#>> have in your head when something is wrong

[mooningningg]

notes, thank you lovely anon for requesting this.

★ Roommate!Sukuna when an argument goes too far.

It started small, like it always did.

A stupid comment. A little snap. Something about the laundry or the dishes or that damn towel he always left on the floor. And like always, Sukuna didn’t take it well.

“You wanna bitch at me about a towel right now?” he scoffed from the kitchen, arms crossed, half shirtless, steam from his ramen curling around him. “Of all the shit I do around here, it’s the fucking towel that sets you off?”

“You don’t do anything around here,” you said, voice sharp. “You leave a mess, you ignore me, and when I ask you to do the bare minimum—”

“Oh, fuck off,” he cut in, slamming the counter with the heel of his hand. “Don’t start with that martyr crap again. You wanna live with someone perfect? Go move in with one of those boring-ass guys you keep flirting with.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Is that what this is about?”

He barked a bitter laugh. “No. It’s about how you act like I’m some fucking inconvenience in your life. You think I want to tiptoe around your moods every goddamn day?”

“I tell you how I feel and you call it a mood?”

“I call it what it is.”

Your heart clenched — hard. You shook your head, lips trembling. “You know what, forget it. This isn’t working anymore. I can’t keep doing this with you.”

He didn’t flinch. “Then don’t.”

The silence that followed was louder than any slam of a door. Your breath caught in your throat, chest tight.

“I’m staying at Shoko’s tonight,” you said quietly, voice already cracking.

He rolled his eyes, leaning back against the counter. “Yeah, run away. Real mature.”

You looked at him then — really looked — and something in your face must’ve shifted. Because his arrogance cracked just slightly.

But you still turned.

Still walked toward the door.

And just before you could open it—

“Oh come on, don’t start crying now,” he snapped. “You dish it out, but when someone gives it back—”

You turned around with tears spilling down your cheeks.

The words landed hard.

You opened your mouth — then shut it again.

It was like your lungs stopped working. Like everything in your chest just... gave out.

Sukuna watched your face change, and instantly, instantly, something shifted in him. Like a violent crash hitting the wrong building.

“Wait—shit,” he muttered, stepping forward, voice lower now. “Don’t—”

But you were already turning away.

Already wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand.

Already moving toward the door with keys in your hand and your entire body shaking.

That’s when it hit him.

Hard.

“No,” he said quickly, grabbing your wrist — not tight, just urgent. “Hey—no. Don’t. You don’t have to—”

You wrenched free, not cruelly, but enough.

“I’m not doing this anymore,” you said. “You say the nastiest shit just to win.”

“I didn’t mean it!” he shouted, desperation rising. “I just—fuck, I don’t know. You know I don’t think that. I was pissed, I was—fuck.”

You reached for the doorknob.

“Don’t walk out,” he said, voice cracking. “Please.”

You turned, finally — cheeks wet, eyes shining.

“Why not?” you whispered. “You don’t even like me half the time.”

He went still.

Everything about him looked like it hurt — like he’d rather take a blade to the gut than hear that again.

“I’m not good with words. You know that,” he continued, stepping closer. “But seeing you cry? It’s like… like someone scraped me hollow.”

You blinked hard, holding back more tears.

“I’d rather set this whole building on fire than see that again,” he said. “So yeah. I’ll shut the fuck up. I’ll take it all back. You win. Just… don’t cry like that again. Not because of me.”

And when you didn’t move — when you stood there, lip trembling, still too hurt to fall into his arms — Sukuna broke the final wall.

He dropped to his knees, forehead pressed against your stomach, arms wrapping around your waist like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled against your shirt. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby.”

For once, he said it like he meant it.

For once, you believed it.

Taglist, @humeysaga @williamafton26 @aranisbaee @probablynotleahhhh @probablynotleahhhh. @beaniesayshi @levifiance @rinofcike @fushiguroooozzz @gojoscumslut @bellsoftheball @kunascutie.

[yan-randomfandom]

Heyyy! I was wondering if you could do yandere saja boys x reader where the reader hangs out with a guy and they get very jealous

Yandere!Saja Boys x GN!Reader

a/n; the day im satisfied with writing a yan!saja boys and/or yan!huntrix one shot is the day i'll retire because this is still lacking 💔

warnings; uncomfortable, stalking, possessive behavior, more spotlight on Abby! no Jinu here, sry!

— 🌇

That's weird.

You're not anywhere in your house. You haven't responded to their messages yet.

"Think they finally had enough of us?" Baby mutters, looking through your snack drawer—nothing of interest—before closing it harsher than intended. The loud bang echoes in the empty kitchen.

Abby narrows his eyes as he looks through the window. The sun is going to set soon. "That can't be right. Maybe they went to buy something."

"Without telling us?" Mystery growls, his fingers fidgeting together. Well, it's not like you need to tell them every action you'll do. He's not even sure himself why he's so irritated.

After all, they were already planning to take your soul after the whole thing is over. But now that he's thinking of it again, the idea doesn't feel so good anymore...

The front door suddenly squeals open. All of them turn, expecting you, but instead meet Romance's face.

"Don't look so disappointed," Romance scoffs with an eyebrow raise. "I found the human. Come on."

— 🫧

First, they felt relief, then anger, then sadness, then nothing.

They found you alone, as Romance said you were, but then you started laughing. Your gentle laughter stopped them from getting any closer. A smile curls on your lips as your eyes consistently follow something.

"What?" Romance mutters, confusion scrunching his face. They can't see well from this angle—but they can't move either without being seen.

"I told you it's slippery," you snicker, walking over and extending your hand. Ah. So you weren't alone. "Come on. I'll help you up, I guess."

"Thanks," a voice replies, matching your energy, causing all of the boys to glance at each other. They watch as a hand takes yours. "I guess."

The person gets up—a man. Not a demon, but a human. Standing too close to you and still holding your hand. Or maybe it was just a normal distance, and time felt like forever watching you touch that thing—but, oh, Gwi-Ma. They feel like boiling their human forms.

You finally let go of him, using your hand to fish your phone out of your pocket. A frown snakes across your lips after a while. "Oh, no."

"Oh no?" your friend asks, tilting his head. "Is something wrong?"

You begin chewing your bottom lip, looking around. "No, uh, not really. But I have to go now. Nice catching up with you, man!"

"Aw, really?" he says, glancing at his phone. "Oh. It is pretty late. Isn't your apartment like right over there? I can—"

"There you are!"

You and your friend turn your heads, both of your eyes widening for entirely different reasons.

Abby approaches you with a charming smile, settling an arm over your shoulders. He hums as he takes a good, innocent look at your companion. "Who's this?"

"Saja— Abs—Abby? From Saja Boys?! Uh, I mean— Hi! So nice to meet you!" An unexpected blush blooms over your friend's face. He glances at you with nervousness and fascination before bowing his head.

Your friend shows off a crooked grin. He's a big fan already; he told you moments ago how he had Soda Pop on loop. You huff and remove Abby's arm from your shoulder, barely able to hold your flinch at the way he looked offended.

You gaze at Abby in anticipation.

Abby immediately gets the hint and masks himself. "Oh, a fan! Thank you for your support!"

They took a picture, Abby did his autograph, all the while giving him fanservice with his abs. Your friend giggles cheerfully as they shake their hands goodbye. You didn't miss the way Abby wiped his hand on his shirt when your friend wasn't looking.

"Take care!" you call to him, waving a hand before turning to a blank-faced Abby.

He stares at you humorlessly.

You blink, avoiding his eyes. "Uh, hey. Sorry about... not replying. I ran out of—"

Abby chuckles, smiles like he wasn't just judging your entire being, and shakes his head. He returns to draping his arm around your shoulder protectively. "No need to explain. We're glad you're safe. Let's go home."

Your brows furrow as Abby guides your walk. We're? We?

It's an obvious thing that once a member is involved, all of them are. Just... where are the others? Abby is the only one here.

You stray your eyes, landing on a window.

In the dim reflection, three pairs of glowing, golden eyes point at you in the distance. Ah. There they are. Watching, waiting.

Ugh. You look away. Jinu's never this level of creepy. He's not present again, as always.

You don't notice Abby nodding his head curtly next to you.

— need .. need to include more horrors..... ngl I'm stuck between funny or horrific yan!saja boys ,,

— also if you're wondering why Jinu isn't here, I just prefer not to include him in general! yeah my bad, in my other fics he's just kinda hanging around

— why's it so hard for me to write yandere (says the yandere blog)

[yunalinwrites]

one of my fav kdramas (called youre beautiful) is abt a girl joining a boy band and pretending to be a boy ohshc style except her fellow members dont know and she has to somehow live with them while hiding it 😭 it's so wattpad i love

so imagine being fem!reader sharing a dorm with the saja boys while trying not to get found out

of course u cant hide forever tho so this is how i think you'd get found out and how they'd react:

❓ mystery knew from the start. you didnt realize he was scrutinizing you so closely bc of them fuck ass bangs but from the day you met he could tell just by looking at you. but, much like he does about everything, he kept quiet because he didnt want to freak you out. he found it cute though, every time you'd slip up and get all flustered trying to cover up why you were staring at the dresses at the mall or why you were caught buying pads. so, he'd just smile, pat your head, and calmly help you make excuses. if you walk into the wrong room at the wrong time he'll quietly direct you to a gender neutral bathroom or drape a towel over your eyes whenever the guys got too... carefree in the locker room. lowk helps you hide it from the other members bc he likes it being his little secret

🍼 baby also found out pretty early but also like not really? he walked in on you in the bathroom once and was like "mb" and then he thought about it and was like "wait a sec..." but then he just shrugged it off. and since then for a while in the back of his head he would catch the way you walk or the way you sit or the way your eyelashes look against your cheek and for a split second would think like "is he a chick?" but he never really came to a conclusion bc he just dont gaf. dude or not he treats you pretty much the same. once everyone else starts figuring it out tho thats when he starts acknowledging it. now that everyone else seems to treat you differently as a girl, he starts questioning how to feel or act around you...

💪 abby started rough housing with the other boys and tried to pull you in. lifted you up and not only were you lighter than he expected, your bodies were right up against each other. you did your best to bind your tits down but when you were chest to chest like this it was still noticeable. he awkwardly puts you down and scratches the back of his neck, mumbling an apology. for the next few days his brain is fried thinking about it. he never verbally acknowledges it but he starts being super gentle around you and treating you like you're fragile. feels the need to protect you physically, even if its against the other boys. always keeping watch to make sure they're gentle with you as well.

✨ jinu overhears you out yourself on the phone somehow and is so mad and so flustered at the same time. he's afraid you're going to be a liability if the fans find out and its gonna be a pain to hide but behind all that anger he's just scared of women fr. blushes every time he remembers you're a girl. every time you end up together alone in the living room or catch each other in the hallway, brushing each others shoulders in the slightest, he turns bright red and freaks tf out. somehow though he finds it easier to connect with you emotionally as a girl. with other guys it sometimes feels weird to be vulnerable, but you don't seem to have that shame at all. he admires it. gwi ma probably forced you into this situation so he empathizes with you.

🫶 romance liked to ask you all the time about your love life. asking what your type is, ideal date, dream wedding, do you want kids, etc. you figured it would be safest to just pretend you were a straight dude who liked girls. he wouldnt have cared though. he was starting to feel a little something for you even before you revealed yourself as a girl but refrained from going down that route to stay professional. but when you do reveal yourself as a girl it starts to get even harder to keep that boundary.

🥤 overall once they figure it out none of them tell each other or really say it aloud bc of the implications it has. but they all show it through actions like making sure you're fed and hydrated, letting you use the shower first, asking you if you need a break during rehearsal, etc. but trust, once they all start offering to help you at the same time--like all of them reaching to lend you their marker during fan signings when yours goes dry or surrounding you with 5 different choices of hoodie when you mention you're cold--they start getting real jealous and possessive real soon; they all want to be the one and only you rely on.

eventually though when they all reveal that they all know and everyone's on the same page, they start working together to protect you. all 5 of them wrapped around ur finger 😋 but still fighting for your attention

a/n: ugh i wish i had time/energy to do this properly along w all my other fics for kpdh (this movie has taken over my life) but idk i prob wont LOLL if anyone else wants to build off of this plz go ahead and tag me

UPDATE !!! PROLOGUE OUT NOW 🤑

also masterlist

[inkskinned]

i'm still trying to piece together the truth of it. when you left, you said: feel free to spin this narrative however you want. i have no idea if you were being cruel or if you just genuinely don't remember what you've done to me.

it's hard because i'd done so much of the work for you. i had seen the parts that flaked off, the rust underneath. i started separating you into two people - the one i loved, and the one who hurt me. i had this fantasy version of you - my partner - and then i had this stranger, a third person who would show up randomly to shatter me. i am deliriously glad i'm no longer with "the stranger". i miss the gentle (unreal?) "other" you terribly.

at first, i was so strict about my boundaries. i remember telling you to get the fuck out of my house if you were going to talk to me like that. by the end: i would justify your behavior for you, accepting even your mistreatment as "my fault" in the grand scheme. i look back on the person i was before you - smart, independent, confident - and i feel a strange sense of detachment. i don't even recognize me.

even in one of our last conversations, you said: if you want a partner that always talks warmly to you, find someone else. there was a time that a comment like that would have made me leave. and instead, somehow, i just placidly accepted that kind of thing. you were literally telling me that i wasn't allowed to have a reaction to your cruelty - and i just took it, because you'd so fully turned things around on me.

when people are faced with irrationality, a rational brain tries to make sense of it. this is the trap. they're lovely in the morning, gentle and blue-eyed and sweet. like nothing even happened, they breeze around the house and kiss you on the mouth. but at night; who is that? they snap almost randomly; flying into an impotent rage about just-about-anything. it just doesn't make sense. so the problem must be me, and my brain, and how i think.

the traumatized brain just wants peace. so maybe i'm misremembering. maybe you were just having a bad day. maybe it's actually me.

you eventually would fully turn on me and start implying that i am the bad actor in our relationship. that's what happens, right? that's literally in the playbook. you went to therapy for all of a month, told her a half-truth, co-opted therapyspeak. you figured out how to reframe your actions as "seeking peace." any time i stood my ground, i was "gaslighting." when i asked you to be more gentle, you said i was "tone policing." you said, randomly, i had emotionally manipulated you - i still have no idea what that's even specifically referring to. maybe my consistent requests for calmness and empathy?

and while i literally know better, and i'm sitting here, trained by you, thinking: wait, fuck. was i actually the person you made me out to be?

and the thing that scares me is that i literally do not know if you ever actually saw what you were doing to me. when you'd tell me how you remember arguments, you'd always summarize them in a way where you come off as gentle and easy: "i was trying to set an important boundary." what had actually happened was 15 minutes of you shouting at me i know you did something shady, just admit it already. eventually you'd say my reaction to your shouting (when i finally reacted, which usually happened around hour three) was inevitably "disappointing" and "another way i'm silencing your feelings."

how many times did i ask you - beg you - to just take accountability? looking back, i don't think i ever heard you say: you're right. the way i talked to you was wrong of me.

i am trying to tie together the two people into a full version of you in my head. yes, you made my coffee and made me laugh and spent hours on the phone with me. and yes - you would scream at me until i had to run away and hide behind something.

i wish i did have a narrative i could pull out and shape to my whim. i wish i did have some semblance of reality. instead i just stand here, strange and vibrating, wondering: what the fuck just happened?

