#and there's tension and fighting and sure /

[mooningningg]

notes, I can smell the requests from a mile away.

genre. smut, MINORS DNI!

★ Roommate!Sukuna after crossing a line as roommates.

You weren’t stupid.

You knew what happened that night on the couch wasn’t just about heat. It was months of tension breaking open — long stares, petty fights, tight silences that dragged on too long, and finally, him, on your lips and in your throat like he’d been dying for it.

You thought maybe it would stop there.

A one-time mistake. A line crossed, then never spoken of again.

But then came the next morning.

You were in the kitchen, groggy and still wearing his damn t-shirt. Sukuna walked in, shirtless, scratched red from your nails, hair a mess. He looked at you for exactly one second before pulling you in by the waist and kissing your neck without a word.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he whispered, “C’mere,” and dropped to his knees again — right there by the fridge.

Didn’t even ask.

Didn’t need to.

That became routine.

A few nights later, it was the kitchen again. You were making ramen, talking on the phone, completely unaware of him watching you from the doorway with that expression — dark, hungry, smug.

The second you hung up, he was on you. Bent over the counter, shirt yanked up, mouth on you like he hadn’t tasted anything all day. You came shaking against the cabinets, one hand gripping the edge of the sink, the other shoved into his hair.

He didn’t say anything after. Just smirked, tapped your thigh, and told you to finish your noodles.

No sex. Not yet.

It wasn’t some agreement you made. It just hadn’t happened. He hadn’t pushed. You hadn’t offered.

But everything else? Fair game.

Showers together? Happening.

You’d be rinsing shampoo out of your hair, and he’d slip in behind you, hands on your waist like he owned the space. He’d press lazy kisses to your shoulder while lathering your soap onto your skin — never crossing the line, but toeing it so hard you sometimes had to leave the shower early just to breathe.

You tried to play it cool.

Tried to act like you weren’t thinking about his mouth constantly, like your legs didn’t shake when he brushed past you in the hallway, like your thighs didn’t clench whenever he muttered something low and smug in your ear.

But the switch flipped when you brought up boundaries.

It was casual. You were sitting on the couch, scrolling. He sat beside you, hand on your thigh — not doing anything, just there. Like it belonged.

You cleared your throat. “We should talk.”

He didn’t look up from his phone. “Talk about what?”

“This whole… situation. Whatever we’re doing. We should set some boundaries.”

That got his attention.

Sukuna glanced over at you, lazy smirk forming. “Boundaries?”

“Yeah. Like… no jealousy. No acting like this is something it’s not.”

He laughed.

Actually laughed.

“Right,” he said, nodding like he was agreeing with you. “Not a relationship.”

You felt a knot twist in your chest.

But you didn’t argue. You just said “right” and got up to make tea.

That should’ve been the end of it.

Except it wasn’t.

Because two days later, Sukuna showed up outside your job.

Not just waiting outside — leaning against the hood of his car, arms crossed, eyes scanning the sidewalk like a bodyguard with a grudge.

You blinked. “Did I ask you to pick me up?”

He looked you up and down, unimpressed. “Didn’t feel like waiting for you to Uber through creeps.”

The next day, it was his hand on your lower back when you were out shopping. The next, it was his arm slung around your waist in public. Then it was him glaring down a barista who complimented your smile.

You finally snapped.

“You’re being weird.”

He blinked. “Huh?”

You turned to face him in the hallway, arms crossed. “You said it’s not a relationship.”

“It’s not.”

“So why are you acting like my boyfriend?”

He shrugged, completely unfazed.

“Just making sure you don’t forget who you’re fucking.”

Your jaw dropped.

He stepped closer, mouth curling into a smirk, voice dropping low.

“Or do you want someone else to find out how good your legs shake when I’ve got my tongue in you?”

You shoved his shoulder. “Sukuna.”

He just grinned, eyes dancing. “What? I’m being respectful. Not like I’ve fucked you. Yet.”

You hated how your breath hitched at the word.

He stepped even closer, brushing hair out of your face with one ringed hand.

“When I do, though…” he whispered, voice like sin, “boundaries won’t save you.”

Then he kissed your cheek — slow, deliberate — and walked away.

Just like that.

Leaving you hot, bothered, and one hundred percent aware that your situationship had stopped being casual the second he got your taste in his mouth.

Taglist, @humeysaga @williamafton26 @aranisbaee @probablynotleahhhh @probablynotleahhhh. @beaniesayshi @levifiance @rinofcike @fushiguroooozzz @gojoscumslut @bellsoftheball @kunascutie. @after-laughter-come-tears. @minasuniverse, @chewiebee @ilovebeansya @drowsysausagedog, @shroomysstuff, @angel4-miba @paperalphys.

[paxaz535]

keep talking - pazzi

slow-burn, intimate, voice kink, emotional tension, and then soft smut.

—

paige had been restless all night.

it wasn’t the kind of restless that came from too much caffeine or leftover adrenaline from practice — this was something heavier. needier. a kind of tightness in her chest that made the sheets feel too cold and her apartment too big.

she’d tried everything — music, reading, stretching. nothing helped.

so she did what she always did when her body wouldn’t settle: she reached for azzi.

it started with a simple text.

you up?

the reply came almost instantly.

yeah. you okay?

that part made paige pause. azzi always asked that. even when it was late. even when it was clear the answer was “no.” she didn’t pry — she just asked.

call me?

the phone lit up before she could even put it down.

“hey,” azzi said, her voice low and soft like it had just crawled out from under a blanket. “what’s goin on?”

“i dunno,” paige admitted, curling onto her side. “couldn’t sleep.”

