soaked, hot cunt.

His wrist twists, catching yours. “are you certain?” his eyes are softer. Scared.

You nod. And then cup his face despite your womb internally punching you.

“of course.” With that, he pulls you on him, keeping you close, thighs against his knees.

His fingers find the edge of your panties, slipping through easily. Two fingers circle your entrance before pushing in. you grind on his lap. His hips lift for a moment, chasing that friction.

You whimper in pain and that’s what makes Zayne finally pull out his cock. Thick, heavy and so, sooo ready to ruin you.

But the moment you lift your hips to finally sink, your cramp hits.

“I’ve got you.” he murmurs, stroking your hair with one hand and the other guiding his leaky tip to your pussy.

Your hips roll once and you wince again. “stop.” His brows furrow in a silent correction.

“relax.” He murmurs as he eases into you, slowly, filling every inch sooo good that it has you whimpering. Your walls stretch around him inch by inch.

“zay—mmhh so—” your eyes roll back, mouth open.

He lets out a soft sound at the way you clutch around him so perfectly. Fit him like a fuckin glove.

His hips raise once. Testing. And judging by your already fucked out look, he thrusts harder this time. your nails dig into his shoulders as your own hips roll once the pain ebbs away giving way to molten pleasure.

Your walls flutter around him at each kiss of his cock to your overly welcoming womb.

“m’so close…” you whisper, burying your head into his neck, breathing in his scent that singlehandedly calms your pain. His fingers find your clit, rubbing taut circles on your swollen nub, smearing your arousal over it.

Your pussy keeps clamping around him tighter and tighter and tighter—

“c-cumming—ohhhmy—zaynee—” he fills you to the hilt, giving your syrupy, greedy walls something to milk.

And ohhh that you do. Enough to have him explode into you, filling you with hot ribbons of cum, making it cream around your hole—mixing with your honey.

He slowly sets you down are you come down from your high. But his cock is insistent. Still hard, still keeping you full of him.

“s’not enough—” your hand comes down to your stomach. But Zayne captures it, bringing it to his lips, kissing the inside of your wrist.

“then let me satisfy you.” He pulls back only to fill you up again.

Messy strings of his cum dribbles out of you, spilling onto the sheets. His hips move again, this time—pounding you.

Deep, looong strokes, each reaching the end of you and back out.

“hngh—m’too full—” you babble, moans stuck in your throat.

His hands part your thighs, hiking them up so your body can take him deeper if that were even possible.

Your walls flutter around him hungrily again with every deep thrust, your hips rolling on instinct as he fills you relentlessly. Strings of his cum mix with your arousal, dripping down the curve of your thighs, and the scent—his pheromones, his essence—wraps around you, making you all hot and coaxing you towards your orgasm.

“Zayne—mhh… s-so deep…” you whimper, nails digging into his broad shoulders as he keeps moving, slow at first, then harder. A cocktail that messes your brain chemistry.

 Each stroke hits that perfect spot, and you sob, lost between pleasure and the ache that still lingers from your heat.

His hands move to your waist, holding you firmly, but gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, almost tender, brushing a strand of sweat-damp hair from your temple. “I wish I could control it—”

You shake your head weakly, lips parting in a soft moan. “S’not your fault… Zayne,” you breathe, tilting your head to kiss his jawline, tasting the mixture of him and yourself. “I’ve always wanted you.”

He groans softly at your confession, letting it wash over him before pressing back into you, hips snapping against yours with a fresh, deliberate force.

“cum for me, my sweet.” A kiss is planted to your temple. “please.” He adds softly as he reaches down to rub your clit, pushing you closer to your climax.

But he beats you to it. Breeding you full—once more—giving you everything you’ve begged for tonight. Still, he mumbles apologies, thrusting into you—pushing through his overstimulation. He nearly cries out when you cum around him for the last time tonight.

“let me help you through these henceforth.”

~~~

[jinwoosbabyboo]

ＬＡＤＳ ＡＵ

Mini Series and miscellaneous AUs all here

𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙪

Zayne Forgets You

Rafayel Forgets You

Xavier Forgets You

Sylus Forgets You

𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛-𝙖𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙪

Self-Aware!Zayne → pt. 2 → pt. 3

Self-Aware!Rafayel → pt. 2 → pt. 3

Self-Aware!Xavier → pt. 2 → pt. 3

Self-Aware!Sylus → pt. 2 → pt. 3

Self-Aware!Caleb → pt. 2 → pt. 3

𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙘. 𝙖𝙪

Personal Chef to Sylus → pt. 2 → pt. 3 → pt. 4

Babysitting Chronicles

♡ Masterlist ♡

[notmedicli]

⋆˙⟡ TEACH ME, TRAIN ME, GUIDE ME! ♡ ࿐

about ♱ losing your virginity to the experienced lads men!

pairing ♱ xavier ⌇zayne ⌇rafayel ⌇sylus ⌇caleb [ separate ] x f!r

content warning ♱ virginity loss, slight jealousy/insecurity, a bit of hurt comfort, mentions of blood, possessiveness, slight corruption, innocence kink, body worship, fingering, mentions of oral (f. receiving), heavy pet name usage, unprotected sex, creampie, unrealistic smut, established relationships (except caleb is readers bsf) lowkey plot heavy sorry — MINORS DNI 18+

kit says ♱ so i accidentally made zayne’s angsty … apologies. also this isn’t my best, but i'm still proud of it! i hope everyone enjoys! it’s my longest one so far yayy. feedback + comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated ⭑.ᐟ

沈星回 ⟢ #XAVIER

your relationship had always been soft—gentle kisses, intertwined hands, quiet nights spent tangled together beneath blankets. it was sweet, almost innocent. but beneath that sweetness, xavier’s been aching for more.

of course, he was patient with you, but in truth, xavier’s waited months for this. for the words to slip out of your mouth so coyly with pretty, innocent doe eyes. for you to look at him the way you are now and say,

“xavie… do you think we could… um,” you can barely say the words, a lump forming in your throat out of sheer mortification. “have sex?” you end on a whisper. 

and xavier’s breath catches instantly, a rush of heat pooling low in his stomach. you’re just so impossibly cute that he wonders how he’s managed to hold himself back for so long without pouncing on you. maybe it’s his hand that has kept him sane this whole time. every night, he’d go back to his place, haunted by your sweet voice and pretty face, and stroke himself for hours thinking about you—thinking about the way your tight walls would wrap around him. thinking about how you wouldn’t know a damn thing. 

“a-are you sure?” he needs confirmation. he needs to hear you say it with no hesitation whatsoever. 

and when you respond with a meek nod and, “i’m sure… you know i’ve never done anything like this before and… i want you to be my first. i trust you.”

xavier sees red. his mind blanks, reason slipping through his fingers as a rush of emotion crashes over him all blurring together until he can’t tell one from the other. maybe you’re wrong to trust him. maybe you should run. 

but xavier controls himself and lets his dreams come true. you’re in his bed, tucked beneath him in cute, mismatched lingerie. it’s your first time, and even as he steadies himself for you, the thought fills him with a quiet, reverent joy. you’re his now, and the moment feels sacred. 

your teeth tug on your bottom lip anxiously as he hovers above you—he knows you’re nervous, but he can’t help but feel elated. he’s claiming you tonight… you’ll be completely and utterly his—the way you were destined to be. 

he preps you extensively—rubbing you over your panties, then slipping his fingers underneath the soaked fabric and playing with your untouched clit then finally pushing a single digit into your warm, velvet walls. and you cry, you sob, you moan, every broken sound is some variation of his name and he almost comes untouched. instead, he adds a second, watching your face scrunch up in pained pleasure. 

he gets you right to the edge and when you’re teetering on your orgasm, he pulls them out. he feels his cock twitch wildly in his all too tight boxers when you cry helplessly. he reminds you that you can’t have your first orgasm like this—that it needs to be on his cock and you just nod dumbly, heating up in shyness all over again. 

your panties are off instantly and his eyes zero in on your drooling cunt, watching your barely stretched hole twitch and beg for his cock. he moans at the sight, pinning your legs open when you try to close them shyly under his intense gaze. “no, honey, keep ‘em open so i can see all of you, yeah?”

you arch your back gasping for something to dull the ache in your pussy, “xavier… please,” 

and he nods, panting. he pulls his boxers down, freeing his cock and letting it slap against his bare abdomen and you choke, eyes widening. he notices immediately and your fear shouldn’t turn him on but it does. so much. 

“you ready f’me, baby?” he asks hotly.

you nod, responding with a watery voice. “yeah, please… wanna be yours, xav,”

and xavier is so scared because the moment his cock presses into you and he feels you stretching around him to take him, he knows he’s going to ruin you. he knows he won’t be able to go slow the way you need him to. especially when you’re losing your innocence right before him. 

he’s groaning, self control fraying at your mewls and sobs. “f-fuck, angel… s’tight. squeezing the fuck out of me. rela—hah! relax.”

and your arousal—brought by his face, his moans, his words, his cock— streams out of you and coats his length allowing him to inch in more and more with every passing second. 

“can-can i keep moving, honey?” he gasps, dick throbbing at the new, tight space. “you okay?”

you nod and he parrots, sliding himself in and feeling you tense underneath him before relaxing—or attempting to. he moans, intertwining your fingers before leaning down to kiss you with such intensity you almost don’t notice that he shoves himself in. 

you almost wouldn’t have had his fat tip not bumped right against your cervix causing a scream to erupt into his mouth. 

xavier falters, the control he’s known for unraveling in an instant. his touch turns desperate, almost trembling, and his words spill out between shallow breaths and sloppy kisses. his hands squeeze yours tight enough to hurt as he attempts to anchor himself. 

he lets you adjust… tries to be patient with you as you make all these cute sounds and whimper out his name while your pussy holds him tight. it’s the least he can do.

but when you give him the okay to move? you almost regret it. he pistons in and out of you, releasing one of your hands to sneak his between your bodies and rub at your clit.

“god, you’re so perfect—ah, my perfect stargirl.” he moans, his abdomen tightening up the same way your pussy does when he flicks at your clit faster and faster. “cum for me, yeah? cum all over me.”

you do just that with a cry of his name and it only triggers his orgasm. you both feel his warm seed filling your cunt and it’s so overwhelming for the both of you—moans of each other’s names and heavy panting before he’s collapsing onto your body. 

you’re his. every single part of you. his sweet girl is finally all his. he mumbles into your neck.

“no one will ever have you like this except for me, okay?”

夏以昼 ⟢ #CALEB

you’ve only ever trusted caleb. he’s instilled the fact that he’ll be the only man in your life—the only man who would never, ever hurt you almost from the moment you met. you hurt yourself? you call caleb. you need a ride because it’s pouring rain and you forgot your umbrella? you call caleb. you need anything at all? you call caleb.

…you want to lose your virginity?

well, who else would you call other than caleb?

you don’t call, but text him—too embarrassed to even say the words out loud—and he’s at your door within the hour, breath uneven, brows drawn tight. there’s confusion in his eyes, maybe even a flicker of anger, but beneath it all, something else you can’t quite name.

he bulldozes his way into your apartment and his voice is low when he speaks. “so… you want to have sex… any particular reason?” no niceties. just straight to the point.

you shut the door and face away from him, timidly responding. “‘m just curious, my girlfriends are always talking about their sex lives and you know i know nothing. i just wanted to get it over with, but with someone i trust… so i wanted it to be you.” you babble anxiously. you turn to see him standing there, tense and unmoving with his hands in his pockets. “is that weird? if it is, then we can just forget it, i’ll ask—”

he cuts you off with haste, gritting his words out. “pips, i swear you better not say you’ll ask someone else.” he stalks towards you and the intensity of his gaze on you has you backing up against the door. “i will take care of you like i always do, isn’t that right, baby?”

baby. caleb has called you that before, but in a degrading, teasing way, but it doesn’t seem like he’s teasing. your breath catches at the foreign name, but you nod anyway. 

but a nod isn’t enough for him, you can see it in his raised, expectant eyebrow. he wants you to say it. he needs to hear you say how much you want him. “yes caleb… yes, please. help me?”

then his lips are on yours and he’s pulling you in for a searing kiss. it’s messy—too full of want to be graceful—and for a fleeting second, you’re grateful it’s him. your caleb, your childhood best friend. the very same caleb who once taught you how to kiss is now the one undoing you with his lips.

and caleb is meticulous. he starts with his head between your thighs, lapping at your messy cunt muttering on and on about how a real man will always eat his pretty girl out before fucking her. he has you falling apart on his mouth, his nose, his fingers—over and over and over until you’re a shaking, writhing mess under him. 

now his cock is rubbing up and down your sensitive slit, coating himself in your slick while you twitch and pant. he’s holding onto every bit of self restraint he has left. “tell me what to do, baby.”

you don’t know how, but your pussy craves something it's never had. craves the weight of his thick cock. especially when he presses the bulbous tip of his cock at your entrance. “please… put it inside me. need you to fuck me ple—ah!”

you’re cut off again by the painful stretch of his length finally pressing into you. his thumb catches your clit, rubbing circles into the sensitive bud as a ploy to distract you from the way he rips you apart, but with his size? there’s nothing that can take your mind off the pain. 

you sob and he moans at the sound… the feeling. there’s a lump in his throat almost like he could cry. he’s wanted this for years. he’s wanted to make you his for fucking lifetimes and now he finally has you. he’ll never give you away to any man after today. you’re his forever. 

“hurts…” you whisper, tears free falling from your tightly shut eyes.

his entire body goes rigid as he twitches beneath your vice like velvet walls. “shhh, i know, baby, i know,” he coos, but even his voice is shaky. then he notices the blood, further confirmation that he’s your first… your only. “fuck, i’m almost in, okay? gonna make it feel s’good for ya, promise.”

you nod, breathing the way he instructs you to, discerning every inch that fills your cunt. then he bottoms out, his tip nestled so deep that you feel him everywhere. 

you gasp, “f-fuck, caleb!” your shaking hand splays over your stomach, pressing down and feeling the evidence of him. you find yourself loving the pressure of him inside of you and your body needs more. you know it’s greedy and you probably should let your body adjust to his thick length, but you can’t wait. “more, need more. you promised you’d make me feel good,” you pant. “so please move,”

he laughs incredulously, backing out of your heat just to shove himself back in. “gonna drive me crazy, pips… gonna make me make this pretty pussy mine.” 

and you squeeze him so tight, branding the shape of him into you. because you’ve longed to hear those words from him and you had a slight inkling that he’d been waiting just as long to say them to you. 

your body tightens, a familiar tension coiling deep inside you. it’s a sensation you’ve only felt a handful of times before—all consuming—until the ache in your belly blooms into something electric, something that borders on euphoric. the testimony slips past your lips as a moan as you feel yourself unravelling around him. “caleb…fuck! i-it’s yours… always been yours.”

“that’s right, baby, all fuckin’ mine.”

秦彻 ⟢ #SYLUS

you’ve never given much thought to sylus’s previous relationships. you know he’s experienced. he knows how to kiss you, knows how to eat you out and he knows how to make you cum and cry and everything in between. you also know that kind of experience doesn’t just come out of nowhere. as much as you like to believe sylus was simply born perfect, you know better. someone else must’ve come before you—someone he learned with, practiced with—long before he ever fell in love with you.

the thought of sylus being intimate with someone else left a sour taste in your mouth and made your stomach sink. it’s irrational—you’re hyper aware of that, but it can’t be helped. there’s a big possibility that he was, like you assumed, born perfect and you’re his first partner, but there’s no way to know unless you ask.

so you ask, bold and brave at first but when he gives you a sheepish look, you falter and it’s obvious that his non-committal answer hurts you, even if it’s only a little. 

“sweetie, why does it matter if i’ve had prior partners? none of them could ever hold a candle to you.” he confirms, voice so matter of fact.

there’s still a flicker of hurt in your eyes when you look up at him. “how can you be so confident when we’ve never even had sex? what if all the girls you fucked in the past are a million times better than i am?”

he gives you a look you can’t discern before his hands cup your cheeks, squishing them and laying a chaste kiss lips on your puckered lips. “because i love you, sweet girl. not for your body or for your face— even though i believe you’re the most gorgeous person alive—but for who you are and how alive you make me feel.” and every word rolls off his tongue so confidently, so reassuringly. “sex doesn’t matter to me. i could go lifetimes without it as long as i get to be with you.”

and his words are all the justification you need. you’ve been saving yourself—holding yourself back for the right person, the one who makes you feel safe, seen, understood. sylus has never given you a reason to doubt that it’s him. he’s the one you trust, the one you love. your one. your only. 

you gulp before inhaling sharply and letting a surge of confidence take you over. you push him onto his bed and straddle him, movements a little uncoordinated, but he steadies you like he always does. “don’t want you to go lifetimes without it… i wanna do it.” you whisper. “i want to go all the way.”

he searches your eyes for even the slightest bit of hesitation, but you stand firm on your decision. it makes his cock harden beneath you, digging into your clothed core. you grind against him gently, inconsistently as extra confirmation that you want him and his breath hitches. 

now you’re on top of him, his warm, tender hands rubbing up and down your sides as you hover over his cock. he’s prepped you, of course. sylus spent eons prying you open so you could take him… but he’s still huge and you’re still too tight. 

he looks up and your chest heaving as your arousal drips down his tip. he murmurs to you, “go as slow as you want, baby. we can stop when—shit.” 

he’s immediately cut off by your tight heat stretching over his mushroom head, trapping him there as a moan rips through you. it hurts, he knows it does. his size is one of the other main reasons you avoided having sex. he was just too big. 

“fuck, ease up, sweetie. ‘s gonna hurt if you keep squeezing me like that.” his voice is gravelly, practically a grunt. “let me open you up.”

you nod, determined to keep going, your breaths coming out in shaky rhythm as sylus steadies you with soft praise and gentle murmurs. his words wrap around you like a warm embrace, and with every one, arousal gushes out of you—spilling over, pooling down to where you’re joined, until all you can feel is him.

“you’re taking me so well, baby,” he says, squeezing your hips and pulling himself up to smother his face against your tits. “there’s no one but you. never going to be anyone but you. understand?”

you cry, sliding yourself all the way down until he’s bottomed out inside of you. “yes, all mine,” you wrap your arms around his shoulders, feeling so full of his cock and love that you forget about the ache and the pressure. you can only think about him being lodged against your sweet spot causing a knot to quickly form in your stomach, both ends of the sting pulling tighter and tighter until…

snap!

and your eyes are rolling back, your head rids of every word just to cling onto his name in which you repeat like a prayer over and over and over. your pussy convulses, walls spasming as you become mush in his arms. 

sylus resorts to his default smug smile, pulling away from your breasts to look at you, his crimson eyes gleaming with mirth. “you just came from putting my cock inside you, sweetheart.”  

it’s not a question, it’s a statement. a fact, at that. you whimper, nodding, before raising your hips that still have a tremor from your orgasm and sliding back down. 

“w-want you… t’give me everything, sy.” you whimper, digging your nails into his pale shoulders, leaving red crescent shapes in their wake. “want you s’bad it hurts.” he laughs breathily, heart pounding and blood thrumming beneath his skin. “whatever you want, sweetie. it’s yours—i’m yours. take as much as you want.”

黎深 ⟢ #ZAYNE

there’s nothing you want more than zayne to fuck you. yes, you were a virgin, that much was clear, but that never meant you didn’t get urges. you fantasized about zayne for years before he finally asked you out. you refused to go on dates, you refused to kiss other men and you most certainly rejected any advances that were made on you—you could’ve lost your virginity if you really wanted to, but above all, you only wanted one man to have it. your man.  

but even after several weeks of being his girlfriend, he still denies you. he can’t seem to bring himself to go past third base with you. he’ll kiss you, play with your tits, and fuck you with his fingers, but the second you mention going all the way, his hands are off you like he’s been burned. 

you’d be lying if you said it didn’t sting. you always knew he was experienced—he was humble about his ability to work a woman’s body—but that only made his hesitation more confusing. why did he pull away whenever sex with you came up? why did he act like the thought of being with you in the most intimate way possible was something he had to avoid?

you tried so hard not to let it show, to pretend his distance didn’t bother you—but tonight, you’re at your breaking point. the ache for him is one you can feel in your cunt and deep in your bones, a slow, relentless burn that pulls every buried feeling to the surface. all the want you’ve swallowed down for years, all the insecurity and fear you’ve tried to bite back—they’re rising now, thick in your throat, threatening to spill out of your mouth if he didn’t finally fuck you. 

but he refuses, once again with a flicker of guilt in his eyes as he pulls his fingers out of you sopping, needy pussy. “not tonight,” he says thickly. 

and you can’t help it. the tears blurring everything until the warmth of the moment feels cold. what started as pleasure twists into something raw and aching. “do you just not want me or something?” you whisper, words broken and zayne freezes, heart splintering at the sound. “i’ve wanted you for so long, zayne. i’ve liked you since i could even process what the feeling was.”

“sweetheart—”

“i saved everything for you…all my firsts like a fucking idiot on the off chance that you would finally see me, and you would want me… and then i got so lucky and you did want me,” you say, tearily. “at least i thought you did, but now i try to give you all of me and you repeatedly reject me. so what is it, zayne? do you want me or not because i only want to be with someone who does.”

his voice is tight when he responds, hazel jade eyes going dark. “i’ve always wanted you. i’ve never wanted anyone the way i want you and it scares me.” he whispers, sounding pained. “i do want you, sweetheart… more than that, i need you. every fiber of my being needs you and i can’t control it. it’s why i keep saying no… i just can’t bear to lose control and hurt you. your first time deserves to be perfect.”

your breath hitches at his words, pussy weeping at the idea of zayne losing control. you want that. desperately. you take his hands and place them on your thighs, “hurt me, i don’t care. just please… give it to me, zayne.”

and all the self control he’s built over the years dissipates in an instant. his lips are on yours, tongues and teeth clashing with a mixture of spit coating your chins. zayne is both rough and gentle with his movements, hands squeezing at any bit of your flesh he can grab. he’s in between your legs in no time with his cock in his hand, pumping himself and watching how you admire him in awe. 

“tell me,” he pants. “please, sweetheart. tell me how bad you want it.” 

you whimper and shoot him pleading eyes. “i need it s’bad. need you, please don’t make me wait any longer.”

zayne wouldn’t even dream of making you wait. he takes a few deep breaths before pushing into you, instantly met with resistance. you gasp and wince at the stretch, but you welcome the pain and the pressure of him because you’ve dreamed of this for what feels like an eternity. 

you tell him to move despite the evidence of blood and the obvious pain you’re enduring. he’s hesitant, he always is when it comes to intimacy, but you’re convincing when you want to be and, at the end of the day, he could never truly deny you. 

and so he moves, stretching you open, splitting you on his cock while he tries his damndest to keep from completely losing it and fucking you stupid. the truth is, it’s taking everything out of him to be a good man to you. to be the man you deserve. 

luckily, it doesn’t take long for you to adjust to the foreign feeling and the discomfort—slowly, but surely it turned into something tolerable then finally, the feeling of immense pleasure. especially when you snake a hand between your bodies and play with your clit… just like you used to when you would fantasize about this moment. 

you can see zayne is holding back, with his set jaw and his eyes squeezed shut, but that’s the last thing you want.

“don’t hold back, zayne.” you moan and he responds with something short of a whimper. a noise that sounds like it begrudgingly crawled out of his throat. 

“i love you,” he heaves, the words strained like it’s taking everything not to ravage you. he didn’t want to say it like this, but he’s overwhelmed by you—your pussy, your pretty face, your even prettier sounds. he can’t help but let the words he’s been holding onto for so long spill out of him. “love you. i’ve loved you for so long… ‘m sorry for hurting you, sweetheart. so, so sorry.” he falls on top of you, tearing up with his head in the crook of your neck while he continues to thrust into you at a steady pace. 

you wrap your legs around him, drawing him in closer. “and i love you so much,” you whisper, heart in your throat. “i want you to show me. let go and love me the way you want. you won’t hurt me.” 

祁煜 ⟢ #RAFAYEL

the early days of your relationship with rafayel were rocky. you wanted him—god, you wanted him more than anything—but every time your intimacy got too intense, you’d pull away. you’d mumble some excuse about having to go, or pretend something suddenly needed your attention.

you saw the disappointment flicker across his face each time, that quiet look he never dared to question, and it tore you apart because you knew it was killing him. you could see the want… the need for you in his eyes, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to allow things to move further.

it was a cruel loop—you wanted him, you wanted sex with him, but fear always won. fear that you’d be horrible at it, that he’d see you differently, that once you crossed that line, he wouldn’t look at you with the same softness anymore. that he wouldn’t think you were his pretty girl anymore. 

but your distance is wearing him down. rafayel’s trying to be patient, but you can feel it—the way he’s unraveling, the way he wishes he could just crawl into your head and understand what’s holding you back.

rafayel doesn’t do well with distance. he’s prone to spiraling and losing every ounce of inspiration without you, and you’re the rock that steadies him. he needs you, so he invites begs you to come over and your guilt has you obliged. 

but when you arrive and see his entire home lit with candles, you feel your palms clam up and your throat get dry. you blurt your insecurities before he has the chance to even greet you. 

“i want to, ahem… have sex… with you,” you start, awkwardly, cringing at yourself. “but i… can’t. because i don’t think you’ll like having sex with me.”

his brows draw in and a small scowl rests on his face. “you think i wouldn’t like having sex with you? the love and light of my life?” 

“well… yeah?” you say, shrinking under his scrutiny. “what if… i’m too awkward or i’m not actually as pretty as you think i am? i don’t… i don’t want you to not like it. does that make sense?”

“no,” he says flatly. “you know i think you’re the prettiest princess in the world and sea, nothing underneath your clothes could change the way i feel about you. i’m offended you’d think i’m that shallow.” he pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. “you trust me, don’t you?”

you nod slowly, “more than anything.”

“then let me show you how much i adore and worship you.” 

and rafayel is so slow and gentle when he cradles your face and pecks your lips. so tender when he coaxes your mouth open so he can push his tongue in. so sweet when he’s guiding you into his bedroom without pulling away from you. 

your clothes disappear before you can realize it, save for your bra and panties. you feel the need to cover up, feeling overly exposed and vulnerable before him and his darkening eyes. your arms cross over your breasts and stomach and he shakes his head, peeling your hands away from your body and pinning them above your head. 

“don’t… don’t hide from me. i think you’re perfect, you’re so pretty.” he murmurs, keeping your hands above your head before he’s pressing open-mouthed kisses to your neck and down your chest. his free hand tugs at your bra until your breasts spill out and his mouth finds your tight, peaked nipple. 

you gasp, arching your back to which he chuckles. “i think your body wants me, princess.”

and it does. he can feel just how badly when his mouth trails down further and finds your cunt dripping through your panties. 

as much as rafayel wants to eat your pretty pussy till you’re squirming and gushing, his cock begs for attention. instead, he pushes his finger into you, stretching you slowly before adding a second finger. he watches you wince and hears your sharp gasp with every little movement. when he deems you ready, he pulls out, watching your pussy gape and hearing your little cry at the loss of contact.

he sits back, little purple strands sticking to his forehead as the heat in the room seems to rise. “we can still stop if you really want to, but i—i need you to tell me now, because…” you notice the way he twitches in his pants and you’re mesmerized by his full body shudder. “i need you… and i won’t be able to stop once i get inside of you.”

you shake your head, meekly. “n-no… i want you.”

it’s the only confirmation he needs before he’s freeing himself from the confines of his pants and you from your uncomfortably sopping panties, tossing everything to the side.

he lines himself up with your drooling hole, dragging the tip of his cock up and down your slit. then he takes a breath and pushes inside your warm, wet walls, and the room is immediately filled with the sounds of your mixed whines. 

s length has your fingers clutching the sheets, knuckles losing color as the fabric threatens to tear beneath your grip. “raf,” you sob, voice breaking as your mouth falls open and your eyes squeeze shut, overwhelmed by the way he fills you.

“does it—fuck, cutie, you’re so fucking tight. gosh, y-you’re gonna ruin me,” he pushes in further, thankful that you’re honey like arousal makes it easier to slip in. “does it hurt? you–you’d tell me, right?”

“f-feels strange… but it doesn’t hurt.” you pant, feeling more and more full with every inch he pushes inside of you. “i’ll tell you if it hurts, just… keep going.”

it’s all the encouragement he needs to sink the rest of the way in, eyes locked on the way you take him—slowly, completely—until there’s nothing left between you. until his skin is against yours and you’re so full of him that he’s all you can think about. 

“you don’t know how long i’ve waited to have you like this.” he murmurs, pulling out before shoving himself back inside. “my pretty girl. you’re finally all mine.”

© all works belong to MEDICLI 2025. do not copy or repost.

[bizarrelovetriangel]

Yesterday No More

[starsforxavi]

dreams vs. reality ⁘ xavier

·······•✦ description: Soulmates meet in dreams.

One night, you see Xavier in a dream.

It's just a coincidence, right? This nagging crush, something that already seems far deeper than a cute crush, lurks beneath the surface of your thoughts. The moment you see a familiar head of silver hair after your eyes are closed? It becomes far more complicated.

·······•✦ pairing: xavier x afab!reader ·······•✦ word count: nearly 11k ·······•✦ genre: smut, porn with plot, fluff, slight angst ·······•✦ general tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Romantic Soulmates, Dreams, Fluff, Eventual Smut, Light Angst, Awkward Tension, Sexual Tension, Soulmates Meet in Dreams, Friends to Lovers, Misunderstandings, Mentions of past myths/anecdotes, Jealousy, Wet Dream, Lucid Dreaming, Making Out, Teasing, Neck Kissing, Penis In Vagina Sex, Cunnilingus, Oral Sex, Sexual Overstimulation, Vaginal Fingering, Squirting and Vaginal Ejaculation, Creampie, pet names - princess, No use of y/n, POV Second Person, Dirty Talk

·······•✦ posted on: ao3

The shadows of darkness wrap around you, but loneliness isn’t an option with him by your side. 

Exhaustion drags footsteps on the pavement, a comfortable silence still weighing heavily on your shoulders as the shared apartment building comes into view. Like a taunt of finally getting the sleep you need, it’s almost enough to stop you right in your tracks. 

But an arm shoots out to bump yours. 

“And I thought I was the one to fall asleep anywhere.” The soft voice, laden with care, is said a little louder because who could even hear you at this late hour? The streets are empty, with remnants of parties and crowds visible in confetti, and bars are cleaning up their outside seating. But now, it’s just you and Xavier. 

Swiveling your head to stare up at the Hunter, a puff of air, indignant and pouty, explodes as you cross your arms over your chest. “I don’t know how you’re so unaffected by the day we had.” A tired smile, one that has Xavier blinking slowly and roaming his eyes across your features, curls at the corner of your lip. “You should be more tired than I am, with the extra operations you were sent on.” 

Being Xavier’s partner was both a blessing and a curse. 

On one hand, the missions that you went on were always full of playful banter and shared laughs while protecting each other from the horrors of Wanderers. You slipped through cracks and slowly became the talk of the office with how well you worked together and how powerful you both were. 

On the other hand, there’s a pulsing in your chest every time he stares a little too long at you. Like you want him to keep looking. It’s fleeting and disappears as soon as he turns to slash at a monster who had gotten dangerously close. But it’s there. Daydreams of closing that gap between friends, coworkers, and something more happen more often, so often that your other colleagues have started to notice you zoning off. 

So, when he gets called to do solo missions, you miss him, but you're also glad you have some time to breathe. 

Suffocating like a weight on your chest, these feelings are stones pushing incessantly on already cracked ribs, ready to cave in with each small pebble being added. First, it’s the way he smiles; subtle and sweet. Then, it’s the way he acts; gentle yet constant. Then came his soft voice, his endearing awkwardness, and his attentiveness to you. 

It all culminated in a budding affection for him. 

A crush, heightened by the proximity to him nearly every day, blossoms into the wildest flower. A flower fed by his smile, his laugh, his voice, and his warmth. It’s uncontrollable, turning into something that causes your heart to race uncontrollably when he’s around. 

“I’m not that tired.” Shrugging away the fatigue, he holds open the door for you to step into the elevator, ready to crawl right into bed and sleep until the alarm blares for the start of the next day. “The missions today weren’t that complicated.” 

He’s right. Just a few sightings in No Hunt Zones that were dealt with fairly quickly, but going back to the office to write reports between each painstaking journey back and forth. It wasn’t too complicated, but each report seemed to draw longer and longer until it was sunset and you were ready to just sleep at your desk. 

“Still, the computer screen was abnormally bright today… Just like these lights.” A chuckle comes from both of you as you look up to the fluorescent bulbs of the elevator.

Xavier smiles. “If only I could take away the light instead of creating it.” Another joke, lighthearted and so Xavier that, through tired muscles, you mimic his own smile. Then, as the elevator dings for your floor, he gestures for you to go first. “I guess the elevator heard us.” 

That charm bleeding through his words never fails to affect you. 

“So you’re the elevator whisperer now?” Despite the banter, your voice is slow with fatigue. Finally getting to your front door, you turn to face him. “You’re a man of many talents, huh?” 

“I guess so.” He hums, nodding as he stands far enough away that you can barely catch the subtle scent of his cologne, too far away, if you had anything to say about it. 

There’s a beat of silence when you’re both staring at each other with shy smiles and heavy-lidded eyes. You can’t guess what he’s thinking, since he’s such an enigma with stoic features that only ever soften slightly when he sees you. 

But you never catch that. 

“I’ll…” The beat of your heart thunders in your ears, despite the sleep tugging at your eyes; every nerve in your body lights up when he steps just an inch closer. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

Technically, it’s midnight, but neither of you makes the correction. 

“Yeah,” Xavier exhales—soft and subtle—like he wants to say more but doesn’t. “Good night.” 

With that, he turns on his heels and strolls down the hallway, climbing the short staircase up one floor until he reaches his apartment—the one right above yours. His pace doesn’t lessen. If anything, it quickens as he locks his front door and runs a hand through his hair. 

Fuck… What are you doing to him? 

Watching him leave, you do the same: locking your front door and running a hand over your face. It’s hard to concentrate when every time you blink, his bright blue eyes shine back at you, like a memory you can’t forget. 

What’s even worse is the sleep that turns into frustrated tossing and turning when you finally change into comfortable pajamas and curl up in bed. It’s impossible—even when earlier in the night, you were so hellbent on collapsing into cotton sheets as soon as you set foot into your apartment. 

The clock hits just past two in the morning, and impatient footsteps pad out into the kitchen, where a kettle is waiting to be used. Your favorite tea—warm and soothing—fills you with a comfort that you can only compare to what you think Xavier’s hugs are. 

Snuggled up in bed, your eyes drift closed with each slow blink—hair falling into your face. The tea works so quickly that you finish half of it before your head lolls to the side in drowsiness. It’s only when you’re tucked into blankets and curled on your side that you can’t think a single thought before you’re fully asleep.

In your dream, you’re sitting in a classroom.

Odd… It’s been a while since you’ve dreamed something like this. 

Looking around, nothing specific sticks out along the walls. A plain chalkboard. Standard desks. Everything is normal, like the epitome of sitting in a classroom before it fills with students. 

Except that the paper under your hand has your name on it. 

Huh… “What?” The thought is verbalized before you realize it, head tilting to the side as you glare down at the ink as if just staring will change it. A plain metal nametag—once again, with your name—is pinned to a cardigan, which is the same color as the walls around you. 

The worksheet, which you’ve just now noticed, is full of math equations, reminds you of the homework you would take home at the end of the day. It’s all textbook classroom, and judging by the fact that it isn’t a dream meant to embarrass you or manifest a Wanderer to chase you down the halls—yet—it’s definitely not a typical school dream. 

“What the—” 

“So you’re here, too.” A voice—always gentle even in your dreams—comes from the doorway, and you whip your head around to find Xavier leaning against the door frame. “This whole school is empty.” 

The shock on your face registers with Xavier, something flickering across his face that you couldn’t place even if you tried. But he covers it up just as quickly as it manifested, like it was hidden under the surface. 

His outfit—the same cardigan and khaki pant combination—matches yours, even the square on his chest with his name printed in a very professional font. It’s all the same… Which means you’re classmates? 

“It’s just us?” A million questions float around in your head, and yet the most superficial one comes from parted lips. “Where’s everyone else?” 

Xavier shrugs, one hand clutching the strap of a backpack while sitting down at the desk in front of you. His eyes never leave yours, testing something behind confused eyes and soft lips. 

“I don’t know…” It’s honest, an unsure answer born from a curved smile, and you’ve never seen him so playful like this. Maybe this is how he was during school? “Maybe there’s an apocalypse, and we’re the only two people left.” Then, his finger taps the paper in front of you. “And yet, you still have homework.”

Rolling your eyes, you twirl the pen around your fingers. “Of course, the perfect trope for a dream.” A laugh slips, your eyes catching Xavier’s as he rests his elbow on your desk. “I mean, homework doesn’t matter when none of this is real, right?” 

You’ve never been able to distinguish between dream and reality, but right now this feels like a realm between. Not quite asleep and not quite awake. 

Like purgatory.

The expression that passes over Xavier’s face is stern yet still unreadable. “You think this is a dream?” Like you’ve said something wrong, shattering this dreamland where anything is possible into something absurd and ridiculous.

“I know it’s a dream…” Trailing off, your voice drops into almost a whisper. “You’re only here because of this silly crush.” The confession, unintentional but loud in Xavier’s ears, is only said because, of course, the real Xavier wouldn't know this secret. 

This isn’t the real Xavier…

“A crush?” 

“Yeah.” 

“On who?” The words are clipped, not wanting to hear the answer, and yet still leaning closer in curiosity. 

“On you.”

A healthy pause bites into the air, almost suffocating if it weren’t for slow breaths and the soft tapping of his fingers on the desk. Like, he can’t sit still when he’s just learned of this crush you harbor for him. 

“It’s probably more than a crush…” It all comes out in a vomit of words, because you’re just talking to this… dream Xavier… He won’t know a single thing you say to him in the morning. “But every time I see you, it gets stronger and stronger. So yeah… definitely more than a crush.” 

A hum, low and incessant. Then, his hand presses against your forehead. “Yep, I think you’re running a fever.” Hidden behind a slight rasp that depicts more than his normal smooth tone, there’s a hint of endearing softness and silky monotone. 

“Careful,” the tease doesn’t leave your tone. “If you keep showing up in my dreams, I may fall for you even more…” 

Xavier clears his throat, the tips of his ears burning. “I was kidding about the school being empty.” 

Almost on cue, the bell rings from above you, and faceless people filter through the classroom door. The image of Xavier leaning on your desk becomes just a mirage in the smoke, and the last thing you see before you wake up is a tight smile on his usually relaxed expression.

The alarm blares in your ears, mimicking the classroom bell almost perfectly. 

On your walk to work, the dream keeps replaying in your mind. The subtle smile curls when you think about how handsome Xavier looked — still like his current age despite being in a school uniform — and how warm his palm was on your forehead. 

But even so, there's a nagging feeling that maybe this dream meant something. You hadn't dreamt of your colleague, neighbor, and friend at all, and the sudden appearance threw you for a loop when you first emerged from sleep. 

Then the reminder that soulmates find each other in dreams—that they share dreams—crashes into you. 

Surely not… The Xavier you met last night didn't seem like he knew anything of your current world, nor did he acknowledge you in any different way, as if he knew it was a dream as well. 

Right?

An odd tenseness in the air lingers around you when you finally get up to your floor. Coworkers smile and attempt to make small talk, but this incessant throb in the back of your head tampers your mood down into silent nods and absentminded hums. You’re not really listening, but luckily, everyone is too preoccupied with running their mouths to realize. 

When Xavier walks in just ten minutes after you, your eyes automatically follow him. 

His hair is a bit more mussed—most likely from sleep—and each step he takes seems like his last, feet dragging until he plops down into his chair. Usually, he would smile at you or come over to talk about the few hours between getting off work and being right back here. 

But he didn’t spare you a glance. 

A tight jaw and furrowed brows continue to work through reports, his hands typing so fast on the keyboard that you almost don’t even see them moving. Moving lightning fast, there’s an urgency there that isn’t normal for the lackadaisical man who leisures his way through reports and slashes through Wanderers on the field. 

And as much as you want to go up to him and make small talk, you know when to give him some space. It’s not often he gets into moods like that, where nothing registers in his brain except the task in front of him. It's almost as if he wants to forget something. 

No… Of course not. 

It’s not like he remembers the dream. It’s not like he was there? 

So why does it feel so empty when he gets up and rushes off with a beeping watch for a solo mission? One that doesn’t involve you. 

“You look like a lost puppy.” 

Simone, one of your colleagues, taps her finger on her coffee cup, the noise like a sharp blade through the low hum of chatter throughout the room. It’s a welcome distraction from the empty seat across the room. 

Tearing your gaze away from his desk, you look up at her. “Uhm, no…” It’s a lie. You know it, and she gives you a look that tells you all you need to know. “I’m fine. Just tired, is all.” Your shoulder jerks up, attempting a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. 

Her eyes bore into yours over the edge of her coffee cup. She hums, “Oh, really? I didn’t know staring at Xavier’s desk and pouting like that was you being tired.” A perfectly arched eyebrow lifts, knowing she’s got you right where she wants you. 

“I… Uhm…” You’re caught, but you brush it off with another shrug, not wanting to say anything of your little crush—if it still could be called just a crush. It wasn’t, because the feelings that quickly surface when you think about his smile don’t do much to help your situation. “I didn’t realize I was looking over there.” 

It’s the best excuse you can come up with, because it’s far less vulnerable than the truth. 

“Have you had any dreams yet?” 

Her question is obvious—have you met him in your dreams? Is he your soulmate?—but it’s a slippery slope of emotions when last night comes into your mind. Torn between truth and a small white lie, it’s unclear which one will hurt the least. 

“No.” While a lie, it’s still technically accurate. He wasn’t coherent in the dream. It was just a mirage of what you wanted and not what you had. 

Wanting to end the conversation, you turn back to your work, the blinking cursor some solace from Simone’s sympathetic smile. Her hand touches your shoulder, brushing close to your hair for a split second before pulling back. 

“Some people don’t see their soulmate for a while.” A statement meant to reassure you only stabs at your heart. “You never know what’ll happen.” She drags out the last syllable in a singsong voice that does bring a smile to your face—albeit fleeting and already gone when she looks at you. 

Sensing the end of the conversation, she steps away with a raised glass and a soft smile. “I’ve got some reports to write, but I’ll catch you later!”

“Catch you later, Simone.” In the nicest voice you can muster, you call out after her as she walks away. The dream of Xavier in that uniform, holding a hand to your forehead, how real he seemed when he wasn’t… It’s going to haunt you, and a tiny part of you wishes that it wouldn’t happen again. 

It would be easier to crush your hopes now.

“You had an eventful day, huh?” The night air is crisp when you walk down the sidewalk—the same familiar path to your apartment building with the same familiar face strolling beside you. 

But something is different. 

His steps aren’t the same measured taps against the pavement as usual. Heavy then light. Quick, then slow. Trying to match your pace, but it’s obvious something else is on his mind. 

“Yeah…” The leather gloves that cover his hands flex. “They sent me on a lot of missions today.” 

Once again, silence. 

It’s suffocating; it’s even worse when you notice his eyes locked onto his feet. He makes no effort to maintain eye contact, unlike his usual behavior. No effort to bump into you playfully or joke about Captain Jenna fussing about Xavier’s late report. 

Just radio silence. 

Xavier has always given you the space when you need it—backing off and raising his hands in retreat when the clouds in your brain shroud the sun. That is one of the things that burrowed deep in your heart and forced that small seed of a crush to grow into an uncontrollable garden. 

So, like him, you back off. 

Not blatantly, because you don’t want him thinking that you don’t care at all—because the reality is that you care a lot—but intruding on his space when he is overthinking will only make it worse. It’s a slippery slope, but knowing each other since you started at the Association, it’s a slope you’ve slid down many times before. Familiar and easy, just like anything is with Xavier. 

Silence borders each step, the music of the elevator filling the space briefly before you’re standing in front of your apartment door. 

It’s a constant, Xavier walking you to your door, no matter the circumstances; he wasn’t going to skip out just because of this storm cloud hanging over his head. 

“You worked hard, Xav.” The nickname twitches his brow, almost imperceptible if you didn’t pay attention to every little detail. “Get some rest tonight.” 

His face falls, something that could be perceived as exhaustion flickering across his face, before he nods. “Yeah, you too. Sleep well.” 

With that, he turns on his heels and walks quicker than ever before until he reaches the elevator. 

You don’t dream about Xavier that night. 

You don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The following dream didn’t come for a week. 

In the days between, Xavier is back to his usual self. The banter, the jokes, each time you have a minute between missions, stretching like hours when you’re with him. It only makes the ache grow stronger when you fall asleep that night—a Wednesday night that is like any other—and it happens again. 

This time, it’s an odd place—one you can’t place until you walk out of the ornate room you woke up in and see the grand staircase. 

It’s some sort of castle. 

What kind of castle? You don’t know, but the intricate filigree on the handrail and the soft blue light streaming in from every large window create an eerie feeling that is only heightened when your footsteps echo like sharp blades in the silence.

Your feet are on autopilot, knowing where to go without knowing exactly where you’re going. A hint of deja vu flickers, but it’s quickly wiped away when you catch a glimpse at the large expanse of land peeking through the window behind a large throne. 

But you don’t head toward the beautiful throne. Instead, you take a few turns until you’re in a kitchen. 

Then, your stomach rumbles, and you realize just why your feet brought you here. 

The only sound is you rummaging through cabinets, trying to find something to eat. You don’t know why you're here, the dream making no sense while you search and search and search. It doesn’t seem like there is anyone else here, so you rummage and look through drawers, but you only find one thing. 

Mushrooms.

An indignant sigh slips from your lips, and you inspect the mushrooms of seemingly all the same species. Your knowledge of plants doesn’t reach that far—especially in a land like this—so you put them back into the cupboard, running a hand through your hair. 

“Not finding anything to your liking?” 

A voice startles you, causing a surprised yelp as you whip around to find the source of the deep rumble. 

It’s… Xavier? 

No.

He’s different.

It’s definitely him, with his striking blue eyes, the set line of his lips, the soft slope of his nose, but his hair is longer—much longer—and his clothes are those of a fantasy royal. In the back of your mind, you think about searching for a mirror to see if you still look the same.. 

And his voice. 

It’s deeper, more stern and stoic, which you didn’t think was possible. Almost like the Xavier you first met. It took him time to warm up, and even now, he still has a gentle monotone voice at times, but that’s your Xavier. 

This doesn’t seem like your Xavier. 

“It’s… all mushrooms.” Stating an obvious fact, the Xavier in front of you laughs, a rough chuckle that would seem mocking if he didn’t have the hint of a smile. 

Nodding, he takes a step closer. “Correct. There are no other forms of sustenance here.” 

Then you see it. 

A slight sparkle in his eye, glimmering with recognition that is gone in a blink. Once again, akin to the first dream you had with him in the school, your eyes widen, and your breathing hitches. 

Instead of breaching the topic, because you would look like a fool if this Xavier wasn’t yours, you cross your arms, soft silk brushing your skin. “I’m hungry.” 

When he laughs, it’s like your Xavier is back. “If you don’t like mushrooms, then I don’t know what to tell you.” 

There’s a tense silence that follows, daring the other to break it with words that hold little meaning when the only thing you want to ask is: “is that you?” This line between reality and dream is thin, especially with the idea that Xavier might be the one. But the fear that he isn’t, that someone else is your soulmate when your feelings for Xavier only grow, is what keeps you from speaking. 

“How about you go to bed?” He whispers, a subtle worry in his voice as he takes a step. A sudden spark shoots through your veins when he lays a hand on your arm, goosebumps sharp as they rise along with the hair there. “I promise I’ll try to find something in the morning for food besides these mushrooms.” 

Despite the rumble in your stomach, you nod. “Okay…” 

With a gentleness lingering into affection, he cradles your elbow and takes measured steps up the staircase. He knows exactly where your room is and the layout of the entire castle, navigating it with ease. 

“There we go.” Before you know it, a plush mattress meets your back, lowered with the utmost care. He lingers, sitting on the edge of the bed for a moment, and in the moonlight, he looks sad. 

Like a lovesick man, trapped in his thoughts, although you don’t know this version of Xavier, your heart breaks at the dimness in his eyes. 

Reaching your arm out from under the blanket, you rest your hand on his bicep. “Stay with me.” You plead, uncertainty laced in your voice as you look up at him. “Until I fall asleep?” 

There it is—the crack in his armor.

Silence, and then: “Okay,” said in your Xavier’s voice. Not the deep and demanding tone from the man in the kitchen, but a gentle melody that wraps around you like a blanket. “Sleep…” After you remove your arm, he tucks you in, making sure you’re secure before sitting back. 

His stare should be intimidating, but it’s not. 

It’s comforting, and within minutes, you’re falling asleep.

In the morning, Xavier doesn’t say a word when he walks into the office. It’s just like the week before, when you had the first dream he appeared in. Every time you dream about him, he shows up like this. Every. Single. Time. Like a pattern you can’t figure out, because there’s no logical reason it would line up perfectly. 

Once is a coincidence. 

Twice is a pattern.

Like clockwork, you go about your day, going on missions solo, and when the time comes when you have to accompany him, it’s filled with hollow words and jokes that don’t land. His expression is taut, and every Wanderer he kills is another reminder of his strength. 

Your Xavier is strong, but he’s so much more than that. 

He’s handsome. He’s gentle. He’s stern. He’s playful. He’s attentive, and he knows you more than he says. Each little action shows how well he knows you. 

When it’s time to walk home, it’s filled with an awkward silence like the one before. Tense and filled with unspoken words that nearly drive you crazy with each slow step on the pavement. 

Instead of breaking the precious silence with words that would fall flat, you stay quiet, letting the pure sense of your presence do the talking. I’m here if you need to talk, you think, your eyes stealing a glance over to find his brows furrowed and lips pursed into a thin line. 

His features burrow between each beat of your heart, stabbing you over and over and shrinking you until you’re a grain of sand on an endless beach. It’s not like he means to make you feel that way; it’s all your own mind and worries that look too much into each movement. It probably doesn’t have anything to do with your dreams—it’s not like he remembers—but it still stings when he walks carefully to your front door. 

“I’ll… I’ll see you tomorrow?” You stutter, ready to input the code to your apartment and bury yourself under the covers. 

Xavier meets your eye for the first time that night. “Yeah, tomorrow.” Then, with a small smile, full of wry fakeness, he nods. “Good night.” 

When you finally start to drift off, you try to will your brain not to dream of Xavier. 

But it’s never that easy. 

“Xavier, you’re so funny!” A loud voice rings out through the Association. Well, it’s not like it’s much louder than the usual idle chatter in the room, but to you—and to your dreaming brain—it’s a booming voice in your ear. 

By the time you realize it’s a dream, you’re staring at Xavier, in his regular Hunter’s outfit, looking as handsome as ever, and staring up at a woman who’s standing right in front of his desk. 

She’s beautiful. Really beautiful. 

“How many awards have you won with UNICORN again?” Once again, her voice pierces your eardrums, and a sinking feeling opens up in the bottom of your stomach. She’s obviously flirting with him. 

“I didn’t keep track.” His monotone answer is different with her than with you. When he speaks to you, his tone changes very slightly, enough for only you to pick up on. With her, he’s saying something just to appease her.

Why would your brain show you something like this?

Clenching your jaw, you watch as she touches his arm, leaning even further until she’s very much in his space. “Can you show me sometime?” 

“No.” Xavier shakes his head, staring down at his report as he outlines the most important things to include. He’s very methodical in his research, never letting it get too lazy. It’s also why he’s sometimes a day or two late in turning in said reports. “I’m busy.” 

She huffs, her Hunter’s uniform looking off as she crosses her arms and stands up. “What could be more important than spending time with me?” 

His head raises, eyes scanning the room, and the breath leaves your lungs. 

He’s looking right at you. 

No feigned incoherence. No mirage of dream Xavier, who doesn’t realize he’s a main character in your nighttime adventures. There’s that sparkle again, and you don’t mistake it this time when he smiles at you. It’s tinged in sadness, like he knows what this means, and knows you’ll figure it out. 

“Spending time with her.” He says, your body freezing when she locks eyes with you. Something in her face twists, and she becomes unrecognizable, like a blank slate of a person waiting to be filled with unique characteristics. 

Before you can say anything back, confirming your own cognizance or even reaching out a hand for him to take, you’re ripped from the dream with a gasp. Your alarm blares in your ears, and a drop of sweat travels along your hairline to soak into your bangs. 

He knows. That’s Xavier in your dreams. Your Xavier. 

Your soulmate.

The realization hits you hard, causing you to fall back onto your bed with a thud while also worrying about everything else under the sun. He had known for the past two dreams: at the school and in the palace. That was Xavier, and he was coherent. Every word he spoke was from his lips, from his brain, from his heart. 

But it still doesn’t confirm he wants this. That he likes the idea of you being his soulmate, because the thought of him being yours… It sends your heart into overdrive, your body heating up at the prospect of a forever with Xavier. 

The walk into work is long because you’re replaying every little instance in those previous dreams. Each gentle touch, each soft word, and affectionate stare. Like he’s always meant to be by your side, no matter where you are. 

Why didn’t he just say so in the first place? 

The thought eats at you when you sit down at your desk, the voices around you melting into nothingness. The reports pile up, reminding you of missions to complete and previous ones to write. It’s a cruel reminder that you’ll always be stuck with Xavier, even if he regrets being your soulmate. 

Being without him is more complicated than being with him at a distance, so you try to suck up the sorrow and put on a smile. 

The moment Xavier walks up, he notices something's wrong. The smile is fake, and the lights don’t sparkle in your purple irises. Furrowing his brows, he clears his throat and gestures to the pile of reports. 

“Ready to get rid of some Wanderers, partner?” 

Partner. 

It stings, even in a different context. 

After a breath, you try to steel your emotions and smile, “Yeah.”

Xavier knows better. He knows that you’re not in a good mood right now, and while he wants to ask if it’s because of the dream, if you regret him being your soulmate… 

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t even ask if you’re okay, because you hate it when people ask that, so he nods, but not before rummaging through his bag to find what he’s looking for. “Here,” he says softly and slowly, setting down the bag from your favorite cafe. “They had your favorite pastry, so I stopped by before coming in.” 

The corner of your lip curls slightly. “Thanks,” it’s harsher than you wanted, and even you flinch when you look up to meet his eye. It’s the same stare he gave you last night, and you can’t make yourself look at him for too long. The dual guns strapped to each thigh and the claymore are all ready for action, and you fight to smile one more time as you take the pastry out of the bag. 

“I’ll finish this, and we can start the missions.” Xavier nods again, backing off and giving you the space to let the emotions play out. It’s one of the things you like the most about him, that he is always willing to give you the time to yourself, the time you need. 

The missions, albeit awkward, are a chance for you to help the public, do your job, and forget about the nagging feeling whenever you are back-to-back with Xavier. His weak spot, exposed only to you. The trust he thrusts into your hands has your palms sweating and heart thumping in your chest. 

Then came the walk home. This time, the sun wasn’t gone, no. It peaks through the clouds, drifting ever closer to the horizon. Dipping lower and lower, your feet drag on the pavement. 

Xavier doesn’t walk right next to you. There’s a small space between you, one that feels so much like an ocean when in reality it’s just a puddle. While you know it’s just out of respect and worry, it still digs into your heart. 

Now, the roles are reversed. 

Instead of your eyes focusing on his expression, his eyes are locked onto yours. A hint of worry and concern edging into sapphire blue while he tries not to run into any light poles. He’s too distracted by you, and his growing anxiety about this whole… soulmate situation. 

Before he knows it, you’re standing in front of your apartment. With your head dipped low, it’ll only be a bit until you’re better; until you can come to terms that your soulmate doesn’t want you, but for now? 

It hurts. 

“Good work today,” you manage, clearing your throat and putting on a smile. Your fingers fiddle with the edge of your uniform, ready to take it off and change into comfortable pajamas. 

Xavier’s eyes roam over you, taking in every single detail that he wishes he could implant in his memory—the furrow of your brow, the downturn of your lips. 

“Thanks,” Xavier can’t do anything except say that, the words caught in his throat before he clears it and nods. “You too…” Then, in an act of confidence and desperation, he reaches out to straighten the collar of your shirt. “You’re stronger than you think.” 

The compliment disguised as a comfort to your solemn expression burrows into your skin, like a balm that soothes the ache in your chest. But it doesn’t help much. You’re still thinking about the dreams, about him being your soulmate. About him, still not saying anything. 

“Thanks…” A beat… And then, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He wants to say more, but he holds his tongue. It’s all lost on him when you’re the one to turn into your now open front door. One last smile finds him before you close it, and Xavier sighs. 

That night, when he goes to sleep, he wishes on every star that you’ll be in his dream again and that he can finally tell you everything on his mind. 

But you’re not.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

It’s naive to think that life can just go back to normal when you’ve learned that your colleague, friend, and neighbor is your soulmate, but it’s an illusion you’ve pulled over your eyes to buy yourself a few more days. 

Life will never go back to normal, because there will always be something hanging over your head when you see Xavier. Whether it be in dreams, which haven’t happened since the last dream in the office, or in the field when you’re backing him up on a Wanderer attack. 

You tell yourself it’ll get better, but just when you’ve tricked yourself into a healthy sleep schedule, it comes back. 

You’re sitting on a kitchen counter. One that’s distinctly not yours because of the lack of decor. There’s a rack of spices, a toaster, and a few dishes in the sink. 

It’s obvious whose kitchen you’re sitting in, even before you see him. 

Pale skin stretches over tense muscles, coiling tight while he stalks you like prey. The grey sweatpants on his hips hang dangerously low—taunting you with a subtle V-line and flexing biceps. Each step he takes brings him closer, and you’re stuck rigid on the cool granite that bites into your bare thighs. 

He’s calculated, getting all the way up to where you sit before he speaks.

“I need you.” 

And you wonder if this is your Xavier or a sick, twisted dream your brain conjured up. It was still a mystery how this soulmate dream thing worked, and you didn’t know if he was always lucid in the dreams you’ve shared. 

In the back of your mind, though… You don’t care. 

“I need you, too.” 

There it is, the dam breaking under unbearable pressure. The weeks of pent-up frustration and disappointment when he didn’t seem to acknowledge the weight between you. The room in your heart that he’s rented out, knowing it may not be a permanent house for him… 

It all culminates in this one moment. 

He doesn’t speak. Instead, he walks over until he’s slotted himself between your thighs. Warmth radiates from bare hips, your knees hooking around until you’re crossing your ankles behind him and holding him closer in a feeble attempt to appease your feelings. 

The kiss starts slow. 

It’s a languid dance of your lips together, savoring every slow breath or aroused gasp as you explore each other for the first time. A tense awkwardness settles when he pulls away just enough to zero in on the blush filling your cheeks and the wide eyes that shine back at him. 

He dives in for another. 

This one is rougher, more tongue and teeth scraping against bottom lips as his hands skim along your bare upper thighs, slipping under the hem of your baggy shirt and settling on the skin of your hips. Meanwhile, your own hands wrap around his neck, pulling until you’re completely flush against him and panting with each centimeter of space you’re given. 

“Xavier,” it comes out in a breath of fresh air, like you won’t just wake up and go back to the monotony of work tomorrow with the expectation that you have to temper your feelings and hope he doesn’t say anything. 

“Shhhh,” his lips move to your jaw, nudging your head up with the tip of his nose while he grinds his hips against your panty-clad core with agonizing speed. Each kiss is another inferno ignited inside you, and you can’t think of anything else when he presses an intimate kiss to your pulse point, listening with unrestrained glee at the hitch in your breath. “I’ve got you.” 

And he does. 

Stepping back from the counter, one of his hands cups the flesh of your ass while the other moves further up your shirt to trace the ridges of your spine. His footsteps are clunky and awkward, which makes it all the more endearing when he sets you down on his bed and pulls back with a wince. 

“I kicked the doorframe.” 

His complaint is met with a breathy chuckle, but you don’t have the time to say anything back when he’s climbing onto the bed and hovering his entire body over yours. In just sweatpants, he is reminiscent of a god, the light emanating from him giving him a subtle glow in the rapidly darkening sky. 

Reverent hands trace every ridge of your body, pushing your shirt up to expose the skin of your stomach and the peaks of your breasts. Without a bra, he happily mouths around the pebbled nipple, bringing one into his mouth with a lewd wet noise that would have you cringing if he weren’t so dangerously hot, kneeling between your thighs and feasting on your body. 

His pillow is comforting on your head when you fall back, throat exposed, and hands trembling through silver locks. “Xavier…” 

The groan that reverberates through you sends your heart into overdrive. “Again.” Deep and commanding like the long-haired Xavier in the palace, he rasps out the order before switching attention to the other breast. 

“Xavier,” another breath, another low moan when his pronounced bulge grinds against the dampening of your panties. 

Xavier takes his time descending, sucking marks into your skin that bloom almost instantly. It isn’t until he’s reached the waistline of your panties that your hips buck on instinct, chasing something that you only want from him. 

Hooking thumbs into the hem, your eyes meet Xavier’s, watching as he slowly pulls—

It’s like you’re falling. 

Your body shoots out of bed, eyes wide and unfocused. The dream you just had, it seemed so real… 

Too real. 

Each breath catches in your lungs, reminding you of the sight between your thighs, messy hair tickling the bare skin while he readies himself to expose every delicious inch. But of course it was a dream. Of course, it wasn’t real. Isn’t real. Will never be real. 

The ringing of your phone catches you off guard, and when you look at the Caller ID, your heart sinks. 

“Hey, Xavier.” His name falls from your lips with a wince, like you don’t want to manifest anything in the short space between his apartment and yours. Not when it’s possible he can hear any whimpers or noises. “What’s up?” The short tone of your voice while you try to mask how breathless you are doesn’t work in the slightest because he sounds just as wrecked as he swallows the lump in his throat. 

It’s like a standoff, wondering if one of you will mention the dream, because now you know he’s your soulmate, and he was there too. He said those words. The exact words that echo in your head when you close your eyes. 

On the other line, Xavier sits up against his headboard, in grey sweatpants and no shirt, while he tries to process everything as if it hadn’t hit him like a freight train. “Hi,” just as fake-composed and breathy as you were.

“You had that dream too… Right?” You’re the first to broach the subject. Why else would he call at nearly one in the morning if he hadn’t woken up at the same time as you from a shared wet dream? 

It also doesn’t help that you are in a baggy shirt and panties, just like the dream. 

“Yeah.” Succinct is Xavier’s middle name, his chest still glistening with a light sheen of sweat as he runs a hand through his hair. Every breath he takes is nearly painful, like being so far away from you—even if it’s just one floor—and the following words come from a low gasp. “I did.” 

He’s about to say something when your sweet voice rings in his head, saying every syllable that he had wanted to hear. It’s like a dream come true. Literally. 

“Do you wanna come down to my apartment?” The invitation sits in the air for a second, marinating in the silence of what if I read it wrong? Or what if he was calling to tell you to stop dreaming of him, as if that were possible? 

You wait and wait. 

Only a minute passes until you hear a knock at your balcony. 

Peeking your head out from the hallway, your stomach flutters when Xavier waves through the glass. His phone, still in his hand, faces you as he hits the ‘End Call’ button and points down to the handle. Let me in? 

After seeing you in the pajamas, you don’t bother putting pants on as you pad over to the balcony doors and open them. He steps in, shivering slightly from the nipping cold, and stands there.

“How did you get down here?” You ask, and Xavier fights a laugh. Of all the things, this is what you say first? But it’s a welcome change to the intense atmosphere, sprinkling in some of the banter that’s always been there in your friendship. It’s the same comfort that you always bring him, even in his mood swings or quiet walks; you’re a presence that blankets over him and puts his heart at ease. 

The tips of his ears turn pink as he rubs the back of his neck, a sheepish smile on his lips that sends goosebumps along your skin. “I teleported.”

“You teleported ten feet to my balcony.” You deadpan, the hint of a smile on your lips at how eager he just admitted to being. “Why didn’t you just teleport into my room?” 

Wide eyes meet yours, and the blush on his ears deepens. Then, as if you hadn’t just had a borderline sex dream with him, “I didn’t want to teleport into your room without permission.” 

All of his actions only reaffirm your feelings for him. It’s no longer a crush because you don’t think about a crush from the moment you wake up to the moment you fall asleep. You don’t see small trinkets or colors and associate them with the color of your crush's eyes or his lips. 

A small laugh, and as you stand in front of each other in your living room, it becomes increasingly clear what this means. The clouds have parted, revealing a shining truth that can’t be ignored anymore. 

“You’re my soulmate.” You mumble. 

“And you’re my soulmate.” He counters, the smile never leaving his lips as he stands too far away. You need him closer. 

Silence. 

Your hands fly to your face when you realize something. 

“I confessed my crush on you the first night we shared a dream…” A groan of embarrassment and shame runs through you, hiding your heated cheeks and parted lips from him. “I can’t believe I did that. I’m so sorry. Oh my g—” 

His fingers wrapping around your wrists bring you back to reality, cutting off your words with a single touch that sends a rush through you. Not a rush of desire, but a shock to your heart, bringing it back to life after being tempered down for so long. The worry of him not feeling the same, not being your soulmate, stops as soon as you meet his eyes.

“The dreams always ended before I could find the courage to confess.” He says it in such a matter-of-fact tone, like it was the easiest thing to admit, when in reality, his heart might stop at any minute from the nerves. “Don’t apologize…” Stepping closer, he leans down until his nose brushes yours. “I thought it was cute.” 

This kiss is much like the first one in the dream. Exploratory and sweet. Just two people learning each other inside and out while also navigating this tricky road of feelings and fate. But for you and Xavier, both feelings and fate brought you together. 

It’s too short, and you sigh when he pulls away much faster than you wanted. 

But it’s not long until he’s whispering into the shared breaths between you. “Wanna pick up where we left off?” 

His eyes darken when you nod, hands roaming your sides before tugging at your thighs—an unspoken command for you to wrap them around his bare waist. So you do. 

Each kiss lines the path to your bedroom, which he knows from the times he’s come over and from the identical layout to his own place. It’s simple, really, how easily he fits into your life as more than a friend. As a soulmate. Like he was never meant to leave, staking permanent residency in your heart and kicking out anyone who would dare to knock. 

“God, princess.” The growl rips from his throat when he pins you against the bedroom door. Hardwood meets your back, but it doesn’t hurt. You’re too preoccupied with Xavier’s lips on the line of your jaw and his clothed length grinding against your panties to think of anything else. 

It’s so much like your dream, but infinitely better because this is real. 

Your thighs tighten around his waist, head falling back to the wall while you tug harshly on his hair. It’s both a silent plea and a silent warning. 

What you don’t expect is the deep and almost mocking chuckle that leaves him as he stands up straight. His lips leave your skin, glistening in spit and already red from how he was devouring your neck. 

“What is it?” Tilting his head, there isn’t a moment you can recall him looking even hotter than he does now. Like daring you to say something else, or giving you a glimpse into how deep his desire runs for you. “Already too worked up to form words?” 

It’s not mean, but the way he speaks so teasingly, as if he wasn’t wrecked himself, sends a shiver down your spine. You can’t get enough. You’ll never get enough. You don’t want to get enough. 

“Xavier, please.” 

He laughs at your plea, one of his hands kneading the flesh of your ass and the other slipping under the hem of your shirt just like in the dream. “Please, what?” Once again, his voice drops impeccably low, head dipping down to mouth at your neck while he whispers. “I’m not going to give you what you want that easily, princess.” 

Damn him. 

With all pretense of embarrassment gone, since he literally shared the same wet dream, you buck against his hips. “I want it all.” You finally relent, tilting your head to give him more access as he paints blooming flowers along your skin. “I want whatever you’ll give me.” 

“Fuck—” Xavier wastes no more time, pulling off the door and setting you on the bed. Despite his harsh words, he’s still gentle in his handling of you. He knows you’re not glass, but he would never forgive himself if he actually hurt you.

Your shirt is the first to go, because with so few clothes separating you two, now just a pair of sweatpants and panties, it’s hard not to feel completely exposed to him. But the touch of his hands on your breasts, cupping and kneading them before lowering his head to kiss and suck the sensitive skin, has you arching into his touch. 

“You’re playing a dangerous game.” He mumbles against your nipple, tongue flicking the pebbled bud before diving back in with increased fervor. The warning falls on deaf ears; your head is already full of everything you want him to do to you. 

Defiant as always, you shake your head and lock your legs around his hips. “I don’t care.” You whimper, one of your hands digging into his scalp on the back of his head. “I need you.” 

A mimicry of the dream, but this is real. This is Xavier. 

Your Xavier. 

“I’ve got you, princess.” Without the interruptions of sleep, his thumbs hook into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down in one smooth motion before holding your thighs open. Every time he uses his strength to put you in place, it makes you moan, your chest heaving with bated breath as he kisses along the inside of your thigh. 

“I’ll start where we left off.” Licking his lips, his thumbs spread you open, exposing your throbbing clit and fluttering hole. Xavier takes a moment to admire how beautiful you look spread out for him, your muscles tensing under his fingertips and your hips twitching for more. 

A long lick nearly crushes his head between your thighs. “So responsive.” He whispers, burying his face in your pussy without a care in the world for his oxygen levels. In this regard, he’s still learning. Each flick of his tongue is accompanied by an awkward kiss that does nothing but push you further into desperation. He’s teasing without meaning to, and when you whine again, he tilts his head. 

“What?” Xavier whispers, and as he speaks, his middle finger traces the tight ring of muscle, pushing into the first knuckle and watching your reaction. “Making demands when you’re the one beneath me, princess.” 

With one finger curled deep in your walls, you know you’re not going to last long. It’s been days—maybe weeks, maybe months—of zoning off at your desk, imagining the way Xavier’s hands flex and move under those gloves and how they would feel on your bare skin. Or his perfect nose and how perfectly he could rub your clit while his tongue is deep inside you. 

Thoughts you never imagined would become reality are so close, and you can’t help the wanton moan that slips when he thrusts his finger while making out with your slick pussy. “You’re so… beautiful… You know?” Every few words are punctuated by a loud kiss to your clit, feeling the way you pulse around him, and he’s very quickly becoming addicted to it. 

“Fuck, god. Xavier—” 

“I know, I know.” He relents, watching the twisting in your expression morph into one of pure ecstasy when he adds a second finger, stretching you out to the point of subtle pressure but not discomfort. It’s when he suctions his lips around your bundle of nerves that your body is lit up by a live wire. 

“Come on, princess.” A groan vibrates through your clit, and every sensation imaginable hits you square in the chest. His fingers buried deep inside you, curling with each thrust forward to grind against that spongy spot. His tongue and lips find out precisely what makes you squirm and use it to his advantage. 

But the one thing that’s your undoing is his voice. 

The praise mixed with the teasing depth doesn’t help the heat pooling in your abdomen, and all it takes is Xavier lifting his head to whisper a reverent. “Wanna see how perfect you are when you come around my fingers,” to push you straight over the edge. 

Xavier’s other hand locks onto your hip, making sure you don’t move away from him while your warm walls pulse around his digits. If his cock wasn’t already throbbing and desperate… 

“Good girl,” the soothing words are spoken into your inner thigh, catching your breath as he cleans off his fingers with his mouth. It’s lewd and borderline erotic when he strips off the last of his clothing, revealing the curved length that’s leaking and begging for you. 

Xavier stares down at you, one hand stroking his cock while the other massages the muscles in your calf. His eyes roam your body, taking in everything he’s ever imagined. “Fuck, princess. You look amazing like this.” 

While he speaks, the tip of his cock parts your folds, teasing you with just the head dipping inside your entrance before withdrawing. It’s cruel, you think, as your hands reach out for him. 

His hand pushes your leg up, bending your knee and spreading you even wider for him. “I thought about putting you on your hands and knees.” He’s speaking absentmindedly, more to himself than to you, his imagination running wild. “But I want to see your pretty face when I fill you for the first time.” 

Before you can respond, he’s sinking in you. It’s so slow that you might cry from how intense it is. The stretch, the heat, how full you feel, and when he’s finally flush against your pelvis, how perfectly he fits inside you. 

“Like I was made for you.” A smirk curls at his lips, but all you can do is whimper and stare up at him through watery eyes. 

Leaning down, he maneuvers your leg until it’s in the same bent position as the other one, your calves resting on his shoulders, and your body completely at his mercy. But like this, so spread out and vulnerable underneath him? It’s the most intoxicating pleasure you’ve ever felt. 

“Can I move?” A nod, and one of his hands slides up your arm to thread your fingers together right beside your head. “Words, princess.” 

“Ye-ah… Please,” you gasp out, forehead resting against Xavier’s as he draws back all the way, just to drive forward into you with a grunt. Both of you let out a shuddering breath, puzzle pieces falling together like sand in time’s hourglass. 

Xavier is feral, his body moving on its own accord as he fucks you with slow, deep strokes. He’s savoring every moan that you let out, swallowing it with his lips while holding onto your hand for dear life. 

“Imagined this.” He pants against your lips, spit-slicked and swollen from how he’s kissed you like a maniac. “You under me…” 

“Xav—” Your moan is cut off by his kiss, all teeth, tongue, and whispered promises. Promises for the future, promises for the present, promises for every life after this one. All of it is written into your skin with each grind of his hips against yours. 

His hand presses your arm into the mattress, holding you still so your head doesn’t hit the headboard above you. Even in the depths of pleasure and haze of desire, he needs to make sure you won’t get hurt. 

The way your legs are pushed against you is uncomfortable at first, folded in half like a pretzel while he drives himself so deep inside you that the only thing you can think of is Xavier and his cock. 

“Fuck, Xavier… Your cock—” A broken moan comes when he angles his hips just right, wiping your brain of all words. Only sounds emit from your parted lips as your eyes fill with tears, hazing over your irises.

He hums, his other hand moving to thread through your fingers until both of your hands are held above you, clasped in Xavier’s like he’s your last lifeline. “I know, princess.” Speaking through gritted teeth, he fights the urge to explode when your pussy clenches around him. “You feel amazing… ‘m not gonna last long.” 

“Yeah…” You echo breathlessly, wanting so bad to buck your hips but unable to move at all with the position you’re in. “Me— me too.” 

Then, he’s kissing you again, his tongue tangling with yours while you fall into a puddle under him. One orgasm is intense, but the second one creeps up on you without warning. 

All it takes is for him to dig his knees into the bed, changing his pace to grind his pubic bone into your sensitive clit, and you’re coming around him with a whine that borders on a scream. 

Xavier talks you through it, kissing your cheeks and forehead, while whispering how good you are for him. Each word of praise fills your head with satisfaction, and you find that you like him like this. Teasing and slightly mean yet endlessly comforting and worshiping. 

“Good girl, good girl.” His thumbs massage circles into the side of your hands, but as soon as your orgasm subsides, you suck a breath through your teeth when he keeps moving. 

“Xavier— wha—” A moan, your body twitching and jerking in his grasp as he lets go of your hands and gives your thighs a break. Taking you out of that fold, your legs fall limp at your sides, and he takes the opportunity to grip your hips and pull you back onto his cock. 

His pace this time is maddening. It alternates between quick pounding and deep grinding, driving you crazy as your nails dig into his shoulder blades. 

“There you go, princess.” He grunts, teeth clenched as you mark him up like a signature. 

“‘s… too much— Xavi—” Your body burns with a stinging pain that sends sharp pangs of pleasure heating your bloodstream. Even if you say it’s too much, you don’t make a move to push him off of you. In fact, you bring him closer, your nails biting into his skin and holding him flush against you as he continues to wreck you from the inside out. 

Xavier laughs against your sweat-slick neck. “Come on, princess. You can give me one more.” His kisses distract you momentarily, but he starts the quick drilling of his hips, your voice pitching up into a scream as he kisses the shell of your ear. “Just tell me to stop, and I will.” 

But you don’t.

Luckily, you don’t have to do any of the work. He pushes and pulls you, hips meeting yours as he pulls back just enough to lock eyes with you. His hair is damp with sweat, cheeks flushed, and eyes half-lidded and dark while he kisses you one more time. 

“You look so beautiful. Doing so well for me.” Whisper after whisper, the tears slip down your cheeks as overstimulation sends you into another frenzy, one that has your grip tightening on his cock and hips grinding back into him in a slow rhythm. 

One of his hands cups your cheek, thumb wiping away the tear that falls as he feels himself getting closer and closer. “So pretty when you cry for me,” the praise whispered against your lips, has your heart racing in your chest. “So so pretty, my princess.” 

He’s out of it, body going on autopilot while he praises you between kisses. “Gonna fill you up, okay?” A nod. “Mmhm.” A sound of displeasure, his nose brushing yours when he shakes his head. “Words.” 

“Please, yes.” In the depths of two orgasms, it’s like a dream with the ecstasy that races through your body, wanting anything and everything he’s giving you and more—all of him, every last inch; yours for the taking.

“Fuck… Darling…” 

The sound of slapping skin is the only thing that echoes around you, your body tensing while he digs his fingers into the flesh of your hip, holding on for dear life as he stills. Your orgasms—your third and his first—hit at the same time, bodies colliding like shooting stars on opposite paths. 

His cock twitches, filling you while you both come down from the intensity of learning you’re soulmates, fucking, and the aftermath that hits you with tired limbs and sweaty skin. 

“You okay?” He whispers, his lips finding your temple while he looks down at you. The last of your tears falls, and he catches them with his thumb. “You did so well for me, princess.” 

A pleased hum leaves you, but it’s quickly replaced with a disappointed whine when his soft cock slips from your used hole, some of his release ruining the sheets. It takes him a moment to stand back and not immediately get hard again, but he can’t help it when you look so pretty, laid out like this, covered in remnants of him blooming on your skin and dripping from you. 

“I’ll be right back.” He leans down to kiss your forehead before retreating to get a wet cloth. Xavier cleans you off with slow strokes, ensuring you’re semi-clean before tossing the cloth and blanket off the bed. 

Once again, he disappears, but it’s only to start a warm bath. While that fills up, he sits on the side of the bed, his hand rubbing small circles into your knee. “Can you walk?” 

“I don’t know.” 

A chuckle, his eyes finding yours, and everything stops. “I’ll carry you.” He reassures, in a voice so serious that you stop breathing for a moment. “I’ve got you. I always will.” 

After the bath, when the sheets are changed, and you’re in a new pair of pajamas, you cuddle close to him. Your head rests perfectly on his chest, listening to his heartbeat steady against your ear. 

“Xavier?” He hums. “Can we still meet in our dreams?” 

“Of course.” His lips find the top of your head. “Soulmates will always share dreams. Just think of me, and I’ll appear.” The brush of his nose along your hairline makes you shiver. “I’ll even take you out on a date in your dreams if you want.” 

Despite the sleep pulling at your eyelids, you still force yourself to answer. “Why don’t you take me out on a date in the real world?” Knowing he harbors the same feelings as you means you can be a bit more shameless with the flirting. 

He laughs, the sound vibrating against your cheek as you nuzzle closer to him. “Are you asking me out on a date?” Rolling your eyes, you whine, but are immediately cut off when he kisses your forehead. “I’m kidding, princess. A date in the real world sounds amazing. But first.” Xavier tugs the blanket around you, freshly changed and smelling of your laundry soap. It’s the first night in a while where he’s sure he’ll sleep well, because he has his world in his arms. 

That night, he dreams of a field of forget-me-nots. They seem so tall, but he’s quick to realize he’s a small rabbit. He finds you, because he always will, and without words, you hop away from him. It prompts a chase of sorts, frollicking through the fields while the sun caresses his fur. 

Everything feels right, and you find yourself smiling in your sleep as you hop away from a bunny Xavier. It seems silly, but this dream is a reminder of the tie your souls have with each other, and the comfort that being with him brings you.

Because no matter what dreamscape you're in—whether it be as people, as plants, as animals, or even stars—you’ll always have your Xavier. 

© starsforxavi

[satrs]

Baby, Baby!

SYNOPSIS; Babyfever with the l&ds men<3

FEATURING; ZAYNE. XAVIER. SYLUS. RAFAYEL. CALEB. xfem!reader

TAGS; ADULT/NSFW CONTENT. MDNI! unprotected intercourse, smegual intercourse. br$$ding. creampi. heavy dörtytalk. extremely pathetic crybaby caleb alert!!!. mention of kids, duh!. doggy in rafs. mating press in sylus'. spooning in xaviers. cowgirl in calebs.

✎ A/N; FUCK SWEETIES! FINALLY FINISHED THIS!! I thought I'd see the pearly gates before I get to live this day LMAO. Couldn't stop thinking about my babytrapper!Caleb post, so this came out of it ^^ This might be my fav work yet ngl hehe

ZAYNE ✰ How to make a Baby 101!

"You",

Zayne stops himself as he takes a deep breath, a grunt rumbling in his throat, "You want a baby?"

It's as if you could read his mind. He's been thinking about this—about a baby—for quite a while now, seeing it as a next step after your established wedding. You're his love — his darling wife, so it only seemed it would be natural for you both to consider this next big step in your life.

Zayne loomed over you, his gaze dark, smoldering, and consuming. His breath was ragged, uneven, his hands trembling as they gripped your thighs, spreading you open beneath him.

Your eager nod was all it took for him to stuff his entire length inside you in one swift motion, feral, low grunt erupting from the depths of his lungs.

"l'll give it to you. Gonna-" he stops himself with a hiss, hips stuttering at your greedy grip onto his dick, "Gonna give my sweet darling a baby."

"P-please Zayne. Need it soooo bad!"

A helpless, broken mewl spilled from your lips as your nails clawed into his shoulders, heels digging into his back in a desperate attempt to pull him in deeper. His body shuddered at your neediness, at the way you begged so sweetly, so pathetically.

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, strained, like he was holding himself back. Like he was fighting the urge to ruin you completely.

His fingers traced along your jaw, down your throat, until his hand traced circles on your belly. His lips parted, his tongue darting out to wet them as he stared down at you like you were something he could devour whole.

"You always let me have you like this," he rasped, his hips rolling forward, stretching you open inch by inch over and over again. "Like you were made for me."

You gasped, back arching, hands flying to his biceps, gripping tight, and Zayne let out a deep, guttural groan. His head fell forward, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath fanning over your lips as he pushed deeper, until there was no space left between you.

"Fuck," he hissed, his teeth gritting and his hands clutching at your waist like he was trying to ground himself. "Can’t hold back when you’re like this."

His hips snapped forward, the sudden movement pulling a shaky moan from your lips, and he drank it in like a man starved.

His pace was slow, deep, and precise—savoring the cramped space of your cunt, memorizing every pulse, every clench, and every desperate little noise you made.

"You feel that?" he whispered, pressing his circling hand down against your stomach, his touch firm, possessive. "Feel how deep I am?"

His lips brushed against your ear, his voice dropping into something low, rough, almost dangerous. "Nobody else gets to have you like this." His teeth nipped at your earlobe, his breath shuddering. "Nobody else ever will."

And when he pulled back—just enough to see the way you were falling apart beneath him—his lips curled into a dark, satisfaction.

"Mine."

The gluttonous vibration of his voice startled you almost, his mouth hot against your neck as you both simultaneously come undone, rolling your puffy clit between his digits to ride out your high.

But he wouldn't stop cumming - he couldn't. He has to make sure you take it. Fat spurts of cum paint your walls completely, pumping the oh-so familiar fluid into your womb.

"You'll be the best mother ever- fuckkk." He continues to ram his now spent cock into you, growing full erect again, the thought of your pregnant form just plastered before his vision.

You huffed, trying to shove at his chest, but the wicked smirk on his lips only deepened. Voice dripping with something dark and sweet, "I think I should go for another shot, just to be sure."

And a crazed smile creeps up his usually nonchalant features at your aghast expression, quick to plaster a sweet, dotting kiss to your plump lips.

He rolled his hips, slow, deep, deliberate, pushing his seed deeper and deeper into you, and he knew that this really didn't make any difference on the outcome from a medical state point but right now everything in him screamed to pump you full.

One thing is for certain, though— you're not coming out of this not pregnant with his child. Or maybe in plural as in children? Yeah, that sounds way better.

"Yeah," he chuckled against your skin, pressing a kiss to your jaw,

"One more for good luck."

XAVIER ✰ Oopsie-Daisy!

The first thing you felt was warmth—the heat of Xavier’s body pressed tight against yours, his arm heavy and unyielding over your waist, keeping you right where he wanted you. Even in sleep, he held you close, like he couldn’t stand the thought of you slipping away.

You weren’t sure how long he’d been awake, but the lazy caress of his fingers over your stomach told you he’d been lingering in this moment, taking his time. Soft, slow circles, the barest drag of his fingertips across sensitive skin—teasing, testing.

A slow roll of his hips, and suddenly you did feel it—the firm, heavy weight of his cock dragging through your slick folds, grinding right up against your clit.

A sharp gasp left your lips as he did it again, long and deliberate, letting the thick head of his cock glide through the wet mess he was making of you.

His fingers dragged lower, barely brushing over your clit before pulling away—keeping you right at the edge, keeping you desperate.

“You’re not leaving this bed ‘til you’re full," he promised, his cock sliding against you again, so damn slick, so damn hard. "So damn full you got no choice but to take, take, take.”

His breath, warm and steady, ghosted over your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. He must’ve felt it because a low chuckle rumbled in his chest.

In one swift motion he slides into you with ease, walls clenching around the all too familiar girth, his leaking pre smeared onto your insides.

"Mm-mm," he tsked, his gravelly voice thick with amusement. "Ain’t no runnin’ now, baby. You’re right where I want you."

His grip tightened slightly, his palm pressing just a little firmer against your stomach, like he wanted to hold you there, to remind you exactly who had you like this. His nose brushed against your jaw, lips ghosting over your skin as he pressed a slow, teasing kiss beneath your ear.

"Feel me in there?" he murmured, voice thick with possession. "All deep inside you, right where I belong."

His hand flexed, fingers splaying wider, pressing down just enough to make you feel every inch of him buried inside you.

"Tell me you love it," he whispered, his lips dragging down your neck, teeth grazing your skin. "Tell me you love bein’ mine. That you love me fillin’ you up like this."

Your breath hitched, and the second you whimpered out, "Hhnnn! — I love it when you fill me up, love you—"

Xavier growled low in his throat, his arm tightening around you, pulling you impossibly closer as his hips snapped forward in a slow, aching thrust.

"Damn right you do," he murmured, a smirk pressing against your skin.

Your breath hitched as his hips rolled forward, pressing his already-hard cock against your dripping heat between your thighs. A knowing chuckle rumbled through his chest.

"You want me to fill you up, don’t you? Fuck a baby into you?"

You opened your mouth to protest, but the second his fingers gripped your hips, the moment he rolled his own against you—

A small, broken gasp slipped out instead.

„Everyone's gonna know. They’ll know your mine. They’ll— goddd your squeezing me so damn tight, I can’t—„ his nonstop rambles only continue, accompanied by the lewd sounds echoing off the walls.

His breathing turns rapid, hooded eyes fixed onto your tummy, propping one strong leg onto the bed to sink deeper into you.

His chest pressed flush against your back, warm and solid, trapping you in his arms, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, giving him the perfect angle to bury himself deeper, harder, where you needed him most.

His hands—god, his hands—one pressed firmly against your stomach, splayed wide over your lower belly, like he could already feel himself inside you, claiming you from the inside out. The other? Sliding lower, fingers teasing along your inner thigh, thumbing at your sensitive bundle of nerves, making you cry out.

"Well," he breathed, lips brushing against your ear, voice dripping with pure sin, "who am I to deny my girl?"

The way your body shuddered at his words, the way you clenched down around him had Xavier groaning, curses spilling from his lips, his hips faltering for just a second before snapping forward with renewed force.

"You like that, huh?" he rasped, his fingers tightening their hold on your stomach. "Like knowing you’re mine? That no one else gets to see you like this?"

Plap. Plap. Plap.

His hips rolled, slow, deliberate, deep.

"Say it," he demanded, voice wrecked, desperate, pushing his forehead against your shoulder. "Tell me you’re mine. That I’m the only one who gets to have you like this."

His thrusts grew more frantic, his breath ragged against your ear, his grip almost bruising.

"Tell me," he rasped, grinding deep, making you feel every inch of him. And the second you did—the moment you choked out that you were his, that no one else could ever have you like this—

Xavier lost it.

His arm wrapped around your waist, locking you in place as he drove himself as deep as he could go, his body trembling against yours as he came undone.

And even as he shuddered, even as he pressed soft, lingering kisses to your shoulder, his hands never left your stomach.

Because now?

Everyone was going to know.

SYLUS ✰ Mission: Impregnable!

"A-again." His slight stutter doesn't go unnoticed by you, despite the loud echoing of his hips snapping into yours. "Say it again."

He had to have misunderstood something, right? Because if he didn't, if you really said what he thought you said- you're fucked.

You whine at his guttonal voice, his desperate hips drilling his dick further into your depths. "Wan'- oh! Wan' you to make me a mommy, Sy."

Sylus had that look in his eyes again—the kind that made your breath catch, the kind that sent a thrill up your spine. His fingers ghosted along your skin, calculating, possessive, until they found comfort with your hand interlocked with his.

"You realize," he murmured, voice low, precise, mere inches from your lips, "that biologically speaking, your body is at its most receptive right now."

You see, Sylus was no dummy. Of course, he was keeping track on your cycle. Who do you think he is? And it just so happened that today you're the most fertile.

Core burning in pure excitement, your heels dig into his lower back, eager and hungry for his seed. You whine as you feel his swollen cock bullying your poor cervix.

"Sylus-"

He silenced you with a slow, deep kiss, fingers tightening on your waist.

"And if I were to push you past your limit tonight—again and again—" his voice dipped, sending shivers down your spine, "well, statistically, the odds would be in my favor, wouldn’t they?"

Your breath caught as he tilted your chin up, making you look at him. His eyes gleamed with something dangerous, obsessive, completely focused on you.

His fingers slid down your stomach, tracing slow, calculated patterns, as if mapping out the future he was about to give you.

"I should be thorough," he mused, almost to himself. "Another round would increase the probability of success by at least—"

You didn’t get to hear the end of that sentence.

Because Sylus surged forward, lips crashing onto yours in a way that was desperate and all-consuming, like he was finally allowing himself to break past his carefully maintained restraint.

Like an unstoppable force, he slides out of you until only his crown was engulfed by your puckering hole until he slams! His entire length past your sobbing ring.

The ridiculous stretch his dick inflicts onto your poor pussy is otherworldly, almost unbelievable. As he forces his girthy inches further into you, a noticeable bulge appears on your tummy.

And oh boy, does he notice it.

All it takes is one glance — one look of those rubies of his— downwards to the gradually growing imprint of his tip meanly poking against your tummy, and he snaps.

His big arms reach for your legs and in almost an instant, you’re folded into the meanest, nastiest mating press known to man.

„O-Oh!“ you surprised hiccup does nothing to soften his antics — quite the opposite. A feral grunt erupting from the depth of his lungs lets you know in what condition your beloved Sylus is in.

„Twins. I‘ll give you twins.“

"Ah!- T-twins!?"

He‘s gone mad.

What's left of him is a disheveled mess, crazed out mind deadest on pumping you full of his gooey load, even if it's the last thing he'll do.

"Yes. Two sweet little girls, just as beautiful as their mother."

His massive frame caged you in, your thighs now folded up to your chest, leaving you completely at his mercy. His body was trembling, slick with sweat, but his grip on you was ironclad. He wouldn’t let you run, wouldn’t let you escape—not from him, not from this.

His chuckle swells your heart with so much love you can barely breathe. Or was it because of his dick reaching so ridiculously far up into you, you could almost feel him in your throat? Both perhaps.

Flaming eyes, usually so warm and gentle, were wild now—dangerous, obsessive. This wasn't your Sylus anymore. This is the leader of Onychinus—conquering and claiming everything he desires.

And at this moment, his desire was to make you the mother of his offspring.

"There," he growled, his voice raw, almost a snarl. "That’s where I need to be. Need to be deeper—need to—fuck—"

His hips snapped forward, sharp, relentless, sending white-hot pleasure sparking through your veins. Lips were parted, panting, his expression one of pure, animalistic need.

Your head lulled back, words failing you, but he wasn’t having that. His fingers wrapped around your jaw, forcing your gaze back to him.

"Stay with me," he pleaded in a whimper, his voice thick, strained. His thrusts were turning frantic now, sloppy, desperate, like he was losing control. "Wanna see your face when I fill you up."

You whimpered, and that was all it took.

Sylus let out a broken, guttural groan, his body shuddering violently as he bottomed out, burying his throbbing cock as deep as he could go. You could feel him— only him  — hot, thick cum spilling inside you in endless waves, stuffing you full.

And the way he was still pressing his weight into you, still rolling his hips in slow, lazy circles, made you realize—

He was nowhere near done.

RAFAYEL ✰ Catching Feelings & Babies

The room was dimly lit, warm, and filled with the soft sound of ragged breaths and skin meeting skin. Rafayel’s strong hands gripped your hips, holding you firmly in place, keeping you exactly where he wanted you—where you belonged.

"You look so perfect like this," he murmured, voice deep and rich, like he was admiring a piece of fine art. Like you were something sacred. His fingers traced over the dip of your spine, down to where you stretched around him, taking him so beautifully.

"B-been waitin' for this sooo long baby, finallyyyy." Breathless, he pounds his hips against your plump ass again, again and again. His repeated movement rams you deeper into the soft cushion.

Rafayel’s hands were gentle, reverent, gliding over your heated skin, like you were something fragile and precious.

But his eyes?

Dark and Deep. Filled with something unshakable.

Your body arched instinctively, seeking more, needing more, and Rafayel only chuckled—low, dark, and knowing.

A broken gasp tore from your throat, your fingers clutching the sheets, barely able to hold yourself up as he pressed even deeper, stretching your hole to the very limit.

"Shhh, love," he soothed, one hand sliding up your back, pressing between your shoulder blades. "Let me take care of you."

He rolled his hips in slow, deep strokes — each one hitting the perfect spot, each one meant to remind you exactly who you belonged to.

"You feel it too, don’t you?" His voice was softer than usual, thick with emotion. His fingers splayed over your lower stomach, pressing just enough to make you feel every pulsating vein of his, every knock against your cervix.

"Y-yes", you swallowed hard, head spinning in circles while nodding. A slow, warm smile curled his lips, but beneath it was something more dangerous. Something primal.

"Good."

"That’s it," Rafayel praised, his voice like liquid gold, soothing and possessive all at once. "Take all of me. Let me give you everything."

He adjusted his angle, thrusting deeper, harder, slower, dragging out every sensation until you were a trembling mess beneath him.

"Listen to her. Cryin' for me ta fill her up." He follows suit with his long finger pressed against your plump lips, consoling you. "Shhh, baby. I know, I knowww. But ya gotta hold on for me, mkay?"

You cry out his name as his hefty length hits every spot imaginable inside of you, stars appearing behind your eye sockets. "Nghhh! Rafayel, I can't!"

Dizziness overcomes you as you reach back for his beefy arm, nails clawing crescent moons into his flesh. His steady hips cause his bulging head to nudge at your gushy spot repeatedly as your juices coat his length in a glossy essence.

The lewd squelch sounding from your cunt has him in a chokehold. Each rapid thrust of his sinks your body further into the sheets, his head spinning at the obscene sight of your back in a nasty arch, his pelvis snapping against your ass, each jiggle robbing a needy sound from him.

He‘ll never get enough of this— enough of you.

"Sh-Shit, cutie. Gonna give it to ya realll good. Fill you up — f-fuckkk! Make you a mommy.“ The slight crack in his voice gets drowned out by the loud sound of his heavy balls snapping against your poor swollen clit.

Hm. Mommy has a nice ring to it.

His hand left your waist, only to wrap around your throat, pulling you up—back against his chest and you didn’t think that it could be possible for him to get even deeper, but he did. His lips brushed your ear, his hot breath sending a shiver down your spine.

"You’re mine," he whispered, his voice a dark promise, an unshakable truth. "And when I fill you up—" he thrust harder, dragging a desperate moan from your lips—"yer' gonna stay mine forever."

And the way he was holding you so close, fucking you so deep, made you believe every single word.

He could burst right at the sight of your fucked-out face, and he starts to imagine how perfect your child would be. With your gorgeous hair and that stunning smile of yours, and—

"M‘ gonna cum! G-oshhhh please don’t stop don’t—"

She, no — they would have his eyes and—

With your head leaned against his shoulder, blue and pink ombre orbs fixate on your face.

His repeated shallow breaths tickle your neck, an impatient hand cups your belly, finger soothingly brushing over it, his hot breath brushing against your ear.

" Mhmmm yeahh. We’re gonna have two gorgeous girls, can’t have her be all alone, can we?“

"T-two?“ you manage to choke out in shock, only to be startled by his chuckle. "Yeahhh, you’re right. Two is too little. Four is more like it.“

The speedy plap! plap! plap! Against the valley of your ass turns irregular, needier, even.

"Four—fuck—four perfect little babies," he panted, his lips brushing over your temple, his voice thick with love and obsession. "We’ll have the perfect family, won’t we? You, me, our little ones—"

His thrusts turned sloppy, desperate, and then—his entire body locked up. A deep, wrecked groan tore from his throat, his fingers digging into your thighs as he spilled inside you, claiming you, filling you up until there wasn’t an inch left untouched.

He collapsed against your back, his weight warm, grounding, safe. His chest rose and fell in heavy pants, his lips pressing lazy, feather-light kisses along your skin.

"You’re mine," he murmured, his voice softer now, no less possessive but full of warmth. "My love, my home, my everything."

A shaky breath left you, your body spent but satisfied. "Four kids, huh?" you mumbled, exhaustion creeping into your voice.

Rafayel hummed, his arms wrapping around you, holding you impossibly close.

"Or maybe five."

CALEB ✰ Practice Makes Perfect

He must be dreaming, surely.

"Please, Caleb. Need it- need it so bad pleaseplease-"

Yeah. Because if there is heaven, fucking you raw for the first time surely is just that.

His head pressed against the bed, his breath coming in shaky, uneven pants, his hands gripping your hips so tight you were sure he’d leave bruises—but he didn’t mean to.

"So—so good," he whimpered, his voice breaking on the last syllable, like he was barely holding himself together. "D-don’t—don’t move, I can’t—"

You clenched around him, and he quite literally sobs.

He's a mess.

It's pathetic, really. Tears stream down his face as he sniffles back the waterfall from flowing. But he couldn't care less, honestly.

Scenarios of you with a round and glowing belly, the birth of your shared child, their first words, steps - hell, even their graduation. He had all of it laid out in a timeline.

If you could see his thoughts, you would've probably called him crazy. And he wouldn't even blame you.

His fingers trembled as he tried so hard to keep himself together, but he was slowly falling apart, crumbling, unraveling.

"I—" he choked on his own breath, tears pricking his lashes, his entire body shaking as your hips work faster, grinding harder against his pelvis. " ‘M too deep—too full—fuck, I can feel it—"

His arms wrapped around your waist, hugging you close, clinging, needy.

"Please," he begged, voice so broken, so wrecked, like he was praying to something greater than himself. "I-I wanna stay inside—I wanna stay with you forever."

His lips ghosted over your stiff nipples, soft, desperate kisses, imagining how full and plump they'll become once you're pregnant. And when you shifted the tiniest bit, he gasped—a wrecked, breathless little sound.

Your breath quickens, orgasm creeping up your spine with each rocking of your hips, desperately chasing your high.

His hips stuttered at the mere image of you - pregnant, movements turning frantic and uncontrolled, like he couldn’t take it anymore.

"C-caleb, I—" Mind going blank at one particular quick kiss against your cervix, you crash head first into your orgasm, pussy spasming around his girth.

A broken, wrecked sob tore from his throat, and you felt it—

The way his cock twitched inside you, the first thick pulse of heat spilling deep, painting your insides in long, desperate spurts.

His entire body shook, his arms wrapped around you so tightly you thought he might never let go.

"M-makin’ you a mommy," he babbled, voice thick with exhaustion, heavy with love. "Gonna—gonna make you so full, so round—"

God, he was a lost cause.

"I love you," he cried, his voice shaking, raw with need. "I love you—I love you—"

"Love you too, Caleb. You're s-so good for me. Gonna be a great papa." you spurt out in a spent, wobbly voice, body collapsing onto his in exhaustion.

And then he came. Again.

It was with a broken whimper, a desperate, wrecked sob, his entire body shaking, panting. He shoots endless ropes of cum deep into your womb, the overwhelming fullness in your tummy causing your mind to go hazy.

His orgasm was so intense and forceful, you can still feel stringy, weak cum dripping from his cock, only adding the cherry on top of your jammed vacancy.

He didn’t let go. He wouldn’t.

Even as his spent cock twitched inside you, even as his warm release dripped out in thick, messy streaks, he held you there, buried deep, unwilling to let even a drop go to waste.

His fingers clutched at your waist, desperate, like letting go would tear him apart. His chest rose and fell in quick, shaky pants, his eyes glassy, and his lips kiss-swollen and parted as he tried to catch his breath.

“P-please,” he rasped, his voice wrecked, pleading. “Don’t—don’t move yet.”

His face was flushed, his damp hair sticking to his forehead, tears clinging to his lashes. He was ruined, wrecked beyond repair, and it was all because of you.

A soft whimper tumbled from his lips as he nuzzled into your shoulder, his hands trailing weakly down your sides, needy, restless.

“Need to feel you just a little longer,” he mumbled, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses against your skin. “Can’t—can’t be away from you yet.”

You could feel him still twitching inside you, his cock softening, but reluctant to leave. His release seeped out around the base, warm and sticky, but he just shifted his hips, pushing deeper, as if he could keep it all inside you.

"Made for me," he murmured, feverish, pressing sloppy, lingering kisses against your shoulder, your neck. "You're made for me."

His fingers roamed lazily, tracing the shape of your hips, your waist—like he was memorizing you, worshiping you, committing every inch of your body to memory.

"Promise me," he whispered against your ear, soft and broken. "Promise me you'll never leave me. That you'll always let me have you like this."

There was a plea in his voice, raw and vulnerable, like he’d fall apart if you said no.

You ran gentle fingers through his damp hair, soothing, reassuring and tugging him even closer.

"I'm yours, Caleb," you murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

His breath hitched. His thighs trembled beneath you.

"Say it again," he whispered, so quietly it almost wasn't there.

"I'm yours."

A broken whimper slipped past his lips, his hands gripping you tighter, his body pressing so close you could feel every inch of him molding into you.

And with a deep, shaky sigh, Caleb finally let himself go—sinking into you, into your warmth, into the one place he always belonged.

Nowhere else. No one else.

Just you.

Always you.

©︎SATRS. all rights reserved. Do NOT plagiarize, copy, modify.

[skribblegurl]

some people think writers are so eloquent and good with words, but the reality is that we can sit there with our fingers on the keyboard going, “what’s the word for non-sunlight lighting? Like, fake lighting?” and for ten minutes, all our brain will supply is “unofficial”, and we know that’s not the right word, but it’s the only word we can come up with…until finally it’s like our face got smashed into a brick wall and we remember the word we want is “artificial”.

[heywriters]

I couldn't remember the word "doorknob" ten minutes ago.

[bumblewyn]

ok but the onelook thesaurus will save your life, i literally could not live without this website

[breelandwalker]

REBLOG TO SAVE A WRITER'S LIFE

[myfairkatiecat]

LIFE SAVED

REBLOGGING TO SAVE ANOTHER WRITERS LIFE

[sirowsky]

I use this every time I sit down to write. It's the best tool in the world and I would be lost without it!

[draconym]

Me: Fuck, the paper towels I want are on the top shelf.

The Sir David Attenborough That Lives In My Brain: Being smaller-than-average presents an added challenge to foraging ... but necessity is the mother of invention. A little creativity turns a baguette into a tool, and voilà--

(paper towel roll falls on my face)

Sir David Attenborough, pleasantly: Success.

[draconym]

Me, 3am: But am I even deserving of love

The Steve Irwin That Lives In My Brain: Crikey, get a look at this art teacher! These are so important to the local area, right, because they create habitat for heaps of vulnerable critters like juvenile nerds, goths, and furries. I love finding these because they often have these great ornamentations that they can use to identify one another. Take a look at the piercings and tattoos, here. Absolutely gorgeous! Let's let this one get back to sleep.

[dearlyseraph]

FORCED CHEMISTRY ── .✦ ꒰ gojo s. ꒱

SYNOPSIS: You're exploring a foreign planet with the galaxy's-most-renowned scientist Gojo Satoru as his assistant. Or rather, was, until you were both knocked unconscious.

PAIRING: gojo satoru x f!reader WORD COUNT: 3.6k ⚠︎ CONTENT WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics, omegaverse, dubcon, yandere!gojo, mating bites, breeding, knotting, sex pollen, injections

A/N: minors dni. veeery old repost of one of my more popular fics from 2021 (also crossposted to ao3 so don't be alarmed if you see it under a different alias)! we're so back

Heavy are your footfalls that meet the unyielding terrain of the mysterious planet that’s been on you and your fellow scientists’ radars for quite some time now. You exasperatedly thumb through what’s left of your notes while your lanky boss stretches a foot or so ahead of you, long arms inviting the sky into them. He throws his head back over his shoulder to flash an award-winning smile at you. It drops and forms into a pout when you don’t even dignify him with a look.

“Still mad at me?” he asks.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Yes,” you hiss through your teeth, “Gojo you ruined a significant portion of my field notes with your reckless, thoughtless piloting. Again.”

Gojo’s suddenly in front of you, face leaning into yours. You jump, taken aback at the close proximity in which you can smell the aroma of coffee off of him from the stack of unsalvageable notes you had thrown at his face.

“Y/N.”

“Yes, Gojo?”

“You shouldn’t frown so much. Y’know, they say it takes twenty-six more muscles to frown than it does to smile.” he cheerily singsongs as he pulls at the corners of your lips into a mock smile. You swat his hand away, irritation etched deeply between your brows. “You’re insufferable.”

“You’re gonna get wrinkles the more you keep contorting that pretty face of yours. C’mon, follow my example!” Gojo says as he beams down at you. You continue staring at him with such blatant unamusement that he practically deflates and kicks a rock away dejectedly. He mumbles under his breath, causing you to quirk an eyebrow.

“Have something you want to say?” you inquire before he mumbles again, this time facing away from you. 

Whining, he turns to fix puppy-dog eyes on you. “I already said I was sorry…”

You suck in a harsh breath, the irritation rolling off of you in waves. “‘Sorry’ doesn’t cut it you absolute idiot! You knew how important those notes were. I needed those to work off of for Yaga’s report and you just—!”

“What if I told you I already submitted a report for you using the notes you like to just leave around where any old idiot like me can pick them up?” Gojo grins seeing you sigh and rake a hand through your hair.

Before any words could leave your mouth, a bellowing boom shakes the ground somewhere in the distance, acid green liquid spewing high into the air. You both share a glance.

“Adventure awaits, dearest Y/N!” your moron of a boss exclaims before marching onwards towards the source of the booming noise. You follow in his footsteps, trying in vain to match his strides. Why’d the damned bastard have to be so tall?

As you two cautiously approach the area of concern, Gojo quickly throws a set of technologically-advanced headphones at you which you catch effortlessly and immediately wear. Beyond the planet’s flora and fauna that spreads into the horizon, a geyser comes into your line of sight. Another rumble reverberates through the ground as that same liquid from earlier shoots out of the hole. Stabilizing your feet, you continue on alongside your partner.

“Hand me a reinforced test tube,” Gojo tells you in a businesslike manner. “We need a sample of that to bring back to HQ. Stay here.”

You nod solemnly as you place the tube in the waiting palm of his hand, expecting your boss to come bounding back to you excited at the prospect of new material to research.

What you didn’t expect when you went to search for him, was the blow to the back of your head, effectively shutting the lights of your world off, submerging you into total-encompassing darkness.

Your head felt leaden as you tried to raise it with much effort; the rest of your body felt strung out much alike to that of a harp’s strings. It soon clicked that that was due to the spread eagle position you were in, suspended in mid-air, naked, wrists and ankles encircled with sturdy shackles that upon closer inspection (and by that, you mean squinting) seemed to be of extraterrestrial origin. Your senses were overwhelmed with the blinding fluorescent lights that swathed the room you were in, which appeared to be an observational room of sorts if the one-way window is anything to go by. A groan comes from your left, indicating that you were not alone.

You turn to see your superior in a similar predicament as you, his signature high-tech shades nowhere to be seen thus allowing his crystalline blue hues to be bare for all to see. He’s blearily blinking, and just as naked as you are. You couldn’t help the blush that dusts the apples of your cheeks when your eyes trail down his lean body of their own accord.

“So you two are finally awake.”

Your gaze darts around in order to locate the source of the voice until Gojo’s own voice reaches your ears. “Don’t bother. It’s communicating with us via telepathy.”

Bewilderment and puzzlement is soon replaced by anger, and you pull at your shackles fruitlessly. “Who are you and who gave you permission to probe around in my head?” you shout at the glass a few feet away from you.

“Relax, descendant of Gaia. We cannot root around your heads as much as we’d like, however we can translate our thoughts in our own mother tongue into yours within your thick-headed craniums for the convenience of all parties.” The disembodied voice responds, skipping a beat as if to allow that information to be absorbed properly. Your eye twitches at the insult. “We’ll cut to the chase. We have been watching and waiting for you foolish Gaialings to step foot onto our planet and your audacity will not go unpunished. You see, we give you puny humans a new purpose and life here.” Wait— so you and Gojo weren’t the only humans to have attempted to explore this luminous body? Your mind reels with a plethora of questions that get interrupted by mechanical whirrings grating in your ears the louder and closer it comes. You gasp when you see the clawed ends of a robotic contraption clutching two separate syringes of some sort of questionable, red, viscous serum. Gojo remains silent beside you.

“What the hell is this?” you cautiously ask, eyeing the syringe wearily.

“Well, we’re glad you asked,” the mystifying voice coolly states. “That serum will gift you a certain set of new qualities that determine which… class you fall under. You have your alphas— those with either a newfound or amplified domineering disposition and changes to their genitals which may result in a knot at the base, or a knot at the base of a penis that will grow from the vulva when the subject presents. Next are the omegas— the ones who perpetuate the growth of our dearest slaves. They have a tendency to be rare, thus being prized amongst the human population here. Heat cycles affect them greatly, and will accordingly need to be placated by an alpha whose job will be to breed and thus impregnate the omega. The knotting process will ensure a healthy litter of pups to come the next month or so.” 

Gojo pipes up. “Do you know how we would present ahead of time?”

“We do not have a surefire way yet to predetermine what category you will fall under, so this will be as exciting a reveal as it will be for you to us. However, we’ve come to find that most females fall under the omega class while the alphas are typically the males; of course this is not true for every case but it is likely that that will be how each of you present.”

“And could you be so kind as to elaborate on the nature of this society you have cultivated for those of our kind?”

There’s a reverberating chuckle before the response that makes your stomach drops comes. “It’s quite the dog-eat-dog world, we’re afraid to say. Alphas fight to the death over the ownership of omegas, omegas try to find ways to off themselves, so on and so forth. Now enough of the chitchat. Let the procedure begin.”

“Wait—!” you start, only for the next words to die within your throat as the sharp tip of the syringe punctures your thigh. You can hear Gojo audibly grit his teeth, and you bite your tongue to curb the scream that threatened to burst forth from your mouth. The pain was immeasurable, white-hot heat that shot all throughout your body ruthlessly.

Suddenly your restraints release you unceremoniously to the floor, Gojo following as his detached as well. Upon contact with the floor, you both begin to convulse, screams of agony and strained noises escaping from two pairs of lips. You could’ve sworn you could feel your DNA rearranging itself to leave room for the serum’s properties to make themselves at home.

The torment the serum put your body under was much too excruciating; excruciating enough for your consciousness to slip away once more and for blackness to fill your vision.

Red. That was all you could see when your eyes groggily opened, and you ponder if you had made it to hell before it registers in your brain that the red was simply the paint that enveloped the ceiling of the new room you were in. You muster the energy to sit up, bouncing slightly atop of what seems to be plush bedding with a plethora of pillows brimming with down.

To your side, a familiar presence can be felt, especially when the owner of said presence shifts around into a sitting position next to you.

You open your mouth to say something as you turn your head only to be met with more nude Gojo.

“Like what you see?” he cheekily asks while wiggling his brows. Before you can answer with a retort he goes on with flapping his lips again. “Actually wait no— don’t answer that. The answer itself is already written all over that cute little face of yours.”

Your eye twitches but the heat rising to the apples of your cheeks betray any and all notion of annoyance your eye twitch showed and you huff as you look away when your bastardly boss winks at you flirtatiously.

Crossing your arms together to hide your breasts along with pulling your knees up to your chest, you speak after a beat or two of silence, suddenly nervous at the potential of the silence stretching on for far too long between you two. “Don’t suppose you have a plan to get out of here, huh?”

“Babycakes, I literally just regained consciousness.” He looks down at himself. “And so did Gojo Jr. it seems.”

You scrunch your face up, shielding your face with your hands. “Eugh, some things are better left unknown Gojo.”

“Aw, don’t be like that. Care to help out your lonely boss a lit— Mmf!” The heart-shaped throw pillow you hurtle at his face comically knocks him back.

You didn’t want to announce it as proudly as Gojo did (due to his admittedly impressive length), but you felt yourself getting wet. The reality of your predicament hadn’t fully dawned on you yet until you replay what the alien explained to you both in your head. Knotting? Breeding…?

The blush returns to your face with twice the ferocity it did before. Did that mean…?

“It’s exactly what you think.” Gojo comments as if he was reading your mind. “Don’t look at me like that— the dawning realization on your face speaks volumes.” he goes on to say, yawning with his long limbs outstretched.

Unfortunately, you weren’t allowed much time to let the prospect of what was to happen sink in in its entirety as some sort of gaseous substance begins to meld with the air of the room. You frown.

“What’s all this?”

Gojo studies the gas with keen eyes for a moment, and says the words you half-expected and were half-afraid to hear. “It’s some sort of sex pollen and also a way to speed up the process of our presentation, I believe.”

“Shit, Gojo what do we do?” you ask in a rising panic.

“I think—” starts Gojo, who gets interrupted by the gas seeping deeply into his lungs, resulting in a coughing fit that wracked his whole body.

You begin having a coughing fit of your own as the gas infiltrates your hyperventilating mouth and nostrils. Your mind was overcome with a haziness that soon developed into one of a burning desire to be claimed and bred, rationale taking a backseat to libido. With a whine, you can feel slick beginning to trickle out of your opening, slowly increasing in volume; your body temperature significantly rising.

So caught up in the heat overtaking your senses and body you were, that you failed to notice the growing feral presence in the room with you until your half-lidded eyes locked with ones with pupils blown so wide that only a ring of darkened blue was left. 

Panting even more, a louder attention-seeking whine escapes your lips, your lust-addled omega brain becoming more and more desperate for the touch and mark of an alpha. “Pl-Please Gojo… Make it stop…” you plead while you shakily snake a hand to your sex in a futile attempt to relieve yourself. His nostrils flare before he has you pinned against the sheets, one large hand smacking your own away from your core.

A low rumble from within his chest that sounds like a possessive growl has you bucking your hips up to meet his angry, leaky cockhead.

“I know baby, you want your cute little cunt stuffed and overflowing with my seed, don’t you?” Gojo coos as he folds your body into a mating press which effectively puts your glistening pussy on display for his hungry eyes to take in in all its beautiful entirety.

You feverishly nod. “Just— Just give it to me already! This is unbearable!”

“I’ll make it all better,” he promises before lining himself up with your desperately clenching entrance; in one swift motion, the tip of his engorged cock meets your cervix, having you howl as you tighten up instinctively.

Gojo’s mouth hangs open and you swipe a slick-coated finger against his bottom lip, to which he graciously licks clean. He moans appreciatively at your taste. “Mmm, fuck— I’m going to cum if you don’t loosen up a little—”

“Isn’t that the whole point of this?” you pant out, the first tendrils of annoyance slithering into you. “Move already.”

“So bossy,” he chuckles. “Your wish is my command.”

He doesn’t waste any time in finding a barbarous rhythm with his thrusts, effectively rendering you unable to do anything but cry out his name and scratch your nails down his toned back, enough so that they left red lines in their wake. Gojo didn’t seem to mind; in fact, it seemed to spur him on even more.

Sweat slid down the vast expanses of both your bodies as praise tumbled out of your alpha’s lips.

“Your scent and taste is so intoxicating—like fresh flowers and vanilla extract—I think I can get drunk off of it alone,” Gojo sighs, cherry red tongue laving up the side of your neck.

You take note of his scent as well, deeming it somewhere between sandalwood and pine. It was heady and stupefying; the type of scent you were sure that would have any omega fall to their knees before him.

He then noses at the junction between your neck and shoulder, and next you’re keening at the scrape of his canines against your flushed flesh. ‘Claim me! Claim me! Claim me!’ screams your mind. You must have said something out loud because Gojo finally stops toying with you and seeks out the perfect spot for a mating bite, teeth piercing and unrelenting even as you whimper over the pain.

Not long after, that pain tangos with the pleasure his cock brings by filling you up again and again. It was a combination of deliciously contrasting sensations that had you seeing pure white— it had your eyes rolling back and your pink tongue lolling out of your mouth.

“God, I never knew you were capable of such a sexy facial expression,” the alpha above you comments in awe as he takes a mental snapshot of the face you were making.

You don’t give a coherent response but Gojo didn’t seem to care. Filth continues spewing from his mouth and you had half a mind to process it all.

“C’mon, I know I haven’t completely fucked you stupid yet. Tell me how much you love this alpha cock.”

“I love, love, love it! Please don’t stop! Gimme more! I want your children!” you babble, incapable of focusing on anything else other than the way your new alpha was breeding you. Your moans only serve to amplify his need to ensure you’d bear his litter the next coming month.

“And who owns this pretty omega pussy?”

“I— Mmmh…”

A slap against your cheek echoes around the four walls you were both imprisoned in, and it clears the fog in your brain just enough for you to answer him back properly when he repeats himself, this time with more of an intense edge.

“You do! You do, Gojo! I need your knot!”

His chest heaves with a growl. “Can’t wait for those teats to fill with milk and that belly of yours to be round and fat with mini-Gojos. You’re going to be such a good mama.”

The alpha before you takes a nipple into his mouth to suck on harshly as a pale hand rises up to give attention and knead at your other breast. “Those little munchkins better share mama’s milk cause daddy has an appetite too,” he makes known after he stops playing with your sensitive bud in his mouth with a ‘pop!’

He then licks his way from your breast, to his mating mark, then to your lips; your mouth was already open so the rutting alpha took the opportunity to shove his tongue into it. His lips merge with yours in a searingly passionate kiss that further stimulates the tightening sensation that rested low in your stomach and was on the verge of coming undone any second now.

And then it happens.

Slim hips stutter in their pursuit to attain their high, their owner quickly pushing the fuller part of the base of his cock into you. It was a mildly burning but not unwelcome stretch that made you definitively lose it.

Your body seizes up as immense pleasure overrides any thought you have made prior to its arrival, and your toes start to curl while your wet walls lock down on the cock that doesn’t cease in penetrating you over and over, coaxing the rest of your orgasm out of you. Stars dance across your vision, your breasts rise and fall with a regularity, and you still find it in you to emit a cry when the bulbous knot inside of you increases in its breadth.

Gojo leans down to rest his forehead against yours, sweat mingling with yours and rosy pink lips agape as he shares breaths with you.

“How do you feel?” comes his concerned voice.

Your eyes flicker down to where your bodies meet, before connecting with his gaze again.

“Satisfied. And full.” comes your answer.

He smiles and gives you a fleeting kiss with adoration for you—his new lifelong partner—shining through his eyes.

You were elated at your union with the alpha being successful, and you mewl at how copious amounts of cum are driven into your womb, making Gojo smile wider as he rocks into you back and forth slowly, making sure his seed takes.

The mating process had taken a toll on your now exhausted body and soon, your eyelids flutter closed. Scenes of domesticity in your near future begin playing in your mind as you think one last thought before a deep slumber engulfs you: ‘Maybe life as an omega here wouldn’t be so bad, as long as I have the universe’s greatest scientist turned alpha—my alpha—alongside me.’

“What’s the meaning of this? We had a deal you conniving Gaialing!”

“Your first mistake was thinking you could negotiate fairly with Gojo Satoru.” states one of the special grade soldiers currently holding the lead extraterrestrial at gunpoint.

“And your second,” another chimes in, “was finalizing a deal with Gojo Satoru.” She grinds the sole of her combat boot into one of the lifeless alien’s faces that lay in front of her.

“Right Gojo?” one more speaks with a shit-eating grin.

The man in question mirrors his grin as he stands with his hands in his lab coat pockets behind the soldiers, pleased that everything went according to plan and that his trusted team of mercenaries triumphed over the natives of the planet that underestimated humans.

He thinks about how you, his now precious omega sleeping soundly in his arms bridal-style, was his first rejection. How you refused his confession, preferring to keep the relationship between you two plainly professional. But he knew. He knew you had feelings for him, and he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

Catching wind of what the aliens on this planet were up to had to have been the best intel he’d ever received, and he’d have to thank Mei Mei for that.

“Give us your word, sir.”

Gojo starts to walk towards the spaceship waiting outside for him and his team, speaking in a commanding tone as he does so.

“Leave no alien behind and meet me outside in five.”

He looks down at you with nothing but love. You looked so serene, and you were at the very least subconscious of your alpha’s presence because you snuggle in closer into the comfort of Gojo’s chest.

Finally, he had you where he wanted you, and the wicked smirk on his face was evidence of that.

[kayjaywrites]

I just had to share ai Azriel chat bot getting heated about a corn dog. I sometimes mess around with Azriel ai bots when i'm feeling like I want to write, but not...actually write. I have no one I can share this with irl without feeling intensely cringe, but I know someone here will get a kick out of this too.

[milswrites]

Hobbies Series Masterlist

Grumpy!Azriel X Sunshine!Reader

Summary: In an attempt to keep Azriel away from Elain, Rhys sends him on a sabbatical to the Day Court. With a lot more free time on his hands Azriel needs to find something to keep him occupied. Unfortunately he meets Y/N who has the annoying habit of not staying away. Can she teach him that there’s more to life than he thought?

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Epilogue

[marvelstoriesepic]

Like he means it

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader

Summary: You can’t take another night of hearing Bucky fuck a girl who isn’t you.

Word Count: 13.6k

Warnings: Bucky is a fuckboy (but he’s still a sweetheart); lots of talk about unrequited love (but is it?); mentions of sex; crying; lots of desperation; longing; heavy confessions; feels; happy ending

Author’s Note: This is written for the lovely cinema themed writing challenge of @elixirfromthestars ♡ I had this kind of idea for a while but when I read those lyrics it somehow immediately came back to my mind and I needed to make something out of it. This is kind of inspired by your Boulevard Confessions because I loved it so much! And damn, I've already written so much about roommate!Bucky but I can’t help myself lol, I love him. Also, this got a little long, I'm sorry. Still, I hope you enjoy! ♡

Hold My Hand "Pull me close, wrap me in your aching arms. I see that you're hurtin', why'd you take so long to tell me you need me? I see that you're bleeding, you don't need to show me again. But if you decide to, I'll ride in this life with you. I won't let go 'til the end." — Lady Gaga

Masterlist

You hear the giggling before anything else.

It’s always the giggling.

And, as always, it grates on your nerves.

It carves through the air, seeps into the walls, into the floorboards, into you. It tears its way inside and scrapes its manicured nails along the rawest and most sensitive parts of you, only to bury itself deep, where you can’t simply dig it out.

Then comes the keys.

The light, metallic jingle, so careless in its melody, but so troubling in its meaning.

Then the lock turning, the click soft and yet so irrefutable.

Then the door opening.

More giggles.

His breathy chuckles.

Then the door closing.

Shoes being kicked off, one hitting the wall.

You press the pillow harder against your ears, as if you could suffocate the sound before it reaches you, as if you could bury yourself deep enough under the covers to escape what you already know is coming. But you can’t. You never can.

Your brain usually does you the favors of drowning out the parts in the hallway, knowing it will probably make your heart stop in an instant. Today, it doesn’t do you any favors and you close your eyes, accepting the sting behind them.

And then, his bedroom door.

And if all that wasn’t torture enough, it was only the easy part.

Because now is when it really starts. It’s when your throat closes up, the breath in your lungs turns heavy, thick, impossible. Because no matter how many times this has happened, no matter how many times you laid here in your bed, still, so still, waiting for the agony to stop, pretending it doesn’t happen - it never stops hurting. It never stops breaking your heart - or whatever’s left of it.

At first, there is silence. The small period where you almost dare to believe, to hope.

But then comes the moaning.

High-pitched and breathy, hinting at a pleasure that strikes you with a hammer.

Someone else. Always someone else. Someone who is not you, someone who never had to try, someone who will never know what it means to ache for him like you do.

Then, quieter, but just as devastating, Bucky’s voice. The low sound of him unraveling. The sound of something slipping from him that you will never be able to take.

And that’s what breaks you most. That’s what turns the ache into utter misery. Madness even. It’s the inescapable proof that he has something to give - something deep, something intimate - and he is giving it away. Over and over again, but never to you.

You close your eyes, as always. It doesn’t help, as always. The sounds don’t stop anyway. The images come anyway - the touches you have imagined, the way his hands would feel against your skin, the way his mouth would shape your name if you were the one beneath him. The way he might look at you, if only he could see.

But right now, you are just the ghost in the next room, curled in on yourself, ears filled with the sound of someone else living the life you always wanted.

And in the morning, or right after, when the door will open again, when the giggling will turn to goodbyes, you will still be here, where you always are. Where you always will be. Waiting. Wanting. Breaking. Wishing you could turn it off, this feeling. This unendurable and never-ending heartbreak.

And that finally makes the tears flow.

They well up before they spill over, down the slope of your cheek, gathering in the hollow beneath your nose before falling onto the pillow and wetting it like a pool.

You squeeze your eyes shut, so tightly it should hurt, so tightly it should make them stop. But they come anyway. They come despite the barricade of your willpower, despite the way your body coils tighter in on itself. They come despite the desperate war you wage against them.

They come because you have lost. Because it’s too much.

The moaning doesn’t stop, and it’s too much. It’s the middle of the night, and it’s too much. It’s the third night in a row, and it’s too much.

Bucky’s hushed voice shatters something inside of you, you didn’t know was left intact a few seconds ago.

Your breath turns sticky, only half of it making its way up your throat. The other half stays attached to the walls of your throat like honey gone rancid. It refuses to leave completely, snagging and trapping you in the awful space between breathing and choking.

Maybe if it stopped altogether, it would be easier. Maybe suffocating would be gentler than this slow and unsparing death of heartbreak.

Your hands are shaking. You bury your face into the pillow, willing it to just take you as a whole and never let you leave again. The fabric muffles the shuddering sobs, but it cannot do anything for the way your body trembles. But you know that the sounds of pleasure in the other room will tune out the sounds of your cries. The pillow is being clutched so tightly, you might tear the fabric. But it’s your heart that’s being torn into so many pieces. So what is a pillow compared to the ruin of your heart? It’s nothing.

You are alone in your grief.

The moans stop for a second - abrupt, cut off mid-breath.

Bucky’s voice comes. He says something but you don’t catch his words.

However, you do catch the displeased groan of his girl for the night. Drawn-out and petulant. Annoyed.

Bucky speaks again. Firmer, this time. Again, it’s too quiet to catch it.

And then you hear your name. It’s muffled still, but you would hear your name coming from his lips always and forever. You know the exact cadence of it shaping his mouth.

Everything in you halts. Your breaths are suspended somewhere in your throat, caught between shock and devastation.

The girl scoffs. It’s a snappy sound. Almost whiny. You would have rolled your eyes if you weren’t so troubled.

The moaning resumes. But it is quieter this time. Controlled almost. A courtesy. A mercy. But not for you. Not in the way you wish.

And it makes you know.

He asked her to keep it down. For you. He must have told her he has a roommate - you - and that they need to be mindful, that you might be trying to sleep.

Somehow, in all the infinite ways he could have cared for you, this is the one he chose. Not to love you, not to want you, but to make sure his flings don’t disrupt your sleep. As if that’s the worst of it. As if the noise is what truly keeps you up at night, and not the agonizing truth of it all.

Harshly, your teeth sink into your lip, fighting to stifle the sob that trembles on the edge of you. But again, you are losing.

Because hearing your name in the middle of something so intimate, spoken in the same breath of his pleasure, is pure anguish.

Because your name should not exist there. Not like this. Not casually sneaking into a mind occupied with pleasuring someone else.

If he were to say your name in a moment like this, it should be a soft whisper against your skin, entangled in sheets, buried in kisses that steal the air from your lungs. It should be something private, something sacred.

Not an idle afterthought. A consideration. A passing thought before he loses himself in someone else’s body. You have never heard him say any girl’s name before when sleeping with them, but hell you also don’t try to listen too closely.

You won’t talk about this. You never talk about this. When the morning comes and you meet Bucky in the kitchen for breakfast, you will not mention it. Just like you never mention the other nights. Just like you never dwell on the soft apologies he offers when they got too loud. And just like always, you will brush it off, force a brittle smile, and tell him that it’s fine.

It’s not. It never has been. And you don’t think you ever manage to make it sound like you mean it. But you are gone before Bucky can push or apologize again. Or see how deep the knife has gone.

Because he might be careful to be quiet. But he will never be careful enough to stop breaking your heart.

So what is the point?

You don’t want to do another morning like this.

You can’t do another morning like this.

Not three times in a row.

Not when the night has already taken your soul and what was precious of it, barely sewn together by the time the sun fights its way through the window.

Not when you know how it will play out. Like it has the day before. And the day before that.

The door to his room will creak open, the girl already gone. You will hear the shuffle of his bare feet against the floor, the sigh as he stretches, and the yawn that usually makes it past his lips. He never tries to stifle it.

And then, him standing there and watching you.

Disheveled. Bed hair sticking up in a mess. You never let your mind wander to how her fingers might have something to do with that. His shirt would loosely hang over his frame, probably thrown on in a hurry, collar askew, revealing a sliver of skin you shouldn’t be looking at.

That lazy and slightly flustered smile. Sleep still in the corners of his eyes, his lips, his voice, when he greets you with a scratchy morning.

Like nothing happened. Like he didn’t shatter you into a thousand unfixable pieces last night. And the night before that. And now this night.

You will do your best to greet him back without sounding pained. Focusing on making coffee. The way the steam normally curls into the air, the warmth of the mug in your hands. You will have to focus on it as if it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

And despite knowing you shouldn’t - despite hating yourself for it - you will slide a cup toward him. As you always do.

His smile would shift. Settling into something fond, something warm, something that digs its claws into your ribs and refuses to let go.

Because that’s usually the worst part. He’s always so sweet with you. Thoughtful, affectionate in ways that don’t count. In the ways that make you feel like maybe if you just hold on a little longer, if you wait just a little more, he might start feeling what you do.

But you are certain, he won’t.

Because for him, everything seems fine. For him, this will be just another morning. Another easy, comfortable start to the day. With his eyes on you and sipping his coffee, exhaling like he is finally at peace, and leaning against the counter with a lightness that always has your stomach all up in shambles.

He always makes it seem so normal. Starting conversation with you, talking to you as if nothing has changed. Like you didn’t spend the night curled in on yourself, swallowing down sobs so thick they feel like razor blades. Like you didn’t spend the night choking on the sound of him with her.

He never mentions them. Never says any of the girl’s names, not that you even know what they are. He never makes plans to see them again. Just another faceless but very loud girl. One to be forgotten.

But tomorrow night, there will be another.

Tomorrow night will be the same.

And in the morning nothing will have happened.

Only him standing there with his sleep-mussed hair and that sweet, easy smile, drinking the coffee you should have stopped making for him a long, long time ago.

You rise out of bed, not even aware of it. The cold air nips at your tear-streaked cheeks, your sheets thrown back in a mass of tangled fabric still warm from the ball your body was curled in, breaking in silence. The pillow is still wet.

Your hands move on their own, tugging on slacks, yanking a hoodie over your head as though the fabric could hide you, save you from the devastation caving a hole into your chest.

You fumble for your phone before throwing open your bedroom door.

The moans are louder again. Yanking at your resolve and laughing at the way your tears keep coming.

Your feet move faster. You don’t actually run, but it feels like running. Like fleeing. Escaping a burning building before it collapses. The living room comes into view and it’s like a cruel trick, like the universe is taunting you, because all you see are phantoms.

The coffee machine on the counter. How many times have you two stood there, still tousled with sleep, you making coffee for the both of you because Bucky burns everything. How many times did he lean on the counter, watching you with that stupid little half-smirk, pretending to judge your process but always humming in satisfaction when he took the first sip.

The bookshelf in the corner - the one you swore you could build on your own. And you tried, you really did, but the second the screwdriver slipped and you gasped out loud, Bucky was there immediately. Hands on yours, worry furrowing his brows, grumbling about your stubbornness and continuing to grumble when he passive-aggressively built it himself.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, watching him, pretending to be annoyed but secretly savoring the way he kept glancing at you, again and again, to make sure you were okay and giving you instructions as to how it’s done but throwing you a glare when you insisted on trying again.

The carpet. The same one you both collapsed onto after a night out with your friends, too tipsy to move, giggling like teenagers as you pointed at the ceiling, pretending to find constellations in the uneven paint. He named one after you. You named one after him. You fell asleep there, side by side, and when you woke up he was so close. So close.

The couch. The one he practically melted into last week when he had a fever, whining dramatically until you caved and brought him soup. He kept pulling you back when you tried to leave, pouting like a child, demanding your attention because I’m sick, doll. Can’t ignore me when I’m sick. Until you sighed and sat down, letting his head rest in your lap. He fell asleep like that. Snoring. And you didn’t have the heart to move.

And now he is in his room, tangled in her, moaning into her skin, kissing her - like it doesn’t mean anything. Like none of it ever meant anything.

Your breath is uneven, your hands shaking as you grab your shoes. The laces blur, your vision fogs, but you can’t stop.

You throw open the door to your shared apartment, barely thinking, barely breathing, only moving. It swings back into the frame with a sharp sound echoing through the hallway, louder than you had intended. But it doesn’t matter now. Because you are sure that Bucky doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t notice. He is otherwise occupied and you are utterly drained of thinking about with what.

The air outside the apartment feels different. Lighter and cooler, but it doesn’t bring relief. It’s thin and hard to pull into your lungs properly.

Natasha’s place isn’t far. Fifteen minutes on foot. You tell yourself that over and over, like a mantra, like something to grasp on.

No more moans. Lost to silence, left in a place that feels little like home right now. Still, they resonate in your skull, haunting reminders of that pain you can’t dismiss, that hurt that hangs off you like a heavy burden.

You slow your steps on the staircase and inhale deeply. It trembles on its way out.

You hate how fragile you feel. How breakable. Hate how much this affects you. How much he affects you.

But you keep walking.

Just yesterday, you talked to Natasha and she offered you to stay with her for the night, looking at you all sharp and knowing, but in her own way sympathetic. You declined. Because you thought you’d be fine. Well, you were wrong.

It’s past midnight now, completely dark, but you don’t care.

You know, Natasha will let you in. And that will have to be enough for tonight.

The city is alive even at this hour. Neon lights glow in the distance, their reflection shimmering in rain-slicked puddles that dot the cracked pavement. Somewhere across the street, there is a group of people laughing, and disappearing around a corner. A car flies past, with headlights unlocking long shadows lengthening down the sidewalk.

You focus on those things. On the shoes thumping against the pavement. The way the crisp air is somehow refreshing as it weaves through the fabric of your hoodie and stings slightly at the tear-streaked skin of your cheeks, keeping you awake and propelling you forward. Not that you need any more motivation to leave.

You wind your arms around yourself like a shield, like a last-ditch effort to keep yourself from falling apart completely.

You don’t look back.

Somewhere above you, there is a creak of a window opening.

It makes you freeze for a small second, before tightening your arms around yourself and picking up your pace.

Your stomach spins violently because fuck, you know that sound. You know the groan of that window when it moves, just a little off its hinges, just enough to make a noise you’ve heard a hundred times before. Because it’s the window of your apartment. And it makes a noise that has never felt so much like a punch to the gut.

“Y/n?”

You close your eyes.

“Y/n!”

Your name spills from his lips, laced with confusion, infused with something that makes your fingers clench around your arms.

You could ignore him. You should ignore him. Just keep walking, keep moving, pretend you didn’t hear.

But you can’t. You never can.

With a slow, dragging breath, you turn around.

Bucky is leaning over the frame, his torso reaching out the window, bare from the shoulders down. He is bathed in the hazy yellow glow of the streetlights.

His hair is messed up, brown tendrils all sticking in different directions. His brows are knitted in confusion. His lips in a frown so full of worry. And it’s just too much.

Too warm. Too intimate. Too familiar.

Your chest stutters, lurches, and swirls itself into a dozen moving shapes that hurt more than they should. Because he stands there shirtless. Shirtless. And you know why.

You swallow back your hurt, but it stays stuck in your throat and crawls right up again to make you taste it on your tongue.

You force your gaze away from staring at the curve of his collarbone, the slope of his throat, the soft lines of his skin, the hard lines of his muscles that she had her hands on just minutes ago.

“Where are you going?”

The tone highlights his concern, thick with the kind of worry that would have meant everything if it weren’t coming from him like this, not now. His voice is rough, remnants of the time already spent with that girl, but all you can hear is that damn worry in it.

As if you owe him an answer. As if he isn’t the reason your chest feels like it’s been hollowed out and left to rot.

You draw in half a breath and look away - down the street, down at your shoes, the bricks of your building. Anywhere that isn’t him.

“To Nat’s.”

It’s clipped and short. You don’t want to explain, don’t want to talk, don’t want to stand here in the night air beneath the window of the apartment you share with him like some pathetic wreck while he worries about you.

“Nat’s?” You can hear the bewilderment in his voice, the way he is trying to piece it together, the way his brain is already working overtime, scrambling to make sense of this - and you can practically feel the moment he decides he won’t let it go.

“Somethin’ happen?” His voice just won’t stop to be so perplexed, so concerned. It is softer now, but you only glance up at him briefly before averting your eyes again.

Because damn Bucky, yes, something happened. Everything happened. Every night that he brings someone home, every touch that belongs to someone else, every soft moan that isn’t meant for you.

All these moments, all these memories, every feeling left unsaid that swivels and stings and grows into what it is now - a storm inside your rib cage, a hurricane of almosts and never wills and why does it have to be like this?

But of course, you can’t say that. You won’t say that.

So you just shake your head, tighten your arms around yourself, and take a step back.

“Go back to bed, Bucky.”

Because you can’t do this right now. You won’t do this right now.

Not when you are already about to break.

“I- What?”

His voice is a little raspy, puzzled, and under any other circumstance, it might have been endearing. On a normal day, if this were some cozy Sunday morning and not the breaking stretch of midnight, you might have smiled at the sight of him like this - hair in a wild mess, eyes a little heavy from the day, bare shoulders shifting in the glow of the streets.

But this is not a Sunday morning. And nothing about this feels good or cozy or right.

You are so damn exhausted. So damn drained.

“You-” he starts again, brow furrowing deeper, but before he can get another word out, hands appear - slim fingers wrapping around the thick of his bicep, tugging, pulling, trying to drag him back inside.

Bile is pooling at the base of your throat.

She’s alone with him up there, in the space that you have spent so much time making into something warm, something filled with comfort. A space where you feel home. With him. And yet, it’s that random girl in there, laying in his bed, under his covers, in his scent, in him.

“Bucky, come on.” Her voice is thin and peevish, thick with impatience. And exhaustion you believe she has no right to feel when you are the one who has spent the time suffocating under her presence.

But Bucky doesn’t move.

His hand only grips onto the windowsill tighter, muscles in his arm locking.

And his eyes stay fixed on you.

Still searching. Still confused. Still trying to understand.

And it makes your hands clammy.

The way he looks at you like he is reaching for something just beyond his grasp, something that eludes him no matter how hard he tries to hold onto it.

He huffs out a breath that just borders on frustration when her fingers won’t stop pulling at him.

“Hold on, doll-” he calls out to you and unwinds her hands from his arm, barely sparing her a glance as he leans out the window again. There is a little something in his tone when he speaks to you again. Something like exasperation. But it’s not meant for you. “What’re you doin’ at Nat’s? Tell her it’s the middle of the goddamn night. Why would she let you walk over to her? She knows it’s not safe.”

You shake your head, already half turning away again. You just cannot do this right now.

“It’s fine. Just go back to bed, Bucky.”

“Y/n - hey. What’s wrong? What’s this about?” There it is. That softness in his voice. That concern. And it hurts. Because he doesn’t get it.

“Go. Back. To bed,” you repeat, sharper now, gritting it out between clenched teeth.

But Bucky has always been stubborn. And so infuriating. It’s like he doesn’t hear you at all.

“C’mon doll, did something happen? Talk to me,” he urges, voice gentle but he doesn’t seem to like the way you look as if you would bolt around the corner any second. His tone is coaxing in a way that makes you ache because this is what he does. This is what he has always done - pulling you in, making you feel safe, making you feel cared for, making you feel like you matter. Like he means it.

And it’s cruel. So cruel.

Because you are in love with him.

And he is standing in that window, bare-chested and rumpled from a night with another woman, while you are in slacks and a simple hoodie beneath him with your heart cracked wide open, bleeding into the pavement.

“I don’t wanna do this right now, Bucky,” you snip, voice losing patience. But you are so tired.

Bucky sighs and runs a hand through his hair, frustration growing, seeping into his voice. “You’re killin’ me here, sweetheart. Just tell me what’s goin’ on. It’s cold out, doll. You’re not even wearin’ a jacket.”

You swallow down a choked breath.

Because this is making things so much worse.

That he cares. That he is looking at you like this, like you matter, like you are his.

Like you are something he wants to figure out. And he wants to take his time with. Like he wants to fix you.

But you are not broken. You are just in love.

“Bucky,” that girl calls out again, dragging his name out, voice honey-thick and pettish. “Come on babe, let it go. Just-” She tugs at his arm again, nails skimming along his forearm. “Come back to bed.”

But he doesn’t move.

Doesn’t even glance at her.

His mouth twitches, jaw ticking as he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking her off with a firm roll of his shoulder. “Would you quit it for a sec?” His voice is edged now, tinged with a kind of terse impatience he seldom ever lets out. “Jesus, m’tryin to talk here.”

The girl huffs, clearly displeased, but Bucky doesn’t spare her another second.

But the one second he threw his head around at her was your chance. Your feet move before you can think, before you can talk yourself into staying, because if you do, if you let him pull you in, let yourself hope-

“Woah, doll, hey. Wait, I-”

His voice is frantic, stammering over its own syllables and filled with too many things your mind is too jumbled to focus on.

But it makes you stop your body in the midst of a step. And you grind down on your teeth against the frustration burning inside you.

You should keep walking. Shouldn’t have stopped.

But Bucky is leaning even further out now, his knuckles bracing against the sill, the night air tousling his hair, eyes wide and concerned, searching. One of his arms is reaching out, down to you as if he could touch you like this.

“Hold up, yeah? I’m comin’ down.”

You whip halfway back to him, brows snapping together, heart slamming against your ribs.

“No, you-”

He’s already pulling himself back inside, shaking his head as if it should be obvious. “I’m coming down,” he repeats, more insistent, more sure. Leaving no room for argument.

Your fists squeeze the fabric of your hoodie. Your stomach churns. “Bucky-” you try again. But he has already made up his mind.

“Wait there, alright?” His voice dips lower, steadier but still urgent. Resolute, as if he would run after you if you bolted down the street. “Doll. Promise me you’ll wait.”

Something in his tone, the look he is giving you, like he’s begging, almost a sweet-talking declaration. It’s catching your breath somewhere in your throat.

You could run.

You should.

You should turn right back around, disappear into the night, and leave him standing there, shirtless and confused and worried.

But you hold his gaze for just one long and heavy beat, then exhale shakily, shoulders dropping slightly.

“Okay,” you say weakly.

Bucky nods determined and taps his fingers against the windowsill, before rushing away, leaving the window wide open.

And you stand there hating yourself for waiting.

Hating yourself for hoping.

Technically, you could just leave.

Take a different route to Nat’s apartment, slip into the dark veins of the city where his voice wouldn’t reach, and let him walk out onto an empty sidewalk with his hair still tousled from another woman’s fingers and the taste of someone else’s lips still lingering on his own.

You could make him feel just a fraction of what you feel, with something hollow pressing up against his ribs when he finds nothing but cold pavement where you used to stand.

But you don’t.

You know you won’t.

Because it wouldn’t just frustrate him. It would hurt him.

And that’s the one thing you could never bring yourself to do.

Not Bucky.

Never Bucky.

You know him. The way he chews at the inside of his cheek when he’s trying not to say something reckless. The way his brows pull just a little too tight when he’s agitated but trying to play it off like he is fine. The way he folds his arms over his chest, not because he’s closed off, but because he needs something to hold onto.

You know exactly how he would react if he stepped out here and you weren’t there.

How the slight crease between his brows would deepen. How his fingers would twitch, opening and closing, like he’d missed his chance to catch you. How his lips would open and he would stare helplessly around and call your name.

And god, as much as this pain is devouring you from the inside out, pushing its way into the light but leaving you sitting in the dark, as much as your heart feels like being torn apart with unsaid words and unmet confessions - you cannot stand the thought of hurting him.

So you stay.

With feet planted on the concrete, fists clenched so hard, that your fingers start to cramp. You lift your trembling hands to your aching cheeks to hastily scrub away the fresh wave of tears surging forth downwards, willing your body to erase any evidence of your devastation.

But the more you wipe, the more it hurts.

You believe your cheeks are red from the effort of wiping so much, eyes swollen and puffy, your body trying to rebel against all of your commands.

Inhaling shakily, you force the breath down, down, down where you can pretend it doesn’t hurt so much. You angle your face slightly away from the building, hoping the dim spill of moonlight won’t betray your inner struggles.

Because the moment Bucky steps out that door, it will be the same as always.

He’ll look at you like you are his best friend. Like you are his safe place. Like you are the person he can always count on.

And you will look at him like you aren’t falling apart.

Like your heart isn’t unraveling at the seams.

Like you aren’t drowning in a love that will never be returned.

The door swings open with a force that startles you, the sound of it hitting the frame a little too sharp against the night.

Bucky storms out onto the sidewalk like he’s got something urgent to say, like the world might stop spinning if he doesn’t get to you fast enough. He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t pause. Just moves straight to you, his steps quick, closing the space before you can change your mind about standing here. He has a crumpled shirt thrown on and it hangs a little off. But it makes you want to run so hard.

His fingers wrap around your arms, not hard, not forceful but firm.

Those warm hands on you make you want to crumble.

His breath is coming fast, chest rising and falling, like he ran down the staircase to get here as fast as possible.

His eyes are so deep, deep and blue, roaming your face with so much intensity, searching and scanning and pausing.

Shadows cast over his sharp cheekbones at the way his brows are furrowed, his lips slightly parted.

“What’s going on, doll? You been cryin’?” His voice comes out rough and he talks fast. Urgent, breaths spilling over themselves as he rushed through the words, almost tripping on them in his desperation to get them out. “Why’ve you been crying? What happened?”

His thumb twitches against the fabric of your hoodie.

You open your mouth, close it again. Your throat is dry from the sobs you tried to silence earlier. You shake your head, a knee-jerk reaction.

“I was just going to Nat’s, Bucky. Nothing happened.”

It’s a weak excuse, said in a weak voice.

And you hate how it makes Bucky’s expression shift. That tiny wounded something that crosses his features, something that shouldn’t be there, because you did wait for him, you didn’t leave, but it’s still not enough. You lied to him. And he knows it. And he’s hurt. And you hate yourself.

He shakes his head, his jaw going tight.

“No,” he murmurs, eyes never leaving you, voice so low. “That ain’t nothin’, doll. C’mon. You’re runnin’ off in the middle of the night, how could this be nothing?”

You look away. Because if you keep looking at him, him with his concern and confusion and hurt all interflowing in the pool of those blue eyes, you won’t be able to hold yourself together much longer.

You swallow hard and force yourself to breathe slowly.

The sting behind your eyes is never really leaving you.

Bucky leans in, just a little. His grip on your arms tightens, but it’s not harsh. Only insistent. Desperate for you to give him something here.

“Somethin’ up with Natasha?” His voice is gentle, like he knows this has nothing to do with her, but he has to ask anyway to go through all the possible options of what might be going on.

“No,” you croak, barely managing the word.

He softens at the sound of it, but that frown doesn’t ease.

“What’re you doing then, huh? Why’re you running off like that? S’ not safe, you know that.” His voice is soft. Almost like he’s trying to soothe a skittish animal. But the concern is wrapping around every word. “What’s got you so upset, sweetheart? Talk to me, yeah? Please?”

His voice takes on a desperate intensity. Like he’s begging you to just let him in. To make him understand.

You bite down hard on your bottom lip, willing it not to tremble, willing your face not to crumble right in front of him, but the air is too thick for your airway, making it harder and harder to breathe.

And Bucky is looking at you, like you are breaking his goddamn heart. Like you took a shot straight for it.

He is so full of worry, it looks painful, the crease of his brow always there when he’s thinking too hard, when he’s feeling too hard. His lips are still parted, like he wants to beg for an explanation, for some string of words that will make this all click into place and turn this into something fixable.

Because Bucky Barnes fixes things.

But this might be the only thing he can’t fix.

His hands on you are a contrast to the way you feel as if you’re falling apart. You hate how much you just want to collapse into it, to let yourself lean into him, let him hold you up. Because he would. You know he would. He would pull you in without hesitation, wrap his arms around you like he has done so many times before.

But you don’t want him to hold you. Don’t want him to hold you like a friend.

You want him to hold you like he means it. Like you mean something more than the sum of all the nights you spent choking on your own silence, swallowing words you could never say.

So all you can do is stay frozen, bones locked, eyes burning, heart splitting itself open in the middle of the street where he doesn’t even know he’s killing you.

“I-”

You try. You really try.

But then the door swings open again. And the sound of it alone is enough to send a bolt of ice down your spine.

Because this time it’s her walking out.

She steps out onto the sidewalk like she has every right to be a part of this moment.

Like she hasn’t spent the first part of the night in Bucky’s bed. Like she hasn’t been touched by him, kissed by him, fucked by him, wanted by him in a way that you have only ever ached for.

Like she hasn’t taken something that was never hers to have.

But it’s not yours either.

She looks so composed, too. More put together than you would have imagined. Her hair smoothed, clothes adjusted, skin glowing in a way that tells you she wasn’t just sleeping up there - she was living in something you’ve been dying for. She probably took a moment in your bathroom to check herself, to fix her lipstick, maybe even to admire herself in the mirror while you were downstairs, breaking apart.

She had the time for that.

Meanwhile, you can barely stand.

Your body is alive with magnitudes of unspoken things, suffocating. You feel like you’ve been sanded down, like a piece of wood, leaving nothing but the ache and longing and all the words you can’t say. This destruction is slow and ruthless, it doesn’t come with an explosion, but rather a slow erasure.

Like you’re being unmade. Piece by piece.

Like you were never meant to be here in the first place.

And Bucky is still looking at you.

Not at her.

You.

And maybe that should be enough. Maybe it should mean something.

But it just puts more pressure on the knife that is already turning around in your flesh.

The girl doesn’t leave and Bucky stiffens.

“Bucky,” she drawls, almost lazy, like she’s bored with this already. “Are you coming back up, or…?”

Your stomach lurches.

You feel exposed, scraped raw, like you’ve been trampled over, flattened by something massive, left behind for everyone else to step around.

Bucky lets out a slow breath through his nose. His jaw works under pressure. And then, he huffs. Annoyed. Like she’s interrupting something important.

“Go home,” he flatly tells her, his attention still on you. Not even addressing her with a name. Perhaps he doesn’t even know it.

“Seriously?” she scoffs, crossing her arms. Her eyes flick between the two of you.

Bucky exhales another breath and drops one of his arms from you to scrub it over his face, pushing through his hair. He turns toward her just a little, stance rigid.

“Yeah, seriously,” he mutters, already turning back to you. “I’ll call you a cab if you need-”

“God, you’re such a dick,” she snaps, cutting him off, rolling her eyes with an exasperated huff. “Unbelievable.”

And then she’s gone.

But so are you.

You don’t even think about it. You just move.

Your arm slips from Bucky’s loosened grip, your body already shifting, already turning, already pulling you down the sidewalk, away from him, away from this.

It’s pathetic. You know this. But you have to get away.

Your vision is a blur, the streetlights smearing into a soft, hazy glow against the wetness welling in your eyes, and no matter how much you try to breathe through it, it’s too much. Simply too much.

You’re hurting. And you need to go. Now.

But Bucky doesn’t let you.

“Woah, whoah, hey!” His voice is quick, rushed, and then he is moving, closing the space between you. And this time, he cuts you off completely, stepping right into your path, right in front of you, blocking the way like a wall. He’s so broad in front of you, and so fucking present, making it impossible to escape.

You stop so fast it almost sends you stumbling back.

His eyes flick over you so quickly, so intensely, scanning for something he doesn’t understand but is so desperate to find.

“Alright,” he exhales, low and careful, holding his arms out as if ready to stop you again if you make a run for it.

“You want me to put you in chains to keep you still?”It’s a weak and failed attempt at humor.

And it’s not funny. Not even close.

His voice is too thin, too strained, and there is something in his eyes, something tight and aching, that makes it clear he is not even trying all that hard to make his joke work.

You don’t smile. Don’t look at him. Arms still around yourself.

Bucky’s throat bobs as he swallows, as he shifts his weight, as he lets out another slow and deliberate breath. He moves so slow. As if any tiny movement of him would make you walk away from him.

“What’s going on with you, mhm?” His voice is so soft. So concerned. Brooklyn warmth and worry combined with something gentler than you can handle right now.

“What’s this - this fight-or-flight thing you got goin’ on?” he continues, tilting his head just slightly, watching you too closely, reading too much. “You’re rushing off like the damn place is on fire. The hell is that about, doll?” Still so soft. So cautious.

His eyes are on you like you are the only thing in the world that matters, like he’s trying to solve you, like if he just looks long enough, he’ll figure it out.

But if he really understood, if he really found out, everything between you would change.

And you can’t handle that. You can’t handle anything at the moment.

“Just drop it, Bucky, alright?” It comes out sharper than you mean for it to. Harsher. A little spit of venom that you hate yourself for the second it hits the air. He doesn’t deserve your attitude. But you can’t hold it back.

You see the way it lands. The way his brows pull in tighter, the way his lips press together, the way his chest rises and falls so measured. But it’s all not out of irritation. He just tries to figure out where that came from. What is happening. What has you react the way you do.

His voice is even and calm. But oh so careful. “I don’t think I will, doll.”

You look anywhere than at him and his troubled face.

Your throat tightens so fast, you have to swallow hard against it, teeth digging into the inside of your cheek as you blink up at the sky like maybe that keeps the tears from spilling over.

And Bucky watches all of that.

His expression stays soft, but his eyes are burning with something deep, something real, something that makes you feel like you might actually drown if you keep looking at them for too long.

“Y/n,” he almost whispers, and it sounds so pained. “Why are you crying, sweetheart.” He’s so gentle, so tender, so fucking careful like he’s afraid that if he pushes too hard, you’ll just break.

You shake your head, arms around yourself tightening. “I’m fine.”

Bucky makes a quiet noise in his throat, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff, something deep and disbelieving.

“See, that’s bullshit.”

You’re about to turn again, but he anticipates and gets hold of your arms.

“Look,” he sighs, heedfully taking off a hand of you to rub it down his face. “You don’t wanna talk? Fine. You wanna bite my head off cause I’m askin’? Fine. But don’t stand here and tell me you’re okay. Because I’ve got eyes, doll, and I can see that you’re not.”

You want him to stop.

You want him to turn around.

You want him to leave you here to fall apart in peace.

But he won’t.

And you don’t know what to do with that.

And you break.

No matter how hard you bite your lip, it doesn’t matter.

The tears slip and streak down your face before there is anything you can do. A sob follows. You can’t choke it down. Your shoulders shake, your breath stutters, and your face tilts towards the ground as you bring trembling hands up to wipe at your cheeks, in a futile and desperate attempt to regain composure. It’s useless.

You feel so pathetic.

Embarrassed. Ashamed that you ran off like this. That you’re standing here, crying in the middle of the night, on a sidewalk with no explanation, making a fool of yourself in front of him.

And the second your face crumbles, his does, too.

The second your breath hitches, he is moving.

Strong arms envelope you, winding tight, pulling you straight into his chest like he doesn’t even need to think about it. Not for a single second.

You let him.

Because it’s either this, or you’ll collapse down onto the asphalt.

His grip is firm, grounding, warm in a way that makes you ache even more. His hand cradles the back of your head, tucking you against him, and you feel the press of his lips there, gentle, but somehow rough.

Like your pain is his own.

“It’s okay. Shh… it’s okay,” he breathes, pained and low, the words pressed into your hair, into your skin. Making space between your ribs. “Oh, doll.” He presses you tighter to him. His hand brushes over your hair. “It’s okay.”

There is something so deep and aching in the way he talks to you, like the sound of his own voice hurts him. Like you hurt him.

His other hand moves over your back, soothingly, trying to give you some strength.

“I gotcha,” he breathes. “M’here, doll. Okay? Just breathe. Gotta breathe for me, baby. Please.”

It’s a slip. Baby. A mistake.

And it makes you cry harder.

Because it’s so soft. Gentle. Because it falls from his lips like something that’s always been there, something that’s always belonged to you.

Except it hasn’t.

It doesn’t.

Not in the way you want.

You don’t know what he calls those girls he takes home. If they get to hear him say it. Girls who have felt his hands in places you never will. Girls who have heard his voice rasp against their skin in the dark.

But you are not one of those girls.

You never will be.

And you know you will never be able to untangle that damaging wrench in your stomach.

So hearing him call you that. Baby. Like it means something. Like it’s yours. Like it hasn’t been whispered in the dim glow of your apartment, murmured against someone else’s lips, someone else’s skin, just someone else just hours ago.

It’s too hard. too cruel.

You wish it didn’t matter. You wish it didn’t rip through you the way it does, splitting you down the center, carving you open.

But it does.

Because even if it doesn’t belong to you, you still want it.

So you cry harder.

Sobs wrack through you, your chest hitching with the force of them, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt, clumping it in your fists.

Bucky feels it and he hears it and he grips you tighter, pulls you closer.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he coos, voice just above a whisper, more desperate now. Like he’s drowning in your hurt right along with you.

“Sweetheart,” he tries again, voice strained, thick. His lips are in your hair. “Please talk to me. Make me understand, baby, please! Tell me what’s wrong.”

But you can’t.

Because what the hell would you even say?

That you’re in love with him?

That you’ve been in love with him?

That seeing him with her - hearing the sounds that bleed through the walls, the ones you’ll never be able to unhear - feels like being skinned alive?

That you want him in a way you shouldn’t?

That you want him in a way he will never want you back?

You won’t.

So instead, you just press yourself harder into his chest and squeeze your eyes shut, letting him hold you like you are something precious. Like you are his. Even if you are not.

“Help me understand here, baby. Please,” he repeats with a voice so soft, that makes him seem afraid you might break apart completely if he speaks any louder.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe you’re already in pieces at his feet, shattered beyond repair, and he just hasn’t realized it yet.

He lets you cry when you don’t answer, hand stroking up and down your back, the other soothing over your head. He whispers into your hair, words you can’t even process, just the deep cadence of him, the low rasp of his voice against your temple.

His lips move to your forehead, brushing over it. His breath is warm against your skin. You don’t have it in you to pull away, but you wish you would.

Because none of this makes it any easier.

Because his hands feel too good, too steady, too right - and it’s a lie.

Because it’s him.

And that means it hurts.

You wish he would just go and let you have your pathetic heartbreak alone.

But Bucky Barnes has never been the kind of a guy to leave things unsolved.

He pulls back just slightly after a while, just enough to get a better look at you, and when you try to duck your head, to keep him from seeing too much, he doesn’t let you.

Strong, warm fingers cradle your face, thumbs brushing over the damp skin of your cheeks, tilting your head up and forcing your gaze to his.

He looks wrecked.

His brows are drawn, lips parted, chest rising and falling unevenly. His hands tremble just a little against your skin, but his grip stays firm. Solid.

“Don’t look away, doll. Eyes on me, yeah?”

You swallow hard, jaw tight. “You just ruined your good night,” you say, the words falling out bitter, self-deprecating, stiff with something that tastes like resentment but feels like heartbreak.

Bucky’s frown deepens, his lips pressing together, eyes scanning over your face like he’s searching for something, anything that’ll make this make sense.

“The hell I did,” he scoffs, shaking his head. Confused you even brought this up. “I don’t give a shit about her. Don’t even know her name, if I’m bein’ honest.” He lets out a huffed laugh.

But you don’t.

Because somehow this makes it worse.

And you hate it.

You hate that some part of you wanted her to mean something.

Because if she meant something, if she was special, then at least this ache in your chest would have a name. A reason. A shape you could hold in trembling hands and squeeze so hard that it stops hurting at one point.

Then, at least, you could maybe finally accept that there is no hope. No reason to hold on to those feelings.

But Bucky just shrugs.

It meant nothing. It never meant anything. Not with them.

Not with the girls that come and go, the ones who pass through his nights in the same easy way the hours do - fleeting, ephemeral, touched, and forgotten.

Not with anyone. Not even with you.

You have spent so long feeling this, holding onto it, trying to keep it hidden beneath layers of friendship and longing and careful restraint. You have spent so long pretending that it is fine, that it doesn’t matter, that you can live like this - on the sidelines, just the girl in the other room, in the shadows, in the spaces between what you want and what you’re allowed to have.

And he stands here and looks you in the eyes, telling you that it is nothing. That she is nothing. That they - all of them before her, and all of them after her - are nothing.

You can barely breathe past it.

You don’t say anything.

And Bucky freezes.

His hands, where they cup your face, stop their soft, absentminded strokes. His thumbs, which had been tracing reassuring circles along your cheekbones halt. His breath catches and his eyes shift.

There is something uncertain in there.

And then, his lips part. His brows go up ever so slightly. His pupils flare.

Something settles over his expression that you don’t recognize.

Like a switch has been flipped.

Like a puzzle piece has clicked into place.

Like suddenly he is seeing something in your eyes, something like an answer, something that has been there all along.

His fingers tighten, anchoring himself. Making it seem that if he lets go, if he moves even a fraction, something will break. In him, or you, you’re not sure.

He pulls back. Not far. Just an inch. But he needs to see you better. Just enough to search your face for something he needs to know. His gaze locks onto yours and holds you there, testing something, making sure.

His voice is hushed when he talks. Breathless.

“Is that what this is about?”

It’s quiet, the way he says it. Like he’s afraid of it. Like he’s careful with it. There is disbelief on his face. Astonishment.

You shake your head too fast, too sharp, like if you deny it hard enough, it’ll erase the way he’s looking at you right now. That it’ll undo the meaning of his words and the way they sit between you. Something fragile on the verge of breaking.

“No,” you say, but it barely comes out, barely sounds convincing. Your voice is hoarse, scraped raw form holding back everything you don’t want to say. Your lungs refuse to work in sync with the rest of you. You swallow, eyes darting away, grasping for something to latch onto.

But Bucky doesn’t let you.

“Doll…” It comes like a sigh. Weightless and soft. His hands don’t drop from your face, don’t loosen, don’t give you the space you’re so desperately trying to carve out between you. If anything, his grip grows more robust. Just enough to keep you there.

“Hey. Look at me.” His tone is low, carrying the kind of warmth you’d usually like to lean into, but now all you want is to get away from it. You don’t want to meet those stormy blues.

Bucky’s thumbs are sweeping, so feather-light, over the curve of your jaw, smoothing along the damp trail of your tears, and his voice dips even lower. Softer. He is so close.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Give me somethin’ here.”

It’s not fair that he gets to call you all those sweet names like he means them. Like you mean something. Like it’s not the same word he probably called her and all those others who got to have him, even if only for a night.

“I don’t-” you try, but your voice is trembling and thick with tears, and Bucky’s gaze shadows.

“Don’t what?” he coaxes, leaning in just a little, close enough that his breath skims your skin, warm and stable in a way you aren’t. His fingers slightly move against your cheeks, as if resisting the urge to pull you closer.

You shake your head again, your hands wrapping around his wrists - not to push him away exactly, but to have something to hold onto. You have no idea what to say.

“It’s- It’s not-” Your words trip over themselves, stuck somewhere between your throat and your ribs, tangled up in everything you’ve never let yourself say.

But Bucky just watches you, unreadable things swirling in those impossibly blue eyes. Wary things. Still so damn careful.

He exhales and his hands slide down, skimming the column of your throat, settling against the curve of your neck like he’s grounding you. Holding you both together.

“Doll,” he sighs, and it’s too much.

It’s not teasing. It’s not playful. It’s not easy. Not the charming lilt he likes to throw in his tone.

It’s vulnerable. Tender. Substantial.

“You’re breakin’ my heart here.”

And that’s what has another tear slip over your lashes.

Because you’re breaking his heart?

What does that even mean?

You were the one trying to escape the heartache he caused and now he tells you it’s his heart that hurts?

“Please,” he whispers, and his voice is wrecked, gravel thick in his throat. “Just tell me, doll. Tell me what I did. Tell me so I can fix it.”

His lips stay parted, trying to find air, trying to find some kind of solid ground. There is a sheen over his eyes.

“I can’t-” Your voice cracks, but you don’t look away this time. His hands won’t let you. He won’t let you.

His eyes are pleading.

“Can’t what, sweetheart?” he urges, dipping closer, voice just a rasp of sound between you. His thumbs wipe away the new tears and he winces while doing it as if it actually causes him pain that they fell.

The streetlight flickers above. It casts shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the tight pull of his mouth. His fingers flex against your face.

“Is it-” he starts, then stops, then starts again, throat bobbing and voice rough and hesitant. “Is it those girls?”

A shallow gasp slips from your lips. Fractured and tripping over something unseen. Your shoulders grow stiff.

You can’t answer. You only shake your head, not in denial, not in confirmation, but in something else, something tired and so fucking done with feeling like this.

You try to pull back, try to slip free from the heat of his palms, try to turn away. Another tear drops onto the back of his hand.

Your reaction must be answer enough.

Bucky’s head, Bucky’s hands, Bucky’s eyes, Bucky’s whole body - everything is moving so much, keeping you from slipping away, reaching for you, not letting you go.

A breath. A pause. Like his brain needs an extra moment to process what this all could mean. His breath catches in his throat and you can feel the exact moment he gets it.

The exact moment he realizes.

“Shit,” he breathes, so quiet you almost miss it. His grip tightens. It grows distressed. Despairing. Keeping you from leaving his hold, although you don’t stop trying.

You sob and his hands press into your cheeks, thumbs smoothing away tears like he can erase this, like maybe if he holds you tight enough, he can go back five minutes, five months, five years, to a time before he made you feel like this.

“Shit, doll, I-” His voice breaks, gravel and regret and anguish - and something so painful - landing with every syllable.

You don’t stop trying to pull back, trying to push him away. You can’t talk. You can’t stop crying. You can’t look at him.

But Bucky is devastated. And he is desperate. And he won’t let you go.

“No, no, don’t - please, Y/n, don’t.” He runs through his words, frantically getting them out, frantically trying to make you look at him.

He reaches your face again and holds on like it’s important. Your tears won’t stop falling. A whimper falls from your lips when you realize he won’t let you leave.

Bucky panics.

His swallow seems to hurt him. Everything he does seems to hurt him.

“Oh, sweetheart - fuck, fuck, I didn’t-” He lets out a rough breath, one of his hands letting go of you to scrub over his face, pushing through his hair in frustration.

Not at you.

At himself.

“Doll, I didn’t - Jesus Christ, I didn’t know.”

It comes out hoarse, scraped down to nothing but feeling. Each word drags from his throat like sandpaper against silence. Coarse and raspy.

And then he’s shaking his head, hands sliding to your shoulders, his hold firm, his eyes darting over your face like he is trying to memorize it, searching for the right words in the curve of your lips, the glisten of your tears, the way your breathing is a single shuddering mess.

“I didn’t - fuck, I didn’t mean-”

He seems to hold back a scream.

Sucking in another sharp breath, he squeezes his eyes shut like he’s in pain, angry at himself, wanting to go back and rewrite everything, tear out every page where he made you feel like you were anything but his.

You wish you could believe it.

“Bucky-” you croak out.

“No, don’t-” His head doesn’t stop shaking. His jaw is clenched tight. Hands shaking against you. “Don’t say my name like that.”

“Like what?” Your voice is whisper-thin.

His breath shudders out, and when his eyes meet yours again, they are so earnest. Glossy with a sheen of tears.

“Like it’s over.”

Your throat closes around your next breath, never making it reach your lungs.

Because what is he saying? Nothing ever had the chance to be anything.

“I didn’t know, doll,” he whispers, voice breaking. “I swear to God, I didn’t know. You gotta believe me, I - fuck, I never wanted to hurt you. Never wanted you to feel like- I didn’t think you’d-”

He cuts himself off, voice choking.

His hands drop suddenly, like he doesn’t even deserve to hold you anymore. Like the guilt is weighing them down.

And then, unsure and hesitantly, he lifts one of them again and pauses before cupping your face, waiting for something - permission, maybe, or just a sign that you won’t pull away this time.

When you don’t, when you just keep standing there, frozen and broken and bewildered, he lets his palm settle warm against your cheek, his thumb brushing so lightly it sends a shiver down your back.

“Tell me how to fix it. Tell me I can,” he pleads, like he means it. Like he would do anything. “Tell me what to do, baby. Anything. I’d do anything. Just gotta tell me. Please,” he chokes out.

Cars roll past you. There are voices in the distance. A neon sign flickers. But none of it touches this.

This thing between you.

Bucky’s hand shakes against your cheek. His breath stirs against your skin so ragged and he leans in. His forehead presses to yours, his body curling toward you like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, just needing to be close.

“I’m so sorry,” he gasps out. “God, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Never have you seen Bucky like this. He keeps things easy, keeps things light, and shrugs off pain like it never quite reaches him. But it does now.

It consumes him.

His fingers curl at the back of your neck, not pulling, just holding, grounding himself against you. And when you continue standing there, breath shaky, tears still trembling in your lashes, his whole body sags.

His chest heaves with a breath so deep it sounds like it’s costing him something.

“I never meant for this to happen. Please, believe me.”

His forehead presses harder to yours, seemingly trying to press his words straight into you, that maybe if he gets close enough you’ll feel how much he means them.

And you do. You just don’t know what the hell is going on.

He lets out a sound that resembles a sob. And then you feel the damp heat of a tear where his face brushes against yours.

Bucky is crying.

It breaks you. You don’t know what to do with all this pain. His and yours. Don’t know how to ever let it go.

You pull back. Just slightly. Just enough to breathe, to think, to process.

But Bucky’s whole body tenses, and his eyes squeeze shut as if he knew it was coming but it still pains him. Bracing himself for something he already knows is going to hurt. His hands drop to his sides.

And maybe that should give you some kind of satisfaction, a tiny sense of justice for the nights you spent lying awake, wondering if you meant anything to him while he had his hands on someone else.

But it doesn’t.

Because the way he is looking at you, when he cracks his eyes open again, when he meets your gaze with so much open ache, makes your chest hurt. It makes something inside of you quake.

“Bucky,” you start, but your own voice is so small, so lost. You shake your head, scanning his face, trying to piece it together, to make sense of something that refuses to fit. How the tables have turned. You just can’t seem to find the irony in it. “What are you even - I don’t - I don’t I understand.”

His throat bobs, thick and tight, and he pulls in a breath like it’s the last one he’s going to get.

“I love you.”

Your mind blanks. You flatline. Your knees go weak.

He says it like it’s the simplest thing to say. As if it is the most obvious thing in the world. But it isn’t.

Because if it was then why has he spent all those nights with those seemingly meaningless girls. Why has he let you ache for him while he touched someone else.

“I love you,” he says again, softer, trying to make sure you believe it.

But you don’t know how to.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. You feel the words, heavy and warm and terrifying, but your body doesn’t know what to do with them. Your mind is screaming at you to run, to protect yourself, to build the walls back up before it’s too late, but your heart doesn’t listen.

Bucky’s hand trembles when it reaches for you, fingertips ghosting over your jaw, waiting, waiting, waiting for you to pull away.

You don’t and he steps closer again.

His whole body thrums as if he is scared to touch you but more scared not to. He looks at you with those red-rimmed and puffy eyes, so tremendously bare, holding onto your own eyes like he is drowning and you are the only thing keeping him afloat.

“Say something, doll,” he pleads, his voice so unsteady, that it guts you.

But what could you say?

Because love is not supposed to feel like this, to hurt like this. It isn’t supposed to feel like your heart has been split open and stitched back together all in the same breath.

But looking at him and at the way his eyes are just as pleading as his words, at the way he is breaking right in front of you - it makes you wonder if maybe it was hurting him all along, too.

“You-” you begin, voice barely more than a whisper. You have to stop, have to pull in a breath that doesn’t seem to want to settle, have to force your hands to stay at your sides instead of reaching for something - for him - that you don’t know if you can take. “But that-” Another inhale, sharp and broken. Your chest hurts. Your whole body hurts. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Bucky exhales, long and slow and then he drops his head. Shoulders slumping, spine curling, like something inside of him, has just given out.

Guilt.

It sits heavy in his frame, in the set of his jaw, in the way his hands jerk like he wants to touch you but knows he shouldn’t.

“Yeah,” he mutters, a humorless little laugh escaping, barely more than a breath. He drags a hand down his face, through his hair, before letting it fall uselessly at his side. His voice is lower when he speaks again, raspier, weighed down by something that feels an awful lot like regret. “I know.”

You watch him, waiting. Because he owes you this. Because he cracked open something you weren’t ready for, something you tried to bury, and now you need to understand.

And Bucky must feel that. Because after a beat, after a deep, shuddering breath, he looks at you again.

“I didn’t think I could have you,” he admits, voice quiet. Cautious. The words fragile in his mouth. “Didn’t think I was allowed to even want you. To this extent, anyway.”

Air enters you unevenly, shaking on the way in like a shiver made of sound. “Bucky-”

“You’re my best friend,” he pushes on, stepping in just a fraction, like he can’t help himself. His voice is getting rougher, rawer, like something in him is unwinding too fast for him to stop it. “I didn’t wanna mess that up, y’know? Didn’t wanna lose you over somethin’ I couldn’t control.”

Something tightens in your chest. Something shifts.

“So you-” you swallow, shaking your head, trying to put it together, trying to make sense of it. “So you just went around to go get yourself other girls you can fuck?”

Bucky flinches. Actually flinches.

Gaze dropping in shame, his features form a grimace. “I tried,” he croaks out, gesturing at his chest with one hand. “Tried to stop feeling like this. Tried to move on, tried to-” He exhales sharply, tilting his head side to side, something torn playing out with the movement. “It didn’t work. Nothin’ worked. Didn’t even make it easier. But I was afraid to face it. Really face it. So I just kept going.”

It hurts.

It hurts in a way you don’t know how to hold. Don’t know how to carry.

You thought, for so long, that the way you love him, ache for him, is a one-sided agony.

But he is confessing to you, eyes red and weary, voice splintering, telling you that he’s been afraid to speak it aloud too.

That he loves you, that he tried to kill it, that he thought losing himself in someone else would somehow erase you from his mind.

Bucky’s words are a fist curling around your ribs, squeezing the air from your lungs.

It should matter. It should mean something that he’s standing in front of you, breaking apart, pleading for you to understand. Shouldn’t it be enough that he’s telling you it was always you? That no one else ever came close?

But he still touched them.

Still chose them, even if only for a meaningless night.

While you sat in your room, staring at the ceiling, wondering if you were going insane. While you clenched your fists so tight beneath your sheets at night, biting your tongue, swallowing it down, because Bucky is your friend and friends don’t ache like this.

And yet, he is telling you, showing you, he aches too.

But instead of sitting with it, instead of letting it consume him the way it consumed you, he tried to make it disappear.

He tried to fuck it away.

And now he looks at you like you are the only thing that has ever mattered, like the ground beneath his feet, is unsteady, like he is afraid you are going to bolt at any second.

You feel like the ground beneath your feet shits a fraction of an inch, not enough to send you falling, but enough to make you question if you were ever standing solid in the first place.

“But, doll, it-” he rushes forward, watching your pain, stepping into your space until there is barely anything between you. “It never meant anything. Swear to god, none of ‘em ever meant something to me.” His hands wrap around yours, squeezing, grounding, begging. “They weren’t you. Couldn’t be you. Didn’t matter how hard I tried, how many times I told myself to stop thinking about you because you’re supposed to be my best friend, but I wanted so much more than that - it didn’t matter. Nothin’ worked.”

He is struggling to force the words out, but he does. And they leave him with a catch in his voice. Faltering.

“I thought about you, sweetheart. Every fuckin’ time.” His voice turns frantic and he leans in to make it convince you. He watches your lips tremble and shakes his head quickly. “Thought about how you’d feel. How you’d sound.”

Your breath stalls.

Bucky swallows, taking a quick pause but continuing, voice growing softer. Lower. Reverent. “Tried to picture you instead. How you’d look under me, wrapped around me. So goddamn beautiful.” His voice cracks. “But it wasn’t you. And I know it was wrong, but I couldn’t help it.”

He stumbles over his words, afraid of saying too much, of pushing too far, or admitting too much - but it doesn’t stop hurting.

Even if you know it might not be fair.

But the thought of him with them, the thought of his hands gripping someone else’s skin, his lips murmuring something soft against someone else’s throat - it makes you sick.

And he sees it.

You try to blink back another wave of tears.

His hands are on your face again, thumbs swiping furiously at your damp cheeks like he can rub the hurt away.

“Please tell me I didn’t ruin this.” His voice cracks through the words, the panic breaking through. Your silence seems to suffocate him, squeezing his ribs until there is no space left for air.

“I’m so sorry, baby! I wish I could take it all back. I would.” His bottom lip trembles and he bites down on it before continuing. “Tell me I can fix this. There’s gotta be somethin’ I can do. Anything.”

You blink rapidly, vision swimming, breath hiccuping in your throat. You don’t know if there is anything to fix, if there was ever anything there, to begin with, but he is looking at you like there was. Like there is. Like it is still hanging in the air between you, waiting to be caught, waiting to be named.

And you want to catch it. To press it to your heart and cherish it.

But the wounds are fresh. Still bleeding. Still open.

The images you conjured up in your mind, him with all those girls. The sounds of him bringing one after the other home - the routine.

The giggling. The keys. The apartment door. More giggling. His chuckles. The hallway. His bedroom door. The goodbyes. The mornings.

But worst of all is that you can’t even blame him.

Because what was he supposed to do? Wait for something that was never promised? Hold out hope for something that was never offered?

You had no claim on him.

But still, you hate how he tried to fuck you out of his system. Hate that he couldn’t, that he’s standing here now, telling you it was all for nothing, that you were always in his head, in his bones, and that that somehow is supposed to make it better.

You don’t know if it does now. But you hope - you hope so dearly - that it will get better. If he’ll stick with you.

“No more girls.” The words choke out of you, weak and broken, barely a breath. But he jolts like you have screamed them.

“Never,” he breathes immediately, shaking his head as if to get rid of his own images, gripping you tighter, his thumbs pressing into your cheeks, his eyes burning through yours. “No more, baby. No one else. Not ever.”

Your breath catches, body sways.

There is a burn behind your ribs, not quite pain, but not far from it. It is something that pulses in time with your heartbeat. Too quick. Too uneven.

“Only you,” he adds, his forehead dropping to yours, noses brushing, his breath warm against your lips, his hands trembling where they hold you. “It’s only ever been you.”

Heat rises up your throat, something between nausea and electricity, a burst of too much all at once.

“I got a lot to make up for.” His tone is unraveling at the seams. But it sounds firmer now. Convicted. “I know that. I know I- fuck, I screwed this up before I even knew I had a chance. And that’s on me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, because it’s too much - his voice, his touch, the way he is looking at you like you hung the damn moon when you’ve spent years feeling invisible to him in the way that mattered.

“I don’t wanna rush this, alright?”

You blink up at him. Your chest feels stretched too tight, as if the ribs themselves are holding onto something they shouldn’t, something too large, something too consuming.

“I don’t wanna mess this up more than I already have. I don’t wanna push or expect anythin’ from you - I just wanna do this right. For you.” His voice wavers on the last word, still scared of saying the wrong thing, scared of losing something he only just realized he had. “You understand me?”

You nod wordlessly. Almost feeling hypnotized by him. His eyes are so intense. So full.

“I’ve been waitin’ for this, hopin’ for this - Christ, I don’t even know how long.”

Your stomach flips, something curling in your stomach at the heaviness of his confession, at the realization that you weren’t alone in this. Maybe never have been.

“And now that it’s happenin’ - now that I have you, even if I don’t deserve it - I wanna take my time. I wanna make this good for you. Have to. I have to make this right,” he says, voice filled with something gravelly, rough like something barely holding together.

His fingers slide over your jaw, tracing along the column of your throat, memorizing the feel of you beneath his hands.

“And I hate-” his voice falters, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before he forces himself to look at you again. “I hate that it’s happening like this. That I hurt you first. That I didn’t see this sooner.”

“Bucky-”

He cuts you off with his eyes and a shake of his head.

“Please I- I gotta do this. Gotta say this, baby.”

You nod.

He closes his eyes again for a moment like he wants to go back and shake his past self by the shoulders, tell him to wake the hell up and stop hurting the one girl he ever cared about.

He continues, voice hoarse. “I would do anything to make this different. Better. The way you deserve.”

Your breath is shallow, not quite catching, but hovering just short of where it should be, as if your body can’t decide whether to brace itself for collapse.

You’ve spent so long breaking for him, wanting him in ways he never seemed to want you back. But now he is pouring his heart out and asking for something he already has but isn’t sure he is worthy of.

“You don’t gotta say anythin’ right now, doll,” Bucky whispers. Afraid of scaring you off. “I know I shoulda told you sooner.” He grimaces, disgusted with himself. “I shoulda known sooner. I was so fuckin’ stupid. So fuckin’ blind.”

You don’t even notice you started leaning further into him.

Bucky stares at you for a moment. You look back.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says quietly. Whispers really. He exhales shakily and you feel the breath fan along your cheeks. “But I swear to God, I will.”

You don’t weigh the hurt against the want, don’t let the war in your head talk you out of your next move.

Your hands reach up, curling into the fabric of his shirt and before he can say anything else - before he can tear himself apart further - you kiss him.

And for a split second, Bucky freezes.

Not believing this is happening, not expecting it even after everything he just told you.

But then, he exhales this soft and quivering breath against your lips, relief knocking the air out of his lungs.

One hand flies to your waist, pulling you in, the other threading into your hair. He kisses you back like he is starving, like he has been dying for this, like he can’t believe you are real and this moment is something he’s imagined a thousand times but never thought he’d get to have.

And he is so warm. So solid. His lips move against yours, soft and slow at first - savoring you, afraid to go too fast, to push too much. But when you let out a little sigh and your fingers tighten, Bucky melts, pressing in closer, enveloping you in his arms in a way that has you feeling he tries to make sure you never go anywhere else again.

He breathes you in like you are something holy, tilting your head and deepening the kiss. He is not forceful. He takes what he can get and he cherishes it. Like he said, he wants to take his time with you. It makes you fall in love with him even more.

It’s like he can’t believe you are even letting him have this. But he kisses you with a hope and a determination that this will not be the only time he gets to have this.

And when you pull back again, he rests his forehead against yours once more. You feel the way his chest rises and falls against your own, the way his breath shakes, the way his grip does not loosen at all.

“Jesus, doll,” he rasps, panting. “You tryna kill me?”

And the way he says it, the way he looks at you, so full of longing and desire and relief makes you realize that maybe he’s been suffering just as much as you have.

“I want you. It’s as simple as that. I’ve spent a great deal too much of my life already trying to convince myself that I can make do with less but I can’t. You hear me? I’m done. I’m not giving up. A life without you is not enough.”

- Beau Taplin

[marvelstoriesepic]

Ahh thank you so much!! This is so lovely. I'm so glad you enjoyed it. I do talk like that too omg 🥺 And it makes me happy that it resonated with you that way 🩷

[whimsifae]

the most fun a girl can have is finding parallels, noticing patterns, making connections, contemplating

[gredta]

[breadbank-deactivated20240125]

[princess-okkotsu-deactivated202]

I needed that second pic