[rosemaryhoney27]

Death and Taxes

Title: Death, Taxes, and the Fenton Exception

Gotham was a city used to chaos—supervillains, vigilantes, the occasional alien invasion. But for one day a year, fear reigned over even the most hardened criminals. That day was April 15th—Tax Day.

And there was one man who became a model citizen exactly once a year: The Joker.

“Oh, you can gas the mayor, blow up the zoo, or replace the city's water supply with lime gelatin,” the Joker once told Harley, lovingly licking a stamp. “But you do not mess with the Internal Revenue Service.”

Danny Fenton didn’t get it.

“Why is everyone so freaked out about taxes?” he asked, lazily floating upside-down in the Batcave, sipping a soda. “It’s not like they’re gonna send hitmen after you or something.”

Jason, perched on the edge of the Batcomputer, stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “They literally will, Danny. That’s exactly what they do.”

Bruce, arms crossed and trying to make sense of Danny's W-2s—which were somehow written on ectoplasm paper thank you ghost writer and referenced “liminal hazard bonuses”—grunted. “Everyone pays taxes. Everyone.”

Danny shrugged. “Not me.”

Tim looked up from his tablet, eyebrows slowly rising. “What do you mean, not you?”

“I mean,” Danny said, setting his soda down with a slight fizz of anti-gravity, “the Fentons don’t pay taxes.”

“…You’re evading federal law?” Damian asked flatly, already reaching for the Bat-phone. “Father, allow me to call the IRS.”

“No no no,” Danny said, raising his hands. “We’re not allowed to pay taxes.”

Silence.

“What.”

It took less than twenty minutes for Oracle to hack the federal database and confirm the impossible.

The Fenton family has not paid a single tax in six generations.

There was a note on their file. A glowing, pulsing, red note—signed and sealed by multiple high-ranking officials and stamped with a Department of Defense warning tag. It read:

FENTON EXCEPTION ACT - CLASSIFIED DO NOT ENGAGE. DO NOT CONTACT. DO NOT AUDIT. THEY ARE TO BE LEFT ALONE. [Subnote: In the event of unsolicited contact, consider immediate relocation and witness protection.]

“Why?” Dick finally asked, trying not to sound hysterical. “Why in the actual haunted tax-code hell are they exempt?”

“I dunno,” Danny said. “Mom said something about Great-Grandpa Jack accidentally collapsing a dimension when he filed with the wrong form. The IRS has left us alone ever since.”

“What form?” Bruce demanded, looking more distressed than he had when Gotham was overrun by Fear Toxin.

Danny scratched his head. “I think it was called... uh... Form 66-Ectoplasm-B? Or maybe that was the one that summoned a wraith accountant? Oh, wait—that was Grandma Fenton…”

Meanwhile…

At an undisclosed IRS location deep under D.C., in a steel bunker reinforced with both magic and nuclear shielding, a red light began to blink.

The agents in the room froze.

“Is that…?” one whispered.

“Fenton ping. But it’s passive. Someone looked them up.”

The lead agent, an old man with a cybernetic eye and an exorcism tattoo burned into his hand, swore under his breath and lit a cigar with trembling fingers.

“God help them. Someone in Gotham must’ve tripped the file.”

Back in Gotham…

The Joker, halfway through filling out his Schedule C, saw the alert pop up on his monitor: Fenton Account Flagged – Gotham Search. He dropped his pen.

“No… No no no no no.”

He reached for his emergency bag: clown nose, fake passport, and a one-way ticket to Fiji.

“Harley!” he screeched. “Pack the hyenas—we’re going off-grid! The Fentons have surfaced!”

That night, Batman received an anonymous, trembling message from the IRS:

“Please, for the love of all that is holy, tell your newest ward to never attempt to file a tax return. We still haven’t recovered from the last time. The Department of Dimensional Finance sends its regards.”

Bruce turned to Danny. “What did your family do?”

Danny shrugged. “I mean, one of our fridge magnets is a minor god of debt collection, so maybe that’s part of it?”

Bruce just groaned and added “Fenton Family Finances” to the Batcomputer’s Top Threats—right between “Joker’s Laughing Gas Variants” and “Demon-Summoning TikTok Teens.”

And so, the truth became legend in Gotham:

There are two things certain in life—Death and Taxes.

Unless you’re a Fenton.

Then even the IRS fears you.

[nudibro]

LOVE YOUR ART SM

Had a silly thought, do Narinder's whiskers ever fall off? Does the Lamb stick em on his head like they're antenas like ppl luv doin' on tiktok lmao??

mmmmyeah :D After finding that out, they have been collecting his whiskers to put them in a tiny vase. Nari later on would add any stray whisker he'd find when Lamb wasn't looking.

ID text above and below as always. :)

[ID: A six page fan-comic of The Lamb and Narinder from the game Cult of the Lamb. Image 1: The Lamb is seen folding laundry before something catches their eye. They gasp in shock as they look down at Narinder's whisker. Image 2: They pick up the whisker with a joyful expression on their face. "Nari's whisker! I didn't think his were able to detach like this! I gotta start a collection." The Lamb then cuts themselves off, a lightbulb floats in front of them as they think of an idea. Then they look to the side, grazing Narinder's whisker on top of their nose as they smile big and say, "or." Image 3: Somewhere else, Narinder is seen in front of a tree whittling. His face is expressionless and content. The Lamb speaks to him off screen, "Narinder, do you have a moment?" He growls angrily and snaps his wooden project in half. He then points his whittling knife at them with his eyebrow raised. "Why do you haunt me with your presence today, Lamb? Image 4: The Lamb grins with their eyes squinted, looking up at him. "Oh I just wanted to see you. Nothing crazy." Narinder stares at the Lamb with sharp cat eyes before taking a step back. "That face. Why are you making that face?" He squints at them as he holds up his whittling knife. The Lamb tells him to "Stay still" before Narinder cuts them off saying, "Back demon!". Image 5: The Lamb places Narinder's whisker on top of his head while saying "Bloop!" The sudden gesture makes him flinch and tense up before he looks up at his detached whisker now on his head. The Lamb begins to hold back their laughter before asking, "What's wrong? You should keep the look!" And then nudges him. Narinder is silent as he grips onto his whittling knife while glaring at them. Image 6: Narinder fully turns his head towards the Lamb and grits his teeth, holding his knife up higher as he grumbles, "I hate you." The Lamb has tears in their eyes as they let out a long wheeze. End ID.]

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine being Zayne’s non-mc significant other. Red String of Fate AU

Imagine being born with the ability to see the red strings of fate. The ones that tied people together. Lovers, soulmates, the people meant to find each other.

Imagine some were strong. Some were gentle. Some were ugly and sharp. And you... you could cut them. Not to play with people's lives, but to help. You only ever cut the ones that hurt. Obsession, possession and the pain pretending to be love.

Imagine never once had a string pointed at you. Never. Not once.

but Imagine you tried to love anyway. Quiet, careful tries. But each time, they were already tied to someone else. So you let them go. You always let them go. You told yourself it was enough to help others. That not everyone gets a string. That maybe you weren't meant to belong.

Imagine then came Zayne. He didn't have a string at all. Nothing pulling him toward anyone. Not even the hint of one waiting to appear. Just stillness.

Imagine the way he looks at you was like you weren't anything. Like you weren't broken or forgotten. You didn't fall fast. You didn't rush. You built something slow and steady. And for the first time, you wondered if maybe love didn't need fate. Maybe it just needed someone to stay.

Imagine he knew what you could do. What you could see. So one night while you were sitting beside him, your head on his shoulder, he asked gently.

"If I ever get a string and it's not for you. I want you to cut it." You hesitated. Just for a second. "Alright." And he nodded. He trusted you.

Imagine weeks have passed then months. Still no string. Still just the two of you. Happy in the quiet way. The kind of happy that doesn’t shout or shine. It just lives in the little things. His sleepy voice in the morning. Your laughter when he made tea wrong again it was super sweet like what in world-. His hand finding yours under the table. Yours holding on, always. Until tonight.

Imagine you were visiting him at the hospital. The two of you were heading to a restaurant after his shift when you saw him come out. And there you saw it. A faint glow. Scarlet and soft. Spinning from his ring finger like a whisper, like a promise. And it wasn't pointing at you.

Imagine it heads down the hall. Past the sterilized white walls of the hospital. To Room 212.

Imagine you have seen her before. A patient. Someone Zayne has cared for, carefully, gently. A kind girl with a tired laugh and too many paper cranes tucked under her pillow. You never sensed anything romantic. You never even worried. But the string doesn't lie.

and Imagine its there now. Shimmering. Real. And for the first time in your life, your heart aches not just for someone else but for you.

Imagine, strange enough. Your heart didn't drop. It didn't crash. It just stilled. Like everything inside you went quiet at once. And you stood there staring at the string that wasn't yours.

Imagine the way he saw your face change. He stepped closer. His voice softened. As if he was trying to figure out what's wrong.

"What's wrong?" He asked, holding you gently by the arm. "Nothing." You smile at him. He did not buy it. "Did it happen?" He asked. "Do I have a string?"

Imagine the way you looked at him. The man you loved. The man who had been yours. Not because fate said so, but because he chose you. Every day. Again and again. And you said. "No. Not yet."

Imagine you lied. Because if this was fate choosing for him. If this string led him to happiness. You wouldn't take that from him. You loved him too much.

so Imagine you smiled. Let him pull you into his arms. Let him hold you like nothing had changed. You let him, the way he kiss the crown of your head. You savour it.

Imagine you close your eyes. Then you blink. But you could still see the string. Bright. Alive. Stretching toward someone else. And you didn't say a word.

because Imagine, love isn't always holding on. Sometimes, it's letting go quietly. Even when no one sees the breaking. Just loving someone enough to lie, so they never have to feel the weight of goodbye.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

: karma's a bitch cuz I literally was about to passout at the local market. I'm so embarrassed. Thou shall not set foot on the market for at least a month XD

: also if you know my reference for this one and the last one. I see you're a people of culture;)

[yasministration]

snobby slytherin princess - sirius black

summary: there's something about a snobby slytherin princess that sirius black cannot resist. so when you get into an argument with rabastan lestrange and let it slip that sirius black would have a better chance at marrying you, the boy springs into action. wc: 0.8k cw: public argument, pureblood stuff

Behind the perfect poise and manners all of the sacred 28 had been taught lay a beast of impatience and sass, every pureblood child being pushed to their limits. The marauders hadn’t been expecting to watch a showdown between two pureblooded slytherins on their way to the great hall for lunch, the silence between them a tell-tale of how double potions had gone. But their boredom had been noticed by some higher power, and by some miracle, they ended up two mere meters from you as you strode away from the great hall, a very obviously panicked Lestrange following behind you.

He was calling after you, breaking into a run to catch up with your pace as he pleaded “Don't be so stubborn! Can we please just talk!?” All air was sucked out of the hallway as you came to an abrupt halt, right next to the three boys and Lily, spinning around to face Rabastan.

“You want to talk? Okay, talk!”

Rabastan spluttered, at a loss for words. You scoffed, “Or do you just want me to talk so you can figure out what you did wrong and apologise for it?” Sirius made an impressed sound, but Rabastan was so busy trying to climb out of the grave he dug himself that he didn’t even notice. But it was hopeless; he had crossed the line and had veered into the dangerous terrain of your honest opinions.

“Rabastan, I am not marrying you. Go cry to daddy about it. He’ll have another wife lined up for you by tomorrow night.”

If the marauders weren’t already frozen with shock, they would be now. They had matching expressions on their faces, jaws slack, eyes wide. Sirius, as much as he loved listening to pureblood drama, had no idea about your engagement. Or, your arrangement, should he say.

“But I don’t want another wife, I want you.” It was a desperate attempt, but Rabastan trusted his acting skills. Rabastan’s father would kill him if he knew his son’s behaviour drove the perfect suitor away. Luckily for you, you saw right through him.

You doubled over, a loud laugh escape you, eyes still filled with rage. “No, you don’t! Oh my god! I’d have chosen your brother if I knew how disgusting you were!” Rabastan stumbled back from the force of your words, as though you had struck him. His brother? He didn’t know you or your parents had been given options. He thought his parents had decided to guide you towards the better Lestrange brother — him. He didn’t know that his parents wanted you to marry either one of them.

Shit, he really messed up.

Rabastan stepped closer to you, eyes pleading. He didn’t care how much more he humiliated himself in front of his rivals, he just had to avoid humiliating himself in front of his father. “Just give me one chance, just one.” Your eyes followed the movement of his hand, reaching out to hold yours. Laughing uncomfortably, you reached down with your free hand to remove Rabastan’s hold from you.

“You already had one chance. What, did you think this engagement was actually secured?”

Tilting your head to the side, you held Rabastan’s eye contact, as though challenging him to say another word to you. When he said nothing, you nodded, adding as the final straw “Even Black stands a better chance at this point.”

Rabastan laughed coldly, his innocent front now forgotten as he said “Yeah, Regulus two years younger stands a better chance. Sure.” You smiled sweetly at Rabastan, shaking your head. “No, Rab. Not Regulus.”

You heard Rabastan’s breath hitch in an embarrassing gasp as you spun around on your heels and continued down the hall — but not without catching Sirius Black’s eye first. He was fixing his posture, rolling his shoulders back and clearing his throat. He felt his cheeks go hot at your comment, head turning to follow your disappearing figure.

“Shit, there’s just something I love about a snobby slytherin princess.” His friends’ heads shot towards him, Lily’s face shocked whereas Remus and James both held amused smirks. But just as he stepped aside to follow you down the hallway, two more women made their presences known.

Rabastan turned to face Narcissa and Pandora, throwing his head back as he said “I messed up so bad.” The two women didn’t spare him another glance as they strutted past him. “Yes, you did Lestrange.” Narcissa called out, quickly followed by Pandora’s comment of “And daddy won’t get you a new wife with that attitude!”