“me neither.” azzi’s voice had a little smile tucked in it. “maybe we’re just wired from practice.”

maybe. or maybe it was the way azzi said her r’s with that little rasp. or the way she always sounded so calm even when she wasn’t.

paige didn’t know when her voice had started doing this to her — making her feel warm and tight in places that had nothing to do with emotion. she just knew it was happening. again.

they talked for a while. about nothing and everything.

azzi told her a story about some teammate drama from last year that paige had never heard — a hilarious retelling of a fight over a stolen pair of socks and an awkward group dinner that followed.

paige laughed, genuinely, and loved how azzi did all the voices, even adding dramatic pauses for effect.

“—and then, bro,” azzi said, “she threw the breadstick at her. like deadass. flung it across the table.”

paige giggled, but her hand was already sneaking lower, slipping under the hem of the oversized t-shirt she’d thrown on after her shower. azzi’s voice had settled deep into her body now — not just something to listen to, but something she felt.

her thighs pressed together. a light squeeze. a shift of her hips.

“you’re not even laughing anymore,” azzi said after a beat. “did i lose you?”

“no, i’m—” paige cleared her throat. “i’m here. just… tired.”

azzi softened. “you wanna hang up and sleep?”

“no!” paige said quickly. “just… stay. talk more.”

azzi chuckled lightly. “you like my voice that much?”

god, yes.

but she just hummed, drawing a slow breath in through her nose.

“what should i talk about then?”

“doesn’t matter,” paige whispered. “just keep talking.”

azzi didn’t question it. didn’t push.

she launched into another story — this one about her mom calling her and listing every single thing she saw at the farmer’s market even though azzi wasn’t even in the same state.

paige listened, only half-hearing it. her eyes were closed now. her fingers moved slow under the waistband of her shorts, feather-light, just enough to chase that pressure that’d been building.

“—and then she goes, ‘azzi, they have homemade mustard, can you believe that?’ and i’m like, ‘yeah, mom, i’m literally in the middle of a workout right now.’”

paige let out a shaky breath.

it was so quiet she didn’t think azzi would hear it.

but she did.

“you good?”

“mhm,” paige said quickly, a little too breathy. “yeah. keep going.”

azzi hesitated this time. her voice dropped an inch.

“…you sure?”

paige swallowed. her hand stilled. she didn’t want her to stop talking. god, that would be worse than getting caught.

“m’fine,” she said, a little raspier now. “just tired. swear.”

azzi accepted it. or maybe she didn’t — but she let it go.

“okay,” she said gently. “then close your eyes and just listen, alright?”

and god. that tone.

that tone broke her.

paige whimpered — quiet, but it slipped out before she could stop it.

azzi stopped again.

“…paige?”

paige’s breath caught in her throat.

azzi was quiet for a few seconds. and then — her voice changed completely. lower. firmer.

“…wait.”

“are you—?”

paige didn’t answer.

that was the answer.

“you called me just to hear my voice while you…” azzi trailed off, a tiny laugh in the back of her throat. “jesus, p.”

paige bit her lip. she should’ve felt embarrassed, but her whole body was lit up — her skin was hot, her core pulsing. she wanted azzi to stay on the phone more than she wanted to breathe.

“i wasn’t gonna,” she said softly. “it just… happened. you sound too good.”

azzi exhaled into the phone. “fuck.”

there was a long pause.

“you still touching yourself?”

paige nodded even though she didn’t answer out loud.

“…good.”

the command in azzi’s voice made her whole body tense.

“put me on speaker.”

she did.

“spread your legs for me, baby.”

paige obeyed.

“now go slow. i wanna hear it this time.”

paige’s hand was already back between her legs before azzi even finished the sentence.

she was soaked now. breath coming out in soft, quick puffs. the sheets twisted beneath her as she adjusted, putting the phone on speaker and resting it beside her ear.

“good girl,” azzi said, and her voice was different now — thicker, rougher. still calm, still her, but drenched in something heavier.

“you’re such a mess, aren’t you?”

“you couldn’t even make it through a stupid story without getting needy.”

paige whimpered. her fingers rubbed slow circles, and she could already feel the edge close. embarrassingly close.

“is it my voice that does that to you?” azzi asked. “gets you all worked up like this?”

“yes,” paige whispered, barely able to speak. “god, yes…”

azzi hummed, pleased. “then let me give you something worth coming to.”

paige let out a shaky breath.

“slide your hand under,” azzi instructed. “middle finger. slow circles. soft. i want you to feel everything.”

paige obeyed, her hips arching into her own touch. the friction made her gasp.

“mhm. like that,” azzi encouraged. “don’t rush. we’re not doing that fast, messy shit right now. you’re gonna listen.”

paige swallowed, trying to hold it together.

“i wish i was there,” azzi went on, voice like velvet. “i’d pin your legs open and talk you through it. make you look me in the eye the whole time. no hiding. no squirming. just you — dripping wet, begging me to keep talking.”

paige’s moan was soft but desperate. she was close. too close.

“not yet,” azzi said, like she could hear it in her breath. “slow down.”

“z…” paige begged. “please—”

“i said slow.”

paige whined. her body was tense. her stomach fluttered. she was straddling the edge and aching for release.

“now,” azzi said softly, “tell me what it feels like.”

paige blinked hard, eyes fluttering closed. “warm. tight. so—so much…”

“you wanna come?”

“so bad,” paige whimpered. “please, z, i can’t—”

“then listen to my voice,” azzi said, dipping into a growl. “and don’t stop until i say so.”

paige’s whole body trembled.

“rub faster now. just a little. yeah, right there. you’re so close for me, aren’t you?”

“yes—fuck, yes—”

“god, i can’t wait to see you like this in person. hear the real thing.”

“you’re gonna come so hard for me, baby.”

and that was it.

paige’s body tensed, her breath catching, and she came with a sharp cry, biting her lip to keep from being too loud — the sound of azzi’s voice still pouring through the speaker like a command in her bloodstream.

after, the room was quiet — the kind of quiet that felt safe. still. warm.

paige was panting softly, fingers still resting against herself, her chest rising and falling in slow, grateful waves.

“you good?” azzi asked, voice lighter now, but still tender. “need water?”

paige laughed weakly. “you’re ridiculous.”

“you’re the one who called me to get off to my voice.”

“…you’re not mad?”

“mad?” azzi scoffed. “paige, that was the hottest shit i’ve ever heard.”

paige smiled, flushed and content. “can we fall asleep on the phone now?”

azzi chuckled. “yeah, baby. i got you.”

[neonbonded]

Right Here, but Still Too Far

♡ ft. Caleb, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Sylus x fem!reader ♡ cw: emotional distance, soft angst, quiet longing, domestic disconnect, subtle heartbreak, husband-core devastation ♡ a/n: You live together. You sleep in the same bed. You share meals,kiss each other goodnight. But sometimes? Love gets quiet. And all it takes is one soft, honest “I miss you” to shatter the space between.

Caleb

The kitchen smells like garlic and butter.

The sun’s already gone down, but the lights are still off—just the stove hood casting a soft yellow over the counter, catching on the steam from the pasta pot.

Caleb’s moving like a machine. Quiet. Efficient.

One hand stirs the sauce, the other balances the baby monitor against his shoulder. He hasn’t sat down in hours. The front of his shirt is wrinkled from being used as a napkin. His hair’s a little damp at the edges like he forgot to fully dry it after his three-minute shower.

You’re watching him from the table.

You’re not fighting. There’s no coldness. No tension.

But something’s… distant.

Like you’re living next to each other. Not with each other.

He hums to himself softly—some melody you can’t place. He opens a cabinet with his foot. He says, “You want cheese?” like it’s code for love, but he doesn’t look at you when he asks.

You smile anyway. “Sure.”

He grates it. Sprinkles it. Passes you a bowl.

Then goes right back to moving.

The baby monitor crackles.

A timer goes off.

He starts unloading the dishwasher.

And you just sit there, soup cooling in front of you.

You’re still staring at him when it happens—when the words fall out of your mouth before you can stop them.

Soft. Honest.

Like breathing.

“I miss you.”

He doesn’t turn around right away.

His brain doesn’t process it at first. He’s too busy checking the time on the oven clock, flipping dinner, wondering if the laundry’s dry.

Then the words echo back in his chest.

I miss you.

His hand stills on the spatula.

“You…” He turns. “You what?”

You shrug. A little too fast. “Nothing. I mean—you're here. I know. It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not.” He sets the pan down—burner still on. Crosses the room in three strides.

“You miss me?” he asks again, slower now. Like he’s scared of the answer.

You nod. “You’re always doing stuff. For the baby. For me. You never sit down anymore.”

He swallows hard.

“I didn’t realize I stopped.”

You smile, just a little. “You didn’t. You just… drifted.”

He sinks to his knees in front of your chair, rests his cheek against your belly like he used to before the baby was born.

“I’ve been right here,” he whispers. “But I’ve been so focused on taking care of everything—I didn’t realize I left the part that mattered.”

Your fingers slide into his hair.

He lets them.

“I miss you too,” he says softly. “So much it hurts.”

You bend down, rest your forehead against his.

And for the first time in weeks?

He breathes.

Really breathes.

Xavier

You don’t even realize how quiet it’s gotten until the microwave beeps.

Xavier is still standing where he’s been for the last five minutes—staring blankly at the digital numbers. Not opening the door. Not speaking. Just… existing.

He’s like that lately.

He’s here, technically. He tucks you in at night. He leaves lights on when you fall asleep on the couch. He still makes tea for you in the morning—even if it’s lukewarm by the time you notice.

But it’s like you’re in the same room, and still a world apart.

You don’t blame him. Not really. He’s always been a little detached, a little distant, like his thoughts are off somewhere else.

But lately?

He doesn’t come back.

Not all the way.

You shift on the couch, blanket pulled up around your knees. “The tea’s cold,” you say, just to say something.

He nods without turning. “I’ll reheat it.”

Silence again.

The microwave keeps beeping.

You don’t mean to say it. You’re not even thinking about saying it.

But then—

“I miss you.”

It comes out soft. Small. A little raw around the edges.

And it lands.

Xavier blinks. Slowly.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Just… stands there.

Then the microwave beeps again, louder this time.

He opens the door. Reaches for the mug. Stops halfway.

His hand is shaking.

“I didn’t know,” he says finally. Voice low. Controlled.

You shift on the couch, throat tight. “You’ve been quiet lately.”

“I thought I was being present.”

You shake your head. “You’ve been nearby. That’s not the same.”

He turns, tea still in hand.

When he sees your face—really sees it—something in his own shifts.

He walks to you. Kneels down in front of the couch.

And offers the mug like a peace offering.

You take it. He doesn’t move.

Then he says—soft, barely audible:

“I didn’t realize I was missing you too.”

And for the first time in days?

He lets himself stay.

Rafayel

It starts with him in the kitchen—shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, music playing in the background, something herby and over-complicated simmering on the stove.

He’s singing. Loudly. Off-key.

You watch him from the kitchen table, head resting on your hand, eyes half-lidded. You’ve been watching him for twenty minutes—gliding back and forth across the tile like a tragic chef-prince in exile.

He narrates everything he’s doing. Dramatically.

“The rosemary must be coaxed, not crushed!” “Where is the sea salt?” “Oh, my darling olive oil—don’t burn me now—!”

You should be laughing.

But your smile doesn’t reach your eyes.

Because this is the third night this week he’s filled the space with music and dancing and noise. Third night he’s performed affection like a monologue—but hasn’t touched you once.

It’s not cold. Not cruel. Just… hollow.

Like he’s afraid that if he slows down, he’ll feel something he doesn’t want to.

You look down at the pasta cooling in front of you. Your voice comes out softer than you expect.

“I miss you.”

He stops mid-stir.

Just stops.

Spoon still hovering in the air. Sauce bubbling behind him. Frank Sinatra cut off mid-note.

He turns around slowly. Frowns. “I’m right here.”

“I know.”

“You just watched me kiss a tomato with more passion than most romance leads.”

“I know.”

He stares at you. Blinks once.

And then you see it—the panic. The way his whole body falters. Like he’s realizing something very, very important too late.

“Oh no,” he breathes. “Oh no.”

“Raf—”

He crosses the room in three fast steps, kneels beside you like you’re about to fade.

“You miss me? I’ve been serenading you with pasta and praise! I told the eggplant it was regal! What have I done?”

You reach for his cheek. “You’ve been everywhere but here.”

He leans into your touch like it hurts.

“I thought I was making things brighter,” he murmurs. “Turns out I was just making them louder.”

You smile, a little sad. “I don’t need louder. I just need you.”

He lets out the softest breath. Presses a kiss to your palm.

Then: “I’m going to burn dinner, aren’t I?”

You glance at the stove. “Probably.”

He sighs dramatically. “Fine. Then let me hold you while it burns.”

And when he pulls you into his arms on the kitchen floor—flour on his sleeve, sauce on his collar, guilt in his throat—you finally feel him come back.

Zayne

It’s 9:07 p.m.

The kitchen is spotless. The baby monitor is on. The dinner plates are in the dishwasher, stacked in perfect symmetry. Zayne’s at the counter writing something down—something for tomorrow. Groceries, probably. He doesn’t say what.

You’re still sitting at the table, legs pulled up under you. Watching him. Quiet.

He’s been like this for weeks now.

Present. Helpful. Perfect, really. Except you can’t feel him anymore.

You speak without looking at him.

“I miss you.”

His pen stops moving.

The silence hits hard. Sharper than you expect.

“…What?” he says. Not defensive—just confused. Like the words didn’t compute.

You repeat it. “I miss you.”

He turns around slowly, brows drawn. “I… don’t understand. I’m here.”

You offer a soft smile. “I know. But you feel far away.”

He frowns—deep. Like the idea physically bothers him.

“I make dinner,” he says. “I do the morning routine. I check in. I—” He stops.

You don’t interrupt.

Zayne runs a hand down his face, dragging it over his mouth like he’s trying to hold in something sharp.

“I thought I was doing everything right.”

“You are,” you say. “You’re doing everything. You’re just not being with me.”

That lands harder than you meant it to.

He grips the counter edge. Shoulders tense. Not angry. Just overwhelmed.

Then, voice quieter:

“I didn’t know how to come back.”

You step up behind him. Wrap your arms around his waist. Feel the tension in his spine.

“You don’t have to fix everything to be enough,” you whisper. “You just have to let me hold you.”

He exhales, shaky. Eyes closed.

“…Okay.”

And for the first time in weeks—he lets go.

Sylus

He’s on the couch with his boots still on.

One arm stretched across the backrest, the other holding a glass of something dark, untouched. He hasn’t said much since dinner—just grunted in response to your “long day?” and slipped into his usual, quiet brooding comfort zone.

You’re curled up on the opposite end of the couch. Close enough to touch him if you reached. But you don’t.

Because lately, it feels like when you do, he flinches—emotionally, if not physically.

You glance at him now, the sharp angle of his jaw softened by the warm lamplight. He’s not tense. He’s not closed off.

He’s just… somewhere else.

You turn your head away before he can catch the way your face folds a little.

And you say it.

“I miss you.”

The words hang there. Casual and devastating.

He doesn’t answer right away.

Just blinks. Breathes in slow.

Then, softly:

“…I’m right here.”

You nod. “I know. But it still feels like I haven’t had you in a while.”

He sets his drink down.

Stares at the floor for a moment. Then runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to clear static out of his head.

“You think I’m pulling away.”

You stay quiet.

He glances over—just once—and when he sees your expression, something shifts in him. Less defensive. More wrecked.

“I didn’t mean to,” he says, lower now. “I just… get stuck in my head sometimes. And I guess I thought being in the same room counted for something.”

“It does,” you say. “But it’s not the same as being close.”

He leans back, scrubs a hand down his face.

Then mumbles, half to himself:

“God. You’re gonna make me talk about feelings, aren’t you.”

You smile. Barely. “Not if you don’t want to.”

He looks at you again—longer this time. Like he’s really seeing you. And that’s what finally gets him to move.

He scoots closer. Wordless. Slow.

Then pulls you gently into his side, your head tucked against his shoulder. One hand over your thigh, grounding. Solid.

You feel him exhale.

“I do miss you too,” he says eventually. “I just didn’t realize it until you said it first.”

You nod.

You don’t need anything else right now.

Just this.

Just him.

[juliettejwnewinesa]

Hi :) may you do a seongje ff where he pulls shy reader into his lap while he’s gaming to calm himself down after slamming a guys head (slight smit plz)

“Stay Right Here.” Seong Je x shy!reader | Soft comfort, possessive undertones, lap sitting, light smut

~900 words Warnings: mild violence (mentions of a fight), emotional tension, soft!dom Seong Je, thigh riding, teasing, light dirty talk, oral (f receiving), slight possessiveness

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The door slammed hard enough to rattle the frames on the wall.

You flinched where you sat cross-legged on the edge of Seong Je’s bed, eyes wide, book forgotten in your lap. His footsteps were heavy — angry. You barely managed to sit up before he walked in, jaw clenched, shirt collar crooked, and a dark smear of blood across his knuckles.

Your mouth opened. “Seong Je—?”

“Don’t,” he muttered, shutting the bedroom door behind him with a controlled click. “Don’t say anything yet. Just—” he ran a hand through his hair, fingers trembling, “Just gimme a sec.”

You pressed your lips together, watching him as he tossed his phone and keys onto his desk. His headset was still dangling over his gaming chair. The monitor was glowing faintly, some paused FPS game on screen. But he didn’t sit. Not yet.

His chest was rising and falling fast. He was trying to calm down.

You hesitated, shifting a little on the bed. “…Did something happen?”

Seong Je finally looked at you — and something in his expression softened. Like seeing you dimmed the heat still coursing through him. He didn’t answer right away. Just stared, breathing slow, like you were something worth focusing on.

Then quietly, he muttered, “Guy grabbed Haneul’s arm. Wouldn’t let go.” You blinked. “What?” “I told him once to back off. He laughed. Called her a bitch.” He exhaled harshly, head tilting back. “So I slammed his face into a wall.”

Your hand flew to your mouth.

“You didn’t—” “He’s not dead,” Seong Je said flatly. “But he’ll need dental work.”

The silence that followed was only broken by the gentle hum of his PC.

He dragged his fingers through his hair again, clearly still wound tight. Like the adrenaline hadn’t worn off. You watched as he flexed his bloodied hand open and closed, then finally dropped into his gaming chair with a heavy sigh.

He didn’t start playing again.

He just sat there. Eyes on you.

“…Come here,” he said suddenly.

Your heart skipped. “What?”

“Just—come here.” His voice dropped lower. “Please.”

You stood slowly, padding across the room. When you reached him, he didn’t even give you time to hesitate — just gripped your hips and tugged you down into his lap, facing him. Your knees slid to either side of his thighs, straddling him awkwardly, your face already burning.

“Seong Je—!”

“Shh,” he said, resting his forehead against your shoulder, his hands settling on your waist. “Just sit for a second. You’re warm.”

You swallowed thickly, heart thudding so hard you were sure he could feel it.

This close, you could smell his cologne under the faint scent of blood. His arms wrapped tighter around you, and something in him uncoiled. Like touching you was the only thing that brought him down from that violent place. Like he needed this more than anything.

You whispered, “Are you okay…?”

“No,” he muttered. “But I will be.”

His grip shifted slightly, his hands sliding up your back, resting just under the hem of your shirt. You tensed, just a little — but he didn’t push. Didn’t go further.

Just… held you. Steady.

“I don’t like when people touch what’s mine,” he said quietly. “Even if it wasn’t you. I can’t stand that shit.”

You didn’t know what to say. The possessiveness in his voice sent shivers down your spine. But you didn’t move. You couldn’t.

“Thanks for not yelling at me,” he murmured after a while.

You blinked. “Why would I yell at you?”

“I’m trying not to be like that anymore.” His voice was tight. “But sometimes it just… happens. And I was scared you’d look at me different.”

You pulled back slightly to look at him. His dark eyes searched yours, a little raw.

“You were protecting someone,” you said gently. “And you’re still here. Trying.”

He stared at you for a long second. Then exhaled — slow. His head dropped back against the chair, tension leaking from his body like a popped balloon. He let himself relax completely, legs spread slightly under you, hands back on your waist.

“…Can I keep you here a little longer?” he asked quietly. “Just like this.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

A flicker of something darker sparked in his gaze then.

“You’re really soft,” he murmured, eyes dragging down to your lips. “Can’t think about anything when you’re sitting on me like this.”

You felt your whole body heat up.

“W-we’re not doing anything,” you stammered.

He smirked. “Not yet.”

You let out a squeaky sound as his hands slipped a little lower — to your thighs, then under your ass, adjusting your position so your core brushed against the front of his sweats. He hissed through his teeth.

“Shit… yeah. Just like that. Don’t move.”

You froze, heart hammering.

He smirked again. “Unless you want to.”

You stared at him, lips parted, unsure what to say — but your body moved on instinct, just the slightest grind of your hips against his. His jaw clenched instantly.

“Y/N…”

Your breath caught.

“You wanna help me calm down for real?” he asked, voice thick, eyes darkening. “Come sit on my face.”

You blinked. “W-what?!”

“I’ll feel better if you let me taste you.” He grinned lazily, pupils blown. “Swear.”

You made a tiny sound, already dizzy from the way his voice dropped. But you didn’t say no. Your thighs clenched around his waist, and he felt it — noticed.

Seong Je slid his hands back up your shirt, fingers hot and deliberate.

“Take this off,” he whispered. “And come ride my mouth like a good girl.”

You bit your lip, cheeks on fire, and obeyed.

[papayainsectorone]

No More Words.

summary: morning light exposes everything unsaid, you’re left to confront the truth: some moments change everything, even when they go unnoticed

content: aftermath, hangover, emotional vulnerability, unrequited love, unspoken feelings, heartbreak, argument, emotional damage, miscommunication, regret, internalized hurt, dissociation, dumb!asshole!Lando, post-hookup angst, bittersweet tension, quiet devastation

word count: 4,2k

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

walls are way too thin - series - a´s masterlist

might be confusing if read as standalone

You woke to the smell of sweat and liquor and something heavier—dense and unmistakable—sex, still clinging to the sheets, the air, your skin. It lingered like a ghost, woven into the fabric of the night before, thick and tangible and inescapable.

Your eyes opened slowly, lids heavy and reluctant, vision unfocused in the bleary half-light. The blinds were barely cracked, just enough for slats of morning sun to cut across the hardwood in pale gold streaks, dust suspended midair like smoke. Your head throbbed, not sharply, but in a dull, insistent rhythm that pulsed just behind your eyes. Your mouth tasted stale and dry, the hangover creeping in around the edges, muted by exhaustion.

And your body—god, your body.

Sore in a way that made you ache down to your bones, a dull, spreading tenderness that reminded you of every moment, every breathless gasp and rough drag of skin. There was an ache between your thighs, a soft burn across your hips where his fingers had gripped too tightly, a mark blooming against your neck you could already feel, even before you saw it. Every inch of you buzzed with aftershock.

Lando was still there, still wrapped around you like the night had never ended. Like he never was before.

It had always been one of the rules between you after all, no sleeping together.

Sure, there had been exceptions. Nights when exhaustion after sex stole the fight from you both, when the hotel room was too far or the world outside too cold. Nights when you’d stumbled back into each other’s arms after everything else had fallen away, tangled and breathless.

But those moments were fleeting, fragile, brief intersections before the morning pulled you apart again.

This wasn’t like that.

This was something else.

Closer.

More intimate.

Like he was holding on, not just to your body, but to the space you shared, to the quiet between the breaths and the softness of your skin under his.

And the ache it left behind—raw and new—cut deeper than any rule you’d ever broken.

One arm lay heavy across your waist, pinning you gently in place. The other was trapped beneath your ribs, elbow bent awkwardly but unmoving. His body was flush to yours, heat radiating from his bare chest and legs, the slow rise and fall of his breathing pressed steady into your spine. His face was tucked into the crook of your neck, lips barely brushing the curve of your shoulder, soft, warm, almost reverent.

He didn’t stir.

You didn’t either. Not at first.

You just lay there, still as the room, staring at the wall while the weight of everything slowly, silently flooded in. At first, it was just fragments—his mouth on yours, the sound of his voice when he said don’t stop, the way he had looked at you right before he—

You closed your eyes.

It wasn’t regret, not exactly. But it wasn’t peace either. It was too raw for that. Too soon.

You swallowed hard, throat dry and tight. The air around you was thick with the warmth of bodies, the silence heavy, almost sacred. Your skin still smelled like him. Like both of you. Like something that couldn’t be undone.

Your fingers twitched where they rested on the edge of the pillow, and for a second, you thought about turning over. About facing him. About seeing if his expression in the morning would match the way he’d held you through the night.

But you didn’t move.

Instead, you stared into the light filtering through the blinds, your breath shallow, your body wrapped in his, your mind caught somewhere between the ache of last night and the uncertainty of what came next.

And finally, quietly, inevitably, the truth caught up to you.

All of it.

The club. The bodies pressed too close, the sweat-slicked heat of strangers and strobes of light slicing through darkness. The bass had throbbed through your chest like a second heartbeat. His hands never left you—your hips, your back, your throat. The way you moved together wasn’t dancing so much as orbiting, like gravity had decided it only applied to the two of you.

The ride home was a blur, flashes of city lights streaking past the windows, his breath hot against your ear.

Your skin burned beneath his touch, thighs trembling, nerves frayed and exposed. You could still feel how his name had tumbled from your lips—again and again—a desperate mantra wrapped in gasps and need. The sound of his moans had filled your mouth, your chest, your bones. His hands had been everywhere. There was nowhere he hadn’t touched.

And then— Worse than all of it— After the high, the comedown, the collapse. The room spinning. Your chest rising and falling beneath the weight of everything that had just passed between you.

You’d said it.

I love you.

Just three words, barely spoken. Whispered to him when he lay right there in the crook of your neck, like a secret, like maybe if you buried it deep enough, it wouldn’t count. You hadn’t even known if he was still awake, his breathing had already started to slow, soft and rhythmic. But it didn’t matter. The words were out there now. Hung between you like smoke. Seeped into the pillow beside your cheek.

And now?

Now he was asleep. Dead to the world. Still tangled in the same sheets that smelled like sex and sweat and something you couldn’t name. His breath came slow and steady, his face peaceful, slack with sleep. Like nothing had shifted. Like the Earth hadn’t cracked open beneath you.

Your throat was dry. You didn’t dare move at first. Even your breathing felt too loud, like it might wake him or worse, draw attention to how wide awake you were. The space between your bodies still buzzed, heavy and close, but it didn’t feel safe anymore, it felt suffocating.

You peeled his arm from around your waist, inch by inch. He murmured something—a sound more than a word—and shifted, brow creasing briefly. His fingers grazed your hip in a reflexive echo of last night, then dropped limp to the mattress.

You held your breath.

When he didn’t move again, you sat up.

The world tilted. A wave of nausea rolled through you, sharp and immediate, and you had to squeeze your eyes shut against it. The headache was brutal now, bright and pulsing behind your forehead like a live wire. You brought a hand to your temple, the other braced against the mattress. The sheets beneath your palm were still warm.

The scent was unbearable. Not bad—just too much. Skin and sweat and his cologne and everything you’d given each other, tangled into the air like static. You could taste it in your mouth.

Your bare feet touched the floor and recoiled instantly. Cold. Jarring. A stark reminder that the real world had returned, and it didn’t care what you'd said in the dark.

Only then did you feel just how exposed you were.

Naked, except for the last traces of heat on your skin, your hair a matted snarl at your neck, your thighs sticky, still aching with the echo of him.

Don’t think. You told yourself. Don’t let it take shape.

You scanned the room, blinking through the haze. Your top dangled off the chair like an afterthought. Your panties had vanished somewhere in the wreckage of his jeans and t-shirt, half-buried under your bra.

Lando didn’t move.

Still sprawled out, sheet pushed low, one arm bent above his head, curls a mess against the pillow. His mouth was parted slightly, breath soft, brow still drawn in some dream you weren’t part of.

You stood.

The air kissed your skin with a chill that made you wince, but you didn’t look back. Couldn’t.

You picked up your clothes in silence, piece by piece. No ceremony. No thought. Just escape.

And then you opened the door.

It clicked shut behind you with a soft finality that sounded too much like goodbye.

The hallway felt like a different world—colder, quieter, removed from everything that had just happened. You padded across the apartment in bare feet, numb fingers brushing the walls for balance.

Your bedroom door closed behind you, and you finally let your back rest against it.

The silence was deafening.

Your legs gave out, sliding you to the floor.

What had you done?

Not just the sex. Not just the heat of it, the haze, the way you'd let it happen, wanted it to happen. But the words. The way they had slipped from your lips like a truth you'd buried too long. A truth he didn't ask for. A truth he didn’t even hear.

Or worse—heard and chose to ignore.

The truth you couldn´t even admit to yourself.

The shower was blistering when you stepped in, steam rising in thick clouds before the water even touched your skin. You didn’t flinch. You welcomed the heat, let it scald down your back, let it punish.

You stood there too long, unmoving, until the air turned dense and wet around you, until your skin was flushed pink and your breath caught in the fog. It wasn’t about getting clean. It was about erasing. About burning the night off your body, layer by layer. You scrubbed hard, mechanically, until your fingertips pruned and your shoulders ached. Shampoo stung your eyes, and you didn’t bother blinking it away. Maybe the sting would drown out everything else.

But no matter how hard you scrubbed, it clung.

The memory. The way his mouth had found yours like it belonged there. The way your name had slipped from his lips, rough and reverent, like he was confessing it. The way your body had responded without hesitation—eager, desperate, as if it had been waiting for him and only him.

Your hands found the wall, palms flat against the slick tile. You leaned forward until your forehead rested against the porcelain, cool and unmoving. The contrast of cold tile against hot skin made you shiver, but you didn’t pull away.

You didn’t cry. You weren’t even sure you could. There was no release, no breakdown. Just that quiet, heavy thing growing inside your chest. A numb ache that sat there, settled and unmoving. Something too big to name, too quiet to scream.

The water pounded on, a constant roar. When you finally reached out to turn it off, the silence that followed felt violent.

You stood dripping in the sudden hush, water tracing paths down your spine, over your ribs, between your legs. And still—you felt him. Like a shadow. Like an echo beneath your skin.

You dried off on autopilot, your towel clumsy in your hands. Your fingers trembled. You didn’t bother brushing your hair. You tugged on a pair of underwear, then an oversized shirt from the laundry pile, one you weren’t even sure was yours. No pants. No effort. Just enough to cover the skin he’d touched.

The kitchen was unforgiving in the daylight. Sunlight poured through the windows like a spotlight, all sharp angles and golden exposure. The kind of light that didn’t let you hide. It lit the countertops, the floor, the half-empty coffee mug you'd forgotten you’d poured. Everything was too loud in its stillness.

You perched on the edge of the island stool, knees pulled up to your chest, shirt swallowing your frame. A glass of water sweated beside you, untouched. You stared at it. Watched the condensation bead and slide down the glass like it was trying to escape.

The coffee had gone cold a long time ago.

Time didn’t move so much as it dragged its feet across the floor, slow and unkind. You thought about going back to bed. About pulling the covers over your head and pretending none of it had happened. You thought about going for a walk. About running until your lungs burned. About disappearing entirely—just for the day. Maybe the week. Maybe longer.

But you didn’t move.

You stayed.

Stuck in the in-between, limbs heavy and soul heavier. Waiting for something—anything—to make sense.

It was sometime past noon when the bedroom door creaked open.

You didn’t turn. Didn’t flinch. Just sat there at the kitchen island, knees still pulled up to your chest, eyes fixed on the condensation sliding down the side of your still untouched glass.

Lando stumbled into the doorway like a man dragged back from battle. His hair was smashed flat on one side, wild on the other. His eyes were bloodshot, squinting hard against the daylight like it had personally offended him. He wore only a pair of black boxers and one sock, and scratched absently at his stomach as he shuffled forward.

“Fuck,” he groaned, shielding his face with one hand. “Why is it so bright?”

You didn’t say anything.

He blinked toward the kitchen, still disoriented, eyes barely registering shapes. Then they found yours.

A beat.

“Oh,” he said, voice rough and thick with sleep. “Hey. You’re up.”

You nodded once. A small, tight movement. Then you raised your glass and took a slow sip, more to steady your hands than to actually drink.

He shuffled past you like nothing was amiss. Pulled open the fridge, grabbed the orange juice, didn’t bother with a glass. He tilted it back and drank greedily, the plastic crackling in his grip. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at you again, eyes squinting just slightly.

Something flickered there. A pause. A faint crease in his brow. Like he was trying to read the room. Trying to figure out why your silence felt different.

“How bad was I?” he asked eventually, with a sheepish little laugh. “I don’t even remember getting home.”

That laugh—that casual, careless laugh—hit like a blow to the ribs.

You watched him.

His mouth curved. His eyes creased with the weight of the hangover, not guilt. No recognition. No apology. No memory.

He didn’t know.

You said nothing.

“God,” he muttered, rubbing both hands over his face. “What did I even say last night?”

That was when the last piece slid into place.

He didn’t remember the club. Didn’t remember the car ride. Didn’t remember the way he’d pulled you into his lap and kissed you like he needed it to breathe. Didn’t remember the way your bodies had moved together in your bed, desperate and tangled and real. Didn’t remember what it had meant to you.

Didn’t remember the words you’d said when it was over. The ones that had poured out of you in a moment too raw to stop. The ones you couldn’t take back.

“I love you.”

He didn’t remember any of it.

Your breath caught, but only for a second. You didn’t let it show. You smiled. Just barely.

“You just passed out,” you said, voice soft and steady, like it didn’t cost you anything to say it.

You didn’t look at him again. Didn’t give yourself the chance to see what wasn’t there in his eyes.

And he… just nodded. Took another sip of orange juice like the world hadn’t changed.

Lando leaned against the counter, eyes still a little unfocused. He looked at you, then gave a small, grateful smile.

“Thanks for getting me home last night,” he said quietly. “I honestly don’t remember a thing.”

You nodded, swallowing the knot in your throat. “You were pretty out of it.”

He chuckled softly, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, no kidding. I’m sorry if I was a mess.”

“You weren’t,” you said, voice low.

He stepped closer, hesitated for a moment, then reached out and gave you a quick hug—gentle, almost shy. “Really. Thanks. For everything.”

The hug was brief, but it left a strange weight in your chest. When he pulled away, his smile was easy and unaware, like nothing had shifted between you.

“Need anything? Water? Food?”

You shook your head, eyes fixed on the glass in your hands. “I’m okay.”

Lando glanced at you again, sensing something unspoken but choosing not to press. “Alright. I’m gonna try to fix some toast before I collapse again.”

You watched him for a moment, the way his eyes flicked over to you, the slight crease of his brow when he sensed something you weren’t saying. Your mind was racing—thoughts crashing in waves, memories and doubts and hopes all flooding your system at once, overwhelming and relentless.

He sat down heavily at the island, one hand clutching half a piece of toast, which he practically shoved in his mouth before you could get the words out.

“Lando,” you said softly.

He hummed around the toast, a crumb falling from his lips. “Hmm? Yeah?”

You took a deep breath, your voice barely steady. “I think I’m gonna move out.”

His eyes widened, toast halfway in and now half falling from his mouth as he choked a little on the surprise. “What?” he croaked, blinking at you like he hadn’t quite understood.

You swallowed hard and tried again, meeting his gaze directly. “I said, I’m moving out. I think it’s time.”

He set the toast down, wiping crumbs from his lips, confusion knitting his brow deeper. “Time for what?”

Your heart thudded unevenly. You searched his face, the crease between his brows, the tension in his jaw, looking for some sign, anything that would soften what you were about to say next. “It hasn’t been the same for a while now,” you said quietly. “I’ve been staying too long this time.”

He blinked at you like he was still trying to catch up, the words settling slow and unwelcome behind his eyes.

“I don’t get it,” he said, straightening in his chair. “What are you even saying?”

You felt your fingernails dig into the curve of your palm beneath the table. The quiet between you stretched taut, too familiar.

“I just… it’s not home anymore,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “Not really.”

Lando’s mouth opened, then closed again. He looked at you like you’d pulled the ground out from under him.

A beat passed.

And then he tilted his head, something colder flickering in his gaze. “Is this about Charlotte?”

You stiffened.

“No,” you said, too quickly. Too flatly.

His brow twitched, mouth pressing into a thin line as he leaned back in his chair. You could see it hit him—your answer, the finality of it—like it didn’t make sense, like the puzzle had missing pieces.

Frustration flared behind his eyes. He stood abruptly, pushing the chair back with a sharp scrape of wood against tile.

“Then what is it?” he snapped. “Because I don’t get it. You said we’re okay. We were out last night, laughing, drinking—like nothing was wrong. You’re my best friend.” His voice cracked slightly on the last words, as if they didn’t sit right in his mouth. “So tell me. What the fuck is this?”

You couldn’t quite speak.

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. The lump in your throat swelled like it might choke you. Your eyes burned, tears starting to blur the edges of your vision. It all pressed in at once—his voice, the room, the weight of everything you hadn’t said.

“Lando…” you whispered, barely audible.

He threw his arms up. “What, huh?” His voice was sharper now, brittle around the edges. “I really don’t get it. Can you not just be happy for me? Isn’t that what we do for each other?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. The hurt was rising in him now, boiling into something meaner.

“Ah, no, I forgot,” he spat, pacing away from you and then back. “I don’t get to say stuff like this. I just have to stay silent, pretend I don’t care, while you go home from the club with fucking Charles.”

Your breath caught. You stared at him, but he didn’t even see you—he was somewhere else now, caught in the spiral of it, jaw clenched and hands flexing like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“I mean—fuck!” he exploded. “I like her, okay? Charlotte. I actually like her. This might be something more and you’re just—” He faltered, words sharp and twisted, chest heaving.

“Fuck, I don’t even…” He looked at you then. Really looked at you. “When did you get so bitter?”

His words didn’t just land—they carved. Not a clean, sudden split, but a slow, ugly break that shattered something you hadn’t realized was still holding on. You sat there, frozen in the middle of the kitchen, while pieces of you slid silently to the floor like glass.

And he just stared back at you.

Jaw clenched. Eyes hard. No flinch. No apology. