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madamechrissy · 6 months ago

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Step-Daddy Issues?

pairings- Toji Fushiguro x F! reader- Toji early 40s, reader early 20s

summary- oneshot PWP- You're staying at your old home for a night while your mom's out of town, you both never have gotten along but you need to get out after a nasty breakup. Toji and your mom have been hooking up on and off but she blew him off again, and he's there to make her forget she's mad with his dick... but instead mistakes you for your mom (after sticking his fingers inside you)

warnings- so many lol- Pure filth fr, age gap (20 years) He's not ACTUALLY your step dad. Toji is nasty, spitting, slapping, oral sex (both receiving), Toji calls reader 'doll and slutty, she calls him old man and daddy lmaoo, daddy kink, reader's mom is a bitch fr lol, but even so this is shady asf. Creampie, cum drinking/cum spitting-talking shit about reader's mom lol- reader fr has MOMMY issues (I'm prob going to hell for this one) WC- 4k - Comment/reblogs if you enjoy nasty ass daddy Toji lol

Tracks for this oneshot: Daddy Issues // Often // Favorite

You were not one to ever come home, you hadn’t even seen your mom in over a year because of how much of a bitch she really was. The day you moved out, she’d already turned your room into some office, and had all your shit put in storage, there was no ‘childhood room’ or memories to come home to. Since she left your dad especially, you’ve really not talked to her.

But tonight was a bad night, and you caved, messaging her, asking if you could come over. She gives you the go ahead and tells you where the spare key is. You are exhausted after a nasty breakup with your boyfriend, and you’re for once thankful for your mom’s existence… kind of.

Ever since she left your dad she was a grade a bitch, and she had boyfriends in and out from what you hear, some your age, but one in particular irritated your dad, some felon who used to run with the Zenin, the most notorious mafia family there was. You’d never met him or seen him on her Facebook, but everyone seemed pretty concerned at her taste.

The house is nice and clean as you remember it, as you lock up and let out another yawn, take off your shoes and jacket, it’s dark aside from the little stove light, you open the fridge, you find a whole case of beer, smiling. Mom’s good for that at least, you muse, bending over to grab one from the bottom, when you get a firm smack on your ass, making you yelp.

“Finally come back, huh? Thought you were fucking furious at me, ma?” You gasp as two fingers slip under your skirt, tense, half bent over in this fridge. “And what are you wearing, so fuckin slutty? F-fuck…”

“Ngh!’ You cover your cry up, when two rough pads of fingers prod under your slick panties, cunt dripping down his fingers, your heart racing, eyes rolling back when one presses into your entrance.

“Ya doing kegels? Why you so tight… mmm, c’mere…” He pulls your back against him in the dark room, you assume this must be Toji, whose finger sinks and stretches your tight little cunt, making you cry out. “Oh my god… mmm, she missed me huh?”

You can’t speak, not when the fridge shuts, leaving you both in the dark, and he’s pumping his two fingers in, other arm wrapping around you, pressing your back against him. He moans, vibrating his chest, before tilting your chin, slamming his lips down on yours. You wriggle, half in fright but half out of instinct, only earning him pressing you against the stainless steel fridge.

“You’re this wet f’me?” He huffs, amazed at how tight you feel, how soaked you are, the squelching sound loud in the kitchen, Toji’s cock straining against his sweats as he pictures sinking into you. “Not running that bitch mouth, huh?”

“Wh-what the fuck!?” Your voice halts him then, as you elbow him, making him hunch over, glaring in the dark at you, shock hitting him brutally.

You’re far prettier than your mom, and of course younger but that’s not what it is, it’s this look you have, these eyes that just end him, lips parted and inviting, your face is a little softer than hers, too. You look like her a bit, but there’s not much there similar aside from you both are the same height and about the same body size, your hair isn’t even the same now that he focuses.

He’s standing there dumb right now as you cross your arms, glaring up at him furiously, and he realizes now why that cunt felt so tight, why you were so wet for him. Your mom had been stringing Toji around for months, fucking around with this guy and that when she was mad at him, but he did it too, they were both toxic and awful to each other.

And he never even heard her mention you. He only knew about you from seeing a picture of your high school graduation, though you look more mature now, it’s unmistakable. Toji Fushiguro just had his fingers inside his girlfriend’s (ex girlfriend’s!?_ daughter’s pussy.

“Mom isn’t home.”

“Well, no shit… I… the fuck are you doing here?” He demands then, fighting the desire to suck you off his fingers.

“Bad breakup, last resort was coming here.” You sigh now, adjusting your skirt, color heating up your cheeks even in the dark. “You call her a bitch?”

“She is one. Shit she never even talked about you before, even when I asked, ya know that?”

You falter, emotions hitting then, and Toji’s face falls a bit. “Yeah I know, we don’t talk, ever.”

“That was a dick thing to say, m’sorry.”

“No worries, it’s true.” You open the fridge back up, taking out two beers, handing it to him, finally getting a good look at his face, handsome and rugged, some five o'clock shadow, a scar on his lip. He’s got dark, inky black locks all messy, and what appears to be lidded dark green eyes. “Do I really look like her from the back?”

“Same size and shit, I… fuck I had my fingers in you!?” He takes the beer, opening it and downing a bunch. “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit.” You hop up on the counter then, and his eyes dart across your bare legs, cock leaking precum as he thinks of your sweet cunt. “No worries, more action than I’ve gotten in a while.”

“Psh, what? Look at you. Doubt it.”

“What because I have a slutty skirt?” You muse, smiling a bit.

“Nah, you’re drop dead gorgeous. So I don’t buy it.”

“That’s a compliment… from you?” You manage, nervous now, and Toji smirks, enjoying how the blush spreads across your cheeks. “Prettier than mom, Step dad?”

“Don’t fucking call me that, yuck.” You snort in laughter now, as Toji runs a hand through his hair. “We just fuck a lot, never put a label on it. But she’s been blowing me off for a month, so I came to town and thought I’d surprise her.”

“Well you surprised one of us.”

“So who broke up with you?”

“Boyfriend since high school.”

“Ouch.” You nod a bit, blinking back odd emotions. For some reason this random stranger who fingered you, thinking that you’re someone else, listens better than most people lately. “Well fuck him.”

“Yeah?” He nods, and you giggle. “Fuck him. I like that.”

“Shit, want another drink?” You nod, and he bends down, opening them both, standing between your thighs as he hands you the cool bottle, condensation seeping against your overheated skin. “Your mom really is something else though.”

“You’re telling me. You know you’re on her roster, yeah? Dad said she’s got a fantasy league.”

“Well fuck her too.”

“Fuck both of them.” You agree, giggling again, as you study him. “You’re kinda hot, for an old man.”

Toji glares now, only making your heart flutter, as you observe his strong, jacked muscles, he’s insanely buff, veins popping out of his strong arms, his neck, the shirt he’s wearing hiding damn near nothing. “Old man?”

“Mmm, you gotta be her age, older?”

“You’re a little fuckin brat. I look old to you?” Toji leans close, hands pressing against your bare thighs now, and you feel your cunt fluttering around nothing, breath quickening when he leans close. “Asked ya a question, doll.”

“Doll? Old man shit.” You whisper back, he grins then, a flash of white teeth, setting down your beer on the counter, big body completely overtaking your every sense, every thought. The only sounds then are of both of your breaths, coming quicker as your heart pounds in your ears, when a big hand cups your face, thumb pressing on your pulse point, feeling it flutter.

“Say that one more time, doll. Couldn’t fuckin hear ya?” You bite your lower lip, as he drags your panties down, smirking as he eyes them. “Should’ve known you’re not your mom, what kinda panties are these? My little fuckin pony!?”

“Fuck yourself, old man.” You earn his devious scowl, you see the vein in his temple throb now. “Are you stealing them!?”

He has them shoved in his pants as he shoves you back, head pressed against the cool backsplash of your kitchen, as he eyes your pussy hungrily, moaning now as your breasts heave up and down, heart pounding. He’s eyeing you like you’re some meal and he’s fucking starved, thumbs slipping down your puffy lips, spreading your pussy wide for his view.

“Oh my… fucking… your…” He is at a loss for words, gulping now as he eyes your pretty face, seeing how dilated those pretty eyes are, opening you to watch the arousal pool out of your tiny hole.

“Nicer than my mom’s, step daddy?” He glares, and you barely giggle before he smacks your pussy, making you cry out. “The fuck!?”

“You’re such a brat. They’re not teaching ya’ll shit in college anymore, huh? Should I give you a fuckin’ lesson?” He demands, smacking your pussy again, making it sting so good, you’re nodding eagerly, gasping when he spits right on your pussy, watching as the white bubbly liquid oozes down your pretty pussy. “Hah- would ya look at that…”

“D-didn’t answer.”

“You really got some mommy issues, huh?” He demands, raising a brow as he slides two thick fingers through your slick, sticky cunt, watching as trails of saliva and arousal leave little stringy trails.

“Maybe I need daddy issues, too.” You whisper, earning his fingers shoving deep in your cunt this time, the stretch too much, you’re struggling to even take his fingers, when they press up inside your slick walls and hit that spongy spots, you scream out, a sound you’ve never even heard.

“Daddy issues too, huh? You’re a freaky little brat, aren’t ya?” He leans close, lips hovering, you taste the alcohol on his breath, fingers curling in your soppy little cunt, making you whine. “Pathetic, can’t fucking talk?”

“P-please…” He moans then, kissing you desperately, while his fingers find you better than your years-long boyfriend ever could, making your tummy fill with pressure as he works you quicker and quicker.

“So sweet now, huh? Guess what, doll?” He murmurs, sloppy as he bites your lower lip, tongue dipping in and out of your mouth, you mouth the word ‘what’ as he pulls his fingers out, sucking on them, moaning. “That pussy is prettier, and yummier, but you sure are fucked up, aren’t ya?”

“Beyond fucked up.” You manage to whisper, he moans again, because your version of fucked up fits his so well. Soon he is picking you up like you’re nothing, carrying you over to your mom’s bed now, he has you on all fours, shoving your skirt up, your thighs are trembling.

“Wonder if she feels better, huh? M’gonna find out.” He whispers, before burying his face in your cunt, and drinking you up, his cock throbbing now, you’re way sweeter than your mom, your pussy is so yummy he could eat it for hours, for days. He grips your firm ass, pulling your thighs apart to shove his tongue deeper.

“Oh my g-god…” You whine out, trying to close your thighs, to pull back. “Just fuck me… what’re you…”

“Ha, I like to eat first, brat.” He shoves you on your back now, yanking your top off, moaning as your pretty tits bounce out of it, leaving you just in a slutty school girl skirt that makes him think filthy things. “Hold these fucking thighs open, or I won’t even fuck you, I’ll just eat it.”

“You want to!? Wh-what- I- ah!” You’re screaming out as he bites on your clit now, your hands yanking on his silky hair, trying to pull him off you, but he’s latched a hungry mouth on your clit, moaning then. You’re dripping down onto your mom’s blankets, you’d feel bad about that later -maybe- for now you’re too lost in the way he’s looking up at you, while his tongue licks a stripe up your slit.

“So fuckin yummy. Yeah I wanna, shit how pathetic are these college boys, huh? Ain't ate you out right?” You shake your head nervously, as he picks your little body up and shoves you where he needs you, he takes you over with his big grip, smirking against your inner thighs. “Cum f’me doll, like a pretty lil slut.”

“Little… slut!?... you- ah!” Your walls flutter around his tongue now as he fucks you with it, nose bumping your clit, chin digging in right against your little ass as he drinks you up, messy slurping sounds mixing with your cries.

Toju Fushiguro drinks every bit of you up as he spreads you wide, shoving your thighs up now. “Hold em.”

You eagerly obey, holding up your thighs so he has even better access, now flicking his tongue in little circles, finger back inside you, using both until you’re cumming all over his face, drenching him with your slick. He licks you through it, watching you arch your back, watching you scream out in pleasure, shaking and panting.

“Mmm, that’s it, doll. Cum so much more than her, don’t ya? Messy lil fuckin’ slut.” His words should irritate you, but they edge you on, as he flicks his tongue on the underside of your clit, teeth grinning against it as it twitches, as you cum more, until you’re soaking everything, screaming and trembling. “There ya fuckin go.”

“What even… a-are you!?” You whisper weakly, blinking back stars, making your vision so blurry, Toji leans over you, face glistening with you, he licks the scar on the corner of his mouth, smirking at you.

“Not an old man, am I?” You bite your lower lip.

“You are-”

“Open, brat. Now.” You nervously do, then he’s spitting in your mouth, smirking as you choke on it, shutting your jaw closed. “Mommy didn’t let me spit in her mouth, you’re nasty aren’t ya?”

“Oh fuck you!? Ah!” He’s standing now, yanking you to where you’re bent over, mouth against his cock that he’s pulling out, watching it smack on his tummy, as you eagerly shove up his shirt.

“Gonna shut that pretty mouth the fuck up.” He yanks off his shirt as you hungrily start lapping at his salty precum, drooling from his reddened tip, he hisses then. “Ya that cock hungry?”

“Fuck my mouth.” At that Toji loses his mind, while you’re bent over the bed, sucking him as deep as you can, saliva pooling as you deep throat him, ending him with how you worship his cock.

“Cock hungry…. Lil fuckin… what the… holy f-fuck! Doll…” Toji’s a mess for you, somthing he’s never been, as you’re working his cock with your mouth hungrily, and he’s pulling your hair into a pony tail, fucking up into your hungry, slutty throat.

You’re breathing through your nose, trying to take more and more of him as he wrecks your esophagus, you can’t wait for him inside you, you think as you’re sucking him as hard as you can, tears in your eyes. Toji’s groaning, not even moving you, just gently holding your hair back as you work his cock up and down, until he can’t take anymore.

He yanks you off him, shoving you on your back, pulling a thigh up over his arm as he lines his tip with your slutty little hole, and you whimper just from his thick, mushroom tip pressing. “You’re not a…”

You giggle, breathless. “No, not a virgin, why ya want me to be? Wanna fuck your girlfriend’s virgin daughter, pervy old- ah!” Toji’s glaring, shoving his thick cock so deep in you then, you scream out.

“Why ya feel this fucking tight!? Loosen the fuck up, slutty brat.” He huffs now, you’re gripping him way too tight, walls pulsing like you’re trying to milk him, while your pretty face screws up.

“You’re t-too big- shit!” You’re wincing now, legs shaking when he smirks, earning your little glare.

“Can’t handle me doll? Where’s all that talk?”

“Give me a second.” You’re struggling to breathe when he pulls his cock out, slapping it on your overheated cunt, slathering it in more of your slick before shoving it back inside, filling your pussy up so good he can see himself in your tummy. He moans now, pulling back.

“Look at that, fucking up your guts, brat- ha!” Toji jerks his cock in deep now, hands gripping your hips as you look down, gasping as you see the enormous bulge moving in your tummy. “Gonna fuckin ruin ya doll, for anyone.”

“Wh-what- ngh! Oh my god, Toji!” You’re whimpering as he moves, eyeing that bulge hungrily, his dark green eyes glinting, so dilated they’re black.

“Nah, don’t call me that.” He fucks into you now, thrusts wrecking your cunt as his tip bruises your cervix, bed creaking with the force of his thrusts. He has sweat dripping down onto your skin just a bit as he watches your pretty face. “You feel s’much better than any… oh my… pussy s’fucking tight, feel her…”

He’s shoving harder, faster, thick tip dragging on your walls, hitting some spot that makes you scream, Toji grins when he notices, pressing the spot again and again as he fucks into your soppy cunt. His balls smack your little ass, with arousal drooling down that hole, as you hear the ‘pap-pap-pap’ sound mix with the smacking of your skin.

“There, ya wanna cum all over this cock, huh lil girl?” Your brain short circuits, you’re pulsing around his cock as he pushes you over the edge, cumming so hard it makes the oral he gave you look like nothing. You’re weakly clinging to him, mouth opening and closing, eyes rolling back in your skull. “Look at you, cockdrunk, aren’t ya slutty girl?”

You can’t answer, not when he’s balls deep in your cunt, stuffing you so full, his big brutal hands digging into your waist. After your orgasm wracks you he yanks his cock out, making you whimper. “Back in…”

“Slutty lil brat, wait a minute.” He flips you on your tummy now, shoving back in you, so deep like this you’re a drooling mess, so fucked out you have no thoughts, you can’t remember you’re in your mom’s bed with her ex, a man twice your age, not when he’s wrecking your cunt so good.

Toji can’t remember ever even fucking anyone else, not when he’s buried in your tight little hole, you’re taking him so good. “Ngh! Toji…”

“Ha, no. What’d I say?” Toji pulls you by your hair, arching your ass up as he slips his cock so deep in your hole, pounding you over and over, licking up your neck, all the way to your chin, before he lands on your lips. “What ya gonna call me?”

“Old man? Ow!” Toji shoves his cock so deep it’s brutal, mean tip bullying your sore little pussy, you whine pathetically, head falling back as he makes you face him.

“Nah, answer right or I’ll pull out.”

“D-don’t!”

“So desperate, huh?” You just whine, as he wraps a hand around your throat, fingers so long they take you over. “Answer me, doll.”

“Desperate f’you…” You’re whispering the words, closer and closer while he’s pressing your throat, sucking your oxygen away while your pussy makes a bigger mess, leaving a huge wet spot on the blankets, now rumpled from him flipping you like a doll.

“Then how ya gonna address me, brat?” He huffs, and you look into his eyes then, reflecting how fucked out yours are.

“Daddy.” You whisper, and it ends him then, he lifts your ass up, shoving your face into the soft matress, fucking into you with hard, brutal strokes, smacking your ass over and over as you tremble, cumming down his veiny length until it’s so messy he almost slips out.

“That’s it, no one’s fucked you like this, huh doll? No one beat this pretty lil pussy up like that?” You weakly whine, nodding as he rocks his cock into you over and over. “Feel so fuckin good, best pussy I ever… oh like she’s made to take me? F-fuck… milking my cock…”

The sounds of his slapping skin and cock wrecking your sloppy pussy are ridiculous, mixing with your muffle moans and his stuttered gasps, as you clench him so good he can’t remember another pussy. As he fucks you so good you forgot you had a boyfriend, fucking every thought you ever had out of your dumb, fucked out brain.

“That’s it, taking me like that, good lil fuckin girl…” You’re pathetic and dumb at his words, nodding weakly when he pulls you back up on your knees, yanking you by your hair, pricking pain that makes your eyes water. “Want me to fill this pussy up? Knock you up? Get your mommy so fuckin mad?”

“P-please daddy…” You’re whimpering, speaking insane. “M’on the… p-pill… s’okay, please…”

“Fuck…” Toji slams up in your pussy now, tip hitting over and over until you feel him pulsing then, big hands brutally gripping you, rippling the skirt still slung up on your hips. “Oh my god… gonna fill your pretty pussy s’good…”

You’re shuddering when he pumps his hot, endless load in you, whining out a pathetic- ‘d-daddy…’

“That’s it, no one filled ya like this, huh?” You shake your head weakly, as his hot gooey cum fills your cavern, all over every inch of your walls, so much it’s dripping out in blotches, all slick with you, down his balls, down the bed. He moans, shuddering and then leaning over you, pulling your chin to him. “Perfect pussy, she’s just so full of me, huh?”

You nod weakly, letting him kiss you, nasty and messy, as he slows his thrusts, pushing his cum further and further in your soppy hole, so deep. “Too much…”

“Oh, doll, I got so much more for ya.” He flips you again, smirking down at the mess you are, smacking your pretty titties as his cock drips down. “So, am I old to you, hmm?” You shake your head quickly. “Good girl, gonna reward ya, finally keeping your pretty mouth shut.”

He unzips the skirt finally, showcasing your entire body to his hungry eyes, he smacks your titties again and again as you struggle to come to, before kissing down between the valley of your breasts, lower down your tummy, until he pulls your lips apart, smirking. You’re whimpering, so sore, while he eyes your pussy, watching his white semen pour from your abused entrance.

“That’s it, look at ya doll, took m’cum so good.” He shoves your shaking thighs apart, lapping at his own cum, you gasp.

“You’re… n-nasty I swear… the fuck- mmm!”

He’s chuckling, lapping all his cum that’s pouring now, you’re so sensitive you’re twitching, when he leans back over you, grabbing you under your chin. “Nasty, doll? You’re getting fucked in your mom’s bed, this old man’s cum pouring out, makin a whole goddamn mess.”

You gasp out when he spits his own cum in your mouth again, making out so sloppy and nasty, but you’re rolling your hips up, earning his soft laugh. “T-Toji-”

“Ah-ah.” He smacks your cheek, you inhale sharply.

“Daddy.”

“Whaddaya want daddy to do now?”

You blink a bit, taking a breath. “Eat all your cum outta me, put more in me.” He moans now, diving back down, licking your cunt clean as he drinks you both together, his salty, bitter cum, your sweet pussy all on his tongue, his big hands pressing into your thighs, bruising them. “Daddy! Daddy… Fuck me…”

Toji moans against your cunt, you’re screaming out then, as he has his face buried between your thighs, right when the door opens, but you’re both too fucked out to hear as your mom walks right in. She gasps then, watching her ex-boyfriend licking his lips, leaning over her own daughter.

“Toji Fushiguro, what the fuck!? My daughter!?” Your mom’s trill voice sobers you both up, you gasp, trying to cover yourself up with a cum soaked blanket, as Toji grins, licking you off his lips, scar stretched in a smirk.

“Well, shit.”

Well I know I'm going to hell for this one lol

Perma tags- @alt--er--love @seeing-stars-alt @nanasukii28 @labelt-san @makingtimemine @cuntphoric @n1vi @aldebrana @indiewritesxoxo @loafteaw @moonlitwitchdaisy - Toji tags - @rie-star @lavenderdaydream97 @xd3pr3ss3dx @winterautumn @g00seg1rl @lastsubstance - @getoisinnocent requested Toji, and @airandyeah wanted more Toji (sry this is so filthy loves lmaooo)

Toji Masterlist

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vishalnimbalkar1325 · 1 year ago

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deepspace-scenarios · 27 days ago

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[scenario/drabble] when life imitates art

Summary: LIs react when you're flustered from reading a spicy webtoon. They get curious, some already know why (Sylus bc Mephisto snoops), and all of the men decide to re-enact the scene with you just because ♡ Genre: Fluff; TW: suggestiveness

SYLUS

You forgot how you'd stumbled across this webtoon- but it had you enthralled in its dark fantasy while Sylus works away at his desk.

You’re curled up in his spare office chair, re-reading the chapter and engrossed in the fallen angel’s seduction- his dark wings enveloping the heroine, his lips at her throat as he steals a fragment of her soul.

An unmistakable shadow falls over your phone screen. "Ah. That scene."

Sylus’s smirk is knowing. "Mephisto adores this series- he's got it all downloaded into his storage after catching you reading it that time. Drama suits his tastes."

Your mortified gasp only amuses him further, and his crimson eyes twinkle as he steps closer. "Though I do see the appeal, kitten. No need to be so shy about it."

In one motion, he has you caged in the office chair, his knee slotted between yours, his breath warm against your ear. "Shall we test if reality lives up to fiction?"

His teeth graze your pulse point, then he sucks on your skin. Your breath stutters. "Nnh- Sy-"

“Too much, kitten?” His lips brush across your skin as he speaks, peppering kisses along your jaw between words. “I haven’t gotten to the good part yet-”

Your eyes widen. Oh no, he knows what comes next-

His hand slides up your arm, coming to rest at the base of your neck. Then his lips cover yours in a hot, searing kiss, his fingers curling ever so slightly to press onto the sides of your neck as he deepens the kiss. It doesn’t cut off your airway- but there’s just enough pressure to give the illusion that he’s doing it.

You whimper, hands clutching the front of his shirt for dear life.

He pulls away gently, eyes dark with satisfaction at your state of undoing.

“Got a verdict?” He asks, voice rough as his gaze rakes over you.

“I- yeah, that was good,” you breathe, your heart still hammering within your chest and your mind clouded with nothing but the warmth of his lips and his calloused fingers on your skin.

“That wasn’t the question, sweetie. Did it live up to your… fantasies?” He purrs, sinking down into a crouch in front of you.

You nod, covering your face with your hands and trying your best not to- only to have them gently pried off.

“I had fun too, just so you know,”

Then he scoops you into his arms, bringing you to his work desk with him. “Keep reading. We'll test out the next scene when I'm done with work,”

_____

ZAYNE

You bite your lip, completely engrossed in the webtoon as you lean your hip against the kitchen counter.

The CEO’s rival has her trapped on the balcony, his voice a soft, alluring threat as the city lights blur into a mosaic behind them.

You startle when Zayne’s arms cage you against the counter. "Show me," he murmurs, scanning your phone.

Your face heats up as you try to explain yourself. “It's a silly webtoon-”

He glances at you with a pointed look. “If it has you blushing, it's not likely silly,”

He scrolls up and back to the scene you were reading. "…I understand."

His lips find the curve of your neck, his grip on your waist tightening. "His decision is brash." He comments.

The feather-light kiss he leaves on your earlobe makes you shiver, a barely-there pressure until he eases the ticklish sensation with another press of his lips. "Though I can see how it adds to the tension."

He turns you to face him, hazel-green eyes dark as he places a firm hand on your lower back, pressing you against him. "But since I'm with someone I love-"

His lips find yours in a tender kiss. “-I'm lucky that there's no need to endure all that misguided yearning.”

______

RAFAYEL

You're already on chapter sixty three, and the season just keeps getting better.The next scene has you grinning as you slam your palm against the couch, and you see Rafayel jump from the corner of your vision.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” He accuses, sliding over on his rolling chair to see what got you reacting so strongly.

“Show,” he says, holding his palm out.

His eyes fly over the screen, taking in the story and its details- the warlock’s wand tilts the witch’s chin, her breath hitching as magic thrums between them.

Rafayel turns to you, frowning slightly, as if he's unimpressed. You yelp when his paintbrush replaces the wand- he holds it under your chin, the pressure tilting your head up.

His eyes glint violet and pink under the studio lights. "This got you flustered?" He tuts. "Tsk. So clichéd."

The brush trails down your throat- then he replaces it with his mouth, kissing you until you’re dizzy.

"Though I do love an obedient subject…" he murmurs, surging forward to lay you down on the couch.

He nips your lower lip. "Stay still, cutie. I’m far from done."

_____

XAVIER

The hum of the fan drones on while you and Xavier scroll on your phones in comfortable silence as you lean against each other while seated in the living room. On your phone is a fantasy webtoon- one that's making you struggle to hide a grin and a blush.