“Cissy, you think I can bag her?” Yelled Sirius to his cousin, who very briefly turned her attention to him, shrugging her shoulders. “You know she does quite like a rebel.”

And then, “Not a disrespectful scumbag, Rabastan.”

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @amatoanima, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @superlegend216, @treefairy-28, @kitkatkl, @rory-cakes, @juliet-f017, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin, @why-am-i-like-this18, @theoraekenslover, @animalcrossingshameless, @azure-drag0ness, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @matcha-kitty13, @thenasoneshots, @cakiebleh, @slytherin-princess-x, @daydreamandforget, @bxuzi, @dlljdhsh, @5sospenguinqueen, @aouoo, @spider-girl , @fandomhoe101, @user010380, @simp-for-fiction, @selenewowww, @paytonluvxx

[darkbluekies]

Countryside getaway

Yandere!mafia oc x reader

Summary: Silas has decided that the two of you should spend some time together, far away from his world, and you get to experience each other's real sides. No fear, no worries.

Warnings: mentions of crimes, mentions of murder, Silas dirty minded humor, but overall a softer oneshot

Word count: 2.3k

No one knows where you're going. Not even you. He has one hand on the steeringwheel, the other one holds your thigh. 

He's wearing a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the tattoos on his arms.

“Keep your eyes on the road, map reader, or we'll never get there”, Silas says, giving you a teasing look.

“You have a GPS”, you mutter and turn your head more comfortably against the pillow.

“My GPS does not have your voice.”

“I don't even know where we're going.”

“You don't have to. Just read the directions.”

“How much further do we have to go? We've been sitting here for hours …”

“I did not know I had brought a child with me. I've planned something romantic and you're just complaining.” He caresses your thigh with his thumb, chuckling. “One more hour, little thing. That good enough for you?”

You groan and hide your face in the pillow and he laughs. He's different like this, when he's not surrounded by his men. When he's not in that space. Here, in his sports car with just the two of you, he's different. Softer. Human. It loosens your walls too.

“So whiny”, he chuckles. “Slept bad?”

“Don't kid”, you mutter and make yourself comfortable against the pillow again.

“Maybe we both need this. I need a break and you need to be able to sleep. Can't do that at home, can you?”

No, you can't. Not when he comes home in the middle of the night, bloody and roughed up. At home, you wake to every little sound with your heart beating in your chest.

“You know”, Silas starts, “its important to do this. To get away. Especially in my industry. Otherwise you get consumed.”

“Will SIC be able to handle things?”

“He has no choice.”

“Are you really okay to go by yourself? You’re recognizable.”

“Darling, they can't do anything. Thankfully, the law is strict and as long as there is no evidence connecting me to something they can't actually take me. They can suspect me, but never catch me. I'm fine.” He smirks, glancing at you. “Why? You're worried?”

You give him a glare and turn your head out the window.

“I'll break that facade down, Y/N”, he smiles and leans back in his seat. “We have four days all to ourselves. And I'll make the most of it.” His smirk deepens. “With no one around … I can take you just however I want to, whenever. And if I'm not wrong, SIC said that the house is remote. You can be as loud as you want.”

You slap his shoulder.

“Ouch, I'm driving here”, he chuckles. “Mind your hands?”

“Focus on your driving then.”

“How can I when you're sitting right here?”

His free hand on your thigh squeezes ever so slightly. You stare at him, contemplating opening the door and throwing yourself out on the highway.

The car has since long ago pulled in on a gravel road with no cars. Red flowers cover the fields around you, and for a second you're sure he has orchestrated it. 

The house is smaller than Silas's house back in the city, less modern. 

“Jump out, little thing”, he says as he unbuckles himself. “We're here.”

You stretch, legs wobbly from hours of sitting down. Silas unlocks the trunk and carries your bags inside. You stand in the middle of the gravel driveway, looking around and listening to the absolute lack of noise.

“Are you coming or what?” Silas asks from the front door. “Don't be slow or I'll carry you too. No gentler than these bags.”

You hurry after him. He smirks.

It's not hard finding the bedroom. A note lay in the bedding. Silas picks it up and scoffs at the familiar handwriting.

“Be nice to the bed, it's old, you break if you pay for it — SIC.”

“That son of a bitch”, Silas chuckles and turns to you, showing the note. “Seems like he read my mind.”

“You are kind of predictable”, you say.

Silas starts to walk towards you, backing you up against the nearest wall, wearing a soft smirk. “Me? Predictable? If I was predictable I wouldn't be a crime organization leader, my dumb little Y/N.”

You shrug. “I’m just saying.”

“Yeah, you’re good at saying things.” His hand sneaks up to your jaw. “How about you put your poor mouth to other uses for once? I know a pair of lips that would die to meet them.”

His cheesiness makes you scoff out a small smile, enough for him to close the distance. Ever since you’ve forced him to start using lip balm, his mouth is soft when it moves against yours. You sigh out and he swallows the sound in a greedy inhale. He holds you close, one hand on your back, the other on your jaw. 

“Silas, you’ll bruise my lips”, you chuckle and try to turn your head away. 

“Let me”, he breathes and directs you right back to his mouth. 

And he does. He doesn’t half-ass things. He pulls back with proudness in his eyes. 

“Let’s go shopping now.”

“Shopping?”

“We need food. Can’t just live off each other, unfortunately.”

He grabs your hand and leads you back out to the black sports car and you’re once again put on map reader duty to find the nearest grocery store. You can’t remember the last time you’ve actually grocery shopped with him. Normally, he sends out someone to buy things, and if he can’t trust anyone, he sends SIC. Just because Silas can’t be arrested, doesn’t mean he’s a hundred percent safe. 

“Alright”, he mutters and grabs a cart. “Let’s pretend to be a normal couple.”

You can’t help but chuckle and he gives you a quick look. 

“Let’s get this shitshow on the road, let’s go”, he mutters and nods at you to follow. “Don’t start running around or I’ll place you in the cart like a three year old. Okay, what do we need?”

“You need steak”, you joke. 

“Damn right I do, but I get my steak from high quality butchers, I’ll get sick if I get it from a grocery store.”

“Aw, is your little tummy sensitive?” you ask, making sure it sounds more like “wittle”.

“Y/N, I’m warning you.”

His warning isn’t serious. Not now. Not like this. It only maks you smile. 

“Are you going to be a brat all vacation just because you think I won’t do anything?” Silas asks behind you, pushing the cart into your back. “I did tell you we are remote, didn’t I?”

“Don't touch me or I'll scream.”

“Oh, you'll scream alright.”

“Silas!”

He chuckles, eyes softening. “I couldn't help it. You played that into my hands a bit too good to pass up on.”

“You’re so childish. Maybe you should tone it down on the threatening part if you don’t want more people staring at you. You don’t need to give them a reason to recognise you.”

Silas scoffs, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. He enjoys this side of you way too much. He can only enjoy it in situations like this, far away from his world. When you're not scared of him.

“What's the budget?” you ask him.

“What?” 

“The budget? You said to pretend to be a normal couple. Normal couples don't have your credit card.”

Silas groans audibly.

“I'm not compromising my money”, he says. “Stop messing around, grab what you want.”

You handle the actual shopping part while he pushes the cart behind you. People glance at him, if not for recognising him, then for his tattoos, but he pretends to be unaware. 

“Little thing.”

“Hm?”

“Grab those.”

You follow where he nods. Chips. They fall into the cart. So do a lot of other things Silas usually doesn't buy.

“Might as well go for it now that SIC can't bully me”, he shrugs. 

The cashier seems to recognise Silas, but she doesn't say anything. Silas is polite and wishes her a good day, as if he wasn't who she thought he was, before turning to you and grabbing the plastic bags.

Back at the house, he puts everything into the fridge and starts to cook right away. 

“You’re not allowed to help”, he says and taps your forehead. “I want to actually eat tonight.”

“I can cook”, you insist. 

“Yeah. Sure. How about you go and set the table while I handle the knives and the stove?”

“Fine.”

You do as you’re told, searching the drawers for cutlery and plates. He glances at you from time to time and can’t help but smile. Maybe this was what he wanted all along? To play family.

“It’s not often we get to do this”, he says as he plates the food. “Domestic things, I mean. Should enjoy it while we can. Oh, I saw a pool out in the backyard, by the way. I think we should try it out after dinner. I brought alcohol from back home.”

“Drinking and swimming doesn’t sound very safe.”

“Then you’ll just have to rescue me. They didn’t teach you life guard duty in swimming class?”

“Yes, but they didn’t prepare me to drag a man that weighs enough to crush a car.”

“So my workouts are working?” His grin widens as he takes a sip of his water. “Thank you, Y/N.”

Conversation die out for a moment, but Silas won’t let the night pass. 

“So?” he says. “Don’t you have something to say?”

“What?” you ask. 

“We don’t often get to just talk. Spew something out. Anything.”

You think for a moment. You usually have a lot of thoughts, but when put on the spot all seem to vanish. 

“I like the food.”

Silas laughs. Actually laughs. You haven’t hard a genuine, carefree laugh from him in a long time. His back eyes curl into half moons. 

“What?” you ask. “What is it?”

“You can say a million things and that’s what you choose to say?” he says. “That the food is good? I didn’t think I cooked that good food, enough for that to be the only thing you think of.”

“You put me on the spot, I just said the first thing that came to mind!”

“Try again, then.”

“Well … I … could really go for some alcohol right now.”

Silas smiles and rises from his chair. He disappears out of the room and returns with two bottles. One brandy, one red wine.

“Okay, your majesty”, he says. “Which fancies your taste buds?”

“Wine, probably. Fits better with dinner. You'll get brandy, I suspect?”

“You know me well.” He opens both bottles and pours. “I'm responsible for you, so it's my duty to make sure you don't get absolutely decked.”

“I thought I was the one that had to make sure you didn't fall face down in the pool?”

“Yeah, but let's be realistic for a second. I can hold my alcohol … you? Please.”

“Rude.”

“It is not rude if I'm stating facts, you just want to deny your incapable alcohol consumption.”

You take a sip of your wine and glare at him.

Silas jokingly suggests you both skinny dip. You shoot down the idea. He's a predator, taking your whole arm if you foolishly give him a finger. You'd like your body working for your getaway.

You're not sure what prompts him, the alcohol or his childishness, to jump into the pool like a bomb. Water splashes everywhere, both on your dry form and your towels, and he breaks the surface with a wide grin. He pushes his black hair back and swims over to the edge. His tattoos warp under the water.

“I’m wet now”, you say in a ‘matter of fact’ tone. 

He looks up at you, squinting one eye full of water shut. “Yeah? Jump in then.”

You decide to get in slowly, but he has other plans. His hand grips your wrist and pulls you into the pool. You yelp, but never have a second to worry about inhaling water, because he holds you.

“So much drama for nothing”, Silas chuckles and wipes water out of your eyes. "I've got you.”

His tattooed arms half hug you, half cradle you as he sways back and forth in the water.

“Today”, you start, hesitant, “when we were at the grocery store, and people looked at you, and what you said before that … I started to think about something just now.”

“What?” he asks softly.

“What do I do if you're taken? Or killed?”

“That will never happen.”

“But what if it does?”

Silas sighs, arms around you tightening slightly.

“If I ever were to never come back home for whatever reasons”, he started slowly, “then SIC would follow the instructions I’ve told him.”

“What are those?”

“To get you far away from everything and everyone and keep you safe. You'd get a cute little house on the coast where you could live peacefully. You'd have my dog, and how many bodyguards it takes to replace me. SIC would be there too. He’d check up on you.”

“That sounds pretty lonely.”

“What? Are you planning to become the Great Gatsby after I disappear?”

He caresses your face with a wet hand.

“I have money put away for you in case anything happens”, he promises and rolls his eyes. “And I might have made a deal with the devil to get you new papers in case something happens.”

“Who?”

“The parasite I'm unfortunately to call brother.”

“Ares?”

“Don't say his name. Let's drop this now. I don't want to think about it. Especially since it won't happen.”

The entire wine bottle is empty once the two of you get out of the pool and head to bed. Silas wears a dark Grey hoodie and sweatpants, insisting you wear comfy clothes too. He thinks it is better for cuddles. You're wrapped in his hoodie covered arms, face pressed to his chest. You'll be damned if you try to get out of his arms any time before morning hours.

Somehow, you wish this little getaway could last forever. Life would be easier that way. Silas sighs out, unbeknownst thinking the exact same thing. 

[lymtw]

hi!! i love your fics theyre highkey my fav rereads🤭idk if youre taking requests but if you were, could you possibly do a hurt/comfort fic with toji and shy reader where shes mad/upset with him? hope youre having a great day btw!

A/N: Five years later... 🫩👍 I'm sorry this took so long. I really, really appreciate your support 🫶 I hope this turned out at least okay, it's been a minute since i've finished any writing 🥲 Anyway, I hope you're having an amazing day :))

Thank you for sending in this request 💙

Toji and His Shy Girl

It's been a week since you and Toji have spoken, not for lack of effort or opportunities, but because the one sided attempts are not corresponded. It's hard to think about him, it's hard to read his words through your screen and see his name flash briefly, before your phone does its job of sending him to voicemail.

'Maybe we shouldn't be together, Toji. If me simply trying to talk to you is such a burden... I don't know if I should keep trying.'

You said this to him a week ago. You clicked the door shut and he sped off in his car, bleary-eyed, brimming with rage and regret the whole way home. He couldn't get the sound of your voice out of his head—the cracks, the occasional sharp inhales that came with your suppressed emotions. Even in the moment, he knew it was so, so wrong for you to be looking the way you did.

The instant he got home, all hell broke loose. His fists were clenched as he treaded towards his bedroom, and as if possessed by the force of a natural disaster, he tore apart his room—demolished it—throwing things blindly, uncaring if they broke beyond repair. The picture he keeps on his nightstand of the two of you was not safe. The encased memory was thrown with all the strength he has, at the wall, the frame instantly falling apart and the glass shattering to pieces.

He couldn't stop, it all hurt so much. His chest burned, his head was pounding, he felt like he couldn't breathe, and once there was nothing left to throw, nothing left to break, he finally broke down—wholly. Harsh, uncontrollable sobs racked his entire body as he sat there in the debris—the aftermath of losing his mind over you. Barely any sound came of it, his voice was shot, courtesy of the tormented screams that accompanied his meltdown.

This all happened a week ago. You won't talk to him and these days have been hell without your company. You won't respond to his good morning messages, and if he asks to meet up, you always have something to do. He calls you whenever he can, but you don't pick up. You're avoiding him like it's your job.

Everything feels pointless without you around, his little sunshine, the reason he wakes up motivated every morning, the light of his life. His routine has been altered in the worst way. It's work, home, work, home, and he absolutely detests it because if it weren't for that damned day, he would be with you, smothering you with the borderline overwhelming love he holds for you, making you laugh and watching you get flustered over the words he whispers in your ear. He wants it back—all of it. He can't let you go, it would break him entirely.

You don't want to let go of this love you have for Toji, either. You miss being in the warmth of his embrace, and you miss the sound of his voice, and the way he calls you 'sweetheart' when you're not focusing on him. You see every single one of the messages he sends you and the phone calls.

Good morning, baby.

Morning, sweetheart. Make sure to eat breakfast and lunch. One meal isn't enough.

Saw those fields of flowers you point at all the time on my way home. I miss you.

Baby, will you talk to me, please?

[Missed Call]

And you cry, because all you want to do is respond to every one of those messages and hear his voice again, but something always stops you. The memory of when he snapped at you. The sound of his voice—cutting and utterly spirit crushing. The furrow of his eyebrows that made you feel like everything you did was wrong. It hurts to think about the whole situation, and all these notifications only serve as reminders. Reminders of the way you immediately wilted when the door shut, chest heaving as you cried your way to bed and then to sleep, wondering what you did to deserve being lashed out at.

You're lying in bed, scrolling through your phone when he calls again. The instant you see his contact picture, your heart plummets to your stomach, but an irrepressible giggle escapes you. The picture on your screen... it's kind of blurry because he was chasing you and you were laughing so hard that you couldn't hold the phone steady, but you love it. You love the man in the picture, you love that he can make you smile through memories, even during tough times.

"Baby?" You hear through the speakers of your phone. A lump immediately forms in your throat and you painfully swallow. "Baby, can you hear me?" He tries again.

"Yeah, I'm here," you respond, quietly.

"Holy fuck, doll. Can I... Are you busy? Are you doing anything right now?"

"No, i'm home," you mumble.

"Can I come see you?"

"Toji..." you start, your tone conveying what you haven't even said yet. Your uncertainty.

"Baby, we have to talk. It's been a week and-- This can't be it. Please, just... just five minutes. Five minutes and i'll go."

You know it won't be five minutes. You can't force a solution out in five minutes—not a sincere one at least. Some part of you is soothed by the sound of his voice, regardless of how frantic and desperate he sounds. That's your love right there, and no matter how much hurt lingers from this whole dilemma, there's nothing you can do about your heart's response to him. So you open a door for him.

"Okay, Toji. I'll be here waiting for you."

"Thank you, pretty girl. I'll be there in a few. Love you."

There's a heavy, tense pause. Neither of you has hung up the phone, because something hasn't been done yet and he knows you know what he wants to hear. It would be enough for him to believe that you haven't forfeited. It would make him feel even the slightest bit of relief if you said those words he's been aching for.

"I love you, too, Toji," you utter, hanging up a couple seconds after.

Toji would be bouncing off the walls if he wasn't in such a hurry to get to you. He's been deprived of any form of love from you for a week and he was starting to go crazy, but hearing you say those words was all he needed for now.

Twenty something minutes later, you get a text from him, letting you know that he's outside. Your heart is in your throat, your stomach keeps flipping, and yet you use all the strength you have to get out of bed to meet him. Though you decide to take your time to get to your front door, you find that you're still there too soon, no time left to mentally prepare yourself for what is about to happen. With a final deep breath, you turn the lock, twist the doorknob, and open the door.

There Toji stands, hand suspended in the air with your spare key pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He steps back instinctively when you step aside from behind the door.

"I uh... I wasn't sure if you'd be okay with me using it, but you were taking a bit, so I thought maybe you'd want me to come in and we can talk inside or... I don't know."

He's rambling, there's a light stubble on his face, he's smiling at you like he always does—like you're his everything. Him being there doesn't actually process in your mind until he speaks up again.

"Hi, baby," he says, softly, observing you like you're some majestic painting hung up in a museum. Your eyes well up and it feels like there's a red-hot metal sphere lodged in your throat. "You're a saint for letting me come here and see you, you know that?"

Out of habit, you nod and mumble out a small, "yeah."

"I'm sorry, doll," he says, reaching for your hands to hold them. He barely manages to grab them, get a feel for your soft skin after so long, before you're pulling them away from him. "No, come on," he pleads, grasping your hands again. "Please? Please, look at me."

"You can't talk to me like that, Toji," you utter, voice unsteady because you're not used to having to stand up for yourself against the one who loves you like it's his life source.

"I know. I know that, baby, and I'm so fucking sorry," he says, nearly tripping over his words. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of the shit I said. I was having a bad day, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I don't know what the hell got into me, but please..." he mumbles, bringing your hands up to his lips, pressing weightless kisses on your fingers and knuckles. "Please, I love you, you have to believe me."

"You said..." you inhale sharply, doing all you can to get through this without choking on your emotions. "...you said you didn't have time to listen to me talk about nonsense, and that you wanted peace and quiet for once. Isn't... Isn't that all you get from me?"

"No tears," he says, warm palms moving up to cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing away the crystals that glide down them. "No tears," he repeats, softer this time. "This is gonna get worked out, my sweet girl. I swear."

"I don't know how you want me to be," you admit, your voice wavering. "And I don't have the ability to read minds. You acted like everything was fine when you texted me, and then when you got here..." You let out a shaky breath, your hold on your emotions slipping. "I don't want to be upset with you, anymore, but i-i'm trying... It's not right."

It's as if someone is jabbing at his chest over and over again, relentlessly, even when his skin starts to bruise and little pinpricks of blood begin to appear. He hates seeing you this way, especially when he knows he's the reason for why you're hurt this bad. He wants it to stop and for this enormous raincloud above both of you to just dissipate.

"Come here," he says, low, almost inaudible. His hands lower, arms making contact with your sides. It's been too long since he's held you, yet, pulling you in feels as natural as breathing.

Your hands come up to rest on his abdomen, keeping him at a distance. It feels unnatural, because you're so used to letting him handle you like you're a stuffed animal, pulling you around when you're adventuring together and picking you up just because he feels like it. Your mind immediately clouds with guilt at your denial of his embrace, you can't even meet his eyes, opting to look down at where your hands are.

"Please don't," he says, his voice so soft that it makes your chest feel tight again. He grabs ahold of your wrists, just to have some sort of contact with you. His grip is almost entirely loose and you're in control, he won't move until you pull your hands away. "I'm not gonna hurt you like that again."

You love him and you know he needs this—holding you in his arms, your confirmation that it's all going to be okay. You've said it before and the words have become one of his greatest comforts. What could be so bad when you tell him that it'll all turn out just fine?

"We've been apart for too long. A week shouldn't have gone by like this... and, fuck, I know it's my fault. I don't blame you for not wanting to see me, but... please, baby." His thumbs brush the insides of your wrists, eyes never leaving the sadness of your face, regardless of whether you look at him or not. He'll take this over not getting to see you at all, any day.

"Sweetheart."

You sniff, unmoving for a few more seconds. Your heartbeat is thrumming wildly in your ears, almost suffocating you with its relentlessness. It's all you hear, words lost in a spiral of ongoing silence. You still don't look at him when you finally pull your hands away, but you can feel his heavy, unwavering attention on you.

You're glad he doesn't wait for you to give him the green light to pull you in, because you have nothing to say at the moment, and it would be another test of patience. Instead, the second your hands are balled up at your sides, he moves at the speed of a lightning strike, your body colliding with his in an almost aggressive manner—there's an audible thump. His body heat mingles with the cologne on his shirt, the smell coiling around you and rushing through your nose with every breath you take. The feeling is familiar—love, safety, comfort—a second home, all wrapped up in your favorite person.

His hands scrunch up the back of your shirt like he's afraid you'll push him away again. "Baby," he mumbles, his voice almost inaudible. "Don't disappear like that again." A soft breath is expelled from his chest, riddled with the genuine fear he felt that he would never get to see you again.

"I know it's unfair of me to say this. I was an asshole and you were hurt, but, doll... I thought you were leaving me." There's a pause. Toji stares at the ground behind you, his hands deepening the creases he made on your shirt due to his unfaltering grip. "I don't want that."

"I'm not," you respond, heart shaking. "That day... it felt like you didn't even want to see me and you only came over because I asked not because you wanted to." The familiar ache in your chest stirs slightly, but you give it your all to get everything out in a steady and clear manner. "You can tell me you're tired, Toji. That you want to rest in the comfort of your own home, and I'll understand. I don't want to be another cause of stress for you."

It pains him to hear that because you're the one who keeps him sane, the one he thinks about when he settles into bed but can't get to sleep, the first person to know that he's still alive in morning, the one who has made him feel so safe, that he feels no shame when he occasionally calls to confirm that he's still loved by you.

"You're not," he simply murmurs. "It's not true."

"You don't have to worry about protecting my feelings."

His arms loosen around you, the back of your shirt wrinkled but freed from his clutches. Your heart is beating too fast, attempting to leave your chest. Now you're standing up straight, doing your best to not avert your gaze from the man before you.

"You're not a burden to me. Okay?" He says, and you want to believe him because of the way he's looking at you, like he's searching your eyes for even the smallest bit of confidence from you about the fact. "Say it."

The words are stuck, it's visible. Your lips twitch, but your voice doesn't progress. You just look at him, feeling the sadness seep into every part of you.

"You're not a burden to me. I need you to get that through your pretty head, right now," he says, only to feel his own heart skip a beat at your reaction.

"Sorry," you mumble, unable to instantly straighten out the curl of your lips.

In this moment, Toji knows that everything is going to be okay. He hasn't heard you laugh in a week, and though it was only a small, congested giggle, he savors it along with your inability to regain your bearing, like it's his last sip of water while he's stranded in the desert.

"Gets you every time, huh?" He says, his own faint smile emerging.

'Right now', a habitual phrase of his that is meant to comfort you. You've told him before that not everything can be fixed or healed in an instant—things don't work that way—but he never backs down. You've translated it into something akin to a bandage—the words are meant to cover you while you take the time to fully and properly heal. The joy you find in hearing them is a small beginning.

"It's funny," you respond, taking in his amused little grin. God, you missed his handsome face and the way he looks at you like everything about you makes perfect sense to him.

"My impatience is funny to you?" He teases, loving the way you press your lips together before proceeding to nod. He can't even be playfully offended, too entranced by the way you're actually smiling at him. He sighs through his nose and just watches you—admires you for a couple seconds, and when you start nervously shifting on your feet, he pulls you closer to him, his hands on your lower back as your body presses against his once more.

"Can you just say it, please? For me?" He murmurs, recognizing every one of the stars in your eyes. Though he thinks it's a tragedy to have gone a week without this view, he'll make up for lost time by creating new constellations.

"I don't know," you say, softly—filler words, your brain short circuits whenever he looks at you like that.

"For me, baby," he pleads once more. "Just wanna hear you say it."

You hum, unsure of whether you can say something you don't entirely believe. You want to make him happy, you want things to be better, you want to believe what he said—what he wants you to repeat to him, but it's hard. Damage is easy to inflict and hard to heal. It won't go away immediately, no matter how much you love the person who is trying to fix their mistake.

"I don't know-"

"Please?" he blurts.

"Toji, I don't-"

"Pretty please?" he cuts again, seeing the way your seriousness falters like before. Your laugh finds his ears once more, a sound he just wants to keep hearing. The sound embraces him. "With a cherry on top?" he adds, a sly little grin on his lips.

It's getting harder and harder to turn him down. He's precious, he's trying, and you cherish his effort. It's not going to kill you to just say it.

You sigh, "I'm not a burden."

"To who?" He questions, seeking elaboration from you.

"To you."

"Damn right," he says, proud. "We'll get you there. I'm not gonna leave you like this, alright?"

"Okay," you confirm, nodding slightly.

"Can I get a kiss?"

Again, you nod, expecting a quick peck—maybe a few quick pecks, but no, he goes on to kiss you like its been months since he last saw you, not a week. He's desperately chasing after your lips, seeking more and more of what he's been deprived of for too long. In his mind, he says 'never again, never again, never again', because he can't imagine going so long without your sweetness again. Without the softness of your lips against his, without those pretty smiles and laughs being thrown at him. It sounds like hell 2.0. when he thinks about losing it all over again.

"Fuck, I missed this," he murmurs, still just a breath away from your lips.

"Yeah," you respond, eyeing the short little pins of hair that sprinkle over his jaw and upper lip area. It makes you smile, you don't always get to see his face when it's not clean shaven.

"I was in a rush," he explains, unnecessarily, following the way your eyes trace his face.

"Mm," you hum, smiling. "Can I shave your face?"

"You wanna clean me up?" he asks, almost as if he's surprised.

"Only if you want me to. It was just an idea," you say, smiling sheepishly.

To that, he chuckles, a low sound that makes your stomach flip and your cheeks feel warmer.

"Oh, I want you to," he says, leaning forward to peck your lips, luring quiet giggles from you when he doesn't want to pull away.

-

Now, you sit on the counter of your bathroom sink, with Toji standing between your legs. There's a slight tremble in your hand, spurred on by his hands resting on your hips and the way he watches you with so much focus, trusting you enough to let you do this without a word from him. You drag the razor carefully along his cheek, making sure not to move too fast or use too much pressure.

Toji waits until you're cleaning off the blade to make his move of leaning in to press kisses to your face. Small peaks of foam are left behind on your skin, wiped away by gentle strokes of his thumb.

"I'm about to start again," you say through a laugh, leaning away to avoid ridding his face of all the protective spume on it. The razor remains beside you until he finally behaves himself. He huffs like you've been rejecting his affection the whole time, but nonetheless stands up straight and as still as a statue.

After some time, longer than it would have taken him alone—longer than it would have taken you if he didn't smother you every time you paused to clean the razor—you got it done. You brought back the smoothness of his skin.

"Am I pretty again?" he jests, drying his face with one of your towels.

"Stunning," you quip in response, shifting on the counter to signal that you're going to hop off.

"You're stunning," he says, low, unmoving from where he stands between your legs. "My gorgeous, gorgeous girl," he adds, seeking more of that feeling the flustered smile on your face gives him. "Missed you lots, you know that?" You just laugh and shake your head, like you're silently calling him crazy. "What? I'm serious," he says in response, a soft grin on his face. "Did you miss me? Even a little bit?"

A single second passes by. You can't lie to him and say you didn't. You missed him every single day, through the hurt. Your chest ached and your heart dropped every time you remembered the incident, but your love for him never wavered. You couldn't stop thinking about him, and with how often he tried to reach you, it was nearly impossible not to have him on your mind.

"Of course I did. I took the time I needed, but that doesn't mean I wanted it."

"I know, baby. And I would never hold it against you. I'm just... glad I can see you again, is all."

You smile. The gleam and sincerity in his eyes is a wonder to witness and well worth the butterflies that overly crowd your stomach.

"I really did miss you," you mumble.

"Yeah?" He asks.

"Mhm," you hum, nodding. "'Lots.'"

A soft chuckle rumbles in his chest, then he leans in close for nth time, peppering kisses across your cheek until he reaches your lips. He can feel you smiling into the kisses, a sensation he yearned for with every fiber of his being for the past week. One of his hands rests on your thigh, caressing the inner part of it, while the other slides up your shirt and settles on your waist. The lip-lock steals your breath away, but even then, you challenge your lungs for your lover's sake, only pulling away when you're a panting mess and Toji's breathing is more audible.

The tension is palpable, the silence loud as you look at one another like you're still taking in the fact that you can be loving towards each other again, in a manner that doesn't derive from guilt for the time that you didn't get to demonstrate how much you truly love each other. Enough to not be able to leave a fresh wound alone, enough to forgive while outwardly expressing that you have not healed but are patient enough to work towards regaining that strength.

"I don't wanna go home," he murmurs, eyes flitting between your eyes and lips before focusing on solely your eyes.

"You don't have to," you respond. "Stay as long as you'd like."

"And if I said I wanted to spend a week here with you? Would you hate it?"

You shake your head. "No, but I think you'd get tired of seeing me all the time."

"You're wrong, pretty girl. Is this your subtle way of saying you're tired of looking at my mug, already?" He asks, lips curling with amusement at your giggle.

"No, I want you to stay," you say, honest.

"Promise?"

You nod, followed by an affirmative hum.

"Say it again," he requests, heart thudding just a little faster when you smile.

"I want you to stay, Toji," you repeat, his name on your tongue causing your cheeks to warm up.

"Again." His hands mold around your hips—squeezing, loving.

"Stay," you say, softer.

He sighs, heavy, an enamored look in his eyes that you have never been able to comprehend. Those dark, viridescent eyes, have a brilliance to them as he looks at you like you're the last good thing he'll ever be able to call his. You're good for him, you're good to him, and there is nothing in the world that he wouldn't do for you because you gave him your heart.

"Yeah... you're stuck with me here for a week and you're come with me to pick some stuff up from my place, tomorrow. Okay? Okay."

"Okay," you respond, with a laugh.

"Now, we get you off this counter," he says, lifting you like you're a teddy bear that he carries around for protection. He doesn't miss the way you gasp at the suddenness. "Hold me tight, baby," he says, allowing you to wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist before moving anywhere. A kiss is planted on your shoulder as he turns around to exit the bathroom.

"And now you let me show you some love," he says, low, carrying you to your bedroom.

[akeaaan]

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

Jinu X fem.reader

And you taste so sweet Leave me wanting more soon as we get out the sheets

It was wrong. So wrong.

A demon hunter falling for a demon?

Unthinkable.

Yet, it happened.

Just like your mother—who once bore the same sin—you did too. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was a curse.

Lights are turned off Music is on Minds are unlocked This feeling is amazing

You remember the first time Jinu saw the marks blooming like fire across your arm. The room had fallen silent, but your heartbeat thundered in your ears. You’d never felt so exposed.

He didn’t speak at first. He just looked at you, eyes soft but heavy with something unspoken. Without a word, he pulled a piece of cloth from his jacket and knelt down, gently wrapping your arm. Hiding the truth. Protecting you from the world, from your friends, from everything that would shatter if they ever knew.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, fingers brushing your skin. “Let me carry it with you.”

That was when the walls between you began to crack. Slowly. Dangerously.

You remembered the tension that buzzed in the space between you both, like lightning before the storm.

How he’d grin when you pouted over shared rehearsals— “You look like a kicked puppy,” he’d tease, flicking your forehead.

How he kissed you there, right between your brows, every time you got a move wrong in the studio— “You’re getting better,” he’d whisper. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

How your pinkies secretly interlocked backstage at Mnet when your group passed by the Saja boys. A forbidden moment buried in stolen glances.

And the kiss—

The first time his lips pressed against yours, desperate and trembling. You’d been wounded from an ambushed demon attack, blood on your side and your breath uneven. He held your face like it would shatter.

“You could’ve died,” he whispered, voice cracking. His tears clung to his lashes, unfallen. You kissed him before they could fall.

You remembered him yanking you into a quiet hallway during a fan sign event—risking everything just to feel your lips against his for a fleeting second. “Just one,” he’d said breathlessly. “Just in case we don’t get another chance.”

Liquor is all that we taste Your freckles lead the way I trace your constellations

Your fingers danced over the piano, notes rippling into the stadium like echoes of the life you once knew. The crowd roared. Your face flashed on every screen.

But your eyes searched for a ghost.

And then came the memory—

Now you're gone in the blink of an eye I try to remember what you look like

You remembered the scream tearing out of you, raw and broken, as Gwi Ma’s attack arced toward you. You remembered how powerless you felt, how small. And then—

Jinu.

He stepped in front of you without hesitation, the clash of impact blinding. Your ears rang. Your vision blurred. You didn’t realize you were crying until your feet ran.

“No!” You ran to him—he was already fading. Already slipping. “No, please... Jinu, please...”

He smiled, even then. His hand cupped your face with the last of his existence. “I’d do it again,” he said. “For you.”

Your hands trembled as you cradled his face, your tears spilling freely.

Orion's Belt in the sky Closest thing to you other than my mind

You traced the constellation on his chest, the one you always joked about.

Now it was all that remained.

He faded like a falling star— Gone before you could stop it. Gone before you could scream loud enough for the heavens to listen.

Now you're gone in the blink of an eye I try to remember what you taste like Replaying in my head The smell of your body still in my bed

You didn’t even realize the tear had slipped until it hit the piano keys — soft, but loud in your own ears — a drop of grief interrupting the silence between notes. It pooled in the tiny crevice between E and F, glimmering beneath the harsh spotlight, and for a moment, you just stared.

Then you looked up.

The stadium was glowing. Thousands of fans held up their phones, flashlights flickering like distant stars. Some swayed gently, others clung to their best friends, families, siblings… and lovers.

Lovers.

That’s what you two were — once.

His hands used to rest gently on your waist like you were something fragile, like you might break if he held too tightly. His breath always tasted like some awful mix of stage liquor and cherry lip balm. His freckles — you could never resist them — always reminded you of scattered stars. You used to trace them lazily, half-awake, half-drunk on him.

And now… all of it was just memory.

Hands on your waist Liquor is all that we taste Your freckles lead the way I trace your constellations…

You closed your eyes, pressing the tears back, though they fell anyway. Slipping past your lashes like everything else that had slipped through your fingers.

Your hands didn’t stop playing. Even when your chest ached, even when your throat tightened and begged you to scream instead — you kept playing.

Because this wasn’t just a song. It was the goodbye you never got to say. The apology you never got to hear. The version of love that died the moment he turned away.

I trace your constellations…

The final note rang out, long and lingering — like a heartbeat fading.

And then the crowd erupted.

Cheers swallowed you whole, but none of it felt real. Not without him beside you. Not without his hand reaching for yours in the dark.

He should’ve been here.

But he wasn’t.

And maybe he never would be again.

a/n: angst bcz i love you guys <3

[mrsbarnesblog]

˖˚⊹ old habits

➤ summary: you call Rafe out when he acts disrespectfully

➤ w/c: 1.5k.

➤ warnings: themes of toxic masculinity, emotional confrontation

➤ a/n: really wanted to be a part of @zyafics campaign, and I hope that other writers will consider doing it too <3

masterlist

The thing between you and Rafe was still new and fresh—only a few times going out on dates, lingering touches, and way too many moments that were more than just friendly.

Since the first time you had met him, you thought that he had grown to be a better person. He tried to change some of his old habits to become more mature. And you truly saw that, and it was a reason why you even started to catch feelings. But there were still times when he struggled, when some of the traits of that old toxic Rafe were slipping through, either because it was too hard to control things that he had been taught from a young age or because he truly didn’t see himself being in the wrong. 

That day he invited you to the new cafe near the beach on the mainland, saying that it was the best one. For you, Rafe was a gentleman. He picked you up, helped you to get in and out of his truck, complimented your dress and your hair, and let you hold his upper arm when he was leading you to the entrance.

He opened the door for you, and the place was dimly lit with yellow tones and just radiated warmth. It was a little bit too loud with people sitting everywhere, but if the place was good, you didn’t mind that one bit. You looked back at Rafe, sharing a smile, until the young hostess stepped in front of you. 

“I’m so sorry, but as you may see, we’re full right now. You may sit here until one of the tables is free.” With a polite smile, she gestured to the side. “The waiting time will be around fifteen to twenty minutes, if that’s okay with you.” 

You nodded to her words without hesitation. “That’s totally fine.” 

But beside you, Rafe let out a small breath. Not quite a sigh, more like a scoff. He raised an eyebrow and looked the girl up and down with something colder in his expression than you would’ve preferred.

“You’re telling me you can’t fit two people in? It’s not even full in here.” She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, briefly looking at you to figure out how to react. Rafe’s voice wasn’t loud, but you knew how intimidating and cold he might be, especially to people who were not used to it.

“Rafe.” You said his name sharply, tugging his bicep once in hope that he would let it go. 

He glanced at you, then back at the hostess, not getting the problem that you seemed to have. “We’re literally standing here, dressed nicely, just asking for a table. I’m not trying to be a dick. I'm just saying, you could make it work if you actually wanted to.” You didn’t wait for her to respond. You took a step back, slowly removing your hand from his arm.

“I’ll be outside.” You said. No emotion in your voice, hands already folded across your chest. 

You sat at the bench outside, one leg thrown over another, looking at the ocean and debating just simply going back home. Rafe walked out a few minutes later, with hands buried in the pockets of his pants, looking at you like he genuinely could not understand your behavior. 

“Are you seriously mad at me?”

“I’m not mad. I’m disappointed.” You said calmly, not even sparing him a glance. 

“For what? I didn’t even say anything bad. She was the one who couldn’t do her job properly.”

Your head snapped towards him with eyebrows raised in surprise. “No.” You said sharply, taking him aback. “You were being an asshole because you didn’t get what you wanted. She was doing her job, Rafe.” 

His brows knit. “Jesus, I wasn’t an asshole—I was just calling her out.”

“Calling her out for what, Rafe? For not breaking policy? For not giving you special treatment?” He looked away, jaw clenching. His hand reached his head to rub over his buzzed hair in frustration, while you simply looked at him, seeing the conflict that he had. Part of him clearly knew you were being reasonable, that he might’ve stepped over the line, but the rest of him, the louder part, wanted to be right. Wanted to win.

“I’m not dating someone who thinks talking down to people makes him important.” You said firmly, your voice low and calm but hard to let him know how serious that situation was for you. “That’s not cute. That doesn’t make you look cooler or whatever. That’s not something I tolerate.”

Rafe exhaled hard through his nose, briefly throwing his head back in frustration. “You’re making it sound like I screamed at her or something. I was just—I don’t know—frustrated.”

“Yeah, and she was working. Probably scared of losing her job because of kooks who talk down to her every day. Probably already dealing with a bunch of other men who think that they are better than everyone and that other people owe them something.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t do that.”

You stood up, stepping closer with your heels softly clicking against the wood. You squinted your eyes slightly, tilting your head to the side now that you were almost the same height. “Do what?”

“Make me out to be some kind of monster.”

“I’m not.” You shot back. “But if you don’t like how I make you sound by just talking about your actions, maybe ask yourself why instead of getting defensive.”

The silence that followed stretched long between you. You crossed your arms tighter, mostly to keep yourself from softening, because, God, you wanted to. Because part of you knew that he didn’t mean to hurt anyone, but still addressing the problem was important to prove to him that the said problem existed. 

You watched the gears turning behind his eyes, jaw tight, hands buried deep in his pockets. He looked off toward the ocean like maybe the answer was out there, like it could help him to understand how to break the default settings that were engraved in his brain. 

“I didn’t think it was that bad.” Rafe admitted finally, his voice quieter now, and you could hear the edge of hesitation. “I didn’t even notice I was doing it. That I was acting like…” He trailed off, and you knew what he meant. Like Ward.

“That’s the problem, Rafe.” You said softer now, but still steady. “You don’t even notice when you slip. I know that you’re trying to be better. I see it, but I also need you to acknowledge that sometimes you can still be mean, that sometimes you’re in the wrong. Otherwise we won’t work out.”

He looked at you then, as if hurt for a second, because for the part of him, it sounded like a threat or like a challenge that he didn’t want to accept.

“I don’t want to be that guy.” He said after a moment. “I’ve been trying. You know I have.”

“I know. That’s why I’m still standing here and not leaving.” You stepped closer, but you didn’t reach for him.

“But I’m not going to coach you through being a decent person every time you slip. You have to want it for yourself, not just to keep me happy, because I’m telling you right now, Rafe…” You met his eyes, staying your ground. “If that’s the man you choose to be, I will walk away. Even if I don’t want to.”

His throat bobbed in a nervous swallow, his eyes darted away, then back to yours, as if he was trying to measure if you were bluffing. And when a few seconds passed, when you looked at him steadily, waiting for an answer, he turned and walked back toward the café.

You watched him through the front windows when he hesitated near the hostess stand, tugging awkwardly at the expensive watch on his wrist, and then leaned in to speak to the girl. Her face was surprised at first, then softened as he continued to talk, before she nodded a few times, still slightly hesitant, and said something back to him. 

When Rafe returned back to you, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease a little bit, though his jaw clenched when he rubbed the back of his neck and stopped in front of you like he wasn’t sure where to begin.

“I apologized. Told her I was out of line.”

You gave him a small nod. “Thank you.”

He shifted on his feet, nervous. “She said the table will be ready in ten.” You nodded again, waiting for him to continue. “You still wanna eat with me?” He asked, almost hesitant, like a boy who'd just been scolded.

“I do.” His lips stretched in a small smile, eyes glimmering with something like surprise and maybe a bit of shyness that you caught every once in a while. Rafe stepped closer, offering you his hand, and you playfully rolled your eyes, smiling back and interlacing your fingers. “Now I’m about to order the whole damn menu, Cameron. And it better be good.” 

[barnesonly]

bad idea . ݁₊ ⊹

bucky barnes x avenger!reader

summary: Bucky can’t keep his eyes off you all mission and when you catch him moaning your name back at the safe house, you make sure to give him exactly what he’s been craving.

word count: 3,1k

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. curse words, dirty talk, jerking off, oral (m receiving), PiV, unprotected sex, rough sex, breeding.

A/N: based on this ask.

The mission had been straightforward enough—infiltration, data retrieval, minimal contact. Bucky had gone over the plan a hundred times with you, listened to you recite it right back like clockwork, but none of that was on his mind anymore. Not when you were right in front of him, wearing that tactical suit that clung to every curve like it was tailor-made for you.

God, he was trying to focus—really—but every time you crouched low to disable a lock or slipped into a narrow corridor ahead of him, his eyes betrayed him. The way the dark fabric hugged the softness of your thighs, the cut of your waist under the belt, the tempting slope of your hips.

And the way you moved… smooth and confident, like you didn’t even know you had this power over him.

“Bucky, cover me,” you whispered into comms as you slipped around a corner.

“Got you,” he replied, voice a shade deeper than usual.

And he did have you—he’d take a bullet for you without a second thought—but tonight it wasn’t just protective instinct roaring in his chest. Tonight it was something hotter, more dangerous. Every whispered word between you sent a shiver up his spine. Every glance you threw him, all determination and fire, went straight to his gut.

You weren’t just his partner tonight. You were a distraction. A beautiful, maddening one.

Bucky told himself he had better control than this. That it was wrong—you were a close friend, someone who trusted him to have her back—and yet every fleeting touch, every breathless moment tangled up together in tight spaces as you avoided guards, just drove him further into his own thoughts.

By the time you two made it back to the safe house, adrenaline still thrumming in your veins, all he could see was you. The perfect bow of your lips when you smiled at him, the glimmer in your eyes when you joked, completely oblivious to the filthy thoughts running through his mind.

And god help him, when you finally disappeared into your room for the night, Bucky thought maybe—just maybe—a cold shower would knock this need out of him.

But the image of your pretty face, the faint scent of your perfume lingering in the dark…

Yeah. That was the last straw.

Bucky kicked his door shut with his heel as soon as he was inside his room, hands already trembling as he tugged his gear off. The mission was over, but his head was still back there—in that darkened hallway, pressed up against you as you whispered his name, breath ghosting across his neck.

God, what was wrong with him?

He sat heavily on the edge of the bed, dragging his hands down his face. Except all that did was summon up images of you again—the way that suit hugged your ass, the flex of your legs when you moved, the glint in your eye when you’d catch him looking and pretend you didn’t notice.

And then, like some sick joke his brain was playing, the image shifted: you, naked and needy, lips parted like you did when you were focusing, hands reaching for him.

A rough groan broke from his chest before he could stop it.

He was already hard just thinking about you—aching, trapped under his tactical pants—and suddenly there was no ignoring it.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, hands moving faster than his self-control as he shoved his pants and briefs down to his thighs, freeing his cock with a low hiss.

He wasn’t proud of this—jerking off to the thought of you like some horny teenager—but tonight? Tonight was different.

Tonight you’d looked at him. Moved around him like you belonged there. Whispered his name like it was some private language.

And now, as his flesh throbbed in his palm, it was your name spilling past his lips.

“God, baby…” he gritted out, leaning back into the mattress, eyes fluttering shut as he gave in to the fantasy—you kneeling between his legs, hands on his thighs, your mouth so close he could feel your breath.

He stroked himself slowly at first, thumb circling the slick bead of precum at his tip, imagining that was your tongue.

“Just like that,” he murmured into the empty room, hips flexing upward on their own accord.

The coil of pleasure wound tighter as he pumped his fist faster, harder, chasing that mental image of you—the softness of your lips wrapping around him, your hands gripping him like you’d never let go.

He could almost hear you moaning around him—or maybe that was his own harsh breathing as heat built up in his spine.

“God, your mouth, baby… f-fuck,” he rasped, name slipping between curses as his abs tensed. Every stroke was slicker, more desperate, so close to the edge he felt dizzy.

And he was so far gone that he never heard the door creak open. Never noticed your silhouette in the dim light, your gaze fixed on him, lips parted in surprise—then hunger.

He was still groaning your name when you moved into the room, your knees brushing the floor as you came to him like a prayer answered.

And when he finally opened his eyes, breath hitching in his throat, there you were.

Kneeling between his legs. Eyes dark and glassy. Mouth open, inches away from his aching, leaking cock—like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

His fingers flexed against the sheets, breath stuttering out as the tension that had been coiled inside him all night snapped.

“Oh wow, Barnes…” you murmured, voice low and tinged with amusement as a slow, wicked smirk tugged at your lips.

His heart thudded so hard it echoed in his ears. “F–fuck,” Bucky breathed, his voice hoarse with surprise and need. “That’s not—”

But you weren’t going to let him finish whatever excuse he thought he could come up with.

“Shhh,” you hushed him, one hand trailing up his trembling thigh before your fingers wrapped around him—slow and sure, your palm warm and perfect.

He hissed through his teeth at the contact, cock twitching against your grip as you gave him one leisurely, deliberate stroke.

“You need my help, huh?” you teased, lips curving as you watched him fight to keep his eyes open.

Your voice was silk and fire, and the way you held him—gentle but possessive—made his spine arch off the bed.

“God,” he groaned, hands flexing into the sheets tightly. “Baby, please…”

And you liked that—liked him raw and desperate for you.

“You do, don’t you?” you murmured again, pumping him slowly, dragging every inch of his aching length through your fist as you leaned in, eyes locked on his face. “Need me to take care of you?”

He was trembling now, teeth gritted against a moan as slick precome dribbled over your fingers, making each stroke wetter, more deliciously obscene.

When you finally bent lower, breath ghosting against him, Bucky thought he might come on the spot.

And then your mouth was on him—hot, wet, perfect—lips sealing around the crown as you eased him in deeper.

A strangled sound tore out of him, hips flexing upward as your tongue swirled slow circles around him, like you were savoring him inch by inch.

“Oh, f—fuck,” he gasped, hands flying to your hair instinctively, needing to touch you, to feel that this was real.

And you moaned low around him in response, eyes fluttering up to meet his, never breaking that gaze as you hollowed your cheeks and started to move.

God, the sight of you—lips stretched around him, eyes burning up at him through your lashes—was enough to undo him.

Your hands steadied him as you took him deeper, bobbing your head in a rhythm that sent shivering heat up his spine and white noise crashing in his ears.

He was already leaking into your mouth, salty and needy, and the way you moaned around him—like you liked this, like you’d been waiting all night for this too—nearly shattered him.

“Holy shit, that’s it,” he panted, thumb brushing your cheekbone as you sucked him just a little harder.

And all he could do was arch into you, let himself go, eyes on you as you took him like you had all the time in the world—wet, filthy, and perfect.

He couldn’t look away—wouldn’t dare.

Your mouth was so fucking warm, lips stretched perfectly around him, tongue working him like you knew every secret to making him fall apart.

And god, you weren’t holding back—hands gripping his hips to keep him steady as you took him deeper, inch by inch. Every slick, sinful pass of your lips and the needy hum vibrating up your throat had him trembling all over.

“Jesus—yes,” Bucky choked, the sound raw as his hands fisted in your hair.

Your eyes stayed on him, hooded and dark with desire, and that was the last straw.

“Baby, I’m gonna—” he started, voice breaking, but you didn’t pull back.

You moaned, like you wanted him to come, your hands tightening, your pace quickening—up and down his length, wet and obscene.

That moan sent him over the edge.

“Holy fuck,” Bucky gasped, spine bowing as heat exploded up his back, his hands tugging gently at your hair without even realizing.

And then he was coming, spilling down your throat in hot, helpless spurts as you stayed right where you were—lips sealed tight around him, eyes fluttering closed as you swallowed every last drop, humming like it was the sweetest thing you’d ever tasted.

“F-fuck,” he groaned again, breath shuddering, muscles trembling as he rode the last waves of his orgasm into your mouth.

And you?

You just kept going—milking him with slow, greedy sucks until his hands loosened their hold in your hair and his cock gave one last exhausted twitch between your lips.

When you finally eased off him, lips glistening, you licked them slowly—dragging your thumb across the corner of your mouth like you were savoring him.

Bucky was wrecked—utterly speechless—eyes fixed on you like you’d just shattered him and put him back together all at once.

And all you did was lean up, breath ghosting across his lips as you whispered, voice wicked and soft:

“See, Barnes? That wasn’t so hard.”

Your lips were still damp and glistening as you kissed him once, slow and teasing, before pulling back with a wicked glint in your eye.

“You really thought I didn’t notice, Bucky?” you purred, hands braced on his chest as you straddled him for a heartbeat. “You looking at me all day like you just wanted to take me right there against the wall?”

His breath caught—a harsh inhale as his hands flexed over your hips.

And you weren’t done.

“The way you kept staring at me,” you went on, voice husky, leaning closer until your lips brushed his ear. “You wanted to touch me so fucking bad, didn’t you?”

That was it.

A growl rumbled deep in his chest—pure need and possessive hunger—and in a blink, his hands were on you.

Your world spun as Bucky flipped you onto your back like you weighed nothing, caging you in with his broad shoulders and solid arms.

“Goddamn right I did,” he ground out, blue eyes dark as they raked over you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

Your breath hitched at the raw power of him—this was the Bucky you’d teased all day without knowing it, and now you had nowhere to hide.

“Bucky—” you started, lips trembling with anticipation.

But he was already on you, hands tugging at your clothes like they were the last thing on Earth between him and you.

Your top was first—pulled up and off with a rough urgency that left your hair tousled and your skin bared to his heated gaze.

“God, look at you,” he breathed, palms sweeping up your sides to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples in a way that made you arch into him with a gasp.

Your hands fisted in the sheets as he leaned down, pressing his lips to the valley of your chest, kissing and nipping his way along your skin like he was starving.

“Been dying for this all day,” he muttered against you, voice so low and raw it sent a shiver straight to your core.

And you could feel him—already hard again—pressed heavy and insistent against your thigh as he dragged your pants down your legs, peeling them off with the same greedy need as before.

By the time you were bare beneath him—nothing left to hide—Bucky paused, breath shuddering as his hands skimmed up your legs like he couldn’t wait another second to touch you properly.

“You have any idea,” he growled, leaning down until his lips hovered just above yours, “what you do to me?”

And all you could do was look up at him—eyes dazed, lips parted, pulse racing—and whisper, “Show me.”

Your heart was a drum in your chest as Bucky hovered above you, gaze raking over every inch of your bare body like he was trying to burn you into his memory. His jaw clenched, his breathing ragged, like he was holding on by a thread.

“Show you?” he rasped, voice so low and dark it sent a shiver straight through your core. His eyes were wild—desperate, hungry—like he’d been starved for you and finally, finally had you where he wanted.

And then his mouth was on yours—no soft, sweet kiss, just pure need, lips crashing into yours, tongue claiming your mouth as his hands grabbed your wrists and pinned them hard above your head.

“Gonna fucking ruin you,” he rasped into your mouth, teeth dragging against your bottom lip as he pinned you.

You gasped, but he didn’t let up—grinding his hips into you, cock heavy and hard against your soaked heat, making sure you felt exactly what you’d done to him.

“Been wanting this all fucking day,” he growled against your lips, breath hot, teeth scraping your mouth as he spoke.

And god, the way he held you down—metal fingers cool and unyielding around your wrists, flesh hand roaming down your side, leaving a trail of heat in its wake—made you tremble beneath him.

Then he shifted his hips, lining himself up, and you barely had time to suck in a breath before he drove into you in one deep, devastating thrust.

Your cry echoed through the room, pleasure burning hot as your body stretched around him, filled so full you could barely think.

“Fuck, baby,” Bucky groaned, head dropping to your neck, his breath shuddering against your skin. “So tight—so fucking perfect for me.”

He didn’t give you a second to adjust—didn’t want to—pulling back just enough to slam into you again, harder, deeper. The force of it rocked you against the mattress, made your head spin, made your toes curl.

You could barely breathe, barely think, just feel — the wet, filthy slap of his hips against yours, the sharp drag of his cock hitting every sensitive spot inside you, the way he completely owned your body.

“B-Bucky—” you gasped, voice breaking on a moan.

“Yeah?” he growled, fucking into you with a brutal rhythm, his metal hand tightening just enough on your wrists to make you arch beneath him, helpless and open. “This what you wanted, huh? Wanted me to lose it? Wanted me to ruin you?”

And oh god, you did. You wanted this—wanted him like this, unrestrained, raw, needing you like his life depended on it.

You whimpered, eyes glossy, back arching as he pounded into you, the headboard thudding against the wall with every deep, savage thrust.

“Say it,” he demanded, voice wrecked, hips slamming into yours so hard the bed creaked beneath you. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you sobbed, pleasure coiling tighter, burning hotter. “Bucky, I’m yours—please—”

“That’s it,” he groaned, mouth at your ear, pace relentless as he chased both your highs. “Gonna come for me, sweetheart? Gonna fall apart on my cock?”

Your body was trembling, so close it hurt, every thrust sending you spiraling higher until you shattered, crying out his name as your climax ripped through you—wave after wave of blinding heat, muscles clenching down around him so tight he nearly lost his mind.

“Fuck—doll—” Bucky gasped, hips stuttering as your orgasm dragged him under.

He spilled into you in thick, hot pulses, groaning low and broken as he fucked you through it, milking every last drop. His body shuddered over yours, sweat-slick and trembling, breath coming in ragged bursts against your skin.

And when it was done, when you were both boneless and spent, he finally loosened his grip on your wrists, fingers tracing over the marks he’d left there—gentle now, reverent.

His forehead dropped to yours, eyes soft even as his chest still heaved. “Jesus, doll,” he whispered, brushing his nose against yours. “I’ve wanted that for so long.”

A wicked little smile tugged at your lips as you tipped your chin up just enough to murmur against his mouth, “I know… you were so obvious, you know that?”

Bucky froze, breath hitching.

Your fingers tugged playfully at his hair as you went on, voice breathy and sweetly smug. “Following me around like a lost puppy all day. Practically undressing me with your eyes every time I bent over.”

That earned you a low groan and a warning growl that rumbled in his chest.

“Careful,” Bucky muttered, hips flexing instinctively—and you could feel him already stirring against you, still inside you, his hands tightening possessively on your waist.

You just grinned, eyes dark as you arched into him. “Careful?” you echoed, lips brushing his ear. “Or what? You gonna pin me down and do it all over again, Barnes?”

And before you could say another word, he was kissing you—deep and filthy—his hands roaming like he was starving for you all over again, every slick inch of your body his to taste, to take, to wreck one more time.

tag list: @iamthatonefangirl @buckytakethewheel @buckybarneswife125 @thatsbucknasty

[mooningningg]

JJK Rock Band when you're being shipped with another member.

ᴊᴊᴋ ʀᴏᴄᴋ ʙᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

Notes, lovely anon for requesting this.

★ Drummer!Sukuna, being shipped with Toji.

Sukuna is drinking his coffee when Gojo says it.

"Yo, did you see that post? ‘Toji x that girl who’s always with them’? That’s literally you and your girl."

Sukuna stares at him.

"The fuck did you just say?"

"It had like 60k likes. They said Toji looked at her like she was his whole world."

Sukuna doesn’t blink. Just turns his head and starts glaring at Toji mid-soundcheck.

Toji, blinking: "What?"

Sukuna gave him a dead glare, "Why’re you making eye contact with my girl?"

Toji furrows his brows, "Bro. She said hi."

Sukuna won’t speak to you for like an hour. Just scoffs and slams the kick pedal louder than usual every time he sees your name trending next to Toji’s.

Eventually, you catch him sulking in the van.

"Are you seriously mad about internet comments?"

"They said you’d have prettier kids with Toji."

You climb onto his lap and kiss his jaw. "They’re wrong."

Sukuna grumbles, wrapping his arms around you like a seatbelt. "Damn right they are."

★ Vocalist!Gojo, being shipped with Choso.

Gojo’s mid-hair routine when he opens Twitter and sees:

"that soft girl who follows Gojo around all the time and choso? soulmates. i said what i said."

He freezes, holding the flat iron in one hand.

Satoru exclaims, "I’m gonna be sick."

Suguru turns to look at him, "You okay?"

"No. They’re giving my girl to the goth piano man."

He spends the whole day pouting.

At practice, he refuses to sing Choso’s harmonies properly. He sings them off-key on purpose.

Choso looks at him, eyes half lidded, "...Did I do something?"

"Nothing. Just stole my life partner, but whatever."

Later, you bring Gojo a drink, and he won’t even look at you.

You finally bring it up, "You're being weird."

Gojo replies, "Do you think he'd write you poems?"

"I literally bring you snacks and chapstick daily."

He softens. "You're right. I'm the total package."

Then he snaps a selfie with you and captions it: “me and the girl you can’t have 🧃❤️”

★ Guitarist!Suguru, being shipped with Gojo.

He finds the edit while scrolling late at night. It’s a clip of Gojo tossing you his sunglasses and you putting them on while laughing.

“Gojo x her is the sunshine duo we DESERVE.”

Suguru just stares at the screen, expression unreadable.

Next morning, he sends it to Gojo with no context.

Gojo: "LMAO do they know she falls asleep on your chest?"

Suguru: "Apparently not."

That night, Suguru brings you coffee, sets it down gently, then murmurs, "Don’t wear his sunglasses again."

You blink. "Wait, is this about that video?"

He doesn't answer. Just lifts your chin and kisses you.

A minute later he posts a blurry photo of your hands intertwined on his story with the caption:

“sunshine? she’s always been mine.”

Gojo reposts it and adds: “don’t be jealous I’m prettier 💋”

Suguru blocks him for 24 hours.

★ Bassist!Toji, being shipped with Suguru.

Toji doesn't do Twitter. But he does hear about it from Gojo, who will never let it go.

"They said Suguru and your girl give off forbidden lovers energy."

Toji raises an eyebrow. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means people think she should’ve chosen him instead."

Toji looks across the room where you're laughing at something Suguru said.

He walks over. Picks up your bag.

"We’re leaving."

You blink. "Wait, what? We just got here."

"Too much forbidden love in this room. Come on."

Later that night, he gives you his hoodie and tugs you close while you're brushing your teeth.

"You like his hair or something?"

"You’re the one I fall asleep next to."

He grunts. Satisfied.

Next gig, he wears a shirt that says: “she’s with the bassist. stay mad.”

He doesn’t say a word about it.

★ Keyboardist!Choso, being shipped with Sukuna.

Choso finds a clip of Sukuna teasing you and you throwing a napkin at him. Someone zoomed in on Sukuna smirking and wrote:

“why does sukuna lowkey flirt with her like they’re already married 😭”

Choso stares at it.

Closes his phone.

Later, Sukuna throws a drumstick toward your chair at rehearsal and grins when you roll your eyes.

Choso is silent the entire practice.

Afterward, you ask, "Are you mad?"

He shakes his head. "Just… quiet today."

Then adds, "Do you think he’s hotter?"

You almost choke. "Are you serious?"

Choso shrugs. "I wear all black. He wears no sleeves."

You wrap your arms around his neck.

"He’s loud. You’re home."

That night, he posts a quiet video of you leaning against his shoulder in the green room, captioned:

“not loud, not flashy, still hers.”

[himasgod]

Would it be to soon to ask for a "where you suddenly stop giving them attention" part with the third years?

THIRD YEARS X READER

Where you suddenly stop giving them attention

Cater was living for your affection.

Seriously, you were his favorite notification. You always knew how to brighten his day, a kiss on the cheek before class, selfies together, random “thinking of you~” texts that made his heart skip. He acted all chill about it, but inside?

He was twirling his hair, giggling and kicking his feet like a teen in love.

So when you stopped? When your texts slowed down to dry busy rn, when you walked past him without that sparkle, when you skipped Magicam photos for days? Cater noticed. At first, he played it off with humor.

"Whoa, my number one fan vanished! Was I canceled and no one told me~?"

He scrolls back through your message thread at night, wondering if he said something wrong. Tries to post a cute story hoping you’ll react. Even sneaks by your class to “casually” spot you.

And when he sees you — head down on the desk, dark circles under your eyes, shoulders trembling, it hits him. You didn’t stop caring. You just stopped having the energy.

He walks right in, pulls you up from your chair, and takes your hand. You barely react, exhausted, letting him lead you. He brings you to the empty pop music club room, shuts the door, and wraps you in his arms.

"You don’t have to smile for me, kay? You don’t have to be “on.” Just be real with me, babe. I’m not going anywhere."

You finally let go and cry a little, muttering “I’m sorry” into his hoodie. He hugs you tighter.

"Nah, none of that. You gave me real love, and I’m keeping it. So if you need a break, I’ll be your filter. I gotchu."

Leona had long since decided that affection wasn’t something he needed. Or wanted. Or deserved.

But then you came along. With your sleepy kisses. Your hands in his hair. Your little “I missed you, lazybones” messages. Your way of plopping down beside him like you belonged there. It made him soft. He hated it. He loved it.

So when it disappears, when you stop curling up next to him during naps, when you barely say “hi” in the hallways, when the only messages you send are “Sorry, can’t today. Too tired”, Leona’s first instinct is annoyance. He’s gruff. Snappy. Sulking like a big cat who’s been denied his favorite sunspot.

"So that’s it? Done spoiling your prince, herbivore?"

But he doesn’t press it. Not yet. Not until he finds you passed out in the botanical garden, curled under a tree with your bag still slung on one shoulder. You don’t wake up when he calls your name.

He kneels beside you, frowning, brushing your hair out of your face. Your skin is warm. Your body limp with exhaustion. And suddenly he sees it, the sleepless nights in your eyes, the way you’ve been dragging your feet through the week. This wasn’t you ignoring him. This was you falling apart.

When you finally blink awake he doesn’t let you speak. He just pulls you against his chest, sighing into your shoulder.

"You idiot. You think I need all your attention if it costs you this much?"

You try to explain, apologize, but Leona tightens his hold and cuts you off.

"You gave me something warm for the first time in a long damn time. You think I’m gonna throw that away because you forgot to say “good morning” a few days?"

"Next time, just tell me you’re burning out. I’ll carry you if I have to. I’ll drag your overworked ass into bed myself."

And he does. He carries you to his room like it’s nothing, tucks you under his thickest blanket, and curls around you.

"You spoiled me rotten, herbivore. Let me spoil you back."

Vil took note the second it started.

The first time you didn’t compliment him. The first time you didn’t send your good morning text. The first time you passed him in the hallway, eyes on your phone, and didn’t so much as glance up. He noticed. He always noticed. But he didn’t act on it immediately. He gave you space, told himself you were probably dealing with something. That it was just a phase. He wasn’t going to be the clingy insecure type. And yet…

"Why haven’t they noticed my new look? They always say something…"

"They haven’t visited the dorm in over a week. Why?"

The questions start to pile up in his mind, and with them, a tightness in his chest he hates admitting is worry. When he finally seeks you out, you’re in the library, fast asleep over books, dark circles under your eyes, your lunch untouched beside you. And everything clicks. It wasn’t about him. It was about you. Pushing yourself too hard again. Giving too much and leaving nothing for yourself.

Vil lets out a sigh and gently wakes you. You blink at him, confused, guilty, already trying to explain. But he stops you with a finger pressed to your lips.

"Enough. You don’t owe me affection when your body is falling apart."

He takes your hands, helps you stand, and brushes the hair out of your face.

"You’ve been overworking yourself again. Look at your complexion. Look at your posture. Have you even slept properly this week?"

You shake your head, ready to apologize again, but Vil frowns and holds your face with both hands.

"You showered me in love when I needed it. Now let me return the favor."

That evening, he takes you to Pomefiore. Runs you a bath with herbs for your fatigue. Makes you a skin treatment himself. Feeds you something warm, nothing fancy, just what you need. And when you lie down, eyes drooping, he sits beside you with a book and reads aloud until you drift off.

The next morning, when you wake up and whisper, “Sorry for worrying you,” he only scoffs.

"You’re lucky I love you… Because darling, letting yourself fall apart is never a good look. So next time, tell me. You don’t have to be perfect — just let me in."

You were his safe place. That’s it.

Idia had never, ever been good with people, but somehow, you slipped through him like a virus. You installed yourself into every part of his daily life: calling him nicknames, hugging him out of nowhere, holding his hand even when he flinched like a malfunctioning Chatgpt.

So when you stop showing up to his room after class, when your daily “I love you, you nerd” texts vanish into silence, Idia panics. But he doesn’t know how to confront you. Not directly. So he goes through his mental folders.

"Did I say something cringe? Did I scare them off? Oh no. Oh fuck—what if they’re ghosting me?!"

He pings you in-game. No reply. He messages you on Magicam. Nothing. Eventually, he decides to do something terrifying: he leaves his room. He finds you half-asleep in a corner booth, head down on your arms, a tray of snacks beside you. You look pale. Tired. Your phone buzzes with unread messages, mostly from group projects. And his. He shuffles over, hoodie up, hands in sleeves.

"Hey… hey… you okay?"

You lift your head, dazed. When you realize it’s him, you try to smile, but it comes out cracked. “I’m sorry, I just… forgot to reply. I’m so tired.”

Idia sits beside you. He just pulls his sleeve over your hand and gives it a squeeze. "You’re running out of stamina, huh? You chuckle weakly. “That’s one way to put it.”

"You don’t have to be good all the time just for me. But next time, let me know, okay? I can carry the team for a while."

Then he gently drapes his oversized jacket over your shoulders.

Lilia always used to tease you a little about how much you pampered him.

"Another treat? You’re going to spoil me rotten, little one. I might start expecting this every day~"

He would laugh, flutter his lashes, feign dramatic swoons every time you brought fixed his hair without warning, or clung to his arm calling him “old man.” But the truth? He loved it. Every second of it.

So when all that stops? When you start pulling away with tired excuses and absent eyes, when your touch disappears, your laughter fades, and your texts become “sorry, I’m busy” Lilia notices. Of course he does. He notices everything. At first, he jokes about it, as usual.

"Ara~ have I lost my most devoted fan? Say it isn’t so"

But you just smile weakly, wave him off, and walk past him. And Lilia stays behind, lips still curved, but eyes narrowed. Concerned.

He doesn’t chase after you, he waits. Watches. He sees how you stumble over your steps in class, how you barely eat. And suddenly, everything makes sense. You weren’t ignoring him. You were burning out.

The next time he sees you, you're dozing off, a stack of notes on your lap and your pen still in hand. He crouches beside you, brushes a strand of hair from your face, and whispers. "Silly human… You give and give until there’s nothing left. And now you’re forgetting to take care of yourself."

He doesn’t wake you. Instead, he scoops you up in his arms and takes you to his room. He sets you on the bed, tucks you in, and sits beside you. Humming something low. And when you finally stir awake, blinking at him with confusion, he just smiles.

"You stopped spoiling me… so I’ll spoil you now. Rest, darling. I’ll watch over you."

Malleus had never known what it was like to be loved in the small ways.

Not just respected or fond like Lilia, Silver or Sebek, But openly loved, with warm hands brushing his hair, with nicknames whispered, with kisses on the cheek followed by playful grins and “did you miss me prince?”

That’s why, when it suddenly stops, he doesn’t know how to process it. You no longer greet him with your usual bright voice. You stop reaching for his hand. You avoid going to Diasomnia. He doesn’t get angry. He doesn’t even speak of it at first. He just watches.

"Have I displeased you?" He asks himself this more times than he’d ever admit.

At first, he assumes it's distance — that perhaps your heart had grown bored of him. But then he begins to see the truth, your slowed pace, the way you rub your eyes and mumble apologies without reason. You weren’t pushing him away, you were exhausted. So one night, he appears outside Ramshackle, as he used to do in the beginning when your bond was still new. You hear the gentle knock, and when you open the door, there he is.

"May I come in, child of man?"

You nod tiredly, and let him sit beside you on the edge of the bed. You try to explain. Try to apologize. But Malleus just shakes his head, placing a hand over yours.

"You gifted me a kind of love I never imagined I’d have. You do not need to apologize for needing to rest. But I ask you this. Do not shut me out. Let me carry some of your burdens, if only a little. Let me stay beside you, even in silence.·

You feel tears sting your eyes, but Malleus simply leans forward, pressing his lips to your shoulder.

"Even if you have no strength left to call me “my prince,” I will still be yours."

Trey never asked for much.

He wasn’t the kind of guy to expect grand displays or dramatic affection. But ever since you started spoiling him, slipping love notes into his apron pocket, kissing his temple while he baked, calling him “sweetheart” when you thought no one was listening, he’d gotten used to it. Too used to it.

So when you suddenly go quiet, when your touches vanish and your little “I brought this just for you” moments dry up, Trey pretends not to mind. At first.

"Everything alright? You’ve been… quiet lately. Busy?"

You nod. Tell him not to worry. That you’re just tired, that homwork's overwhelming you a bit. He doesn’t push. But it nags at him. He watches how your shoulders slump, how you chew your lower lip while working through assignments, how your phone lights up with unread messages you don’t even glance at.

And one afternoon, when he sees you curled up, asleep with a half-eaten snack and your notebook clutched to your chest, something in him clicks. He sighs softly, kneels beside you, and gently takes the notebook from your arms. He sits down pulling out a small container from his bag. Inside is your favorite treat. One you once made together. He leaves a note beside it:

“For when you wake up. You don’t have to do everything alone. I’m here too.”

When you wake up hours later, groggy, you find Trey still sitting across from you, reading calmly, as if nothing ever happened. But when your eyes meet, he smiles, the kind of smile that says “You don’t owe me anything, but I’m not going anywhere.”

And later, as he walks you back to your dorm, he gently bumps your shoulder.

"Next time you feel like the world’s too heavy, tell me. You’ve always been sweet to me… Let me return the favor, yeah?"

Rook noticed the change before anyone else in all the 3 parts.

He always noticed you. The way your eyes lit up when you saw him. The rhythm of your voice when you called him, the tender way you touched his arm when you thought no one was looking. Your affection was art. And he had memorized every stroke of it.

So when your energy faded, when your “good mornings” dulled to distracted nods, when your hands stopped reaching for his, Rook didn’t need an explanation. He read your body like poetry. At first, he gave you space. Like a hunter watching from a distance. But Rook isn’t passive. He’s passion incarnate. And watching the light fade from you? It ached.

So one afternoon, when you sat alone in the library, head heavy in your arms, unmoving, he couldn’t stay silent. He approached quietly.

"Mon cherie… what burden weighs your wings so deeply?"

You flinch and try to sit up, but he kneels beside your chair, taking your hand gently. You open your mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a tired whisper. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore you.” Rook kisses your knuckles.

"Ah, no. Do not apologize for enduring. You have not ignored me. You have simply... forgotten to care for yourself."

You shake your head, tears building, shame rising, but he hushes you with a finger to your lips.

"You who gave me such beauty, such devotion, how could I abandon you now, in this moment? Let me cherish you now, ma lumière. Let me carry you."

He lifts you as if you’re made of petals and takes you somewhere quiet. He wraps you in blankets, brings you tea, brushes your hair.

"Rest, my treasure. You gave your light to so many — now let me be the one to shine for you."

[dollyswishingwell]

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Faking it

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ angst lowkey (reader feels like she owes it to them), lots of fluff, smut (barely), lemme know if i missed anything

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ You fake an orgasm

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Rafayel had been extra clingy all day.

He’d followed you around the penthouse like a lovesick puppy, sticking his cold fingers under your sweater, nuzzling into your neck while you were trying to fold laundry, dragging you into bed even though you clearly weren’t in the mood for much more than a nap. But he’d been gone for three days at some idiotic meeting Thomas insisted on dragging him to, and when Raf missed you, he missed you. Not just your presence, not just your voice, he wanted your body, your soft little moans, your sweet eyes fluttering up at him like you were the only two people in the world.

You knew that.

You knew that so well that when he finally nestled between your thighs that night, whispering “Missed my pearlie so much” with lips dragging down your shoulder, you didn’t say no.

Even when you weren’t really in the mood.

Even when your head was foggy from sleep, and you kept accidentally zoning out halfway through.

Even when the ache in your back was stronger than the ache in your core.

So you faked it. Sweetly. Breathlessly. A little sigh, then a trembling moan, then a soft whimper of his name like it was the most natural thing in the world. You even arched your back for effect, letting your lashes flutter shut like it was all too much.

And Rafayel melted. He always did. With a soft, broken sound, he buried his face in your neck, shuddering as he came right after you, his arms tightening around you like you were his entire universe.

He stayed like that for a while, still, silent, face smushed against your skin. You thought he’d drifted off. He hadn’t.

“…You faked that, didn’t you,” he mumbled quietly, barely audible. Not angry. Just sad.

Your breath hitched.

“I-It’s not that I don’t like it,” you whispered quickly, panic bubbling in your chest. “I just—wasn’t really in the mood, but you missed me, and I thought—it’s not a big deal, Raf. I love you—”

His arms stayed wrapped around you. But he didn’t say anything at first.

“…You don’t ever have to do that,” he said, voice hushed and soft against your skin. “I’d rather just hold you.”

A pause. Then, quieter:

“You know you don’t have to earn your keep like that, right? You’re my baby, not a reward for coming home.”

Tears pricked your eyes. You nodded.

“…Can I still hold you anyway?” he asked a moment later, voice small.

You turned in his arms and nodded again. “Always.”

He kissed your cheek and pulled the blanket up to your chin, tucking you against him like a doll. Quiet, content, a little clingy still, but nothing more.

Just your soft Rafayel, who loved you even when you were tired.

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

You weren’t sure when exactly you started zoning out.

Maybe it was around the time his hand slipped under your thigh and he murmured something about how perfect you were for him. Maybe it was when his rhythm became familiar enough that your brain wandered, first to the grocery list, then to what color nails you wanted for the hospital gala, then to God, I’m so sleepy.

You weren’t mad. You weren’t upset. Zayne wasn’t doing anything wrong.

You just… weren’t really in it tonight.

But he’d been so gentle with you all day. Brought you breakfast in bed, carried you into the bath, helped you detangle your hair after. He was soft, and warm, and still in his work scrubs when he pressed kisses to your collarbone and whispered, “Missed you today, sweetheart.”

It felt like the least you could do.

So you closed your eyes, let your arms wrap around him loosely, and when the moment felt right, you gave a soft, breathy gasp and arched up into him like your body just couldn’t help it. You sighed his name, let it crack a little like you were overwhelmed. Let your body go limp in that perfect post-orgasm way he loved.

And Zayne, always so careful, always so attuned to you, stilled.

You didn’t notice right away. Not until he pulled out of you a little too carefully, brushed the hair from your face with a quiet, unreadable look in his hazel-green eyes.

“…You didn’t finish.”

Your heart jumped. “W-What do you mean? I—”

He gave you that look. The one he gives when a patient tries to lie to him. Calm. Not angry. Just knowing.

“I know your body, sweetheart. I know your tells.” His thumb brushed over your flushed cheek. “And I know when you’re pretending.”

You flushed deeper, shame crawling up your throat. “I just… wasn’t really in the mood. But you were so sweet today. And I didn’t want to disappoint you, so I thought maybe if I just…”

Zayne exhaled softly through his nose.

“Oh, darling.”

He leaned down and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. “You don’t ever have to do that. Not for me. Not for anything.”

You stared at him, blinking, feeling suddenly small. But his voice was warm. Steady. Not hurt. Just, loving.

“I didn’t marry you for sex. I married you because I love you.” His palm settled over your heart. “Even when you’re tired. Even when you’re not in the mood. Even if you never want to again.”

Your throat wobbled. “I just didn’t want to be a burden…”

Zayne kissed your nose. “Then let me remind you. You are never a burden. You’re my sweetheart.”

He tucked you into his arms, bare chests pressed together under the soft hospital-blue sheets. “Now get some rest. I’ll still be here in the morning.”

And he was. He always was.

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

You weren’t mad at him. You weren’t upset. You weren’t even uncomfortable.

You were just… not really feeling it.

Xavier had come home early from a reconnaissance mission, swept you up into his arms like a weightless thing, and carried you straight to the bedroom, eyes low-lidded and unreadable. He’d murmured something about how you looked too pretty in your little apron today, how the scent of you lingered in his mind when he was away. And you, soft and pliant and wanting to be good for him, let yourself be undressed, let yourself be kissed and adored and laid bare beneath him like a porcelain bunny.

But somewhere in the middle, your mind drifted.

You were thinking about whether you left the window garden open. About the broken necklace you meant to fix. About what to make him for breakfast tomorrow, because he liked the way you cut his toast into hearts, even if he pretended not to care.

And when Xavier’s fingers gripped your thighs tighter, when he leaned in closer with a low, breathy sigh of your name, you realized he was close.

So you let out a soft gasp. Arched into him, just a little. Moaned quietly. Gave the illusion of release, not over the top, just enough to melt him.

And he did melt.

But not in the way you expected.

His rhythm faltered. His breath caught. And instead of pressing closer, he… stopped.

You blinked up at him, confused. “…Xavi?”

He looked at you. Really looked at you.

Still inside you. Still quiet. But not lost in pleasure.

“…Starlight,” he whispered, voice low. “You didn’t finish.”

Your stomach dropped. “I—I did.”

A pause. Then his head tilted.

“You forgot to shiver. You always shiver.” His tone wasn’t judgmental. It wasn’t even sad. Just curious. “Did I hurt you? Was I too fast?”

“No, no! Nothing like that!” you rushed. “I just… wasn’t really in the mood. But I didn’t want to ruin the moment, and you seemed so…”

He blinked once. Twice. Then leaned down and pressed his forehead to yours, silver hair falling like soft silk around you.

“You don’t have to give yourself to me if you’re not ready, bunny. You’re not something I take.”

His voice was impossibly gentle.

“You’re something I love.”

Your eyes welled up, but he was already moving, already pulling you into his chest like the softest, most precious thing in the universe. He didn’t pull out, not yet, just wrapped his arms around you and rested there.

“Next time,” he whispered, eyes fluttering closed, “just tell me. I’ll hold you instead.”

And he did. For a long time. Until he fell asleep, buried against you, mumbling soft things in his sleep like mine and safe and stay close.

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

You weren’t quite sure why you did it. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was habit. Maybe it was because Sylus had been working so hard lately, burning down obstacles for you, carving out a future where you never had to lift a finger, not even to open a door.

He’d bought you a new mansion this week. Not just any mansion, a six-level estate with custom marble floors and a koi pond just because you once mentioned missing your childhood pet fish. He kissed the crown of your head and murmured, “My kitty deserves palaces.”

So when he took you in the grand bedroom, slow, possessive, murmuring how “good” you were for him, you felt like you had to give him something back. Even if your body was tired. Even if your heart wasn’t in it.

You moaned. You gasped his name. You clenched down just the right way, fluttering your lashes and whispering “S-Sy… I’m gonna—” and gave a little fake tremble.

And it worked. For a moment.

Sylus grunted softly, thrust once more, then stilled deep inside you with a low, satisfied exhale. He was always so still when he came, like a man who didn’t like losing control even when overwhelmed. He kissed your neck, slowly, one hand stroking your cheek.

But the moment he pulled back to look at you, his red eyes narrowed, just a little. Not in suspicion. Not in anger. Just… interest.

You looked away.

“Kitty,” he said coolly, “do you think I don’t know what you sound like when you actually come?”

Your stomach twisted. You gave a nervous little laugh, trying to brush it off, but his hand curled under your chin, gently guiding your gaze back to him.

“Was I too rough?” he asked. “Did I hurt you?”

“No! No, it’s not that,” you whispered, cheeks hot. “I just—wasn’t really in the mood, but I thought—I mean, you’ve been doing so much for me, and I didn’t want to seem ungrateful—”

A quiet laugh left his lips. Amused. A little dark.

“Oh, sweetie,” he murmured, brushing your hair back with elegant fingers. “You think you need to pay me back with your body? For being my wife?”

His tone was indulgent. Dangerous. Like he found the entire idea absurd.

“You already belong to me. That’s more than enough.”

You blinked at him, stunned. But Sylus just tucked you into his side, stroking your bare thigh with slow, lazy circles.

“You don’t fake things with me. I don’t need lies. I need you.” He glanced down at you, mouth curving. “If you’re tired, say so. If you want sleep, you get it. If you want me to just hold you and kiss your face until you’re purring, then you say the word.”

You mumbled something soft and small. He kissed your temple.

“And if I ever want something you don’t, I’ll deal with it. I’ve waited years for you. I can wait a night.”

He snapped his fingers toward the bedside table. Your favorite silk robe was in his hand a moment later. He helped you into it like you were made of glass, then pulled you onto his lap, tucking your head beneath his chin.

“Now,” he murmured, “let me pamper my little liar properly.”

You laughed softly into his chest. He didn’t mind. He just kissed the top of your head again.

“Next time,” he whispered against your ear, voice teasing and low, “I want the real thing. Understand, kitty?”

You nodded.

And you meant it.

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

You weren’t planning to fake it.

You really weren’t.

But Caleb had been gone for almost a week, off at some classified Farspace campaign, the kind that made your chest twist with worry until he messaged you with a blurry photo of his boots beside a meal tray, or a clipped miss you, pips. And the moment he walked through the penthouse doors tonight, still in uniform, still smelling like gunmetal and aftershave, he swept you up and whispered, “Mine. I missed my girl so bad, baby, need you.”

You wanted to be good for him. You always did.

So even though you were tired. Even though your head was somewhere else. Even though your body wasn’t really reacting the way you knew he wanted, you let your hands drift into his hair. Let your lips part with a soft gasp. Let your thighs tremble just enough to mimic release, moaning “C-Caleb… I’m—”

His eyes were on yours the whole time.

And you should’ve known.

Because Caleb doesn’t miss anything.

He stilled.

So gently. Just a shift of his hips. The faintest pause.

“…You didn’t come,” he murmured, voice calm. Soft. Like a statement, not a question.

You flinched. “I-I did—”

“Don’t lie to me, baby.”

You felt your heart sink. But his arms were still around you. Still holding you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

He slowly pulled out, setting you in his lap, his gloved hands cradling your waist like you were porcelain.

“Why?” he asked, eyes searching yours. “Why would you fake it?”

You swallowed. “You were so sweet today… you came all the way home for me. I thought—it’s the least I can do, right?”

His jaw tightened, just barely. But his voice stayed level.

“You never have to give me your body like it’s some kind of repayment, pips.”

He kissed your temple, hand cupping the back of your head.

“You already gave me everything when you stayed. When you let me take care of you. When you looked at me and said, ‘Okay, Caleb, I’ll be yours.’ That’s all I ever wanted.”

Tears stung at your lashes.

“I didn’t want to disappoint you…”

“You could never disappoint me.” His arms tightened. “Not my girl. Not my baby.”

You tucked yourself into his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of safety. Of him.

“I just wanted to be enough,” you whispered.

He pulled back and looked you straight in the eye, expression serious, like he was giving a mission briefing, but the mission was your heart.

“You are enough. Whether we do anything or nothing. Whether you fall apart in my arms or just fall asleep. You’re mine either way.”

You nodded, voice caught in your throat.

“…You wanna be held?” he asked, voice suddenly softer, thumb brushing your cheek. “Or you want me to help you finish for real? I’ll take care of you either way.”

You smiled, weakly. “Just hold me.”

His mouth curved.

“Done.”

And he did. Just like always. Holding you tight like his world wouldn’t exist without you in it.