The faerie prince commands the heroine to kneel, her trembling only fueling his smirk.

Xavier tilts his head, blue eyes sparkling with curiosity. "You like… this?"

You jump, shoulder almost knocking against his chin. You begin to panic when you realize he might’ve been reading all along.

“Uh- Xav-”

He moves, kneeling before you.

“Xavier- wait, no,” you quickly try to pull him up. “It's not like that,”

Clarity seeps into his eyes, and his expression shifts from expectant curiosity to something that's darker, sharper and in control.

He stands, cupping your chin. "I see. Kneel for me."

The effect is instant. Your breath hitches and you obey almost instinctively, cheeks hot as you gaze up at him with wide eyes. He looks down at you, face angled like he's assessing captured prey.

“Xavi?” You ask quietly. His thumb swipes against your bottom lip. "Xavier-!"

He laughs, almost mocking, and your heart flutters helplessly against your ribs.

God, he's being so unfair.

“This is… quite thrilling,” he admits, thoughtfully. And as quickly as it began, it ends with him pulling you onto the couch.

"Guess I’ll have to read more," he murmurs, kissing you slowly. "Learn all your fantasies."

His fingers tangle in your hair. "I can be your prince."

_____

CALEB

You lounge on the couch with your head resting on the armrest, your phone displaying an endless feed of comic panels.

On the screen, the princess tugs her butler close, his control snapping under her touch as he pushes her onto the bed.

“Damn,” you breathe as you read the scene again.

Caleb’s grip tightens on the armrest of the couch as he reads over your shoulder.

"Pips," he drawls. Your gaze snaps up.

Wasn't he dealing with Fleet messages just a second ago?

"You like making someone lose control like that?" He teases, leaning down over to you.

You push him away half-heartedly as you sit up with a huff, adjusting your position to lean against the backrest with your arms crossed. “Hey, you can't deny it's pretty hot-”

His purple eyes burn, and he mirrors your crossed arms.

“I meant it's hot when the butler loses control because he's normally so disciplined, uptight and careful- and-” you trail off when you see Caleb raise an eyebrow at your passionate description.

Before you can react, he steps closer and leans in with a hand on the backrest, his other hand trailing up your arm and cupping your jaw.

“Cat got your tongue, huh?”

“Don't tease!”

He chuckles, sitting down and pulling you onto his lap. "Then let me serve you properly, my princess."

His kiss is searing, his hands gripping your waist. "And it seems like you could do with some lessons in discipline."

Notes: Lmk which LI's one yall liked bc i think i went feral for Xavier’s oops and i think Zayne's one was sweeter than i expected im too soft for him :') ANYHOW THANKS FOR READING <33 Comments and reblogs very much appreciated <3 ((+EDITS made sorry for the typos im so mortified) (Also working on 1 request atm) ✨️

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kissthesunandmoon · 4 months ago

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Cellmates by proxy part 2 (Yautja x f reader SMUT MDNI)

Part 1 here!

(After staying with T’orak for exactly 3 weeks and 2 days, the two of you are brought back to his planet, where your new life as his mate begins. Of course, this involves plenty of alone time with him)

Three weeks and 2 days, that’s how long you had been on that ship, you would have been absolutely miserable had it none been for your cellmate, now just your mate.

T’orak had not changed his feelings in the slightest after your heated encounter, you had worried his words were just a spur of the moment, but his affection for you had only seemed to grow since then.

He held you close every night, lulling you to sleep with his plans for when you arrived back on his own planet, some of which soothed you, others ended with you under him panting and moaning once again.

You had grown to care for him in a way that you never would have expected, you were never this quick to fall for anyone, you often joked to him that the two of you must have been meant to be. He never said it out loud, but he felt the exact same way, finding himself ecstatic at the thought of having a life, a home, and maybe even someday, younglings with you.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The alarms had alerted you to their presence, confirming what he could already sense, his brothers had finally come for him. You heard the onslaught from beyond your doors, and after what felt like hours, they had opened.

Before you had stood three more of his kind, they greeted him, and without time for any formal introduction you had all made your way through the ship, they hadn’t questioned your presence for the time being. After all, unbeknownst to you, you were dripping in his scent.

You had made a stop at what was their storage room in which they kept the belongings of their captives, T’orak collected his mask, armour and weaponry. He had given you one of their weapons and gave you a very quick rundown on how to use it, and use it you did.

With it, you had managed to take down a good number of your captures, and although it wasn’t much compared to T’orak and his brothers, you still felt a little proud of yourself. You had even managed to help one of his fellow warriors in a sticky situation, earning his gratitude.

Finally you had made it away from that dreadful place, as far as you were aware, they had left no survivors. They had however opened all of the other cells before they left, any who had been spared by the Yautjas, would surely face the wrath of their lab rats.

Either way, they weren’t your problem anymore, and for the first time you allowed yourself to relax in his quarters within their ship. You rested, ate and of course eventually you had to be introduced to his fellow crew mates.

They had seemed a little apprehensive at first, although they were impressed that you had held your own during your escape and even aided them. And of course your mate told them of how you had put yourself in harms way to defend him, now that was what did it for them.

It had seemed such a small gesture to you, but to them who valued honour and bravery, your small feat did not go unnoticed. You had looked out for them and of course T’orak, a highly respected member of their clan, and for that you had their thanks.

—————————

Arriving on their home planet on the first day was strange, now you were the alien, but you were met with no hostility, more-so a cautious curiosity. The noble warriors who you had travelled with had the utmost trust and respect from their clan, including their leader, and therefore your presence must have been justified.

They had given a very quick rundown of the events in their tongue to who you had assumed was their leader due to his elaborate get up, his eyes had been on you the majority of the time. They had then introduced him to you, you weren’t sure what had been spoken of you, but whatever he said must have pacified their leader for now as he let you return home with T’orak.

Over the next week you had even been introduced to the females of the clan, who were surprisingly much larger than the males, and yet they were gentle with you. You were sure it was because they viewed you as weak, but you appreciated it nonetheless, you would not want to get on the wrong side of any of these women.

They had even shown you, very proudly, their younglings. Small but strong little males and females, their childish curiosity written all over their faces as they clambered on you, touched your face, played with your hair and chittered in their native language to you. You even felt a twinge of baby fever, wondering if that would ever be in the cards with your mate.

Eventually you had been given a bracelet of some kind for the sake of translation, you could tell that they were still a little unsure of your ever growing presence, but by now your deeds on the creatures ship had reached the ears of many whom had deemed it impressive, at least for a human that was. Their small act of acceptance had truly made you feel at home with them.

It was strange here, but you felt yourself glowing with happiness with each passing day, T’orak was as attentive as ever, even catering to your needs with subtle changes to his home. And oh was home a lovely place to be, since he had officially announced you as his mate your life had been what you would compare to marital bliss; he had doted on you, cared for you and of course - mated you. A lot.

—————————

It was late at night now, your mate had been on a hunt the entire day and you had to admit you were missing his warm presence beside you. Snuggled up in the furs of his bed, keeping your naked form sheltered against the cold, you strained your ears to try to detect any sound of movement from outside your now home.

You let out a sigh, rolling over to face the flickering fire in the corner of his room, he had said he would be back before dark. And yet here it was, dark, and he was not home. You knew you couldn’t fault him for it, even humans ran behind at work, but you were still adapting to the life of the mate of a hunter.

Just as you had felt your eyes growing heavy, the warmth and melody of the fire relaxing you further into the cozy nest, your ears finally picked up something, the sound of the door to your home opening. Then the sound of your mate unloading his gear and the kill of his hunt into the room resembling a kitchen, before finally footsteps echoed throughout the hall leading to the bedroom.

You lay still as the door to his bedroom opened, unable to determine his level of exhaustion, he had only been on a few hunts since your arrival a week prior, but his return home always went one of two ways. Either he would come home too tired to stand, collapse on the bed tucking you into his arms and instantly drifting off - or - he would return to you ravenous, the adrenaline sparking something else within his body.

The bed dipped slightly to accommodate to his weight, yet you still did not move, anticipating what his next move could be. Before you could even look to face him, a large yet gentle hand found your cheek, caressing it softly. You hummed into the feeling, your body stirring slightly out of its relaxed state as you felt him lay down behind you, his chest pressed to your back.

“You’re late” you mumbled quietly, although their was no reprimand to your voice. You felt the rumble within his chest, a low chuckle of sorts at your words, his hand trailing from your face to land on your waist, pulling you back further to him.

“I know I know, I said I would be back before dark. But I am here now, do you think you could find it in your heart to forgive me?” His question had a teasing tone to it, he enjoyed the idea that you missed him, and found it amusing the looks you gave him on the occasion he was late.

“Hmm” you pretended to ponder aloud, his teasing tone mimicked in your own. “I don’t know if you deserve my forgiveness” you mused turning slightly to look at him, the familiar glint of mischief in your eyes that he had grown to love even when you two had been in captivity together.

“Oh I see now, so are you saying my mate…” he leaned forward so that his mouth was next to your ear, the breath of his low spoken words grazing at your neck “that I would have to earn it?” His hand at your waist tightened at that, rocking you backwards into him slightly.

Not that you were surprised, you had played this little cat and mouse game plenty during the month of knowing him, he liked to tease, and you liked to encourage it. Playing along you grinned “I mean you could try, but it will take a lot to make up for this, you have completely betrayed my trust, I am utterly heartbroken” you replied in an exaggerated, mock hurt tone “I’m afraid you won’t win me over that easily”.

That familiar clicking purr rumbled through him and into you, “Mhm, we shall see about that” and before you could even muster up a reply, you felt his weight shift slightly, his hand leaving your waist to travel down your stomach. You shuddered at the feeling of his enticingly rough fingers, looks like he isn’t tired after all.

Biting back a gasp, you felt his fingers slide between your legs, immediately finding the wetness gathering there. He tutted at you from behind, his fingers running through the wetness of your folds “You won’t be easily won over hmm? Your body betrays you my love”. You couldn’t find it in you to quip back at him, instead you leaned into his touch, delicate circles running over your clit.

Over the past few weeks, he had prided himself on learning your body inside and out, and he was a fast learner. He knew how to make you come undone, but most importantly he knew how to get you impossibly close, just on the tip of the edge but unable to fall without his steady push, resulting in you having to ask, sometimes even beg him to give you what he knew you needed.

It seemed that’s exactly what he was doing now, the pressure of his fingers on you was delectable, but not enough, he was going to paw at you until you couldn’t take it anymore. And you were soon getting there, moans spilled from your tongue, but they were high pitched like a whine, he was absolutely torturing you in the best way.

You felt your hips rock to match the rhythm of his fingers, you could hear the wetness throughout the room, and you could hear his response to it. Soft growls met your ears, and soon he decided that this would not situate him either.

You felt his fingers leave you eliciting a whimper, until he shifted so that he was sat further down the bed, turning you to be flat on your back. You knew exactly what was coming, he pushed your knees to your chest, spreading them slightly before admiring the arousal dripping from you, from his doing.

Since he had tasted you that first time on the ship, it appeared that he could not get enough, he would find any excuse to have his mouth on you at any point during the day, and somehow he got better at it every time.

Your fingers interlaced with the furs of his bed and with one look of approval from you, he practically dove down to you, immediately lapping you up like a man starved. You closed your eyes at the feeling, every part of your body suddenly on fire from the feeling of his tongue.

His hands kept your thighs in place as his tongue devoured you, paying special attention to your clit that made your back arch, your legs shake and pulled sounds from deep within your chest. You squirmed beneath him, hips rocking into his greedy mouth, his mandibles ticking at the skin of your thighs.

He licked every inch of you, only stopping to compliment your “sweet pussy”, his insatiable tongue shifting between swirling circles on your clit, to slipping inside of you to taste you further.

Soon you found pleas cascading from your mouth, begging for him not to stop, as if he ever would anyway. He growled at the feeling of you, the taste of you and of course the sound of you. He would do this all day if you let him, he wished you would let him. And finally with one final flick of his tongue, your body was overcome by that familiar white hot feeling of your orgasm.

He continued his work with his tongue as always, until you were desperately trying to move away from the overwhelming sensations.

He sat up to look at you, your chest heaving, body still trembling and fingers intertwined with the furs on his bed, your knuckles practically white from how hard you gripped. He licked all the way up your body, until he reached your neck and gave you a firm nip with his teeth, marking you for anyone to see.

“Tell me hmm? Do you still need some, convincing?” He purred into your neck as he licked the area in which his teeth had sunken in to your soft flesh, there was a playful cockiness to his tone. Almost slightly mocking.

Oh, so that’s how he’s going to play? Game on.

You were absolutely wrecked after that, but as always that feeling of needing him swirled in the pit of your stomach, a twinge of a teasing stubbornness ran through you as you fought against your smile “Well I would say a little more persuasion would work in your favour” you croaked slightly, your voice strained from your excessive moaning “But of course I understand if you don’t have it in you”

He practically shot up from the crook of your neck, his narrowed eyes meeting yours. Those teasing words were brave even for you, but as he stared into your eyes, searching for any sign of submission, instead he found a glint something else, surely you knew here that you were practically challenging him. Oh. So that’s how you were going to be.

He shook his head slightly with an amused rumbling chuckle, “Fine then, have it your way.” And with that his hands gripped your waist again, flipping you on to your stomach with a sharp gasp for you. He had been so gentle with you when you had first met, worried he might break you with your fragile body and delicate nature.

But now he knew you better, his man-handling didn’t frighten you, it turned you on. He reached his hand under you giving your belly a firm tap, you knew what that meant; hips up, legs open. Of course, you obeyed, propping yourself up onto your elbows and knees feeling him shift himself behind you.

He planted a strong hand on your back to hold you in place, you liked that too, him having complete control of your body. He would never take advantage of that control and you knew that, it’s funny, despite his huge stature and predatory nature, you had never felt safer with anyone handling your body.

The sting of the stretch snapped you from your thoughts, eyes scrunching shut as you focused on your breathing easing yourself into the feeling. Despite the fact he was aching for you, as always he waited until you were ready, holding himself still and fighting against his urges to rock himself further into you.

After what felt like an eternity he felt you relax around him, moving your hips backwards until your ass was flush against his pelvis. A low drawn out moan escaped you as you did, and so he began to move. Slowly at first, agonising rolls of his hips into you, your breath hitching every time you felt his tip brush against that sweet spot deep inside you. Then when your moans became slightly higher pitched and more urgent, he quickened his pace.

Soon he was slamming into you with his hands on your waist, you still knew he was holding back, he would have likely bruised your insides had he used his full power. He felt you squeezing his cock and he growled at the feeling, you continued to moan and whimper, murmuring his name and practically begging him to ruin you.

Then just as your legs began to shake, there was a knock at your front door, your whole body froze up as you lifted your head. It was one of the males your mate had been hunting with, you heard him yell something to your mate through the door, but even if you could understand their language, your heartbeat drumming in your ears would have denied you his words anyway.

You went to push yourself up, expecting T’orak to stop to tend to whatever matter had brought his fellow comrade to the door. Instead, you felt a heavy hand between your shoulder blades, pushing you down further so instead of being on your elbows, your chest was completely flat against his bed. He continued moving into you.

You shot a glance at him behind you, before whispering “What are you doing?! He’ll hear us” it was hard to keep your voice down and even harder to keep your moans at bay.

You felt him lean down to brush his mouth against your ear, giving it a teasing lick as he did “So what if he does? Sex is no secret in my culture, I am simply enjoying the presence of my mate, after all I am still to earn your forgiveness for my lack of punctuality am I not?” his tone was playful as ever, slightly strained as he continued fucking you, pushing himself even deeper.

Your hopes that his friend would simply leave were shattered when another knock echoed through your home, your mate let out another amused purr into your ear seeing that you were now focused solely on holding in your moans. Sure by now the whole clan would have known what you and T’orak got up to, you always bore his mark after all, but that didn’t mean you wanted them to hear you.

As if reading your mind, your mate accommodated to you, while also torturing you further. He leaned down so his chest was against your back, never once slowing his hips, the new angle had you seeing stars and feeling light-headed. Just as you feared your moans would slip out, he brought his strong hand to press against your mouth, catching your sweet sounds. Then, to add insult to injury, he brought his other hand under you, sliding down your stomach to your clit, rubbing slow circles into you.

You couldn’t hold back now, your moans high pitched and frantic spilling into his hand, you could feel every inch of him inside you, his fingers on your clit, his tongue and breath against your neck. It was all too much and yet so, so good. You felt your eyes scrunch closed once again, your whole body limp between the bed and him while he fucked himself into you tirelessly. The slight upwards angle of his hips making him brush against you over and over again, right there.

You couldn’t warn him if you wanted to, suddenly you didn’t care how loud you were or who heard you, your whole body trembled and finally you came hard, shuddering around him. He let out a loud groan, your own high edging him towards his own. The knocking had stopped now, his brother either having grown tired of waiting, or catching on to what was happening within your home.

With one last snap of his hips, T’orak bit down on the nap of your neck before you felt him tremble, his cock twitching as he came inside you. He held you there for a moment, filling you up before wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you both to fall on your sides, not even bothering to pull himself out of you.

You lay there with him panting, your skin laced in sweat, his tongue soothing the fresh mark on your neck. You felt yourself relax once again, you let out a short breathless laugh, “I think it’s safe to say you are forgiven” your hand reaching back to give an affectionate tug on his dreads.

But just as you readied yourself for the thought of a well earned night sleep, you felt a hand lift one of your thighs as he pushed himself slightly further into you once again, still impossibly hard inside of you. “Hmm, I don’t think I have earned your forgiveness my love” he whispered into your ear before snapping his hips forward once again, “Yet.”

(I’m sorry that this took longer to come out than the others, but I found myself getting too invested in their love story and it ended up being far too long which is why I asked about making this a series. So I decided to trim this down a bit and will continue writing more in different parts, I personally think that reader and T’orak deserve an adorable youngling in the near future ;).I also tried shortening the paragraphs to ease strain on the eyes after a very helpful comment was left on a previous post about this being a potential issue. As always let me know what you think, hope you enjoyed!)

#predator x human #predator x reader #yautja x human #yautja x reader #fanfic #predator #yautja #smut #yautja smut #part 2

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ceilidho · 1 year ago

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sundog

prompt: Simon comes across a girl when she's recently been evicted and takes her back to his place, despite her reservations (nsfw, 8.5k) [based on this old post] [on ao3 here]

The circumstances of your life change so abruptly that you lose sight of it for a moment.

Then, you’re out on the streets with the clothes on your back and a suitcase packed so full that a sweater sleeve sticks out where the zippers meet. The locks to your apartment have already been changed. You know because you tried them anyway, desperately hoping that the eviction notice taped to your door might have been misplaced.

Evidently not. The keys don’t work. You contemplate chucking them on the walk out, but instead you keep them close like a talisman of protection, though it’s failed to live up to its purpose so far.

You’ve got it under control for a day. If by ‘under control’, you mean experiencing a full body panic attack in the locker room of the twenty-four hour gym down the street from your old apartment. The staff gives you uncomfortable looks when you come in on the verge of tears with your suitcase rolling behind you, but they let you in because your membership is up to date. If you can count on anything in life, it’s consumerism.

That doesn’t last long though, mainly because a locker and a wood bench won’t cut it in the long term. You sleep in the back of the local library until a stern-faced, if pitying, librarian threatens to call the cops on you. Pity isn’t sympathy, evidently.

Gym management threatens to cut the lock on the locker you’ve been using as temporary storage space. Matter of fact, they say, you can’t be using the locker room as your quasi apartment between the hours of nine P.M. and seven A.M. just because everything else in the city is closed. Go home, they say.

What home, you don’t say, before packing up your things and heading out on your way.

If there’s one thing you can count on, it’s capitalism.

You didn’t think this kind of thing could happen to someone like you. Someone like you being an ordinary person. Homelessness always felt like a far away concept. But the world is cruel and life is brutal. What you didn’t realize before was that, at any moment in time, you’ve been closer to poverty than wealth, and here you are now, sitting in the park with your suitcase between your legs, the sun rapidly setting behind you, your phone at ten percent battery, and nowhere to go because your family is, frankly, nonexistent, and your friends, for lack of a better word, have almost entirely washed their hands of you.

Sorry, they’d say, the frown emoji expressing something like pity at a distance. We don’t have a couch to spare.

I can sleep on the floor, you’d texted back. They’d gotten cagey after that. People like to be wanted only to a certain extent.

You can feel the panic rise up in you, too big to contain. It comes out in the form of blubbering tears and snot running from your nose. Big, hiccuping sobs. It’s not pretty. Passersby avert their eyes for the most part, save for the ones that eye you with something bordering on perverse delight and that’s what finally makes you get up and speed walk away, lest they feel compelled to approach you.

But even in the tailwinds of summer, it gets cold outside at night. Worst of all, as the evening grows dark, the streets empty out until you can’t help but feel like a beacon with your little rolling suitcase. It clatters against the sidewalk as you try to hoof it down the street, looking for any shop still open to loiter in. Most close after nine though. You’ve googled homeless shelters, but the sheer anxiety keeps you floundering around up and down the streets instead.

It feels beyond helpless. You’re in a state like you’ve never been before, crying under a streetlamp because you needed a moment just to get your bearings.

What you know now is that this world is a house of false bottoms. You thought the circumstances of your life could never change. You were never well to do, but you were doing well. The sight of the unhoused sitting with their backs to the brick and mortar stores on your walk home or congregated in a park in the middle of the city with their tents and shopping carts used to fill you with immeasurable pity, maybe even a quiet moment’s reflection; now, you see them as kin.

Easy, isn’t it? To slip between states. To go from solid to liquid to gaseous. Easier than you ever could have expected.

When it starts to rain, you almost close your eyes in relief. Anyone could’ve predicted this.

You almost don’t respond to him at first, keeping your eyes trained on the sidewalk to avoid any bumps. Also, it never pays to look up at a man barking at you, especially not when he’s barking something like, Girl or Bird, turn around.

Then he says it again, closer this time, and you’re forced to look up, if only to see who’s approaching you. Your suspicion melts away to distrust at the sight of the man stalking towards you. Distrust with a touch of trepidation—maybe outright alarm. Surely no man his size wearing a balaclava tucked into a hoodie straining around his arms would have innocent designs on you.

He’s one of the bigger men you’ve ever come across. You look across the street to see if there’s a bar missing its bouncer, but all the shop fronts are dark like the ones on your side.

You don’t bolt at the sight of him, but it’s a near thing. He appears from nowhere, and yet there’s nowhere for him to hide. Not with the size and breadth of him damn near taking up the whole sidewalk. His demeanour and stride evoke such a sense of authority that at first you mistake him for a plainclothes man, and wouldn’t that be just the icing on the shit cake of a week you’ve been experiencing. But something about him says otherwise.

“Plan on catchin’ your death out here?” he asks, and you shiver. Not from the cold, but from the sound of his voice.

You’re not used to talking to strangers. A month ago, you would’ve ignored the man lambasting you for being out in the rain; maybe crossed the street and hailed a cab instead. You don’t have those kinds of options anymore. The only thing left in your repertoire is to shout back.

“I’ve got mace!” you yell out, your voice a hoarse rattle carved out from hours spent crying.

“That’ll do ya fuck all out here,” he says, a touch condescendingly. “You lost or somethin’?”

“I’m not lost,” you sniff, rubbing the snot away from your nose with the end of your sleeve.

“Then get home instead of roamin’ the streets. You’re askin’ to get snatched up, bird.”

The threat of that has been lingering in your head these past few days, even stretching back to the very first moment that you noticed the sign on your door, but now it has its intended effect. You shake.

“I can’t,” you whisper.

“Bloody hell,” he sighs. “Why the fuck not? Need someone to call you a cab?”

“I got evicted. I don’t have a home,” you say, and sniffle when your nose leaks again. Saying it outloud brings tears to your eyes again, a pressure building behind your orbital sockets and down to the tip of your nose.

You must look like the saddest thing in the world standing there in the rain under the dim light of the streetlamp, the pole looped with graffiti and old gum. When the man berating you for being out in it takes a step forward, coming into the light, you can finally make out the bored depths of his eyes. A deep brown. Entirely unimpressed with the picture in front of him, maybe even a bit peeved.

Your socks are wet and your shoes squelch when you take a step back. You pull the sheer sweater tighter around your frame, but it does nothing to protect you from the damp, frigid air.

“You been out here long?” he asks, taking another step closer. Not tentatively either. His gaze sweeps over you proprietarily, taking stock; his arrogance comes as an afterthought. He’s not rubbing it in your face that he can do whatever he likes—he just does.

You wheel your suitcase around in front of you to put something between the two of you. “…Just today. The gym kicked me out.”

You sound petulant, words chewed between your lips and teeth; begrudgingly admitting to the various pitfalls of your existence. All the bad luck. It’s shameful to admit to losing complete control of your life.

“Haven’t ya got any family, girl? Friends? What’re they letting a girl like you stay out on the streets for?”

You could be sick on the pavement. “…That’s none of your business.”

His eyes go flat at that, unimpressed. “You always this nasty to people tryin’ to help?”

And you’re not. That’s the part that grates the most. You’re all soft underbelly; no bark, no bite. It’s inconceivable that this could’ve happened to you—inconceivable because your head is filled with false promises and mythologies. The myth of exceptionalism. This happens to other people. Not good girls that go to college and get their degrees and find a stable job.

They’ve pulled the rug out from under you so fast that you haven’t even toppled over yet. That’s how quick it all happened.

“What help are you?” The bite comes out of nowhere, fueled by bitter humiliation and resentment for the predicament you’ve found yourself in. “Are you gonna put me up in a hotel?”

“Think I’m made of money, bird?” he asks rhetorically.

“You’ve probably got more than I have.”

Now you’re weepy again at the thought. Down to your last hundred dollars and you’re in between jobs at the moment. It might’ve been easier to haul yourself out of poverty if applying for jobs didn’t require a mailing address. That’ll be your first priority once you find a place to live. But conversely, how are you meant to find housing with no proof of income? Landlords laugh in your face before slamming the door shut. The conversations are circular, but they always come to a grinding halt; that’s the only thing you’ve learned to expect.

The worst part of this whole conversation is that it doesn’t follow any of the scripts you’ve previously memorized. When have you ever had to deal with a man interrogating you about your place of residence? It makes no sense.

It’s inconceivable to imagine that this is happening to you, but it is. Life comes at you hard, with a razor’s edge. Sharp enough to cut, to lacerate.

“You need a place to stay,” he states bluntly.

“It’s fine. I’ll—I’ll find something.”

“You could come home with me.” He says it so bluntly that for a moment all you can do is blink. Surely you misheard him. Surely a man of his size and breadth, dark mask obscuring his face, wouldn’t be daft enough to ask a woman he found on the street to come home with him.

The offer, as well-intentioned as you hope it is, puts you on edge. “No, that’s…that’s alright. I don’t want to…put you out. I was going to look up nearby shelters.”

“Shelters’ll all be full this time of night,” he says. “Never been on the streets?”

You clenched your teeth, nerves starting to get the better of you.

“I can go to a church,” you say, voice terse now, frayed with nerves.

He snorts. “Haven’t been to one in a long time, but pretty sure those close too, pet. It’s late.”

You sway on your feet, the suitcase at your side the only thing keeping your knees from buckling. Dead ends everywhere you turn. You’ve always thought of yourself as resourceful; that if push came to shove, you’d figure your way out of any sticky situation. That smacks of arrogance now. All your suppositions are dissolving right in front of you, your own self-image along with it.

A heavy foot stepping into a puddle brings you back to focus. The masked man is closer now, within arm’s reach. Your heart jumps into your throat. He towers over you, monolith man; big as a sequoia, or other deadland creatures that vanish out of sight when you catch a shadow out of the corner of your eye and whirl around to look it dead on.

“I can’t go home with a stranger.”

You know you’re not supposed to put your faith in strange men. Bad things happen to girls that go around trusting any man that offers up their help.

The fist in your chest loosens infinitesimally when the man reaches up to pull the mask off his head. He’s every inch the brute you imagined in your head—blunt chin and crooked nose, a nasty scar running up his lip. There are scars all over his face, in fact—bisecting his left eyebrow and down his cheek. The blond hair on his head is slightly grown out, like he’s used to keeping it neat and tight but it’s been awhile since his head has seen a razor. His beard grows in a bit patchy, the burnish gold of a five o’clock shadow.

You frown. “Is that supposed to make me trust you?”

“Well, now we’re not strangers, are we?”

“That doesn’t—that doesn’t change anything! I still don’t know you.”

He shrugs. Takes a step back. “Suit yourself then. No skin off my ass.”

Your stomach roils, anxiety coming back with a vengeance. You hadn’t noticed it recede since the man started talking to you, but you notice its return. When he makes a move to turn back around, you lurch forward, your hand extending out and fisting in the side of his shirt. He pauses, then looks down at you.

“…Where else am I supposed to go?” you whisper.

He tilts his head. “Could sleep on a bench in the park.”

You glare at him through tear-soaked eyes. “That’s not funny.”

“Wasn’t meant to be. You’re shit out of other options at this time of night.”

“So, what? Now it’s-it’s my fault or something?”

His eyes don’t exactly soften, but they lose their hard edge.

“I’m not gonna ask twice,” he says. Not cautioning you, just stating a fact. “You coming or not?”

Disaster seems like a given at this point. At least you could pick your poison.

Words are beyond you though, so you just bite your lip and nod, eyes downcast now.

What else is there for you to do but follow him after that? You trail along after him like a sad, wet cat left out in the rain.

He finds her wandering the streets with her pretty little suitcase rolling over every bump and crack in the sidewalk and there’s no fighting the urge to drag her home.

She doesn’t look like a runaway. Just a poor thing down on her luck. Her cheeks practically glisten with her tears when she looks up at him with her big, pathetic eyes, and it makes his cock plump up against his thigh.

That’s not what this is about though. Simon presses his hand against his dick to rub out some of the ache while she flutters around the bedroom and reminds himself of that again. He didn’t take her home to maul her like a dog. He dragged her back to his flat because she looked wounded and scared out of her wits.

He can be good every now and then.

“Sit down, will ya?” he grunts, tugging her down onto the couch when she flits across the room to grab more of her shit out of her suitcase, glancing down at him apprehensively on her way by. She yelps when he sends her sprawling onto the couch.

His flat isn’t much. A one-bedroom above a laundromat; eggshell walls and torn up baseboards because he hasn’t gotten around to fixing the place up. It’s better than sleeping on the streets though, he knows that much.

Simon’s no stranger to that; if being in the military taught him anything, it was how to survive regardless of circumstances. In the weeks after his medical discharge—his knees beyond busted, basically bone on bone, and even these days, though he works more to have something to do than to earn a living, they still scream at him when he puts too much weight on them—he wandered aimlessly for a bit, crashing on Gaz’s couch for a bit and sleeping on benches for a spell after that before finding his footing again.

Simon ignores the way that she yaps at him though, used to tuning people out. He flicks on the television and flips to a show that looks vaguely entertaining before getting up and ambling over to the kitchen.

“D-do you want me to help?” she asks from the kitchen, tripping over her words in her haste to get them out.

She reeks of the need to please. Desperate; cloying, sickly sweet like flowering dracaena. It clings to her like a perfume, silk-wrapped and packaged just for him. It could give a man like him indecent thoughts. His thoughts already tend towards the impure.

He must eye her like a ravenous animal because she flinches suddenly under his gaze, eyes flicking away nervously before meeting his again. Good girl, Simon wants to say. Eyes on me.

“Sit down,” he barks instead, and relishes in the way she sits back down with her hands tucked under her thighs.

She’s really a pretty little thing. A shame that he found her out wandering in the rain, out where any man with worse intentions could have stumbled across her. The thought alone could drive him to violence. Again he stares at the back of her head and the slope of her shoulders, evaluating. His bloodlust dulls to a simmer. It pounds in his ears like a dull drum, but at least now he can hear again.

Anyone else could have found her first, but they didn’t. He did. That tempers the homicidal impulse thrumming in his blood. She’s in his flat now, freshly showered and skin still damp. When she looks over her shoulder, it’s him she sees.

Poor bird with her clipped wings. She’s not in danger of flying off anytime soon. The thought placates him. Tucked away in his cage, he doesn’t have to rend anyone limb from limb.

It’s been years since he traded in his fatigues for a hi vis jumpsuit, but some days he misses it so acutely that his hands shake and his vision fades in and out. This is one of those days. He toys with the idea of reaching out to Price in the morning to learn more about her, but then discards the idea. Better if it comes straight from her.

Besides, he doesn’t like asking for favours anyway.

“Name’s Simon, by the way,” he grunts, nostrils flaring when he sees her flinch at the sound of his voice. “Riley.”

“Oh,” is all she says. He waits a beat.

“Gonna give me your name, bird?”

She does, voice squeaky like it’s said under duress. That pisses him off more.

He's not much of a cook, but he can whip up something quick, so he tosses one of his frozen meals into the microwave and sits her in front of the TV while she shivers and shakes on the couch.

They eat in silence, the TV on in the background. It’s the only noise besides the soft sound of her chewing. Simon can tell she’s gone hungry in recent days by the voracious way she eats, unable to keep herself from shovelling the food into her mouth. She seems almost embarrassed by it after swallowing her last bite, looking over at him from the corner of her eye like a guilty dog. He ignores it, keeping his eyes on the TV instead.

He can tell she wants to say something. A shit childhood and two decades in the military have left him with the ability to sniff out tension, and it comes off her in waves. After putting her plate on the coffee table, she sits back against the couch and squeezes her fists over her lap. Gnaws her lip and casts furtive glances in his direction. When the tears build up on her waterline, his cock twitches.

“What?” he barks after the umpteenth sniffle, twisting to face her.

“I—um—I just wanted to say thank you,” she whispers, her head still tilted downward, trying to make herself small enough to go unnoticed.

Simon stares down at her, unblinking. He half wishes she’d cry a little more, just a few tears to soothe the beast in his chest. It’s better for her that her eyes remain dry. He doesn’t think he could hold himself back if one slipped down her cheek right now. He’d have to grab her by the nape of her neck and twist her over the side of the couch, shove down both their drawers and feed his cock into the warm, wet slot between her legs. Pummel her little cunt until his spend leaks out in thick, viscous globs, until her thighs shake so violently that only his hands on her shoulders and his shaft shoved deep in her pussy keeps her upright.

He can almost smell it from between her legs, throbbing with gratefulness. He stares down unabashedly at the spot between her legs. Let her say something about it.

“Don’t mention it,” he says instead, tilting his head when her tongue peeks out to wet her lips. “‘Was nothing.”

“No, it was really nice of you,” she insists, speaking more forcefully after gathering up some of her courage. “What if I…—you took a stranger into your house.”

That gets the blood pumping. “Gonna gut me while I sleep, pet?”

It’s half deranged that his cock chubs up in his jeans at the thought of his little bird with a knife in her hands, hands dripping with wet, dark blood. He shifts, readjusting himself so the metal teeth of his zipper don’t bite into his dick.

She frowns. Endearing. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Not really good at looking after yourself, are you?”

“I am—it’s just…” tears build up on her waterline again, “it was one thing after another. I couldn’t get it all together.”

Pity isn’t an emotion he’s accustomed to feeling. Simon’s not even sure if that’s what he’s feeling now. It’s more like the bastard child of pity.

He lets her off to bed with a warning not to fuck with anything in his room. She skitters off quickly after that. Her cute little ass follows her into the room until she shuts the door behind her, hiding it from view. He huffs. Being good never gets him anywhere.

He lets her run away though because he can’t tarnish everything he touches. Some things deserve to stay polished.

Instead, he brushes his teeth and washes the last of the dishes before turning in as well, getting a clean sheet out of the linen closet to drape over himself. The couch isn’t nearly long enough for him to stretch out on, not like the king sized bed in his room; there’s already a spring poking him right in the middle of his back.

Sleep won’t come easy tonight.

Simon wakes up on the couch with a kink in his neck. He lays there for several minutes gritting his teeth until the worst of it passes. When he sits up, his back cracks and pops, joints loosening only reluctantly. His age is getting away from him again; the wear and tear on his body finally starting to catch up. There’s only so much abuse he can put himself through.

The morning races on outside his front door and he has work to get to, but his body orients towards the closed door of his bedroom almost without his say. It creaks as it swings open.

In the slowly dimming haze of sleep, he must have subconsciously thought he dreamt the night before because seeing the girl from yesterday curled up in his bed halts him in his tracks. Her suitcase is open on the floor beside the bed. She must have changed into her pyjamas after slinking away last night because he doesn’t recognize the little cotton shorts hugging the swell of her ass and the shirt riding up over her belly button.

Despite the perfunctory morning jerk he gave himself just ten minutes prior, his cock twitches in his work pants, gaze locked on the underside of her ass, the flesh peeking out from beneath her sleep shorts.

The hunger ebbs out of a deep, cavernous hole in him. A heavy, oppressive heat; lust so gnarled and twisted that he hardly recognizes it. He can see it play out in his mind—crawling over the bird’s prone form and turning her over onto her belly, his knees on either side of her legs, cloaking her. Tugging down the zipper of his pants and wrenching those slutty shorts down to mid-thigh before burying his shaft in her hole. Little bird that followed him home, sleeping in his bed. She should thank him for his help with a wet hole.

Simon takes a step into the room and then stops. He won’t—can’t—

His teeth grind together from how hard he clenches his jaw.

He stands in the doorway and watches her sleep in his bed for longer than he should. Only when he feels something ugly well up in his chest does he finally bark out her name, snorting softly when she jumps and nearly falls right off the side of the bed.

“Get up,” Simon grunts. “And make yourself something to eat. I’ve gotta head out.”

He walks away before the befuddled look on her face makes him crack a smile.

She tiptoes out a few minutes later, still in her PJs. Her wary glances tick him off. For the effort it’s taken him to keep his hands to himself, he deserves more than her shifty looks, scoring him like he split her little peach open in her sleep.

Breakfast is an uncomfortable affair. It’s partly his fault, but he doesn’t apologize for it. They eat in tense silence until it’s time for him to head to work.

“Don't think about leaving—any of my shit gets nicked and it's your ass.”

He leaves her with that warning, slamming the door behind him.

Your heart goes quiet at the dawning of your new life.

Adjusting to your new reality takes a bit of effort. The first few days with Simon feel tenuous at best. You worry constantly about doing something wrong and finding yourself back out on the streets. You’re thankful to the point of pandering, apologizing for any sudden move or sound that you make. You can tell it annoys him.

The real work is recontextualizing your perception of yourself. The world feels strange now that you’re outside of it; alien somehow. You used to think of yourself as somehow inextricably woven into the fabric of society. The thought of losing everything never even occurred to you. It never even presented itself as a possibility. You worried about homelessness the way people worry about quicksand—in some nebulous way touching on the real without being absorbed by it.

And now you are cut from another cloth altogether; abruptly, without any warning. You used to feel like one with the rest of the world, a kind of kinship based less on parentage or ancestry and more on inner nature. Weren’t you the same as any of them? But now the drapery has been pulled down and you know—you are not the same.

Your future used to shimmer under the surface like a bioluminescent fish, but now it’s just a ghost.

He tells you to stay put when he goes to work so you do, spending the days puttering around the apartment, watching TV, and cleaning. There’s not much else to do. It’s almost a relief, to be honest. You’ve spent so much time without a place to call home that the second someone offered you one, the outside world became anathema in your head. You couldn’t step foot out of the front door even if you wanted to.

Tears well up at the smallest thing. You blubber over not being able to work the coffee machine in the kitchen. When the sound goes out on the TV, you cry so hard that it leaves you woozy. You’re lachrymose, downtrodden. Soul a startling verdigris; your waterlines might as well be white with encrustations of salt.

He must notice the dark cloud following you from room to room, but he doesn’t bring it up. You’d find it tactful, but you know him a bit better than that.

Then Simon brings home a cat after his shift one day and you don’t know what to say to that.

Thank you doesn’t seem to suffice. I love it doesn’t cut it close. The truth of the matter is that words only ever approximate the feeling; they can get close enough to give you a glimmer of what’s stashed inside, but you can’t pry them all the way open. So you take the off-white cat from him when he practically tosses the poor thing into your arms, and stare up at him wide-eyed, eyes already watering for reasons once again unbeknownst to you.

“Thank you for taking him home,” you say, already on the verge of tears.

He stares down at you, unblinking. You’re learning to read into his silences though.

“Don’t expect me to take care of it,” he says instead of accepting your thanks. “If you can’t handle it, it’s going back outside.”

You hold the cat tight to your chest, staring up at him with horror until the little beast nearly scratches your eye out in an effort to squirm out of your arms.

At first, you’re not sure what to make of it. It can’t be a peace offering because, apart from the rare occasions where you manage to get on his nerves (not wholly impossible, but you’re learning how to stay on his good side for the most part), you and Simon get along pretty well. You coexist, at least. He cooks, you clean.

It’s likely a distraction, you finally realize, something to keep you from moping around the apartment all the time, listless and directionless. Despite the fact that you’re no longer in any immediate danger now that you have a roof over your head, misery still clings to you like a second skin. The relative safety of Simon’s flat has actually only given you a chance to really properly mourn the loss of your former life.

Training the cat to wear a harness without tipping over (the little drama king) and taking him on his first walk outside (just a little turn around the block, though you half jump out of your skin whenever you cross paths with another person) gives you enough of a sense of purpose to propel you through the next week.

You can tell that Simon thinks the cat is more trouble than it’s worth, especially when it decides to fixate on the one person in the flat that doesn’t pay it a lick of attention, but still it makes your heart melt to see it curled up by his side when you watch TV together at the end of the night.

“Is this normal for you?” you ask, hands folded in your lap.

His gaze doesn’t move from the television screen. “Is what normal?”

“Taking in strays.”

He snorts, then takes a second to answer. “No.”

You wonder if he intends to sound as caustic as he comes across. The truth is self-evident though. Words only mask the real, and the real in this case is that Simon Riley is a man that feeds and takes home strays. He can grumble about it all he wants. It’s a bit demeaning to think of yourself that way, but once again, the truth is what it is.

You study him from the corner of your eye until bedtime rolls around again. He’s become the most interesting thing in the world to you, through every fault of his own.

If he didn’t want you to fixate on him, he wouldn’t have left you home alone with nothing else to do.

“Bird!” Simon roars from the other room. “The cat’s pissed on the floor again.”

You spring out of bed before Simon has a chance to toss it out onto the balcony.

It feels temporary up until the first time you use Simon’s address on a job application. It stands out stark on your phone screen, black on glowing white. You’ve always preferred it to dark mode, though that preference has fluctuated in recent weeks as you’ve spent more and more time on your phone.

This is the first time staring at the screen without blinking for a prolonged period of time that hasn’t left you with a throbbing migraine.

He tells you to stop bothering him with stupid shit when you ask him if it’s alright to use his address. That answers that. Guilt lingers on the periphery of your mind the first time that you do, but then the application is submitted. An innocuous grey box that redefines your whole world in a way that [Thanks for applying!] doesn’t seem to encapsulate.

Your old friends come next. They come back one by one, guilty, furtive looks aplenty. You Facetime the one who wouldn’t let you sleep on her couch while sitting on Simon’s bed. When she asks you about your living situation, all you tell her is that you found a roommate. It doesn’t feel right to give her more information than that. What has she done to deserve your honesty?

You manage pleasantries and a half decent conversation, but truth again lingers at the back of your mind. The unspoken reality that this person—someone you trusted—could’ve been there for you in your time of need but chose to look the other way instead. Like taking you in would’ve been some big, terrible thing.

The body forgets everything except what hurts it. The body remembers nothing except what helps it survive.

Gratefulness lodges into your heart like an arrow shot from a castle’s ramparts intent on your demise. You could pull it out from the other side and succumb to blood loss, or you could push forward, lay siege to the man hidden inside its walls.

And you do. You want to show him every grateful inch of you. Even when it only results in more upset. Simon comes home to the smoke alarm blaring and a small fire in the microwave before he bans you from the kitchen altogether. You only cry for an hour in the bedroom with the door shut before he drags you out to takeout on the table in the living room. It’s an improvement.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle into your veggie burger, on the verge of tears again when you glance into the kitchen to see most of the mess still there.

“It’s fine.”

“I just want to—I wanted to make it up to you…for taking me in.”

“You don’t owe me shit,” he says brusquely, dismissing you. His tone tells you to drop it, but that seems as likely as you growing wings and flying away.

“Yes, I do. You let me stay here when I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“If you want to make it up to me, take care of the cat and stop leaving your shit all over the bathroom. Found your knickers on the floor after you showered yesterday.”

Your face goes hot at that. You have nothing else to say.

Your attraction is a banal consequence of living under the same roof as him. There are only so many times he can come up behind you while you’re making your morning cup of coffee and swipe your mug before taking a sip from over your shoulder, barricading you against the counter. Acutely aware of the size of him with the way he’s pressed up against you.

You lose your train of thought whenever Simon wanders into a room. He lumbers in like a beast, steel-toed boots covered in mud and dust, ignoring the way you scold him for walking around the apartment in his shoes. Just cocks an eyebrow and stares down at you knowingly, like he can see right through you, knows that you’re only squawking and flitting around to hide the way your thighs rub together.

“It’s my fuckin’ flat,” he says instead of pointing out that your pussy’s wet because she knows there’s a man in the house that could take care of her proper. You know it too.

“I live here too, you know,” you huff. “I can’t wash the floors every time you come home.”

“Thought I was doing you a favour letting you live here.”

His words would fill you with righteous indignation, but they don’t because his actions don’t line up. You study him like a moth under glass, enthralled by the parts of him that used to frighten you.

It’s more than that though. He’s wedged himself into the hurt place in your heart, holding it up like Atlas.

You really do think that there’s something so special about him that you’ll never be able to articulate. Simon is everything you didn’t know you desperately wanted. The longer you live with him, the harder it is to deny how much you need him.

You will show your gratitude though. Every tender, aching morsel of it.

The little peach she grinds on his thigh is wet and ripe. Simon doesn’t tell her that he doesn’t need her gratitude; if he wanted it, he would’ve taken it already. But he doesn’t shove her out of his lap either. It’s not his problem if she thinks it’s necessary or not.

Maybe it’s not solely for his benefit, he concedes when she winds both arms around his neck and pushes her supple tits into his chest, climbing over his lap until her pussy is pressed right up against the cock fattening up in his jeans. She whimpers like she’s in pain.

Must not come a lot; he knows she at least hasn’t in recent days. Simon’s always been a light sleeper—he’s sure he would’ve heard any desperate attempts to get herself off in his bed, the springs creaking under her weight, her hushed, bitten off moans leaking out from under the doorframe. The thought riles him up more than he thought it would.

Still, Simon doesn’t lift a hand to help the poor bird in his lap as she grinds down on his length. His arms stay stretched across the back of the couch, hips canted just enough to give her a perch and nothing more.

She gasps every word into his ear, voice all pitched and breathy. “Ah, ah, ah—thank you, thank you, I…—can I please have it? Please, please let me, Simon, pleasepleaseplease—”

It feels like everything they’ve been through so far has been leading to this. He’d smelt it coming like blood in the water.

All week, his bird has been sitting on her hands and trying not to give herself away. Cloaked in a nervous, frenetic energy. Anticipatory. She’d doe-eyed him the night before and begged him to sleep in the bed with her instead of wrecking his back on the couch, but he’d ignored her in favour of watching Argentina decimate Croatia in the semi-finals. It must have not sat right with her though because she’d been broody from the moment he left for work until he got home, steering him into the kitchen and practically hand feeding him before coaxing him into the living room to watch a movie while she cuddled up beside him.

That hadn’t lasted long.

“What’s gotten into you, pet?” Simon asks, hardly dissuading her when she presses petal soft lips to his jaw and nuzzles, breathing heavily. His heart swells. Desperate little slut.

“Took care of me,” she mumbles, almost slurring her words. “Always taking care of me, Simon.”

There’s no denying how hard it makes him to think about being her protector. The littlest things make her smile. Even the bloody cat had her trailing after him for a week straight after the fact, eternally underfoot. Always trying to curry favour. Eager to please.

Her worship leaves him unbalanced. Unstable even. A train careening off its track, the massive weight of catastrophe right behind it. The sense that life will never be the same after this. His surface level indifference is underscored by steeled self-control. He keeps his arms on the couch because he knows the second he puts them on her, it’s over. There’ll be no holding him back anymore, no possibility of him ever letting her go back out into the real world. Lock jawed, teeth sunk into her tender underbelly.

“Told you, you don’t owe me nothing,” Simon murmurs, curling his hands under her ass.

“Then—then…—I don’t know, pretend it’s just for me.” It’s a joke because they both know it’s not just for her. When her eyes sparkle with amusement, his cock throbs.

He lets her ruck the shirt over his head and struggle with his belt until she manages to unbuckle it like he has no say in the matter. She’s far less considerate with her own clothes, shucking them off and nearly ripping her knickers in the process, which almost prompts him to take her by the wrists and slow her down. He likes the lace and frills.

It’s a fight to fit his cock into her hole, as slick as she is. Coin slot tight; he almost breaks and tells her to take it easy when she reaches behind her to line his shaft up with her entrance and sits down, just barely stretching around the mushroomed head of his dick before wincing, tears springing into her eyes.

Simon does break when she tries to sink down another inch, thighs shaking violently. “Right, get off—you ain’t ready for this.”

“I am!” she insists, face screwed up in a scowl and a bead of sweat dripping down her temple. “Just—I can do it, Simon—”

“No, you can’t. You’re rushing and hurting yourself—”

“Wait, okay, wait, I can…just give me a minute, okay?” she begs, and he doesn’t tell her that he’d give her all the time in the world. Stay on this couch until the flesh fell off his bones. He’s waited so long; what’s a little longer?

Besides, the sight of her stretching herself out with her fingers is reward enough. She whines into his shoulder and shudders when she has to force another finger in before she’s ready. Too eager. It could give a man a complex. His blood is already scorching him from the inside out, too hot for his veins.

He considers helping her out, but watching her writhe and struggle in his lap is far more enjoyable.

He stopped paying attention awhile back, too focused on cupping her tits and running his tongue around the budded areola, sucking her pert nipple into his mouth, but she couldn’t have gotten to more than three fingers before running out of patience and lining him up again. This time, she sinks a bit deeper on the first stroke, still choking on her breath but forcing herself to take a bit more.

“You’re alright—you’re alright,” Simon murmurs, stroking a hand up and down her back while she impales herself on his length. She’s still too tight to take him comfortably, sweats and shakes over him. He pinches her nipple to distract her from the pain and smiles when she yelps.

She melts all over him, slick drenching his shaft and lap, her tongue lapping at the sweaty skin of his neck. Honeysuckle fragrant; the sweetest thing he’s ever known. Silken, tight. Fits like a glove around him.

He could lose himself in her. Piston into her until the thought of where he begins and where he ends dissolves into the tight warmth between her legs.

His bird is a greedy girl. She uses him like a toy to get herself off, bouncing in his lap and mewling into his ear everytime his cockhead nudges against her cervix. Too big to fit all the way in.

“You do this a lot, pet? Fuck every man that lends you a hand?” he pants, taunting her.

“No!” she snarls in his ear, feisty and sharp-toothed. Her nails dig into his back, scoring white lines into his skin. The shiver that wracks him is so violent that his arms tighten around her waist reflexively, making her gasp.

It doesn’t matter whether she does this often or not; the only thing that matters is that he’s the only man that gets to fuck her from here on out. Still, winding her up is half the fun.

“Perfect girl,” Simon chuckles, breathless. “Made for me. Got m’self a pet right off the street.”

And he did, didn’t he? Went wandering out into the night and came home with a bird fluttering her wet little wings.

His conscience is clean. He could’ve tied her down, kept her right where he wanted her (in his bed, his flat, the yawning cavity of his chest—) but his self-control remains unparalleled. Tough as nails. Strong as steel. And now look at what he has as a reward for his patience—a fever-hot cunt around his cock and delicate fingernails scratching the base of his skull.

A pretty bird that’s made his chest a cage.

The world goes vertical, horizontal. Fluid; sliding away from him. Something crashes in the background, so far off in the distance that he can hardly make out the sound.

He opens his eyes to find the ceiling staring back down at him, and then her face, hovering over him on the carpeted floor, her hands kneading the muscle of his chest. Her brows are drawn tight now, pinched. She stares down at him, past him, gaze like a transparent veil.

“Gi’me…gi’me…” she pants, barely able to pull herself off his cock.

He has to dig his fingers into her ass and pull her off, ignoring the way she whines and begs him to fill her back up. Ignores it because he knows what’s best for her; knows how to take care of what he owns.

When he bucks up into her, she chokes, fingers nearly yanking his chest hair out.

“Fuckin’ hell, that’s pretty,” he breathes. Snaps his hips up into hers again, relishing in the way she squeezes tight around him, almost to the point of pain.

His pleasure always comes jagged though. Whether the ache of his joints or nails tearing up the skin of his back and chest. Vicious and messy—how he likes it. She gives him everything he could want and more. The hand dug into his chest right above his heart could pierce right through the flesh and tear it out.

He pulls her all the way off his cock just for the pleasure of hearing her beg him again, then pulls her up his chest and eats her out until the beast in his belly calms down.

He yields to her whining only after a good few minutes. Soft bastard. Drags her back down until her soaked hole mouths at the head of his cock and he thrusts back up inside. Home. It’s his now, whether she likes it or not. Simon guesses he’s lucky that she wants it too; if he had to convince her, he would, but her desperation is just another gift for him to savour.

“Squeeze me good, bird. Say thank you—” thank you for taking me home, thank you for keeping me– almost spills off his tongue, but he reigns it in. She knows what to be thankful for.

“Nngh, Simon,” she sings, fucking herself on his cock. The sweetest sound he’s ever heard.

Simon’s never felt bigger than under his sweet bird. Thighs spread so wide around him that he knows she’ll ache in the morning. Brutish hands groping her thighs and waist and tits, rough against the softness of her skin. Stuffed full of a big cock, not even to the root; she bites right through her bottom lip when Simon pets at the thin skin stretched around his cock, her gaze wounded, overwhelmed.

Nearly blacks out at the thought of cramming a finger up there too. Only faint concern for her well-being tamps down the urge.

“Come on, fuck—that good, pet?”

“R-right there, oh god, ohgodohgod—”

He lets her ride him until she comes, until he comes, until his spend is blistering hot in her cunt, drooling down the length of his cock, frothy white with her cream and his come.

It’s a sight to look at. Gets him right in the chest. Nothing like times of yore; this is something with meaning, with feeling. When he lifts her off, his seed trickles out of her soft hole in white globs and makes his chest ache. It doesn’t matter whether it takes root or not. All that he needs is already here.

Beautiful and rare as a sundog; haloed by light. All this time, he dared not think this could be it.

He thinks he’ll love her with the same ferocity Icarus had on his descent.

She shivers when he traces his fingers up her spine. “N’more. M’tired.”

“Wasn’t gonna, pet.”

The bedroom then. She twitches in his arms when Simon carries her to bed and pats his chest approvingly when he slides in beside her.

He could’ve told her that it’d end up this way. He smiles indulgently when she shifts and splays over his chest, her nose nudging his nipple. Already fast asleep.

In the morning, you sit across from him, half a grapefruit in a bowl in front of you and a mug of coffee, black.

“I think I want to go back to school,” you say, apropos of nothing. The spoon clinks against the inside of the bowl.

“Yeah?” he says, only half-listening.

“I can always get a part time job on the days when I don’t have class. I never liked my old job anyway.”

“Do whatever you want,” Simon grunts. “Not my problem.”

Under the table, your cat’s tail curls around your ankle while he waits for you to sneak him the scraps.

You smile.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost/reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley/reader #simon riley x you

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dindjarindiaries · 8 months ago

Text

Clueless

character: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

prompts: “Are you flirting with me?” “Have been for years, but thanks for noticing.”

main masterlist • prompt masterlist

You tapped around the usual controls you could reach from the chair behind Din's as the cockpit of the Razor Crest groaned to life around you. "How's the hyperdrive looking?"

Din kept moving his gloved hands along the main console as he answered. "It's online." He gave his helmet a quick tilt as he pushed one more button above his head. "For now."

Din exhaled a heavy breath and wrapped his hands around the joysticks, giving them a squeeze before he maneuvered the gunship off the ground. The breath you let out was one of relief; the two of you had certainly been trapped on worse planets before, but you were glad to see the sight of it fading below you.

"Glad you're confident in your work." You failed to hide your growing smile as you relaxed and let Din take care of the rest.

"This isn't a confidence problem." Din spared a look at you over his shoulder before he lifted his hands to grasp the hyperspace levers. "The Crest just manages to surprise me from time to time."

With that, Din pulled back, and the stars stretched out before you. They then burst into the familiar plethora of blue and white swirling lights, beginning yet another long journey through hyperspace.

Hopefully one that you wouldn't get forcefully pulled out of. Again.

But you were still stuck on what Din had said: This isn't a confidence problem. That drew a pleased hum from you, one that you didn't bother to keep hidden from him. It wasn't like he'd get it, anyway. Not if he hadn't the other countless times you'd done it.

"I like that."

Din, now leaning back in his chair, swiveled in his seat to face you. His helmet was tilted in genuine confusion. "Like what?"

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you instead gestured to him with your chin. "The confidence."

Din shrugged. "Comes from experience."

You smirked and kept your arms crossed over your chest. "I'd like to see what kind of experience."

Din didn't move, but his tone spelled out all the confusion you likely would have seen on his face if it wasn't covered by his helmet. "Was getting pulled out of hyperspace hours ago not enough experience for you?"

That time, you really did let yourself roll your eyes as you laughed and stood to your feet. Honestly, the tally of your advances versus Din's own cluelessness was getting difficult to keep track of. "Fair point."

You stepped over to Din and set a hand on his armored shoulder.

"It's been a long day. I'd say it's time for some beauty sleep, but you've already got the first part covered." You gave his pauldron a squeeze and turned around. "And no, rest isn't an option this time."

You could only get a few steps away, however, when you suddenly heard Din stand up behind you. "Wait."

You froze in place and looked at him over your shoulder, lifting your brow as you awaited him to retaliate with some kind of meaningless yet humorous joke.

Instead, you saw him nervously shifting his weight between his feet. Even his gloved hands were pulling tight into fists before he asked a question you never thought you'd hear.

"Are you flirting with me?"

As surprised as you were to hear the words, you didn't miss a beat with your response. "Have been for years, but thanks for noticing." You flashed him a wink and started walking forward again, letting your sudden adrenaline carry you. "See you in a few hours."

You had only just started to cross the cockpit's threshold when Din found his voice again. "What?"

You laughed to yourself but didn't stop your stride as you stepped over the ladder towards the storage space you had claimed as your own private bunk. The door slid open for you, but before it could close, something—or someone—stood in the way.

"Hold on."

Din sounded out of breath, and when you turned around, you saw him leaning against the metal material of the storage room's threshold. His body was still rigid, the same way it looked when he was preparing to leap into battle.

"You can't just... after you..." Din gestured absently behind himself, to the open cockpit.

You sighed and crossed your arms over your chest again as you fully faced him. "I know this incredibly obvious revelation is somehow news to you, but it's not to me, and I'd really like to get some sleep."

Din just shook his helmet in pure disbelief. His modulated voice was lower than usual when he spoke again. "All this time?"

You huffed and looked down at your boots. "What did you think I was doing?"

Din's tone with thick with embarrassment. "Being nice."

You laughed again. You couldn't help it. "Of course you did." You reached forward and tapped your knuckles against his helmet. "Your skull must be as thick as your beskar."

You stood back where you were before and watched Din carefully. His visor was focused on the floor, and his gloved fingertips were fluttering thoughtfully on the hand he had propped up by his head.

You closed your eyes and sighed. His cluelessness was even worse than you thought it was.

"Listen, Din, you clearly need some rest. Just... go to sleep and we can talk about this later. Okay?"

Din's helmet snapped back up to you at that. "No. I'm sorry, let me just..."

He leaned off the threshold but continued to stand in it, keeping the door open for himself. His gloved hand palmed his helmet as his chest rose and fell with a frustrated breath.

"Kriff."

You chuckled and shook your head at him. "Din, it's really not that big of a deal."

Din stared at you before his armored shoulders deflated. "It isn't?"

You let out a softer breath as your chest squeezed. "I didn't mean..." Now you were the one palming your face. "Not like that. I just meant that I'm not offended or anything."

Din tilted his helmet. "Offended by what?"

You shrugged, too overcome by your newfound embarrassment to look at him as your stare returned to your boots. "You not reciprocating."

Din let out a sigh so heavy that you had no choice but to look up at him again. He had changed his position so that his hands were set on his hips as he shook his helmet.

"That's the thing." His visor found your gaze before he nodded. "I've been trying to."

Now, it was really your turn to be shocked. You blinked at him a few times as your heart somersaulted in your chest. All this time, you thought your flirting was just a vain effort to get the attention of a man who would never be open to you or what you had to offer. You were starting to wonder if you had somehow managed to miss something.

You found your voice, but it was only a squeak. "What?"

Din gestured with a gloved hand behind you. "I'm not good with words, so I tried to do things. Like helping you set up this room. And cleaning your weapons." The next part was a mumble you nearly missed. "And making you that blanket."

You whipped around, spotting the blanket—your favorite, by the way—that had just shown up one day on your makeshift bunk. You huffed in disbelief and turned back around to face him. "That was you?"

"Who else?"

It was Din's turn to laugh, though it was only a raspy chuckle for him. He even turned your own question back on you.

"What did you think I was doing?"

And your answer was nothing different. "Being nice."

Din let out the biggest sigh you'd ever heard from him, and you couldn't even blame him.

Oh, the irony of it all. Maybe you were actually the clueless one.

"So..." You clasped your hands behind your back and rocked on your heels. " What now?"

Din shrugged. "Hell if I know." He gestured with his helmet behind him. "I think I just proved I'm not the most qualified in this area."

You spared another glance at the blanket. "Clearly, I'm not much better."

Din looked off to the side the way he always did when he was planning something. After a few heartbeats, he nodded to himself and looked at you again. "I might have an idea."

You lifted your brow. "Yeah?"

Din nodded again. "We should switch."

"Switch what?"

Din shifted his weight and used his finger to gesture between the two of you. "Techniques?" The suggestion came out as a question. "I'll try words, and you try actions."

You hummed in consideration before ultimately nodding. "Okay, yeah. I like that idea." You smirked at him. "You first."

Din, for once in his life, stammered. "What? I—Well, I can't just..."

"You can." You took a step closer to him. "You have something to say to me. I know you do."

It was then that something overcame Din, and you could see it in the way his posture relaxed into something much more familiar and comfortable. His visor gave you a steady once-over as he took a smaller step closer to you.

"I have a lot of things I want to say to you."

You let yourself embrace the flustered feeling even as you let out an impressed whistle. "That was good, Djarin! You're learning." You gave his armored shoulder a pat.

Din gave his helmet a soft tilt. "Your turn."

You grinned, letting your hand fall from his shoulder to instead grasp his arm. You other hand rose to meet it, and gently, you pulled him further into the room, causing the door to slide shut behind him. Din looked back at it in surprise, but when he looked at you again, he didn't seem displeased.

"I'm offering you my bunk." You gestured back towards it. "Because I want you here, but also because I don't want you sleeping on that sorry excuse for a bed down in the hold anymore."

Din chuckled at that, the sound thick with both amusement and admiration as he nodded. "Fair enough."

You helped him get settled into the bunk with you, draping the blanket he had apparently made over both of you as the final touch. Your face was the closest it had ever been to his visor as you laid beside him. Surprisingly, he was the one to break the brief silence.

"This is a good start."

You smiled, humming once more before getting close enough to rest your face against his cowl. "I agree."

The gloved hand you felt on your back was enough evidence of the fact that he was just as comfortable, now, and not as clueless as you had thought him to be.

#din djarin is precious i don't care. my silly sweet pookie #din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin fic #prompts #dindjarindiaries

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helioooss · 2 months ago

Text

your song, part two

synopsis: after years apart, y/n, now a successful chef running her own restaurant in makati, finds her life briefly interrupted when sophia laforteza, her childhood best friend turned global pop star, returns home.

w/c: 10k+

warnings: swearing, slowburn, angst

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the office couch had never really been meant for sleeping, but the fold-out had done its job. two pillows borrowed from the bar’s storage room, a spare throw blanket pulled from a dusty crate. you turned off the lights around sometime around 11pm but neither of you stopped talking.

the hum of the bar fridge filled the space between stories — sophia’s recounts of rehearsals, early katseye tensions, the first time she cried after a concert when someone in the crowd held up a sign with her name on it.

the two of you had stayed up past midnight. you weren’t sure anymore. the air grew heavy with sleep, but neither of you wanted to go.

you listened, half on your side, chin propped against your arm. you didn’t interrupt much. it was easy to just watch her: eyes lit up in the half-darkness, hair falling over her cheek as she talked and talked, until her words slowed, slurred.

then, just like that, she had fallen asleep next to you, passed out halfway through a sentence about lara who kept eating takis for breakfast. on her side, facing you, her breath soft and uneven like she hadn’t let herself rest in a long time.

you hadn’t really slept. drifted in and out, conscious of her shoulder close to yours, of the faint scent of citrus shampoo and something distinctly hers; familiar in a way that tugged at your stomach. you woke properly around five.

the sun wasn’t up yet, but the street was breathing again, slow and mechanical; the sounds of early vendors pushing carts and mopeds slicing through quiet roads.

you sat up slowly, rubbed your face and padded out into the bar. the tiles were cold against your feet. it grounded you. you brewed the coffee first. hers, not yours. you remembered the way she used to complain when it wasn’t sweet enough, that dramatic gagging sound she would make before calling you a psychopath.

two and a half teaspoons brown sugar, one teaspoon coffee. you made it without thinking - muscle memory.

in the kitchen, you got to work. rice hit the pan with oil, garlic dancing in the heat. you cracked eggs and fried longganisa until the edges crisped and curled. added the chorizo de cebu she always claimed tasted different in manila. you plated it the way she liked: egg yolk whole and shiny, meat slightly charred, a slice of tomato and cucumber on the side like it meant something.

you barely heard her footsteps until she was leaning against the doorframe, hair messy, shirt hanging loose around her collarbones.

“that smells so good,” she croaked out, voice low and rough from sleep.

you turned. “coffee’s on the bar.”

“you’re a dream,” she added, padding over barefoot.

you caught her out of the corner of your eye — how she curled her hands around the mug, how her eyes fluttered shut after the first sip.

and then, like it wasn’t anything at all, she said: “i love you.”

your body locked up inside; heart caught mid-beat, hands suddenly unsure where to rest.

she said it like people say ‘thank you’ or ‘god, this is good coffee’ — easy, half-asleep, automatic. not weighted.

but your brain didn’t care about tone. or context. your brain heard i love you in her voice and it lit up like a fucking traffic accident. she didn’t mean it, she couldn’t have.

still, your stomach twisted with the ghost of what it would’ve felt like if she had. you didn’t say anything. just plated the food and set it down, sliding it across the counter toward her.

she smiled, eyes half-closed, murmured “you spoil me” and dug in. you sat across from her, picked at your own plate, letting the quiet settle again.

no one came in early on sundays. the place was still.

“when are you leaving?” you asked, the words quiet but clear.

she chewed, then shrugged. “i don’t know yet,” she replied, stuffing her face with rice. “i think i want to stay longer…i know i can.”

you looked at her. she didn’t meet your gaze, just sipped her coffee and stared at the far wall like she was still working it out.

“what about you?” she asked.

“don’t work sundays, usually. might visit my family in quezon. bring my lola some empanadas.”

she grinned. “she’ll pretend not to like them.”

“always.”

she toyed with her fork. “i’m filming a brand thing later,” she began to say, then looked up, suddenly hesitant. “but…would you wanna come? or, i don’t know, wait for me so we can go together to quezon?”

you blinked. “come to your shoot?”

“if that’s okay, i can pick you up?”

you nodded. “yeah, of course…pick me up from here.”

her shoulders relaxed. you didn’t know she had been holding tension there.

after breakfast, she helped stack dishes into the tub. she noticed the fresh burn on your forearm; angry and red, skin bubbled from a splash of oil the night before. you tried to cover it but she caught your wrist, gently.

“where’s your first aid kit?”

“it’s gross —”

“it’s not,” she argued. “always looked after your clumsy ass, trust me, i’ve seen worse injuries from you.”

“fine,” you sighed in defeat, pointing towards the white cabinet by the sink. “right over there.”

you watched her disinfect it, cut the gauze, taped it down like she had done it before. her brows drawn, tongue poking out slightly as she focused.

she was always like that — meticulous with care, even when you didn’t deserve it.

you looked down at her hands on yours and felt something press low and quiet in your chest. she was just wrapping the tape when her phone rang.

you pulled your hand back gently. she looked at the screen and sighed. “it’s mum.”

you nodded, stepping back. “take it.”

leaning back, you remained seated on the barstool as she slipped off hers and walked a few steps away, phone pressed to her ear. her voice changed immediately: softer, brighter, familiar in a way that tugged something loose inside your chest. you remembered her talking like that to tita carla on your lola’s rooftop when you were kids, pacing in bare feet, laughing about her day, whole face lighting up like she didn’t know how to dim it.

hearing that tone now…after all this time, felt like being dropped into a version of yourself that hadn’t been folded down yet.

you lowered your gaze to the bandage on your arm. it was neat. clean. it still stung, but much less now and her touch still lingered in your skin.

then, without warning, sophia was holding out the phone as you looked up; her eyes warm, mouth curved in a small smile.

“mum wants to say hi.”

you blinked. “me?”

“yes. smile.”

you took the phone. “hello, tita?”

“anak! y/n!” the joy in her voice was immediate, like nothing had changed. “thank you, ha? for looking after our baby girl last night. she never listens to me. i’ve been telling her to just drop by so you don’t run away.”

ah.

you laughed softly. “it’s nothing, tita. she’s easy to feed.”

“she told me she slept at your restaurant! you poor things, that couch must be awful. but at least you had good food. y/n, i still remember your sinigang — hay nako, my mouth is watering just thinking about it.”

you laughed, could already picture her, barefoot in the kitchen, a towel thrown over one shoulder, probably waving her hand as she spoke.

“you have to come visit,” she continued. “i want to see your mum. bring her! and your lola, if she’s not feeling too suplada. we’ll cook.”

you said yes to everything, laughed when she insisted you come over this week and promised to text her.

when you handed the phone back, sophia groaned and rolled her eyes. “she said the driver’s already outside.”

you tried to smile, but it faltered. there was something unspoken on her face, stretched thin beneath her usual calm. she didn’t want to leave. that much was obvious.

the same way you didn’t want to be the one she had to leave from. you both stood in silence for a few seconds, neither making the first move.

then she reached for her jacket and followed you through the kitchen. the staff room was still dim, quiet in that particular sunday morning way like the place knew the chaos had already passed.

the hallway to the back door felt longer than usual as you held it open for her.

the sun was out now, high enough to warm the concrete. the maroon suv was parked just beyond the alley’s end, hazard lights blinking softly. the driver stepped out and nodded once, expression unreadable.

sophia adjusted the strap on her bag but didn’t move.

you stood beside her, not sure what else to do. it felt like if you said anything, it would undo whatever peace had formed between you over breakfast. perhaps even over the night itself.

she turned to you just as the driver opened the back door. “can i ask you something you might not answer?”

you tilted your head. “what is it?”

her eyes searched yours for a second longer than they needed to. “did you ever think about us? where would we be if i hadn’t left?”

the question landed low and deep, like a stone dropping into still water.

you looked down, then back at her. something in you cracked open, gently. you looked at her properly, throat tightening. she was looking at you intensely. “…in what way, piya?”

she shook her head, not unkindly. “you know what i mean.”

your heart beat in your ears, hands suddenly feeling like they didn’t belong to you. and still, you held her gaze.

“yeah,” you admitted. “i did.”

she nodded once like she had always hoped you would say that. you didn’t say anything else. neither did she.

then she got in the car.

you stood there until it turned the corner and disappeared from view.

something old had shifted. you could feel it.

whether that was good or dangerous, you didn’t know yet but it had a name.

and it was hers.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

twenty years ago

your lola had a way of dragging you into places you didn’t belong. she said it was character-building; that brushing shoulders with the rich might remind you to stand taller, even if your slippers were patched with thread and your shirt was two sizes too big.

you were five, tired and annoyed that sunday was being stolen from you again.

“just behave,” she warned as you stood outside the gates of a house too big to be real. “and don’t touch anything.”

you kept your hands locked behind your back.

forbes park was a place you only heard about in passing: on the jeepney, in the sari-sari store, from the mouths of women who folded laundry while daydreaming out loud. mansions with proper gates and real grass, where drivers waited in parked cars and mothers had help just to hold umbrellas. your lola knew sophia’s lolo from a church thing, you didn’t know the details.

all you knew was that your school shoes still had dried mud on them and that you didn’t want to be here.

the front door opened before your lola even rang the bell. someone must’ve been watching; the housekeeper smiled and told you both to come in. your slippers squeaked against the polished floor as you followed your lola like a shadow, trying not to look at the paintings on the wall, or the glass table you were sure would shatter if you breathed too hard.

“there she is,” someone said. a voice that didn’t rush, but didn’t slow down either.

you turned.

a girl with two high ponytails and a missing front tooth was skipping down the stairs like she owned gravity. she was wearing a sundress with tiny sunflowers and had one sock up and one sock missing entirely. bright-eyed, messy, loud.

you liked her immediately…hated that you did.

“this is y/n,” your lola introduced you, nudging you forward. “say hello to piya, anak.”

“hi,” you mumbled, eyes darting to the floor.

“i’m sophia,” the girl said, walking straight up to you without hesitation. she didn’t offer a hand. she grabbed yours instead, sticky and warm from holding a half-eaten popsicle. “do you like jollibee?”

you nodded, unsure.

“my dad bought spaghetti and chickenjoy,” her grin widened. “come, we’ll eat in my room.”

you looked back at your lola for assurance, she waved you on, already being ushered to the dining area by sophia’s mother.

her room was the size of your whole house. there were shelves filled with dolls still in their boxes and a tv that actually had cable. she dragged you to the floor, offering you her jollibee spaghetti first, then pushing a plate of fries toward you like it was a peace treaty.

you ate slowly; she talked non-stop.

about how her driver always gets lost, how she’s going to be famous one day, how she wants to live in new york because they have squirrels.

you had no idea what squirrels were but you nodded anyway.

and somewhere in between her talking about her dog, peanut, and showing you how she can do a cartwheel (badly), she said:

“let’s be friends forever.”

like it was the most normal thing to promise a stranger.

you stared at her, sauce still clinging to your lips, unsure if you were supposed to say it back.

but you said it anyway.

“okay.”

because deep down, even then, some part of you already knew: if anyone could make you believe in forever, it was none other than sophia laforteza.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the studio was chaos in that specific, almost theatrical way, like someone had tried to contain a cyclone inside four white walls and called it fashion. flashes cracked in quick bursts, overlapping instructions flew across the room: hold that, chin up, yes, that’s it, softer; and assistants weaved through the mess. makeup brushes tapped against palettes, someone was yelling about missing palettes and the speakers blasted a remix of a song you half-recognised but couldn’t place.

everything smelled like hairspray and coffee and nerves.

sophia walked in with easy posture, nodding at familiar faces, flashing the kind of half-smile that made people move aside.

she held your wrist briefly, pulling you a step closer towards her. “i won’t be long,” she murmured. “just…stay close to me, yeah?”

you nodded, gave her a faint smile. “i’ll be here.”

there was nowhere to go, really, so you didn’t move far. there were clusters of people, all of whom looked like they were already doing something important. you stood near a light stand, arms crossed lightly over your chest, eyes scanning the room.

it was overwhelming, but in that detached way - like watching a party from behind a window. you kept to the edges, tried to blend in, maybe even failed a little.

your phone buzzed in your pocket, but you didn’t check it. instead, you watched sophia disappear behind the makeup screen, already mid-conversation with a stylist. she tossed a quick glance back at you, smiling for just a second and you smiled back; felt something stupid and warm settle under your skin.

“bini girls!” someone yelled. “maloi, aiah let’s go.”

you didn’t expect the shoot to involve them but when one of the stylists called out names, you heard it clearly.

your brain definitely short-circuited for a moment as you tried to keep your cool. lowkey fan didn’t even cover it: you watched their dance practice videos like they were stress therapy, recommended lagi to aira during the slow month last year.

and now they were here: in the same room, wearing crocs and no makeup and carrying iced americanos like it was the most casual thing in the world.

“come here, y/n,” sophia pulled you out of your starstruck trance, voice carrying across the noise.

you nodded once, stepping around the cables carefully and stood beside her.

the makeup artist — small-framed, sharp-browed, probably could kill with a single brush stroke, grinned as you settled in. “so, you’re the mystery guest?”

you laughed once, shaking your head. “just moral support.”

her eyes flicked up at you in the mirror and she smiled a little too quickly.

“she keeps looking for you,” he added, dabbing blush across her cheek. “i thought you were her girlfriend or something.”

“we’re not,” you answered, voice steady despite feeling awkward. “just old friends.”

“ahhh, old friends,” the artist echoed, mock-suspicious. “sure.”

sophia was grinning now, eyes shut while her eyeliner got cleaned up. “he’s always like this, ignore him.”

“don’t ��stop’ me. you haven’t taken your eyes off her since she walked in.”

you looked down at your hands, heart thudding, pretending to focus on a bracelet you weren’t wearing.

“she’s shy,” she added, tone teasing.

you kicked her lightly under the table.

you stayed like that for a while, talking about nothing and teased each other back and forth. you kept nudging her foot with yours under the makeup chair, the moment felt light, like something you could get used to.

eventually, the stylist gestured you to move so they could get her dressed. you stood, backed off with a quiet “good luck,” and wandered toward the far end of the studio, near the coffee table cluttered with water bottles, oat milk and half-eaten croissants.

you turned to your side and there they were.

“you’re the chef, right?” maloi asked, eyes wide and a little warm. “the one from concave?”

you blinked. “hmm, yeah, that’s me.”

she grinned. “your sisig got a write-up in spot.ph, didn’t it? i’ve had it bookmarked for months. oh, i’m maloi and this is aiah.”

you felt your mouth twist into something shy. “i’m y/n, and that was more chef kristoff’s doing. but thanks.”

“maloi wants to be fed all the time,” aiah mumbled, smiling from beside her. “she saw your name on the guest sheet and hasn’t shut up about you possibly bringing a meal for the crew.”

“i did not,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.

you held your hands up. “i’m flattered. really. next time, i will though.”

they were easy to talk to: normal. maloi was quick-witted, had a dry sense of humour that matched yours better than it should’ve. she teased you about bigger proportions. you told her a boy group’s sound engineer had once tried to book a table under a fake name and still got recognised by chef aira.

aiah leaned in slightly, curious. “how do you and sophia know each other?”

“we grew up together,” you replied, crossing your arms. “we’ve known each other since we were five; her lolo knows my lola.”

there was a tug in your chest as the words left your mouth — how easily the past rolled off your tongue, how strange it felt to say grew up instead of have always been…as if the closeness belonged in past tense now.

“that’s kind of sweet,” maloi said. “and now she’s this huge star and you’re —”

“a tired chef with second-degree burns and a restaurant with an aggressive rice cooker,” you offered.

“still sounds cooler than us,” aiah laughed.

you smiled and deflected, asking about their shoot instead and maloi lit up describing it; how the concept was loose, that their manager still hadn’t picked final outfits.

aiah nodded along, interjecting now and then with dry humour. it helped that maloi had that kind of energy — disarming, quick to laugh, easy to match. you found yourself leaning into the conversation, even joking a little, answering their questions without filtering too much.

from across the room, you could feel her gaze.

sophia saw the way you stood; more open now. your hands loose in your pockets and laughing effortlessly. she caught the way maloi leaned toward you slightly when she spoke, saw the little smile you gave aiah after a joke.

her stomach turned…not violently, but just enough to feel it.

when your eyes met hers, her hair was pinned back and her expression unreadable. she looked…irritated. or maybe not that. she wasn’t talking to anyone; just watching you.

when she finally joined the other two for the shoot, the difference was immediate. she flipped back into performer mode so fast it made you feel like you were watching someone else entirely. her posture shifted. her face reset.

the camera loved her. and still, your eyes didn’t leave her.

she looked unreal, as if she lit from the inside, almost. every time she turned her head, your chest seized up a little. the sound of the shutter seemed to match your pulse.

at the end of it, the four of you gathered near the props table, sharing snacks and wiping off the stickiness of set lighting.

“so,” maloi began. “what do you feed her to make her skin glow like that?”

you chuckled. “sinigang. three-day-old reheated kind; the secret is neglect.”

aiah laughed with you. “we’ll take two.”

sophia didn’t smile, not really. she nudged a biscuit around on a napkin. when maloi turned to offer her a joke, sophia grinned, but her tone shifted.

you noticed the change immediately. the way she looked at you without really looking.

“you okay?” you asked her under your breath.

“fine,” she mumbled, eyes flicking back toward the food.

she was still friendly to the others; complimenting aiah’s earrings, laughing at something maloi said about posing like a tita at a reunion, but when she spoke to you again, it was clipped.

the conversation kept rolling, but you felt the dip in temperature. the little shift. you caught the way sophia kept talking to the other girls, laughing more now, but not looking your way.

you didn’t say anything. not until the goodbyes were done and you had promised everyone a free table at concave.

the drive back was slow, caught in the usual saturday night crawl along edsa, headlights flickering through rain-streaked windows.

the city was winding down, but the car wasn’t quiet in a peaceful way. it was the kind of quiet that pressed into your chest, made you conscious of every breath you took, of the space between your leg and hers.

sophia had barely said a word since you left the studio, just scrolled through her phone in silence; screen lighting her face in bursts.

you glanced at her briefly. she refused to look your way. hadn’t, since earlier. “you good?”

“what did you think of maloi?” she deflected your question, voice too casual to be casual.

you blinked, pulling yourself out of your thoughts. “she’s great,” you answered, keeping your voice even. “really easy to talk to — just like aiah.”

there was a beat of silence and then she gave a little huff, almost a scoff. “yeah, both seem like your type.”

you frowned, turning your head to face her properly. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“nothing.”

“you’re literally saying it means something,” you frowned, trying not to let your tone rise. “you brought maloi up.”

“i just noticed you two were getting along,” she replied, still not meeting your eye. “it’s not a crime.”

you exhaled through your nose, felt the burn of frustration settle in your throat. “you jealous or something?”

that made her laugh, dry and small. “of course not, why would i be?”

“don’t know, piya. you’re acting weird and short.”

she finally turned to you then. her expression was unreadable, but her jaw was tense. “you were different with her.”

you stared at her. “i was polite.”

“you were smiling and laughing and she was inching closer to you every single time.”

“am i not allowed to laugh around other people now?” you asked, tiredness creeping into your voice. “she made a joke. i laughed. you know what that’s like, right?”

she didn’t respond. she just looked away again, out the window, fingers twitching against her thigh.

you leaned your head back against the seat, stared up at the roof of the car like it could anchor you. you weren’t sure why this felt so loaded; why it mattered so much to her.

and yet — her words kept needling at you. the sharpness of her tone tucked under the soft. it made your chest ache in ways you had tried to outgrow.

“are you seriously upset about her?” you added, trying not to sound defensive, but already failing.

“no,” she said, too fast.

you turned your body slightly toward her, fingers curling into your thigh. “you are. you’re acting so cold.”

she scoffed under her breath. “i’m not.”

“okay,” you murmured, eyes narrowing as you turned back to the window. “right.”

the tension thickened. there was a time when you knew exactly how to reach her, how to read her mood with one glance, a shift in her jaw, a clipped breath. but now…after all these years; she felt like a puzzle you only half-remembered how to solve.

“it’s just…” she started, then trailed off.

you waited, nothing came. “just what, soph?”

she inhaled slowly, still refusing to look at you. “you don’t even realise when someone’s flirting with you. it’s kind of frustrating.”

you bit back a laugh, not because it was funny, but because it caught you off guard. “my god, it wasn’t flirting. we were literally at a coffee station talking about my restaurant.”

“sure,” she muttered.

“maloi has a boyfriend.”

“doesn’t make it any better.”

you sighed, long and low, before leaning back into the seat and closing your eyes for a beat. “this is ridiculous.”

“you’re ridiculous.”

you turned to look at her again, and this time, her eyes met yours. sharp and tired. there was something else behind them too: something raw, maybe even a little embarrassed.

you remembered that look: she used to wear it when you were kids, whenever she said something she didn’t mean and didn’t know how to take it back.

she would get defensive, go quiet, pick at her fingernails. you saw all of that now, right in front of you, like nothing had changed.

you turned your head slowly to look at her. her eyes were down now, lashes casting shadows on her cheeks, fingers playing with the frayed hem of her sleeve.

the silence this time was worse.

so you reached out without thinking. your hand found hers, warm and unsure in your palm. then you slid it over gently, placed it on top of hers the way you used to when you were kids. a quiet offering. a wordless ‘tahan na’ in the middle of everything that wouldn’t come out right.

she froze, breath hitching.

you didn’t look at her but you kept your eyes on your joined hands, the way her fingers curled slightly under yours, like they remembered.

“i’m sorry,” she spoke after a while, voice lower now. “i didn’t mean to get weird. i just…”

“i know.”

the streets rolled by outside, a slow blur of taillights and neon. and in the dimness of the car, something shifted back into place.

perhaps, you could both live with this thing between you, whatever it was. even if neither of you had the words for it yet.

you kept your hand there the rest of the ride. and she didn’t let go.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

tonight, concave belonged to people who knew how to take their time. you had forgotten how warm a restaurant could feel when it wasn’t just a job, when the air wasn’t heavy with orders and wait times and burnt pots.

the long table had been set earlier in the afternoon under low-hanging lights strung along the ceiling beams, soft shadows stretched across white linen and mismatched cutlery. there were extra chairs lined up just in case someone brought someone else last minute.

sophia and diana had planned it all; something about old friends and new chapters. you didn’t argue, just happy to cook.

in the bar, yohan looked more alive than he had all week. he stood behind the counter like it was his stage, lazily tossing lemons in the air while aira’s portable speaker blared old r&b. a playlist from the group chat titled “for the soul.”

one of the katseye girls, lara, maybe, was already perched on a stool with a glass of something bright and citrusy, her laugh carrying over to the kitchen.

yohan still couldn’t look at her.

in the kitchen, it was hell but the good kind. you were sweating through your shirt, wrists sore from all the chopping and ladling. the air was thick with the smell of sinigang, tamarind sharp in your nose and somewhere behind you, liempo sizzled against hot grill bars. herbs and spices clung to the counters and lumpia oil popped loudly in the corner fryer.

someone’s empty beer bottle clinked on the prep table, probably kristoff’s. he and leo were hovering near the turon like they hadn’t eaten in weeks and aira kept swatting their hands away with a spatula.

you stirred the sinigang, tasted it quickly off the back of the ladle and added a little more fish sauce. everything else could burn as long as the broth hit the right spot.

then, through the steam and haze, she appeared.

sophia…black dress, hair down, neckline low. she looked like she didn’t belong in this kind of heat; like the sweat, the fish sauce, the clatter of a dozen moving parts couldn’t touch her. she walked in quietly, barefoot now, heels probably left under the table. you didn’t notice her at first, not until she stood beside you and reached for the paper towel roll, tearing a piece off in one slow motion.

“you’re drenched,” she murmured and gently dabbed your forehead. “you’re gonna get sick if you don’t wipe it off - let me wipe your back.”

“what?”

your hand stopped mid-stir, her touch was soft. too soft. her fingers near your hairline, warm and clean and steady. you didn’t look at her. you couldn’t, not when your chest had just betrayed you by clenching up so fast.

she rolled her eyes. “lift the back of your shirt up.”

“i can do it,” you insisted, reaching for more paper towels but her hand stopped you. “piya…”

“what? you’re suddenly too grown for me to do it?” she clicked her tongue as she shook her head, lifting your shirt up to dab paper towels on your back. “now, wasn’t so hard hey?”

“ayieeeee!” kristoff’s voice cracked through the kitchen like a slap. followed by laughter, loud and terrible and echoing. you heard the clang of something dropped.

you finally turned your head, saw her smiling. lips pressed together like she was trying not to make it worse.

“ignore them,” she said, handing you the scrunched-up towel.

you blinked. “this is a kitchen. you can’t be in here with your untied hair.”

“then hurry up and feed us so i can be soft somewhere else, chef.”

you snorted, eyes darting toward the sinigang pot again, your pulse still uneven. “just sit back and wait for the best meal of your life.”

“always is,” she chuckled and walked out.

the second the door swung closed behind her, aira’s panic returned at full volume.

“oh my god,” she whisper-yelled, pacing near the fryer. “i cannot do this. that was sophia laforteza. she was here, again, in this kitchen. and now we have to plate food for her. and for katseye. literal katseye members!”

leo, ever useless, dramatically picked up a serving tray and bowed like a butler. “madam manon, may i present your steaming hot garlic rice and humble peasant lumpia.”

kristoff followed suit. “miss yoonchae, your turon awaits on a bed of banana leaf — harvested from davao’s finest plantation.”

she looked like she might faint; pale-faced and terrified. “can you both shut the fuck up? i’m having a crisis.”

“just act normal,” you muttered, laughing as you wiped your hands on your apron. “they’re regular people.”

“regular people with millions of followers and abs sculpted by the divine.”

“aira, breathe,” leo said, flinging a turon piece into his mouth. “you’re sweating more than the sinigang and y/n.”

before she could throw something at him, diana’s voice called from the hallway. “babe, where’s the leche flan?”

kristoff looked up, startled; he wore the face of someone who knew he fucked up. “uhhh, i thought i heard you say you were taking it.”

“excuse me?” she leaned halfway into the kitchen, fully done up in a green satin dress and gold hoops that caught the light. “do you think i’m stupid? i clearly remember our conversation, stop gaslighting me!”

he put his hands up in defeat. “you told me you had it covered. i asked! remember? i said, ‘babe, do i need to grab the leche flan from the fridge’ and you said ‘no, it’s sorted.’ sorted! those were your words.”

“don’t you try to gaslight me, kristoff, you fucking had one job,” she groaned in frustration. “next thing i know, it’s going to be our kids you’ll be forgetting to pick up.”

their back-and-forth spiralled quickly into a domestic episode while the rest of you watched in muted horror and amusement. you shook your head, heart full. it shouldn’t have felt this easy, but it did.

this kitchen, the mess, the arguing, the way diana rolled her eyes at kristoff like she has been doing it since she was fourteen; it reminded you of afternoons when you were still in high school, squeezing into godfrey’s car with takeaway wrappers at your feet and anthony’s guitar neck digging into your ribs.

it was all of you, all together again…for the first time in years. and this time, no one was leaving. not yet.

when the food finally made its way out, it spread across the long table like a painting you didn’t know you were capable of. it was almost overwhelming.

banana leaves ran the length of the wooden table, their glossy green catching the candlelight. the sinigang sat in clay pots at both ends, the steam curling in lazy spirals. grilled liempo, slightly charred and glistening, was laid across the centre beside the golden lumpia, fresh from the fryer.

small ceramic bowls of spicy patis and vinegar, each one glowing with floating chillies, were scattered in between. garlic rice was heaped into giant mounds and turon drizzled with coconut caramel waited for their moment.

it wasn’t exactly a traditional boodle fight; there were plates and forks involved, people here were too pretty and too moisturised for the usual rules — but it had the same spirit.

loud, messy, communal.

and the drinks didn’t stop. yohan was on his 20th shaker (had to be), pouring cocktails into anything that could hold liquid. beers clinked aira was screaming about how her eyeliner hadn’t even smudged despite all the oil she had inhaled and kyle turned the speaker louder.

you had barely sat down when a hand tugged you into a space between manon and lara.

“chef,” lara grinned, already halfway through her plate, “this sinigang is life-changing. like…actually life-changing. i think i saw god.”

you laughed awkwardly, trying not to trip over your chair. “it’s just sinigang.”

“just?” she gasped, turning to sophia with mock betrayal. “you never told me she was this good. baby, you’re lucky.”

sophia only raised her cocktail and gave her a look that didn’t say much, but it didn’t need to.

manon tilted her head at you, eyes sharp but not unkind. “did you train abroad?”

“uh — no,” you said, swallowing the sudden nervous tightness in your throat. “i studied here. ust.”

“classic,” she nodded in approval. “it’s always the ones who stay home who get it right.”

megan nudged daniela, chewing on a lumpia. “we’ve been following concave for a while. sophia talks about it so much, i had to see what the hype was. it’s unreal.”

your heart did a stupid skip. you tried to downplay it with a small nod. “i didn’t know she…talked about it that much.”

“yes! she showed me photos of the recent tasting menu like it was her baby.”

you glanced at sophia across the table. she was eating quietly, smiling to herself.

“so,” daniela piped up, chopsticks in hand, “are you always this quiet? or just because our sophia’s here?”

you choked on your beer, coughed once. “no, i — i mean yes. i mean…i’m just bad with new people.”

lara snorted into her rice. “you’re doing fine.”

yoonchae had been sitting across, quiet but observant, smiled softly and said, “can i help clear plates later?”

you shook your head. “no, no, just enjoy.”

“okay,” she replied, still smiling. “but really…are you single?”

your laugh came out caught somewhere between real and choked. “uhh, yeah.”

megan sipped her cocktail. “so is sophia.”

sophia rolled her eyes, but said nothing. manon threw her head back. “can you get a girlfriend already?” she said to her. “someone who cooks like this, preferably.”

lara leaned in again. “you two have real chemistry; just saying.”

“y/n’s only ever emotionally available for sophia,” leo laughed when you glared at him. “it’ll work.”

you wanted to slide under the table and disappear. your hands and chest were hot. even your knees felt like they’d been caught in a lie.

it was surreal, the way they all just made room for you. these women, so famous they didn’t need surnames, so beautiful it hurt to look at them sometimes. but they weren’t difficult. not at all intimidating once the food hit the table. they teased and asked questions and passed plates around like they had known you longer than an hour.

it was easy in a way that surprised you.

“so kyle,” diana was saying. “you’re going back on the ships?”

“as soon as that damn contract gets finalised,” he sighed, picking at the liempo. “they’ve been dragging it out, but i miss the ocean and getting paid to disappear.”

aira clinked her fork against his plate. “you miss not paying rent to your brother.”

“same thing.”

somewhere down the table, kristoff was explaining how he proposed by hiding the ring in diana’s karaoke mic. aira had everyone wheezing with her rant about her ‘stupid’ boyfriend who refused to learn how to use gcash.

then, just when the buzz had started to mellow into comfort, anthony leaned back in his chair, a smirk curling at his lips. “let me tell you girls something —” he pointed his fork between you and sophia. “— we all used to think these two would end up together.”

sophia’s face went red, ducking behind her glass like it could save her from god.

you glared at him, face burning. “here we go.“

“what? we did!” he declared. “ask diana.”

the way sophia looked now, pretending not to hear. you knew what he meant. and it wasn’t the first time someone had said it, but it was the first time it made you ache.

“best friends,” you corrected, eyes fixed on your drink but something shifted. it hit you with more force than you expected, a note played too loud in an otherwise gentle song.

did you think about it? of course you did. sometimes in the quiet and in your dreams.

and maybe even in all the things you never dared say.

kyle added. “nah, y/n was a wreck after you left, soph. she crashed out hard. wasn’t herself for a while.”

you groaned, already reaching for the turon. “i’m fine now.”

“she really wasn’t,” diana agreed. “barely spoke.”

sophia turned to you, pouty. she rubbed your back in slow circles. “i’m here now.”

you nodded, avoiding her eyes. “it was a long time ago.”

but it didn’t feel that way, not tonight.

by the time the meal was over, the night had softened into something else, more subdued. the drinks had been flowing for hours and most plates were empty or licked clean.

katseye had to fly back to los angeles in the morning, but sophia wasn’t going. she said it casually over dessert, told the girls she extended her stay by a week…just like that.

megan hugged you first. “thanks for dinner, chef,” she whispered. “she really likes being here.”

lara kissed your cheek. “take care of her, yeah?”

daniela gave you a once-over. “you’re kind of cool once you loosen up.”

manon just nodded and said, “we’ll come back. sooner than later.”

“please make sure you feed her,” yoonchae hugged you quietly, arms warm and light. “she forgets sometimes.”

you stood beside sophia as they climbed into their car, waving through the window, their hair slightly tousled from the manila humidity. they were loud even as the door shut. then the engine started and they were gone.

it wasn’t dramatic. no confessions, no big moment. just that strange, terrifying feeling of something unspoken.

something that never really left.

and then, of course, anthony had to ruin it. “more red horse for you lovebirds, eh?”

you groaned. “please shut up.”

but you were smiling. god help you, you were smiling.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

anthony was on his second bottle of red horse, red in the face and singing like he was on a stage somewhere deep in quezon. slightly swaying as the soft strum of bawat piyesa by munimuni crackled out from yohan’s old bluetooth speaker.

“to y/n and sophia,” he announced grandly, almost falling off his chair as he lifted his redhorse to raise a toast.

“stupid drunk,” you mumbled next to sophia.

she looked at you, grinning. “and you’re a sleepy one.”

god, you could get used to this.

the melody was tender, almost too tender for the thick beer haze they were all swimming in, but no one said a word. beside him, leo joined in, eyes half-closed as if it helped him find the right note.

you were humming gently to the rhythm, seated back in your chair, bottle cold in your hand. your head felt warm; tipsy. sophia kept stealing glances at you, that stupid fond expression on her face every time you accidentally caught her looking.

there was too much noise, too much singing, too much beer — but none of it felt overwhelming. just pretty fucking good.

and sophia…god, she was laughing like she hadn’t done it in years, hand to her chest, head tilted back slightly. she leaned toward you, brushing shoulders and that warmth lingered even after she shifted back.

kristoff had left with diana earlier, his arm slung over her shoulder as she threatened to make him sleep on the couch in hushed frustration. out the front, kyle and yohan were sharing a cigarette, their murmurs leaking through the gaps in the doors.

and aira, bless her, was still circling the table with her phone, snapping blurry photos of you and sophia together.

“for the kitchen wall,” she insisted before taking another shot from the worst angle possible.

you didn’t notice when sophia got up, only when she stood beside you, hand brushing the top of your shoulder. “come with me?” she asked.

you blinked. “what, now?”

“yeah,” her tone was softer than her laugh, careful. “just for a bit.”

no one said anything when you pushed your chair back. aira gave you a little wink, but you ignored it. sophia was already walking ahead, down the short path that led out to the side, the gravel crunching beneath her flats. you followed, the night shifting around you like the tide pulling back.

makati had stilled outside the roads were empty. someone’s tv was playing faintly in a nearby building, and the warm glow of the corner streetlight bled across the side steps of the restaurant.

it had cooled too. your cheeks were warm from the drink but the air was crisp, a reminder that it was well past midnight and the city had gone to bed.

there was a tree just beside the gate; old, overgrown and knotted in the middle like it had something to say. she looked back at you, then sat down on the low concrete edge. her hair was a little windswept, long dark strands catching in the breezeand the light hit her in a way that made her eyes seem darker, more open.

straight out of a magazine.

you hovered awkwardly until she patted the space beside her.

“just wanted to be alone with you for a bit,” she said quietly. you sat, not too close, your knees angled away from hers. the concrete was still warm from the day. she looked at you for a second, then murmured, “closer.”

you shifted, barely a few inches, but it was enough.

there wasn’t a rush to speak. silence settled easily. you listened to it, the crickets somewhere in the dark, the occasional honk from a jeep turning a corner blocks away. you looked sideways — she had her chin tilted up, staring at the leaves above her like she was waiting for the words to arrive there first.

then sophia turned to you, voice quieter. “do you remember the letter i mentioned?”

you nodded slowly.

“i wrote everything,” she continued. “poured it all out. what you meant to me. what i wished i’d said sooner. but there was a condition…i wrote that if you didn’t feel the same, then just pretend it never happened. don’t bring it up, don’t respond. i didn’t want to lose you completely and make it awkward.”

you turned to her. “what do you mean?”

she looked back at you then, properly. the lights from concave filtered across her face, a faint gold around her lashes.

she let out a breath that felt like it had been held for years. “i wrote that i was in love with you.”

your stomach dropped. for a moment, everything else vanished. the music, the beer, the laughter inside. you were a kid again, watching her through a window at the airport, your heart in your throat.

you swallowed, mouth dry. “sophia…”

“i didn’t consider you getting robbed or forgetting your bag or losing it,” she laughed weakly. “god, of all days. of course it would happen on the day i tried to say something real.”

“i didn’t know,” you began, almost to yourself, and your voice came out smaller than you meant.

“it was my fault,” she whisper, almost laughing, but there was no humour in it. “of course you didn’t. i didn’t even tell you i wrote anything before i left.”

you didn’t know what to say. all the moments rushed back — when you held her hand under the stars, how she brought gifts to your lola’s house, hugged you for too long and never said why.

“did you?” she asked. “feel the same?”

you turned to her, really looked. her eyes were glassy but open. ready.

“yeah,” you admitted, like weight off your shoulders. “i always have. maybe not in a loud way. but it was there. loving you felt like…breathing — didn’t have to think about it. it was enough for me just to see you happy.”

she blinked hard. then looked away, like it hurt to hear. “and now?”

you breathed in slow. “i don’t know, i’m still figuring it out.”

she nodded like she understood. she wasn’t expecting anything from you, not yet.

you looked at her, properly this time. “what are we doing?”

she let the question hang there, just for a second. “i don’t know either, i just know i like being near you. i like knowing who you are now. and i’m really glad i came back…even if it’s just for a little while.”

you weren’t sure who reached first, but your fingers found each other again, her thumb rubbing circles on your skin.

then, she leaned against your shoulder; the same way she used to when her mum picked her up late from dance class and she was too tired to speak.

you closed your eyes for a second, let the silence wrap around both of you. the streetlight buzzed overhead, someone inside laughed too loudly.

and still, the world outside held still for just a bit longer.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the laforteza family parties had always been loud. they weren’t wild in the traditional sense, but they carried a kind of well-fed chaos — every table heavy with food, every tita’s voice louder than necessary, every cousin appearing out of nowhere like they never left.

it had been held at their private residence in forbes park, a manicured lawn and a stone path lined with garden lights that looked like they were imported from europe.

you and sophia had arrived together in her manager’s van, sophia fixing her hair in the mirror while you adjusted the sleeve of the button-down she swore looked good on you. you hadn’t argued. you rarely did…not when she looked at you like that.

when she leaned over to get a taste of the mango float on your plate, her perfume brushed past you. vanilla and jasmine. something soft and expensive.

“you okay?” she asked, voice easy.

you nodded, giving her a small smile. “just nervous.”

she reached over and squeezed your hand, if only she knew how you could barely breathe whenever she did that. “you’ll be fine; they know and love you.”

and for a while, it felt like that might be true.

but somewhere between entering the gate and the fourth glass of wine being passed around, sophia got swept away. old friends, mostly from high school. the girls she cheered with; the boys whose names made her laugh in a way that said history.

you sat there, close enough to be part of the scene but distant enough to be forgotten by it. the chatter blurred into a high-pitched hum, broken by bursts of laughter you weren’t part of.

your plate stayed empty longer than it should’ve. you picked at the lumpia and finished your drink too quickly.

when you glanced over to the gazebo area, sophia was already standing alone with leon. they looked like a still from a glossy magazine, it was almost unfair how photogenic they were.

the sound of distant karaoke buzzed softly from a backroom. you were left in a sea of relatives and strangers, your name forgotten halfway through most introductions. you sat with godfrey and tita carla after a while, just to give your hands something to do — stirring the condensation on your glass of lemon, lime & bitters with a paper straw.

“how’s your mum doing, hija?” carla asked kindly, adjusting the pearls on her wrist. “she still makes your baon?”

you smiled politely. “every day. even if i say no. she’ll guilt trip me with her arthritis.”

godfrey laughed. “same old, huh.”

“same old,” you echoed, nodding.

the conversation drifted easily enough. he asked about concave. you gave him numbers — soft ones. told him about the new bookings for next week, how you were thinking of repainting the kitchen wall. he nodded, but you caught the way his eyes flicked towards your face, like he was measuring your answers against something else.

something quieter.

because you weren’t really there, not entirely. your eyes kept returning to the centre of the garden. sophia was with leon again, crouched by the sangria station, talking to a group of their old classmates.

leon handed her a glass and she laughed at something he said; head thrown back, hand brushing his arm as if by accident. the titas nearby were already whispering loud enough for you to hear.

“ay, they really look good together.”

“those two should — leon is a great guy.”

your ears started ringing, heard the soft clatter of a spoon fall into a bowl behind you.

they looked like a story that had kept going, even when you weren’t there to see it. there was ease in how they stood close and comfort in how the people around them saw them. and you?

you were just the friend she brought.

you forced a smile at godfrey’s next question — something about restaurant rent and local suppliers but your voice didn’t come. it stuck in your throat like something you had forgotten to chew. so you excused yourself instead; something about getting a refill.

the kitchen was quieter and the air smelled like grilled eggplant and sugar syrup. you poured yourself water, trying to cool down whatever you were feeling inside.

that’s when you heard it — muffled but clear. a girl’s voice, drifting from the hallway by the pantry. “…they tried dating after high school, right? i remember that. leon was so in love, i thought they would end up together.”

another voice chimed in, giggling. “same, they made such a good couple. it was such a bummer when it didn’t work — wait, didn’t sophia bring someone else to the party?”

“oh, that’s just her childhood friend; the chef from concave.”

you stood there with the glass half-full in your hand, staring at the tiles. something small curled and collapsed inside your chest and you felt it break without sound.

you didn’t know why that hurt more.

maybe you were always going to be the friend from childhood. the one who cooked, who people said kind things about, not the one people chose.

you were never going to belong in that world, either. it wasn’t about being intimidated; it was more about knowing you were the type of person who left parties early because small talk wore you out, who bought secondhand clothes, who used to split rent with four housemates and who grew up thinking happiness was only real when it was earned.

you walked out the side gate, didn’t say goodbye. but you barely made it to the end of the driveway when godfrey caught up.

“y/n,” he called out, breath caught between steps. “hey, what’s going on?”

you turned, tried to smile. “i’m just tired, tito. that’s all.”

he frowned, looked like he wanted to say more. but he didn’t stop you…just gave a small nod, one of those slow, uncertain ones men like him reserved for things they didn’t quite understand.

that night, your phone buzzed five, six, seven times. all her.

sophia: where are you?

sophia: are you okay?

sophia: please just tell me you’re safe.

you stared at the screen in your room, face lit blue by the light. you were in your worn out clothes now — your old high school shirt and some loose shorts. you kept the lights off and listened to the fridge hum.

told yourself to breathe through it but your chest wouldn’t settle.

because it wasn’t just about leon.

it was how easily she could forget you.

how easy it was for her to float through this world where everything was soft, familiar, and waiting…and how foreign it all still felt to you. you, who had to work for everything. still counted coins when the month stretched too long, didn’t wear sundresses or get handed glasses of sangria by boys that everyone liked.

your world was different; always had been. it worked when you were kids — barefoot and dreaming.

but now? she belonged to a different one. and maybe loving her was always going to feel like this. like almost and not enough.

you didn’t cry that night even though you thought you would. maybe the weight of it would crack somewhere soft inside your chest, but it didn’t. it just sat there, dull and unmoving, like a stone wedged into the lining of your ribs.

there was a dull ache in your lower back and a dry taste on your tongue when you woke up the next morning. it was barely seven. your phone was still off. you didn’t turn it back on; didn’t want to.

you didn’t want to see her name on your lock screen or read a paragraph that might explain things too late or worse: make you want to forgive her for something you couldn’t even name.

concave didn’t have you that day; you called aira and told her to run the kitchen. she joked that she was ready to burn the sinigang but her voice softened when she asked if you were okay. you said you were fine and she didn’t believe you, but she let it go.

you watered your plants, played the same bon iver record three times in a row, took a bath with the lights off. everything felt somehow muted like heartbreak repackaged into daily routine.

by mid-afternoon, the phone rang. the landline, surprisingly. it was your mum.

“anak,” she greeted, gently. “sophia came here. are you two okay?”

your stomach pulled in on itself. “what?”

“this morning. she looked like she hadn’t slept. said she just wanted to talk to you, but you weren’t answering any of her calls.”

you didn’t say anything.

“i didn’t ask questions. but she was holding something. a box of gifts, i think. and flowers. oh, and she gave me a really expensive chanel perfume and your lola a new set of china plates…that girl.”

you rubbed your eyes, felt that strange tightness creeping into your throat. “that’s good, ma, but what did you tell her?”

“that i don’t know where you are, even if i did. that if she really wants to talk, she should wait until you’re ready to listen.”

there was a long pause. you swallowed it down. “thanks, ma.”

“you okay?”

“not really.”

“you want me to cook?”

“maybe not.”

the day passed quietly. you cleaned your fridge out, cried for five minutes while slicing onions and threw out a tupperware that had gone grey. you almost turned your phone on at sunset; your thumb hovering over the button like it weighed more than your entire arm.

but you didn’t.

because the truth was, you didn’t know what would hurt more; knowing she meant everything or realising she didn’t know how to hold you when it counted.

and wasn’t that the thing about her?

sophia could light up a room, charm a crowd, make you feel like the only person on earth when she looked at you. but sometimes, when the lights dimmed and the music stopped, she forgot where she left you standing.

and you were tired of being forgotten.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the hours blurred together in the kitchen, one dish after another, the rhythm of prep and plating the only thing you could stand to follow. you had stopped replying days ago.

not just to the messages. to everything. to the world, really.

sophia had come by twice already this week. three, if you counted the morning yohan swore he saw her waiting outside in sunglasses and a jacket like a celebrity hiding from a scandal.

each time, you made them tell her you weren’t there.

“she asked if we could just tell you she stopped by,” leo muttered yesterday, drying spoons while stealing glances at you.

you didn’t reply, kept your head down, slicing eggplants into even strips until your fingers went numb from the chill of the cool room.

and today — today was the day she was leaving. you were aware for three days now since you started counting it down. plus, she had texted: intramuros. today. 11am. please just come. i don’t know what i did but i really miss you.

you didn’t answer.

instead, you buried yourself in prep. you had taken two 14-hour shifts back to back. didn’t let yourself sit for more than ten minutes at a time. it was easier, in here. surrounded by the steam of broth and the snap of fresh chillies hitting oil. it was was easy to convince yourself that numbness could pass for peace.

but everyone knew something was off.

you were talking less; the jokes you usually cracked over boiling sinigang broth had dried up. the sarcasm, the sharp but harmless way you used to scold the boys, gone. there was just you, hunched over the chopping board, sleeves rolled up, knife dancing across red onions like you were trying to make them cry first.

across the kitchen, kristoff watched you. you didn’t see it, but leo noticed him about to speak and shook his head. no.

aira, standing next to him, wiped her hands and mouthed go.

so he went.

“how long are you gonna do this?” he asked, leaning against the prep table with arms crossed, eyes calm but fixed. “she called diana. for the fourth time. asking if you’re okay, asking what she did. or if you hate her.”

you didn’t stop chopping. “i don’t hate her.”

“then what the fuck is this?”

you shrugged, feeling the heat crawl up your neck. not from the stove.

kristoff’s voice softened. “she’s leaving today, y/n.”

you placed the knife down and looked at him. “it’s better this way.”

“for who?”

you didn’t have an answer for that. or perhaps you did, but you were too tired to give it voice.

“you haven’t even responded to her last message, have you?” he continued. “the one she sent about today?”

your silence was enough of an answer.

he sighed, pushed off the table. “you don’t have to explain anything to me. but maybe you should ask yourself why you’re so afraid to see her. is it her? or is it you?”

then he left you there, the smell of chopped onions clinging to your hands, eyes stinging even though you hadn’t cried.

he quickly turned around, scoffing. “she came by again. yesterday, asking if you’d be in. you know what i said?”

you looked up at him.

“that you’re the most stubborn person i’ve ever met. and that if you didn’t get your shit together soon, you would end up losing something that could’ve been really fucking good.”

the kitchen fell quiet. even aira stopped pretending to sort cutlery. no one moved.

you didn’t say anything. you couldn’t. you kept hearing sophia’s voice in that last message.

your mind was spinning toward a future you couldn’t see clearly. five years from now. would you still be here, running the same station, pretending you hadn’t let something important slip through your fingers again? would sophia be in los angeles, too far gone to reach, too famous to touch?

you stared at the cutting board like it held answers. it didn’t. the thought of seeing her…having to explain that quiet ache sitting behind your ribs; it made you feel hollow.

not long after, you were snapped out of your trance by aira, who tapped your arm lightly.

“we need to tweak the ube recipe,” she began, a clipboard in hand. “thinking we should thicken the syrup? add edible flowers to the dish? for aesthetics?”

“sure,” you looked up, eyes glazed, and caught the clock above the fridge.

10:16 am.

a sudden jolt of panic pushed up your throat like bile. sophia. she would be waiting right now. maybe standing in the middle of intramuros, checking her phone every few seconds, hoping.

stupidly hoping.

your chest tightened.

without saying a word, you wiped your hands on your apron, untied it and tossed it onto the nearest hook.

kristoff looked up from the sink as you passed him on the way out. “where are you going?”

“to see her,” you replied, already halfway to the back door.

“finally,” he muttered under his breath.

aira just beamed, softly said: “go get your girl!”

the sky was greying by the time you made it out to the street. rain was threatening to fall but not quite yet. your steps were quick, head low, the jeepney ride from makati to manila a blur of dust and diesel and every reason you have ever had for leaving things unsaid.

you held onto the rail tightly as the jeep lurched over potholes. every time your phone buzzed in your pocket, your stomach clenched.

you didn’t check.

because your heart was in your mouth. you hated yourself for this; for running out in the middle of lunch, for possibly being too late, for the fact that a part of you still wanted her to be there.

but more than anything, you hated that you couldn’t keep her out. not really…even now, even still, you were chasing the same hope that always broke you.

you just wanted to see her.

if only for a moment.

if only to say goodbye.

if only to stop wondering what could’ve been.

what if this is it: what if this is the last time?

your heart thudded hard in your chest. you tried to slow it down. reminded yourself of the facts: she was leaving, she always going to leave. it was her thing now. planes, performances, exits. you could never follow.

but still, she asked to see you. begged. please.

you owed her that.

you owed yourself that.

the rain started halfway through buendia, light enough to blur the glass but heavy enough to make the roads smell like dust and wet pavement. you wiped your palms against your jeans and counted the stops. your stomach felt tight, jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

intramuros felt further than ever.

you had to…see her one last time, properly. not like the last time; where her voice was buried under laughter that wasn’t meant for you. you deserved a goodbye that didn’t feel like punishment. and maybe, probably, she deserved one too.

the streets of intramuros were slick with rain, cobblestones reflecting dim morning light that slipped through the low clouds. a few umbrellas dotted the plaza, mostly locals moving slowly, already resigned to the weather. the drizzle had started soft but steady, soaking through your hoodie as you stepped off the jeepney, heart thudding against your ribs like it didn’t want to be there.

you spotted her instantly.

sophia, sat on one of the stone benches just by the fountain, her head bent low like she wasn’t sure how long she could keep waiting. you paused, let yourself watch her for a second, like you haven’t in days. she looked tired, drenched in something heavier than just the weather, and still so unfairly beautiful that it ached.

you didn’t say anything as you approached. your shoes hit puddles with dull slaps. the sky was all steel above. sophia looked up and blinked, startled, then immediately stood.

you walked closer but didn’t reach for her. she stepped forward and hugged you tightly, arms wrapping around your shoulders like a reflex. damp warmth, all clove perfume and the shape of someone who had once been almost yours.

her voice was right at your ear. “can you talk to me, please?”

when she pulled back, her brows furrowed. she tried to catch your eyes, but you wouldn’t give them to her.

“why won’t you look at me?” she ask, stepping away. “why won’t you look at me, y/n?”

you stayed quiet. then her hands came up, cupping your face — not softly, just desperate. “do i mean nothing to you now?”

that hit you in the chest. not because it was true, but because it wasn’t. the truth was she meant too much, too deeply.

you finally looked her in the eye. and she flinched like she saw something in your expression that hurt her more than silence.

“say something,” she continued, voice cracking. thunder rolled somewhere in the distance and she flinched again, eyes darting to the clouds before coming back to you. “please.”

your gaze dropped to the cobblestone beneath your feet, blurred now with the beginnings of rainfall. “i’m sorry,” you said quietly. “for disappearing. it was just…easier.”

“easier?”

her eyes were so brown it almost hurt to look at; so filled with all the things you didn’t know how to hold.

you cleared your throat as she waited for you to continue. “there’s always going to be someone better for you,” you murmured. “someone who can give you the world.”

her brows pulled together, eyes narrowing. “why do you always do this?” her voice cracked. “why do you always make that choice for me?”

“because it’s true.”

“you’re a fucking coward.”

you flinched.

“you think pushing me away makes you noble?” she asked, frustration crawling out of her voice. “you think it makes you selfless? you’re just scared. scared of letting someone love you.”

you looked away again, watching the rain start to pepper the stone around you.

“we should leave. it’s about to come down harder,” you said, already trying to step back. “we should say our goodbyes.”

she laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and shaking. “you’re unbelievable,” her eyes were glassy now. “you think this was just some sweet reunion for me? a little nostalgia? god — y/n, i have been in love with you for years. and i thought maybe, just maybe, you felt the same way.”

your stomach dropped.

she continued, each word landing heavy.

“i can’t meet anyone else without thinking about you. i can’t even look at someone for longer than a minute without worrying if you’ll think i’ve moved on,” she took a shaky breath, tears pooling now. “because part of me is always waiting…just waiting for you to see me. really see me. and not push me away.”

she stepped closer.

“i love you,” she confessed, her voice softer. “and you don’t even have the decency to look me in the eye and say anything.”

the words repeated inside your head: i love you. but what good does love ever do?

she shoved you, lightly, like the words weren’t enough to carry the weight. “say something.”

your hands found her face before your mind caught up, warm skin under wet fingertips. her cheeks flushed with cold and hurt and heartbreak. her tears were silent now, mixing with the rain as it began to fall heavier.

you held her gently.

you told her not to look back.

“find someone who can give you the things i can’t,” you answered, voice softer now. “go chase your dreams. you’re more than this. more than me; there’s someone who’s not afraid of how much they love you.”

but sophia only looked at you, soaked now, cheeks slick, jaw clenched like she was trying not to break in half. she shook her head, wet hair flying. “fuck, y/n.”

“i’ve always been okay just loving you quietly. you don’t have to give me anything, piya.”

“i want to,” she cried. “i love you. i choose you. why can’t you just — why can’t you choose me too?”

“i’m scared,” you whispered.

“i am too,” she shot back. “but i’m here.”

you shook your head. “you’ll leave again. your life’s out there, soph. not here.”

“then i’ll come back,” her voice was rising now. “again and again and again if that’s what it takes, but you keep pushing me away like i don’t matter!”

you stared at her, voice hollow. “you matter too much.”

“then tell me, why can’t you choose me?”

you swallowed. “because one day you won’t choose me back and i don’t know if i can survive that.”

you didn’t know what else to say - your mind was a spiral of everything you ever wanted and all the reasons you told yourself you didn’t deserve it. your thoughts kept folding in on themselves: memories of childhood, of her hand in yours, of the letter you never got to read, of the years you spent loving her quietly and alone.

she stepped back, rain dripping from her lashes.

“you think i forgot you when leon was around?” she snapped. “do you really think i ever looked at anyone the way i look at you?”

you didn’t answer.

“i was never with him. we tried once, years ago. it didn’t work because he wasn’t you.”

“but it’s so easy for you,” you mumbled, chest tight. “to laugh with him. to disappear into that world. i don’t belong there, i never did. you and i both know that.”

she stared at you like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. then something shifted in her face — something cracked.

she clenched her jaw, her eyes flashed. and she stepped forward.

you turned away. and that was when she grabbed you. fists balled in your shirt, mouth trembling, voice raw: “why won’t you let me love you?”

then she slammed her lips against yours.

it was angry and messy and soaked through with years of almosts. her lips collided into yours like a storm as everything she hadn’t said was stored in her mouth and now you were finally allowed to taste it.

your hands found her waist, pulling her in, your body betraying every fear you had ever held. her hands cupped your face again like she needed to hold you steady.

if she didn’t, she would fall apart.

you felt everything all at once: how long she had waited, how much she had wanted, how deeply she was willing to ache just to be loved by you.

and you hadn’t kissed anyone like that before. not in your entire life.

when you finally pulled apart, breathless, soaked, the air thick with everything unsaid…you didn’t know what to say.

the rain slowed into a drizzle, the kind that lingered like fog on your skin, soft and silver under the overcast light. you hadn’t let go of her yet, neither had she. your fingers were still curled around the hem of her hoodie, her forehead pressed against yours. every part of her was damp and trembling, but warm in the places where your bodies met.

you could still feel the echo of her kiss; bruised and tender and honest.

she exhaled against your lips like it hurt to breathe without touching you. “i have a flight tonight,” she began, voice low and careful, as if saying it too loud might shatter the moment between you.

your stomach turned at the thought. not because she was leaving — because she might not come back.

but then she cupped your jaw again, steady this time, her thumb brushing the edge of your cheekbone. “but before i go, i need to know something.”

you stared at her, giving you the look she always used to give: certain and full of questions. it had never left, just grown quieter over the years.

“do i still have something to come home to?” she asked, not blinking. “to you?”

your mouth parted, but nothing came out. it took a breath, then another. your thoughts scrambled around all the reasons you had built up to keep her out: the distance, the history, the fear, the ache that never quite stopped.

but she was here. and suddenly, all of it felt so small compared to this.

you nodded, slowly at first, then with certainty. “yeah,” you said, voice breaking just enough to be real. “yeah, you do.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the end (for now)

#heliooosss #kpop x reader #kpop gg #kpop imagines #sophia laforteza #sophia x reader #sophia laforteza x reader #katseye x reader #katseye

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eurolandtstore · 1 year ago

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vunblr · 3 months ago

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Lush.

Pairing: Chubby!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Unprotected Sex. Some fluff. Slight Angst. Body Insecurity (Bucky). Size kink. Use of pet names. Finger sucking.

Summary: After Bucky is reminded by an offending shirt that his body isn't what it used to be, Sugarplum finds just the right way to get him out of his head.

Word Count: 4.1k.

notes: This fic can be read as a standalone, but is a filthy follow-up of Plump and Ripe.

This is one of the works I'm submitting for the @avengers-assemble-bingo Kinky Bingo. The prompt was "Finger Sucking". Plot? what plot? Card number KB-014.

Bucky hadn’t dropped a pound. Not for lack of trying, he trained harder, ran longer, even made peace with the sad green smoothies Sam brought every time they met. But his body, thanks to that failed mission that ended up with him as a Hydra guinea pig again, held on to every soft part of flesh like it was fighting him. A year into dating her, though, he found out sometimes he didn’t care as much. Not when she looked at him the way she did. Not when her house smelled like cherries and safety, and her couch had his dent from where he always sat. These days, his apartment felt more like a storage unit, and her place up the fruit shop felt like home.

He grunted softly as he tugged off his stained henley, damp with sauce. He’d gotten too invested in his cheat food again. Messy, handheld, and completely worth the ruined shirt. But now, standing in her bedroom, digging through the drawer where she kept a few of his spare clothes, his mood began to sour.

He pulled on a clean henley, only to feel it tighter than he remembered around his midsection. His brows knit together. One thing was not losing weight -he could live with that- but fattening up? After an entire month of forcing down more salads and adding another damn routine to his training? He stared at his reflection, pressing his lips into a thin, flat line.

He tugged the shirt down again, trying to smooth out the way it clung around his stomach. The fabric bunched at his sides, tighter than it had been a few weeks ago, and definitely tighter than last month. It wasn’t just the damn stain from lunch anymore. It was the way this shirt used to be loose at some places, and now clung to his body like it was afraid to let go. He sighed through his nose and padded toward the kitchen.

Three hours. In three hours, he’d have to head back to his place, grab his gear, and suit up for a long mission with Sam. He glanced at the clock and grimaced. He was already dreading the way his tactical belt would pinch. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if it would click shut this time.

The front door creaking open snapped him out of the spiral. He instinctively straightened his back, like he could somehow stretch himself leaner in the next five seconds.

She walked in, hanging up her coat, and saw his expression. “Hey, handsome.” Her voice was soft and warm, the way it always was, happy to see him.

He forced one of those weird, practiced smiles that don’t fool anyone and never quite reach his eyes. “Hey.”

Her brow furrowed immediately. “What’s wrong? Sam threw some last-minute intel at you?”

“No.” He kept the smile in place, but it wobbled under her gaze.

She didn’t buy it. Of course she didn’t. She crossed the room without hesitation and wrapped her arms around his waist. He tensed, not because he didn’t want her touch, but because he felt it. The soft give of his belly pressed right into her body, and the henley pulled tighter on him with the movement. Too tight. Obvious. Pathetic.

His jaw clenched as he tried to hide the flinch, but she felt the tension in his body. She leaned back just enough to look up at him.

“What is it, gummybear?” she asked, gently. It was affectionate, but it felt like a slap to his pride.

Gummybear. Chewy. Squishy. Sweet, maybe, but soft. He used to be called a weapon. Even “Papa-bear” carried a bit of strength or manliness to it. But gummy? Christ. He pressed his lips into a thin line, not trusting himself to speak without the shame curling up his throat.

She felt it. Subtle, but unmistakable. The way he sucked in his stomach the moment her arms closed around him. The involuntary reflex of a man trying to shrink himself, to hide his body.

So it was one of those days. She sighed softly against his chest but didn’t call him out. She never did.

Instead, she nuzzled into him, sliding her palms up his sides, slowly and deliberately, skimming over the tension in his torso until they rested on his chest. She stopped there, spreading her fingers over the firm muscle of his pecs before curling behind his neck.

“You know, Buck,” she murmured, pressing herself closer until every inch of her body molded against him, “I’m really gonna miss you these next few days.”

He stiffened a little, but did not pull away. Still stuck in his head.

She pressed a kiss to his collarbone and let her voice drop into something softer. Needier. “And I was thinking that maybe…”

Her hand slid down the curve of his back and gave a firm, affectionate squeeze to his ass. He jerked slightly, startled, a flush creeping up his neck.

“Maybe you can give me a little something as a parting gift.”

“W-what kind of gift?” his voice rasped slightly, unsure if he was supposed to laugh or groan.

“Oh, I don’t know…” She rose onto her toes, brushing the shell of his ear with her lips. “Maybe you can fuck me so stupid I’ll be thinking about it the whole time you’re gone.”

The tips of his ears were going red. She could feel the way his pulse jumped beneath her fingers, the way his hands hovered uselessly at her sides for a second before finding a place to rest, one on her lower back, the other clutching her hip.

“Shit,” he muttered. “You can’t just say things like that.”

Her smile was smug against his throat. “Sure I can. I’m your girlfriend.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, like he still couldn’t believe that was real. He leaned back just enough to look at her. His brow furrowed, that stormy look creeping back in, until she cupped his cheek.

“Don’t go inside your head,” she whispered. “Stay with me. Right here.”

That did it. His shoulders dropped slightly, and the tension drained out in a slow exhale. His thumb traced a lazy circle over her hip, rough pad dragging over the cotton of her tee.

“I don’t think I can make you stupid,” he mumbled, trying for humor and failing adorably. “But I can try to make you remember me.”

She grinned, tugging him closer by the collar of his too-tight henley. “That’s the spirit, Sarge.”

He groaned under his breath, half a laugh and half a curse, but bent to kiss her anyway, deep and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.

Like he wanted this to last her through every single mile he had to put between them.

Her words still echoed in his ears. Fuck me so stupid. She always knew exactly how to get to him, how to twist his insecurities into afterthoughts with just a few words and the warmth of her body pressed against him.

His hands slid down her back, gripping the underside of her thighs to lift her easily, letting her legs wrap around him. He carried her to the bedroom like he’d done a hundred times before, but it still made her breath hitch every time, like she couldn’t believe the strength tucked inside him.

She tugged at the hem of his henley the second they hit the room, frantic, her mouth still hot from a kiss that never really ended. He let her pull it up and off, baring his chest to her, thick and broad, a little soft in a way that always made her mouth water.

Her hands went to his belt next, working the buckle loose.

But when they started toward his zipper, his hand caught hers.

"Uh-uh," he murmured, in a low and thick voice, the one with that edge he got when the switch flipped in his brain, when her teasing stopped being something to endure and started being something to tame.

She blinked up at him, confused for a second.

He smirked -crooked, knowing- and his voice dropped to a near-growl. "Strip for me, Sugarplum."

The command wasn’t harsh. If anything, it was warm, coaxing, but it carried certain weight. Authority. It made her shift on her feet.

He saw it happen, the way her confidence flickered into something shy, the way her gaze dipped for a heartbeat before sliding back up to meet his. It never failed to rail him, the way she could turn so soft under his attention. Not because she was unsure, but because she felt the gravity of his want.

“C’mon, sugar,” he drawled, stepping back just enough to let her move. “Wanna see you. All of you. Before I make a mess outta us both.”

Her fingers moved to the buttons of her blouse, and Bucky sat back on the edge of the bed, manspreading, hands resting on his thighs.

Waiting.

And fuck if the heat in his gaze didn’t make her feel like the most delicate, desirable thing in the damn world.

She slipped the last piece of clothing from her body, and her breath was already shallow, skin prickling under his gaze. Bucky hadn’t moved from the bed, still sitting with his thighs spread wide, eyes dark and fixed on her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

His tongue swiped across his bottom lip, slowly. “Goddamn,” he muttered, more to himself than her. “Come here.”

She took a hesitant step toward him, but he was already moving, reaching for her waist and guiding her to straddle his lap. The shift was flawless, like he’d done it a hundred times in his mind. She settled over him with a small gasp, bracing her hands on his shoulders, her thighs hugging his hips.

He looked up at her, heavy-lidded, and then he moved.

In one smooth motion, he rolled them over the bed, laying her down beneath him with a soft thump against the mattress. Her breath caught in her throat as he hovered over her, his weight on her so welcome. But he didn’t stop there.

Still kneeling, he slid his arms beneath her thighs and lifted her, hauling her hips effortlessly up off the bed, spreading her legs wide, and draping them over his broad shoulders. She yelped, completely unprepared, as he manhandled her like she weighed nothing.

“Bucky-!” Her voice broke on the last syllable, arching her spine instinctively.

He chuckled, low and rough against her skin. “What, baby?” he said, kissing the soft inside of her thigh. “Forgot I’m strong?”

She couldn’t answer. Her hands scrabbled uselessly at the sheets, not knowing where to grab, overwhelmed by the sight of his face between her legs, already buried, closing his eyes.

If he could bench press a car, or lift a fucking truck by the axle… why wouldn’t he do this like it cost him nothing?

She moaned as his tongue licked a long, deliberate stripe through her already-soaked slit, slow and savoring, like he had all the time in the goddamn world.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, her whole body already shivering against him.

His grip on her ass hardened, digging his fingers just enough to still her her while he mouthed at her ravenously. No teasing. No warm-up. Just a focused, hungry, and devastating Bucky.

He didn’t give her time to catch her breath, didn’t want her to have time. His tongue worked like he meant to ruin her, dragging through her sensitive folds again and again, slick and purposeful. Every flick, every suck of his lips around her clit was ruthless.

He had her straddled on his shoulders like she was nothing, just something sweet to devour. And he was so fucking good at it.

Her thighs began to tremble where they rested against his chest and shoulders, her cries pitching higher each time his tongue slipped inside her, slow at first, then deeper, fucking into her with wet, obscene sounds that only made her slicker. She twisted in his grip, throwing back her head, fisting the sheets.

“B-Bucky- oh god- fuck-!”

His mouth never left her. He groaned into her pussy and then wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked.

Hard.

She shattered.

Her back bowed and her toes curled behind his shoulders, as a strangled sob left her lips as her climax hit like a goddamn lightingbolt. She came in his mouth with a gush, and he didn’t let up. If anything, he got greedier, lapping her up like he meant to keep her trembling.

Only when her body sagged, wrung out and slick with sweat, he finally release her.

He eased her onto the bed, still with his pants on, and the glistening mess he’d made of his mouth and chest on display. She barely had time to catch her breath before he grabbed her by the waist and flipped her like she weight nothing, dragging her hips up until she was arched, with her knees pressed under her body, ass raised for him.

He knelt behind her, fumbling with his zipper, growling under his breath. “You know what that pussy does to me?” he rasped. “Papa Bear is gonna split you open on this cock so fucking deep, you’ll feel me every time you sit down this week.”

She only whimpered, dazed and raw from the orgasm still buzzing in her veins.

He grunted as he finally got the zipper down, dragging his cock free, hard, flushed, already leaking. He lined himself up, ran the head through her soaked pussy, and then paused.

He bent over her, bringing his mouth to her ear, his voice a low, growled promise.

“I’m gonna fuck you so stupid, as you asked, that you’ll forget your own name. You want that, Sugarplum?” He gave her ass a sharp slap. “You wanna be my little mess before I go play hero again?”

She moaned helplessly, nodding frantically against the sheets.

And Bucky -still half dressed, cock in hand,- sank into her in one long, deep stroke.

“Fuck, Sarge!” she gasped when he bottomed out, arching her body into the mattress beneath the weight of his hips. His thick thighs pressed hard into the back of hers, and the stretch had her vision going white at the edges. He gave her a moment -just a moment- with a few teasing, shallow thrusts, letting her body adjust around his girth. But then, with a low grunt, he drew back and slammed forward again, setting a brutal pace that had the entire bedframe rattling.

The bronze headboard clanged against the wall with each thrust, and she could barely think, barely breathe.

“You feel that?” he growled, voice dark and feral behind her. “Fuckin’ dripping for me, so tight, squeezin’ me like you don’t wanna let me go.” His Brooklyn accent started to thicken like every time he took control.

Her mouth was open, breath catching on each thrust. He was relentless, slapping his hips against her ass, heavily and purposefully.

“Look at you, little mess under me, beggin’ to be ruined,” he rasped, slapping her ass again, then gripping it to pull her back onto his cock. “This is what you wanted, Sugar? My cock wrecking your little pussy before I’m gone?”

“Y-yeah,” she gasped, nodding frantically, body trembling from the hard cadence. “Please, Bucky- cover me. Want to feel you on top.”

That did something to him. He groaned low in his throat, the sound pure hunger, and leaned forward over her, parting her knees wider with his until her belly dipped against the sheets.

Her breath caught as his body came down on hers -warm, heavy, solid- his chest pressing against her back, the soft curve of his belly flush with her spine.

“Greedy fuckin’ sugarplum,” he muttered into her ear, a teasing smile curving his lips even as his cock plunged deeper at this new angle. “You wanted all of me? You got me.”

He braced himself with his vibranium arm planted beside her head, the whirling of servos was faint under the moan she let out. His flesh hand curled under her, palming one breast before rolling her nipple between thick fingers.

She whined, too sensitive, too close.

Then he reached higher, brushing her lips with his hand.

“Open,” he said low but firmly.

She obeyed without hesitation, parting her lips, and he pushed two thick fingers into her mouth, slow and deep, pressing the pads to her tongue.

“Suck,” he said, rough and quiet near her ear.

She did. Her lips sealed around them, hollowed her cheeks with each drag of suction, and his breath stuttered against her shoulder.

“Fuck,” he muttered, grinding his hips down. “You know what that does to me, Sugar.”

She moaned softly around his digits, and his cock twitched inside her. Her mouth was hot, slick, obedient, and seeing her like that beneath him, around him, had his restraint unraveling.

He pumped his fingers in and out of her mouth, slow at first, letting her taste the salt and heat of his skin, letting her tongue slide between the ridges of his knuckles. She kept her eyes closed, sucking him worshipfully. Intimately. Dirty in a way that made something primal pulse low in his gut.

“Goddamn, you like this, don’t you?” he rasped. “Lyin’ there droolin’ on my fingers while I’m so deep inside you.”

She whined, rocking back her hips as she sucked harder, eagerly, her moans muffled by the weight of his hand.

“That’s it,” he growled, leaning more of his body into hers. “You’re so fuckin’ good, Sugar.”

He twisted his wrist slightly, letting his fingers slide into the inside of her cheek. Her hips jerked, a high, keen sound escaping around the seal of her lips.

“You gonna cum for me like this?” he whispered, his breath hot at her nape. “Gonna cream my cock while you suck on my fingers, hm?”

Still buried deep, Bucky let his weight shift forward. The bed creaked beneath them, her thighs already parted wide by his, trembling from how hard he was working her.

His vibranium hand slid down from where he’d been braced, slowly and deliberately, gliding over the dip of her waist, down the curve of her belly. She shuddered beneath him, a gasp caught in her throat as the cool drag of metal trailed lower.

“You feel that?” he rasped against her ear, scraping her earlobe with the edge of his teeth. “So hot down here.”

Two of his cold fingers pressed into the slick mess between her legs, rubbing through the slick spread around where his cock stretched her open and he groaned.

“You made a fuckin’ mess,” he growled, dragging the metal pads, slow and teasing. “You like being this messy for me?”

She whimpered, still sucking on his fingers, hips buckling against his touch.

Then he found her clit -swollen, throbbing- and pinched it softly.

Her whole body jolted.

He grinned against her neck, watching her eyes roll back as he started circling it firmly, mercilessly. He didn’t need finesse. Just pressure. Rhythm. She was already on the edge, trembling around him, drooling down his knuckles.

“C’mon, Sugarplum. One more.” He pinched her clit again, just enough to make her twitch. “Wanna feel you lose it while my cock’s so deep you’ll still feel me tomorrow.”

She tried to moan something around his fingers, tried to beg or curse or praise, he didn’t know. Didn’t care. The wet suck of her mouth, the clench of her pussy, the twitch in her thighs, it was all he needed.

His vibranium fingers pressed harder, rubbing at one side of her clit until she broke apart, loud and wild, squeezing him in pulses that drew a low hiss from his throat.

“Fuck! Fuck-, Sugar, I was tryin’ to hold out,” he gritted, jerking his hips against her ass in an uncoordinated rhythm. “Was gonna make it last. Make you come again-”

But she was still clenching around him, trying to milk him dry, her slick mouth sucking on his fingers, the heat of her pussy gripping him like it never wanted to let go, he didn’t stand a chance.

“Shit,” he hissed, burying himself as deep as he could go, thick thighs tensed against the backs of hers. “Gonna fuckin’ cum.”

His hand let go of her clit and fisted in the sheets under her as he came -hard and long- his breath catching in his throat as he flooded her with warm, thick pulses until it spilled back around him.

“Jesus,” he choked, grinding once, twice more to push it in deeper, like he could bury every drop inside her.

He stayed like that, pressed flush against her back, heart pounding, lips parted against her shoulder as her body quivered beneath his, wrung out and stuffed full.

He didn’t speak right away; he just let his weight rest heavy and solid on her body.

Then, low against her ear: “You took me so good, sugar. Let me wreck you just right.”

He slowly eased his fingers from her mouth, dragging them lazily, then planted his hand on the mattress to lift some of his weight off her body. Still half-hard and resting against her soaked folds, he dipped his vibranium fingers back down, teasing the mess between her thighs.

“So, Sugarplum,” he murmured, his breath warm against the shell of her ear. “Did you like your parting gift? Such a mess you got here,” he added, and she could hear the smirk in his voice. Two cool fingers circled the tender rim of her entrance, stretched, swollen, and leaking. He dragged one through the creamy slick coating her folds, deliberately slow, then slipped just the tip inside, shallow and maddening.

She hummed, boneless beneath him, then shifted just enough to lift her hips and rub her ass against his pelvis. His cock twitched, pulsing with interest at the friction.

“Yeah, but I’ll still miss you, Papa Bear,” she said sleepily, her voice laced with satisfaction and mischief.

Bucky pushed himself up, and the mattress groaned beneath him as he rose to his knees. His palm caressed her hip before gliding lower, giving her ass a lazy squeeze. His fingers spread, parting her cheeks just enough to admire his handywork.

A sound halfway between a hum and a growl rumbled in his chest. “Fucking perfect,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

She mumbled something incoherent into the pillow, too wrecked to lift her head. Something about feeling good.

He let his gaze roam over her body, heavy-lidded and full of heat, before he reached for his discarded shirt to wipe gently at her thighs, not bothering to be thorough. His other hand stayed on her, stroking slowly over the curve of her hip. His body still buzzed with the aftershock, his cock twitching but spent, for now.

Moments like this, when her skin was soft beneath his hands and her body pliant from pleasure, made it easier to forget the parts of himself he hated. The thickened waistline. The sluggish metabolism that Hydra had cursed him with their prodding. A year of clean eating and harder workouts, and still, nothing changed. If anything, he’d grown softer.

But her. She never made him feel less.

Not when she kissed his belly with the same hunger as his mouth. Not when she reached for him in the dark, whispering “Papa Bear” like it was something sacred.

And not now, lying there ruined and smiling like he’d hung the damn moon.

He sank onto the mattress with a heavy sigh, then shifted and pulled her with him like it was second nature. She let out a little squeak as he manhandled her into his chest, cradling her against him like she weighed nothing at all, again. Her warm thigh draped over his, and her cheek found the place over his heart that always seemed made for her.

“I’ll miss you so much, Bucky,” she murmured, voice muffled as she nuzzled into his skin.

His hand came up instinctively, caressing her hair before he kissed the crown of her head. “I’ll try to be in touch,” he whispered. The promise was sincere, even if he couldn’t always keep it.

She didn’t push. She just sighed, content against his skin, and let her hand drift down across his stomach until it rested at the edge of his waist, curving her palm around his soft lines. There, where he usually tensed. Where his breath always hitched.

But this time… he didn’t flinch.

This time, he reached down and covered her hand with his own, pressing it gently against the curve of his love handle. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to.

She smiled into his chest. And he stayed there, holding her close, allowing himself to feel good in his skin again.

Permanent Taglist: @civilbucky @pandaxnienke @queergalpal97 @mrsalexstan

Dividers by: @/cafekitsune

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #fatws bucky #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky x curvy!reader #chubby! Bucky #AAkinky

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ozzgin · 2 years ago

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Yandere! Yakuza x Reader

I've been plagued by this idea for a while, so let me know what you think! This is just the character introduction. Your new landlord is a Yakuza boss, and his scary looking underling has been tasked to deal with your tenant needs! Although he didn't expect you to be this cute. And you didn't expect him to be this unhinged.

Content: female reader, violence, mentions of stalking

[Part 2] | [Yakuza Masterlist]

This was the last straw.

You're angrily stuffing your suitcase with necessities before the moving company arrives. Each glimpse around the cramped apartment fills you with outrage, as you're still heavily shaken from the events of last night.

You first begun to suspect you might have a stalker when you found your outer lock with a fresh dent in it. You then picked a small scrap from the ground nearby and assumed it was leftover damage, but upon further inspection you discovered, disgusted, that it was part of your peephole. Someone must've fiddled with your door a fair amount. You tried to approach your immediate neighbors for help, but they either refused to answer your persistent knocks or downright scurried away when faced with your questions. They didn't want to deal with a foreigner.

You tried to put it behind you. The police advised you to be cautions, as there was nothing else they could do without concrete evidence. And thankfully, you had several peaceful weeks following the incident. Last night you were suddenly awakened by faint scratches coming from your balcony. You groggily got up and wondered if your recently added bird feeder was attracting nocturnal visitors. You got up without turning on the light, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious animal. As you pulled the drape, however, you were met with the large frame of a man plucking your laundry in a hurry.

A panicked scream erupted from the depths of your chest and you slapped the light switch, erratically searching for your phone. By the time you dialed emergency, the intruder had vanished. You were sobbing against the wall under the fake reassurances of the operator, eyeing the sliding door that had no lock. Had he wished, the masked man could've easily invited himself in. You were at the mercy of a lunatic and no one seemed to be impressed by your situation.

No more. Ideally you'd go back to your home country and forget about your plans to build yourself a life in Japan. What were you even thinking? A lonely girl, low on funds, signing a contract to be relocated across the ocean for work. You barely scraped the first months of a mandatory year.

You close your suitcase with a satisfying click and on your way out you wipe the table of all the newspaper clippings. You've been scanning the potential offers on the market. The ones within your budget, of course, which means you don't have to worry about being picky. Until you find a new place, your belongings can wait in storage. Dusty furniture is a better prospect than waking up with a pervert looming over you.

By the time the clock hits evening hours, you're sipping on your iced coffee with a defeated sigh. Most of the cheap apartments seem to be given to locals. Not outsiders like you. At least they spared you of the false hopes and curtly told you to not expect any call back, so you can swiftly move on to the next circled address. You pull out the crumbled sheet of paper from your pocket. Reading over your list of crossed out lines like this deflates you greatly. At the very bottom lies your final hope: the ad you'd stumbled upon this morning was too good to be true and the realtor was available for viewing at any time, so you're almost certain it's some sort of scam. Yet you can't afford to skip it, can you? You stand up, pat your jeans and take a deep breath in.

As you check your phone to confirm the location, you begin to doubt your decision. It's hard to believe no other potential renters have showed up. The apartment is in a convenient area, very close to public transport, at a great price, on what looks like a busy street. Isn't it the dream? So why? You glance around, examining the surroundings. The shops are bustling with people. You try to come up with possible explanations, when a deep voice startles you.

"You must be (Y/N), right? You sure are easy to spot."

You turn around to greet the person. Although the second you spot him, you take an unconscious step back. You'd expected a middle aged man dressed in formal attire with a shy bow and clumsy movements. The one standing before you resembles none of that. He's imposingly tall, with a muscular built and slicked back hair. You can discern the tattoos peeking out from under the rolled up sleeves. His face has multiple deep scars and you can only assume that the pale, discolored eye that's transfixed in one direction is a fake made of glass. One might call him handsome, if you're into the kind of appearance you see in documentaries about the mafia.

"Y-you're the landlord?" You stutter, immediately covering your mouth and regretting your lack of tact.

"Nuh uh, Boss sent me to deal with it." He flashes you a genuine grin, completely unperturbed by your offhanded implication. "I'm Daitou."

He continues towards the entrance and you follow behind, too awkward to back down now. He describes the living quarters with surprising enthusiasm. If you were to close your eyes and disregard his heavy Kansai accent, you could very well be convinced it's a professional real estate agent hard at work.

"Excuse me for asking, but..." Once he finishes his marketing presentation, you cannot help the increasing anxiety. "What's the catch?"

"Huh?"

"For something like this to be so cheap...and no one else being interested...may I be frank and ask what's wrong with it? Please understand, I just left my previous apartment because of a stalker. I don't want to be packing again anytime soon."

"Well, isn't it obvious?" He searches your gaze for a moment, before gasping as if remembering something. "Wait, you're a foreigner, so I guess you don't know. Ah, that explains it."

He lets out a hearty laugh, satisfied with his conclusion.

"You didn't notice anything strange outside?"

You ponder his question before slowly shaking your head in denial.

"Really? A bunch of heavily tattooed guys with family pins on their suits...This is a yakuza quarter. Our Family owns most businesses here. But lately we've had a lot of police on our backs, ya know? Bound to happen when the street is swarming with us. So Boss had this great idea - he's smart like that, ya know, I've never been the bright one - anyways, he suggested we rent some of our housing to regular civilians. Less suspicious that way."

He crosses his arms and nods to himself proudly.

"I myself think it's a great deal. You won't find anything cheaper for the kind of stuff you're getting. All you have to do is, you know, mind your business. If some weasel questions you, no Sir, you haven't seen or heard anything suspicious. That's all."

You can only stare wide eyed, somewhat taken aback by his honesty.

"Uh...Are you sure you were supposed to tell me all of this? I feel we're skipping some steps before admitting to organized crime."

Now it's his turn to consider your inquiry.

"Probably not, but I'm not good with words. You look like a smart girl, so I thought I won't sugarcoat it. I'm sure you already know that if you leave and rat us out I'll be throwing your chopped up remains in the nearby river. Or would you want to be shipped home instead? I'm a nice guy like that, hehe."

You return a crooked smile and purse your lips in the process. You'd rather not learn the percentage of truth in his humor anytime soon.

"You mentioned a stalker? I can guarantee you he won't follow here, miss. And if he's that dumb to wander on our turf, well, me and my guys always hang around the block. Leave him to me and I'll bring you his teeth in a box."

"I-...Why teeth of all the things?"

"Just easier to pull out, ya know." He winks and reaches for his back pocket, revealing an old pair of pliers with childish delight. "See, I'm a bit of a handyman, so I always have some tools on me."

Strangely enough, you're not as terrified as you would expect from someone in your shoes. Certainly your knees are weaker when compared to your pre-encounter state, but there's something about his demeanor that doesn't feel malicious or threatening. Like conversing with an old friend at a pub.

"Will I truly not get in trouble? You guys do your thing and I'm 100% not involved?"

"You have my word." And with that, as if closing the sale of his lifetime, he confidently slaps a stack of papers on the nearby counter and hands you a pen. "You already have my number, if anyone pisses you off just hit me up and I'll be at your service. Boss left everything to me."

No perverts and less of your monthly allowance going towards rent. Maybe it's your despair talking, but you've been persuaded nonetheless. You scribble your name in the designated field and shove the documents towards your new acquaintance.

"Pleasure doing business with you, miss (Y/N)." He cheerfully dangles the keys before dropping them in your hand and heads for the door.

"Oh, is shipping included in the rent?"

He stops and turns to you, mildly confused.

"You said if I mess up you'll ship my remains home. Do I pay for the postage myself, or is that part of the monthly tax?" You ask with a cheeky grin.

His eyes narrow in delight and you can tell he's greatly amused by your words.

"Nah, consider it a gift from me. Gotta treat a lady nice, 'specially if it's a pretty one like you."

And with that, you're alone again. You look around the room, trying to visualize your new home. It's already getting dark outside. Now that you've had the situation explained to you, you can definitely see what Daitou meant. There's the occasional police officer patrolling the street, and plenty of men dressed in similar fashion walking in small groups.

"And?"

Outside the building, a young man is leaning against the wall with a cigarette in his mouth. He seems to have been waiting for Daitou.

"It's done. Some cute foreigner is moving in." He lifts an arm in a flexing motion, patting his bicep in a congratulatory manner. "Boss will be surprised, eh?"

"You're fucking with me."

"What? You wanna go back upstairs and check?" He responds, appalled. "Might've taken longer than expected, but I told ya I can manage!"

"Are you sure you didn't threaten her or something? I still don't know what Boss was thinking when he asked a nutcase like you to deal with the civvies."

"Hey hey hey, I may not be all fancy speaking like you or Kazuya, but I'm not dumb. Matter of fact, she already signed the papers."

"I never said you're dumb. Just batshit crazy." The young man sighs and flicks his cigarette butt away, stomping on it.

"Let's go and tell the others."

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #female reader #yandere yakuza #yakuza x reader #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere original character #yandere mafia #mafia x reader #original work #oc x reader #male yandere x reader #x reader

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hyoer · 1 day ago

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Project: Get Over Bob (3)

pairing. Bob Reynolds x reader

synopsis. Bob likes someone that’s not you and now, wait- is Bob over you?

warnings. some mention of heavy topics like trafficking but no in depth descriptions! lotttttsss of angst but some comfort too because I'm not completely evil ;0 reader and bob are constantly misunderstanding each other!! some descriptions of injuries and meanie bob.

word count. 6.7k

part 1.

part 2.

Notes at the end of this chapter

Project: Find Ivan

Mongolia was beautiful

Blue skies, quiet mornings, space to breathe and think .

Maybe a bit too much.

You’d needed the break. Needed to get out after Project: Get Over Bob had failed so spectacularly. None of your well-planned phases helped to squash the intense feelings you had for Bob.

You, Alexei and John were crammed into a one-bedroom flat in Ulaanbaatar that felt more like a storage closet with windows than a living space. You tried not to think about how much money Valentina had and how little she’d spent on housing funds for the mission.

She was a multi-millionaire for crying out loud.

Mel had a theory about your lack of sleeping space: punishment.

Bob had been distracted at the gala, distracted by you.

Valentina had noticed, of course she had.

You cursed her for her pettiness.

At least the meal budget was unlimited, well you were pretty sure the budget was there to satiate Alexei’s uncanny ability to eat everything within a five-foot radius of his body.

The IBJJF championship venue was close enough that you only needed a pair of old-fashion binoculars, a digicam and some hefty patience to scope out the coaches. Your first few days were spent watching matches, taking notes and eating your body weight in Khuushuur.

Nights in the capital smelled like sweat and sounded like fists meeting pads. You and Walker sparred on every spare patch of floor in the apartment until you were breathless and sore and collapsing onto the pull-out couch. Alexei would then find a way to keep you both up until the am, regaling you with stories of his time as the Red Guardian. His stories were loud, sometimes funny and full of impossible heroics.

But the stories and the night never lasted as long as you wanted.

Sleep rarely came. But when she did, Lady Morpheus made sure to torture you with the thoughts you tried to bury during the day. Dreams of Bob and Lily in a booth somewhere peaceful, laughing at something small, leaning into each other. His hands at her shoulders, touches so light they even made you shiver.

Your subconscious clearly had no respect for your boundaries.

You had three weeks to build up your cover, plenty of time to enjoy your fully funded holiday with a side of espionage. The first month’s mission brief: blend in, train and explore. Be the wide-eyed American athlete with the eccentric Russian coach.

Ok so, maybe Valentina wasn’t that petty.

Sukhbaatar Square became your favourite place, hours were spent there, watching street performances and listening to live music. Walker got dragged into an impromptu volleyball game once. Then again. And again. And soon the local teens were arguing over who got him for the next match like he was prime Shaq.

You grinned every time.

Alexei was glued to his camera the whole trip. Constantly fiddling with settings he definitely didn’t understand, restless at the opportunity to document everything he did.

At one point, you’d all gone to the Equestrian statue of Genghis Khan and spent a minimum of forty minutes being directed by Alexei. Those awkward JC Penney TikTok videos had nothing on you and John’s poses.

The National Museum of Mongolia was Alexei’s version of heaven.

He ignored the all of the “no photography” signs, ranting on about Lena, Melina and printing. He had an explanation for everything there. John dragged his feet at first, bored out of his mind; until he stumbled across an exhibit on nomadic tools and then it was lecture time. He was smug, irritating, but oddly endearing. Your ears were turned vaguely in his direction, pretending to listen while you took in the artefacts yourself.

Once you all had had your fill of real life, it was time to get down to business.

The mission was simple on file: find Ivan Petrovitch.

In reality, it was anything but. Intel said he was buried somewhere behind the scenes- tucked into the judging committee. Invisible, but still present.

You walked into the competition hall like it belonged to you- shoulders squared, your steps measured, eyes locked forward. Your expression alone carved a path through the crowd, and Walker and Alexei followed closely behind.

Your first opponent Natalia had two recent losses via armbar. On paper, she should have been a warm-up for you. You made a mental note to go easy. Keep it clean and professional.

Approaching the mat with a warm smile, you had extended your hand to greet her.

She walked past you.

No nod, not even a flicker of acknowledgment. You muttered under your breath, “Rude.”

Her head snapped towards you eyeing you with distain.

She was a good ten feet away- how the hell had she heard that?

The bell rang.

You stepped onto the mat, confident in your movements. Natalia backed up immediately, basically inviting you to attack her lead leg. Her retreat looked like hesitation but something about the movement made you feel uneasy. You lunged, but she became a blur, intercepting your move with a sharp arm drag. In one brutal motion, she locked your right leg and flipped you to the floor, knocking the air from your lungs.

You blinked up, blinded by the harsh lights above you.

She pummelled you into the mat with precision and power that bordered on inhuman. Every attempt at escape, deep half guard, underhook, anything, was shut down effortlessly. Her arms caged you around you like steel, you could barely breathe, barely think, barely move.

So much for taking it easy on her.

When it was over, the ref pulled her off you. Humiliated, you slipped off to the bench and dropped your gaze to your feet in an attempt to catch your breath.

A sharp yelp suddenly caught your attention.

You looked up just in time to see Natalia’s coach grab her arm, his nails piercing at the material of her uniform. He handled her like a misbehaving child while she just stood hunched and apologetic.

Your stare lingered too long.

His eyes locked with yours in warning as he shoved her towards a side door. She stumbled and glanced back at you apologetically as she disappeared.

John crossed the mat with his signature smirk. He spoke out cockily. “Did you even bother practicing before you got here?”

You didn’t look at him right away. The ache in your shoulders still hadn’t faded. “There’s something wrong,” you murmured.

“You see something while she was beating your ass?”

You exhaled slowly. “More like felt it. That girl- Natalia- her collar drag could’ve ripped my arm clean off.”

“So what?” he scoffed.

You stared at him, brows raised. “She’s strong. Unnaturally strong.” He blinked. Confused.

“Strong like you, bonehead.”

As John finally managed to put two and two together, you stared off at the door the girl had been shepherded through. “Every movement of hers, on and off the mat, just doesn’t feel right,” standing up “I don’t think, I don’t think we’re here for Ivan, or well we shouldn’t be here for him”

Your steps were heavy as you made your way toward Alexei, taking your time to observe the almost robotic agility some of the other girls also moved with.

“What was the name of the woman we had on file for the Widow serum?”

“Kurdrin.” he said, barely glancing up from the files in his hand.

Your voice dropped to a whisper. “Lexei, this competition isn’t a lure for Ivan.” You swallowed hard.

“It’s a sales floor.”

The moment you voiced your suspicion, something shifted between the three of you, an unspoken understanding that Valentina was going to be super pissed when you got back.

You weren’t here for Ivan anymore.

You all began to make your way through the hall weaving your way to the service entrance attached to the laundry room. John knelt down and pulled back a maintenance panel, lifting his tactical bag around with a grunt. From the side pocket, he produced a tablet about the size of a paperback.

“Who gave you that?”

He smiled guilty. “A little flirting with Mel goes a long way.”

Remind yourself to keep him away from her when you got back.

He flicked open the case, revealing a small screen. A quiet hum pulsed from it as the scanner powered up, casting a faint bluish glow onto his face. You all took a breath as he sent out an alert for backup.

“There,” he muttered, adjusting the map. “One room, lower southeast wing. Ten heat signatures with minimal movement, it has to be where they’re holding the girls.”

Alexei squinted at the bright screen. “I do not trust this. Looks like arcade game.”

“You don’t need to trust it,” handing him the tablet. “you just need to hold it, the big red dots are people. Tell us where to avoid over comms. Easy peasy.”

“I do not like blobs,” Alexei muttered resignedly, his hands turning the tablet upset down in distrust.

Alexei’s tone would have been comical to you if you weren’t so terrified at the thought of such high-tech equipment in the hands of the man that had once added his entire contact list to the Thunderbolts group chat.

As if sensing your unease, he gave you a overly reassuring smile.

Yeah, this wasn’t going to be good.

“John, take the west corridor and sweep the other storage rooms. I’ll hit southeast and check the other wing.” He nodded. “We meet in the middle. If anything smells off, pull back.”

One last look at the Alexei and you both set off.

You slipped into the staff corridors, the noise of the match hall faded behind as you made your way through the narrow passageways. The air was still and heavy with the kind of silence that made you feel uneasy.

“Left turn my dochka,” Alexei’s voice buzzed in your ear. “The room in front- has lots of people. I think ten, but they are still.”

You crept forward, every step calculated as you pressed your ear to the surface of the door.

No whispers. No breathing. Just still.

“You sure the signatures coming from this room?”

“Very sure, lots of blobs.”

The doorknob was cold in your hands and with some slight pressure you turned it slowly.

Your eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room and you saw them.

Ten girls.

All of them sat slumped on the floor, zip ties tight around their wrists, heads hanging low.

Every step you took towards them had them flinching.

As you got closer you noticed their uniforms were clean, not a speck of dirt on any of them. Like they were props set out for display. And off to the side, resting with her back against the wall, was Natalia. Her eyes shot up to yours and her lips parted-

The door behind you slammed open.

You turned just in time to block the first hit from one of the men that was clad in tactical gear. But the hits came harder and faster the more you were pushed around the room. One grabbed your arm and slammed you against the crates stacked at the back of the room. You stood up dizzy and swung back, landing a blow to his gut.

“Walker, I need help” you gasped into your comms.

“I’m pinned,” came his response. “Five on me right now. Hold on.”

With the knowledge that Walker wasn’t coming anytime soon you became desperate.

You started grabbing at anyone or anything. Letting yourself loose and clawing at them as rabidly as possible.

One grabbed you by the scruff of your cotton jacket, his fist came down fast, striking the side of your head like a hammer. The blow was so forceful that all you saw was a flash of white hot light and then silence.

You came to in John’s arms, the man hushing you as you began thrashing in his arms. “No… no, please John, let me up I can – I can-“

He let you tire yourself out.

Your legs were limp under you, the bulk of your weight leaning on the super soldier’s shoulders as you made your way out of the building. Alexei was already waiting at the staff exit, pacing in circles by the van. His eyes widened, taking in your appearance, clearly ready to scold you, but John nodded softly- uncharacteristically serious.

The silence that filled the vehicle was suffocating.

Your head rested on the side of the window, bumping against the cool pane every so often making you wince. You felt Alexei begin to slowly slide into the back seat with you, his large arms wrapping around you, approaching you like an injured animal. You found yourself launching into his chest, all of the air in your lungs being exhaled out as you sank into his warmth.

Slow melodic tones rumbled from under your fingertips, a lullaby, something unfamiliar, was currently escaping Alexei. He began patting your back the same way he did once to Lena and Tasha, the movements felt repentant.

You didn’t sleep, just closed your eyes.

That was enough.

Project: Give up?

Coming home should’ve felt like relief.

Plenty of soft blankets, shelves of comics, and finally some rain. But it didn’t. You’d failed.

Not John, not Alexei, you.

Valentina made sure you knew how badly you’d screwed up. She’d stormed into tower, her shrill voice echoing off the walls, demanding consequences. Bucky and Ava stopped her at the door threatening that they had enough dirt on her to get her back into cuffs if they wanted. You’d caught the tail end of her rant- something about a deal with Sokovia being off the table now.

Not that you cared.

Bob had come to your room every day since you’d been back.

He’d sat on the edge of your bed talking about something stupid Yelena had done while you’d been gone or how studying calculus had been rotting his brain. The time away from him had made you needy, for his attention, for him. So you let him stay and ignored the part of your brain reminding you of your old project.

Eventually, you decided to stop moping.

The team was sat around on the sofa watching The Skeleton Twins- your comfort movie. Your Letterboxd top four was common knowledge around the tower so you knew they’d queued it up in hopes of luring you out.

Cheeky.

You collapsed onto the sofa and Bucky pulled you into his side like habit, like your absence hadn’t happened at all. Your legs were splayed across his lap while his vibranium hand played with the fabric of your pyjamas, twisting them absentmindedly.

The movie was just background noise for Bob His eyes were trained on the comfortable way you and Bucky had settled into the corner of the sofa.

Bob didn’t know it wasn’t romantic, but it sure as hell felt like it was to him.

And he didn’t like it at all.

You didn’t notice Bob at first. Not until Bill Hader began serenading Kirsten Wiig and everyone laughed.

Almost everyone.

You didn’t hear his laugh.

You always could, no matter how crowded the room. It was soft and melodic, filtering into your ears like a warm cup of cocoa on a cold day. Your last image of him had been him cooped up in the med bay, shaking from the stress of being taken over by an eldritch god. The lack of laughter unnerved you.

You turned your head, hoping to capture a grin from him.

You saw the look of unease in his eyes.

Just a flicker- but there nonetheless, too heavy to be anything else but discomfort. He didn’t say anything to your raised brow and kept his face neutral. But something was wrong; his hands were tucked tightly under his arms like he was cold, his back was ramrod straight against the plush seating.

Suddenly, Bucky let out a sharp snort as the film jumped into the credit sequence taking your attention away from Bob’s strange behaviour.

You rolled your eyes. “Why are you scoffing about it’s a good film.”

“I wouldn’t say good, but it was definitely interesting doll,” Bucky teased, flicking a piece of popcorn at your head.

“Don’t call me that, Barnes.”

He grinned with those weirdly pointy teeth of his “What, you gonna beat me up?”

At that you both cackled and began play fighting with the dozens of pillows John had bought when he went through his grand designs phase. The man in question was complaining about how much he’d spent on the goose feather pillows you’d desecrated. You began to crawl towards Lena, the woman shrugged you off and handed you back to Bucky leading to an all-out fight between the three of you.

Bob watched on.

Feeling as though there was no place for him in your intimate moment.

You hadn’t done anything wrong. Bob knew that, he should’ve been happy to see you fall back into your regular routine after being cooped up in your room for so long.

But he wasn’t.

No one noticed when he left, not even you.

Life carried on with the same mundane tone for Bob.

He was like a band stretched too far, too tight.

Who knew when he would snap.

You were held up in your room for most of the next day.

You’d ordered enough Chick-fil-A to create your own monster like Frankenstein with the chicken bones.

Your phone pinged again. And then again.

It was buried under the laundry heap you hadn’t bothered folding. With an annoyed sigh you scrambled your way to the pile and dug it out.

OPN DOOR. Well, at least Bucky was straight to the point

You texted, Can you come back tomorrow for my corpse?

His reply was instant: No, I opn door now.

You barely had enough time to straighten out your workspace before the hot-head made his way through. “Why do you type like you’ve never seen the alphabet before?” you muttered.

“So I can annoy you,” his grin was almost endearing as he eyed the mounds of halo top underneath your desk. “how you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” you shuffled the empty containers towards the rubbish bin, failing miserably. “just taking a sabbatical”

He gave you an incensed look. “And this extended sabbatical requires copious amounts of fried chicken and whatever the hell that is.” inspecting the container on your lap.

“Kanafeh,” you said, lifting your chin. “it’s the world’s greatest dessert. Educate yourself.”

He leant down and took a slice before flopping onto your bed. “Im sure you’ll be willing to part with some so I can learn.”

He didn’t look at your face when he questioned you again, softer this time. “So… are you finally gonna tell me what happened.”

“Not you too.” you groaned, letting your head fall onto your desk, muffling your voice.

“Sweetheart,” patient as ever “even before you and Bob had your soiree in the death zone you were fumbling about and ignoring him. What’s this really all about?”

You lifted half of your face to the man “Promise you won’t laugh.”

“Never“

You inhaled. “Okay, I had this like plan. Like, a well-thought-out, multi-phase plan.”

“To get over Bob?”

You shot him a look. “Mhmm and before you say anything. yes, it didn’t work.”

While you pouted and Bucky chastised you, a tall figure approached your door, half in shadow.

Bob stood, well floated, outside of your door his fist half-raised ready to knock, but he didn’t. He just watched.

Watched as you stared at Bucky with a playful expression, the same way you did a few days before. His chest ached , God he felt stupid. He’d come to show you his latest breakthrough. the ability to fly without passing out or ending the world.

He’d been proud.

For the first time in a long time Bob had something good to bring to you.

Inside, Bucky fiddled with your pillow, grinning at your very obvious love for the golden boy “I can see that.”

“And flooding my room didn’t help either,” you added under your breath furrowing your brows in annoyance.

“…Sorry, what?”

“You and your creepy super hearing Jesus,” Looking away from him in embarrassment. “I might’ve taken a hammer to the pipes. I needed an excuse to move to the room next to yours.”

Bucky stared at you, silent for a moment before bursting into loud, uncontrollable laughter, rolling around on the bed in circles.

“Why don’t you ever laugh that hard when I tell actual jokes?” you asked, mock offended.

“Because nothing’s funnier than imagining you thinking tactical plumbing was the best idea for this plan”

“I just…” you sighed. “I couldn’t be next to him anymore. Having him walk past every night, hearing his voice through the wall. It was actual torture.”

The words hit Bob in waves.

He stared at the door like it might offer an explanation, like maybe you’d jump put and tell him “I knew you were there Bob we were just teasing you, come inside so you can propose to me!”

But no, you really had just admitted you’d damaged your room just to avoid being next to him. The room that you had spent weeks carefully decorating, dragging him to every plant shop within the city to curate your own dreamspace as you coined it.

You’d destroyed that room.

Did you hate him that much?

Bob lowered his hand from its place near your door. Curling his fingers into a fist by his side. His face stayed calm, almost expressionless. He turned without a sound, hovering down the hallway. Your laugh followed, mocking him as he made his way to his room.

One thought in his mind.

She wanted to get away from you.

None the wiser, you continued your conversation with Bucky.

“It’s like, well, imagine being stuck in a closet with David Corensweat for 3 hours, you’re telling me you wouldn’t want to give the guy a smooch?”

He scrunched his nose in thought. “I’m not denying he was good-looking in The Politician but he’s not my type.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot he flies without wings, right.” He guffawed at that, throwing a pillow at your face in mock anger, but you could see the tips of his ears slowly flushing red.

Project: Bob should get over you?

You needed a good book.

Ignoring the fact nobody wanted to start a book club when you’d asked five months ago you decided to just buy 7 copies of Americanah and tape them to everyone’s doors.

You were mid-search on Google when a name popped up. Lily’s shop.

Of course it was top of the list. Perfect reviews, handpicked recs and the best vanilla coffees in the city.

Of course.

Swallowing your pride wasn’t one of your most notable traits but what did you have to lose?

You walked in, the bell overhead chiming that same mellow note you remembered. The air smelled like paper, sandalwood, and something floral. Making a beeline for the new-in table you grabbed the first book you could see with a half-interest in the cover and a full intention to pretend that was the only reason you were there.

“Hey!” Her voice caught you off guard, as did the soft hug she pulled you into.

You tensed for a moment, then let yourself melt into her. “Hi. I haven’t- uh, haven’t seen you in a while, how’ve you been?”

“I’ve been great,” she beamed. “I decided to expand the store. We’re building into the unit next door this week!”

You nodded, eyeing the chaos behind the counter; power tools, papers, bits of half-assembled shelving strewn about the place. Just as you primed yourself to let out a well-formulated joke about power tools, a man strolled out from the back towards you both. He was tall, handsome in a probably-models-for-la-roche-posay kind of way.

He leant down, kissed lily on the cheek, saying something about fixing a computer and heading out for extra parts.

He glanced at you, smiled politely, and left.

What the hell?

Standing still for a moment you sputtered out “Sorry um… not to be nosey, but aren’t you and Bob still...?” squishing your hands together in confusion.

She chuckled softly. “Together?”

“Oh, no,” she said, smiling like the whole thing was obvious. “We figured we’d be better off as friends, he still comes by for coffee occasionally, but honestly? It was clear his head was somewhere else.”

“Somewhere else?”

Lily gave you a pointed look. “More like someone else.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Me?”

“Come on,” she laughed. “The man practically vibrated every time you came into a room. The whole time you were away he was pining after you like a little baby,” leaning in “one night at dinner, I caught him staring at photos he’d taken of you napping.”

“No, he did not!” You laughed, half in disbelief.

She laughed too, warm and unbothered. “Full-on wistful. like you were a picture in a locket of his husband lost at sea.”

“I’m... sorry,” you said softly, coming down from the high of finding out Bob, maybe just maybe, liked you too.

“For what? It’s not like either of you committed a war crime,” she said, waving it off. “Bob’s a good guy. Just wasn’t the one I was waiting for, I mean have you seen my boyfriend?”

You left with the books stuffed into your bag, your chest lighter than it had ever felt after your talk with her.

Time to woman up and kiss Bob (or ask him out).

As soon as the clock hit seven you were rushing back home to the dining area, you could finally unleash the months-worth of flirting you’d been saving up for Bob.

Well, that’s what you thought would be happening.

Bob was unusually quiet, his face down in his food, inspecting it as if he’d never seen broccoli before.

You tried to break the ice.

“Hey Bob, could you pass the sugar?” you spoke while tapping at his bicep.

He didn’t look up.

“I don’t get how you can eat lemon and sugar on pancakes. It’s disgusting,” Walker spoke from his seat on the other side of you.

“It’s a delicacy,” you defended, turning your head to face him.

“Even in Russia, we—” Yelena started from across the table, but you weren’t listening.

You turned back to Bob. “Could I have—”

“Get Walker to get it,” he cut in coldly, not even looking up from his plate. Pushing his salmon from side to side, not even bothering to pretend to eat.

Everyone paused.

John cleared his throat in an attempt to break the mood and pushed the sugar toward you. “Here you go?”

Bob stood up without a word and left the table, his chair scraping against the floor as he walked out. His footsteps were heavy as he made his way downstairs.

When did Bob start stomping around like that?

That was Bucky’s thing.

What’s up his ass?”

“He’s probably just stressed because of his exam jackass.” Ava scolded John, all while reaching over to squeeze your hand.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding like a bobble head. “Must be the stress.”

You weren’t convinced

That week’s sparring session had started as a team-building exercise. Everyone suited up, grumbling half-heartedly as you all prepared to pretend to beat each other up for a good five hours.

But Valentina, ever the benevolent dictator, decided to turn your fun day into a science experiment. “For data.” she’d said, an unhinged glint in her eye.

Where was Congressman Gary’s impeachment team when you needed them?

Bob descended from the upper floor just in time to watch John adjust the harness strapped across your chest, some sort of weird tracking rig measuring motion, strength, and vitals.

“Don’t move,” he muttered, tightening a strap. “There. All strapped in.”

Bob let out an audible sigh. His eyes lingered on John’s hands near your chest, then flicked away as he rolled his eyes. You didn’t say anything about his obvious distain but forced yourself to remember that he was still the same guy that apparently slept in your bed while you were abroad (information courtesy of Yelena Belova the amazing super spy).

So you smiled at him. Not the fake strained kind, but the subtle “I’m in love with you” type of smile. He gave one back- begrudging, but it was there.

You knew your charms were undeniable.

You bounced onto the mat, light on your feet, throwing silly jabs into the air like you were training for a Rocky reboot.

The performance didn’t rouse a single laugh from him.

“This one’s for comparison,” Mel called from the edge. “We need a baseline on Bob’s strength against a non-enhanced opponent.”

You squared up “Ready?”

Bob didn’t answer.

Instead, he shoved you back with a single, casual flick of his hand, a bored movement not aggressive. You stumbled back but found your footing quickly, darting in to land a punch, only for him to palm your face and push you aside like you were nothing.

“Hey,” you snapped, breathless. “Aren’t we supposed to be sparring?”

“We are,” he muttered under his breath. “Not my fault you’re not putting any effort in.”

You lunged again. He barely dodged.

You jabbed at his side. He caught your wrist, twisted it, and let go just as you lost your footing again.

“If you had any powers, maybe you’d be able to do something useful.” He spoke from above, the view reminding you of the way it’d felt when you’d first seen Bob in his sentry costume. The mocking kindness to his glare, as if his words were helping you figure out a truth that you should’ve already known.

He said it so softly, you almost convinced yourself you’d misheard. But when you looked into his eyes you saw the flicker of resentment. The way his jaw was locked tight and you knew then it hadn’t you’re your imagination.

Maybe Bob agreed with the Void after all.

Maybe everything he’d said that day was him.

Maybe he meant it all.

You blinked once, twice, and then laughed, dry and unsteady, as you raised your hand in mock surrender. “Okay, I’m tapped out.”

Mel looked ready to step over to you, concern heavy in her gaze, but Valentina waved her hand. “We have enough. That’s it.” You nodded, wiping the back of your glove across your cheek and giving Bob a hollow smile.

His eyes locked with yours and something in your expression made his stomach twist.

“Looks like everything’s coming up Bob!” John joked, walking past you trying to high-five Bob.

He walked past him keeping his eyes trained on his feet.

Yelena scoffed. “Idiot.”

“Why does everyone keep calling me that, is there something I’m missing??” He whined out.

The meeting was really dragging on.

And the team had been treating you like a sick puppy all week, too nervous to ask if you’d spoken with Bob yet.

You tried to focus, flipping through the folder in your hands.

“Hey, where are the access codes I submitted? They’re moving the drop point further north, so we’ll need clearance for the next base over—”

“They’ll be in the southern base,” Yelena interrupted. Her head was turned towards you, waiting for you to say something that might change her mind. She was always like this when it came to anything Red Room-related, no space for deviation.

You pressed her. “I know, but just listen. If the convoys are rerouted north like the last drop—”

“Why don’t you let someone who knows what they’re doing handle it?” Bob’s voice cut through.

His eyes were fixed on you, almost gleeful at what he’d said.

“Excuse me?”

He didn’t even blink. “You had one job. Keep the girls safe. And you let them get taken.”

“Bob,” Yelena warned, tone low, almost disbelieving.

“That wasn’t even the mission,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “We had to improvise. We weren’t even meant to—”

“The Red Room doesn’t give second chances,” he snapped again “you know that. But hey, maybe if you’d been able to handle yourself, we wouldn’t be here figuring out how to clean up your mess.”

His voice was soft but the venom in it was unmistakable.

Bucky shifted beside you, jaw clenched tight enough to crack. Ava’s eyes were dark, her glare practically burning holes through Bob’s skull. Yelena, Alexei, and John exchanged looks like they weren’t sure whether to hold you back or hold him down.

Your body began to tremble, not just from the anger stewing inside you, but from the humiliation of knowing that what he said was the truth. You weren’t strong enough to hold off a couple of mercenaries and hadn’t pushed for Alexei to go in. Instead, you’d let the strongest team-mate you had stay on comms while you went in, ego high.

“Fuck you,” you whispered, unable to find the words to defend yourself. “You don’t know what happened.”

You left.

Alexei stood up slowly.

His voice was firm and fatherly. “I do not know why you choose cruelty today Robert. But you will say sorry to her.”

Finally snapping to his senses, Bob rushed up, intent on catching up to you. As he began darting for the door he was stopped by John gripping his arm. “That was really fucked up dude.”

“I know Walker.” He griped, sounding annoyed.

“No you don’t, we didn’t even know the red room was directly involved until she figured it out. We would have been in and out without any kind of knowledge of what was going on if she hadn’t used her brain.”

John sighed loosening his hold on him “Look, buddy I know you like her, we all do. The only person that doesn’t is her, just talk to her-”

“I know. I’m just… angry. At myself. And she-she doesn’t even need me. Not with Bucky around.” Bob swallowed.

“Bucky.” Yelena wiped her hand over her face clearly exasperated, not stopping there, she looked over to the others gesturing wildly in the air. “Christ, you two are morons”

“Bucky’s got a certain captain that he talks about all day, every day. Why would he want to be with her.” Ava chimed in from the front of the room.

Bob seemed confused “But she said she couldn’t stand me, I-I heard you both.” Pointing at the man who was currently red-faced.

John, clearly at his wits end, stated while holding onto Bob’s shoulders. “I don’t know what the hell that’s about but, maybe you could use your big mouth to ask her with your words?”

Before Bob could protest, Bucky walked up his arms folded, giving him a disapproving stare.

“You didn’t hear everything,” Bucky said flatly.

“What else was there to hear?”

Bucky sighed, like he was regretting getting involved. “She didn’t move because she hates you. She moved because she was trying to get over you.”

Bob stared. “What?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, glancing toward the hallway you’d disappeared down in deep thought. “She thought if she put some distance between you, she’d stop liking you so much.” his voice was softer, reluctant. “Didn’t work obviously.”

Bob’s face fell. “I didn’t know. I didn’t even think- I’m such an idiot-.”

“Yup,” Walker said, not even hiding his irritation. “Now go fix it.”

Bob took off down the hallway, heart pounding, really hoping he wasn’t too late.

“Open the door,” Bob pleaded, voice muffled through the wood but still loud enough to hear how desperate he sounded.

“I don’t want to talk to you.” The distance between you and the door wasn’t enough to hide the exhaustion in your tone. Months of constant back and forth between you and Bob played through your mind as you stuffed yourself deeper under your covers.

The mounds of fabric weren’t enough to keep out Bob’s incessant knocking and pleading.

“I’m sorry. Please. I don’t know what came over me. I- I know I’ve been all over the place, but just let me see your face. Let me explain.” You heard him exhale, long and slow. The weight of his frustration pressed through the door, like he was leaning his whole body weight into the apology.

You imagined his forehead resting on the wood, hands in his hair ruffling the curls that you loved so much.

Stop thinking about his curls!

You perched up on your bed, your sheets wrapped around everything apart from your mouth. Still refusing to open the door. “So you can realise you were being a dick,” you said flatly. “but not before you decided to act like one?”

Silence.

“I was jealous of Bucky, and John and just the thought of anyone that wasn’t me being with you the way I want to be with you.” he said, quiet enough that you had padded back over to the door just to hear him without straining.

“And what way is that?”

“The kind of way that has us being sixty years old, surrounded by at least ten grandchildren on Thanksgiving.”

You fumbled with the door handle, the chill of the hallway air biting at your skin as you yanked it open. The duvet clung to you like armour, preventing him from seeing you. You barely had time to adjust before you realised you were staring directly at Bob’s chest.

He smelt like clean cotton and distress. The thin black shirt he wore strained at the shoulders and you could feel warmth pouring off him,. The thump of his heartbeat was so close to your cheek.

Reality suddenly set in, coming out of your haze you took a step back, pulling the fabric back down your face.

“Still doesn’t explain,” A cough escaped you. “why you’ve been treating me like I’m leper.”

“I know it doesn’t.” His voice broke, just slightly. “I was scared. And I took it out on you.”

“You made me feel like an idiot,” you say. “The worst part is … you’re not wrong, it was my fault.” Your breath hiccups as tears stream down your face.

“No, no, no” he says quickly. “You fought like hell to get them out of there; even Walker was swamped and the guy has about ten tonnes of hydra serum pumping through him.”

His fingers tentatively graze over your form, brushing your face like he’s unsure if he has the right to. His fingertips trace the shape of you, your cheekbone, the curve of your brow, almost like he’s memorising you. His thumb strokes slow circles at your temple, easing the tension in your furrowed brow.

Glancing up at him, your eyes big, glossy and red. “You want us to be grandparents at sixty years old?”

The corner of his mouth quirks as lips purse together. “Baby,” he murmurs, tender now, “I’d be fine with anything you want.”

Then his face shifts - gaze absolute, voice hushed and certain. “I love you.”

You buried your head into his chest, overwhelmed by the statement.

“Say it again,” you whisper, barely audible.

“I love you.”

You pressed yourself closer to him. “One more time?”

He kissed the top of your head murmuring it again and again.

Mustering up some confidence you snapped your head up, capturing his lips with yours. Feeling his well chapsticked lips against yours sent a shiver down your spine and he stood frozen as you continued your attack. While caught off guard Bob managed to come-to enough to slip his hands down to your waist as he kissed you back deeper, slower and desperate. Your arms reached out looping around his neck and into his hair, pulling him closer to you, attempting to drink in as much of him as you could.

Once you’d realised that you werent able to hold your breath you pulled back, you took some time to admire your handy-work. Bob looked out of his mind, his lips were parted, breathing heavily like he’d just fought off a hundred men.

“Was that ok?”

His voice cracked “Yeah- yeah that was nice.”

Yeah, Project: Get Over Bob was a bust.

“Soooo, was this the intended outcome of your little project?”

“Who told you about that?!!?”

Hiiii I know its been a while my lovelies, I had no motivation to finish after my word app blunder, and then all the studying for my exam didn’t help my morale.

I want to thank all of you for sticking by this fic and leaving such lovely comments and engaging with it! There's a lot more dialogue in this chapter so I had a bit of a tricky time writing it, I hope it doesn’t seem to clunky.

I have another exam this august so won’t be back to writing until after it but I have a very cheeky idea for a Bucky x Congresswoman!reader fic if any of you are interested :) and also a kinda? epilogue to PGOB!1

Also, yes I believe in sambucky supremacy im sorry to the stucky shippers out there.

Ps. Im not a kissing pro but I hope the description is good enough for ya’ll!! there will be a lot more of that in the epilogue :)

#bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds #bob thunderbolts #thunderbolts #alexei shostakov #ava starr #bob x reader #bucky barnes #robert reynolds #robert reynolds x reader #fanfiction #marvel x reader #sentry x reader

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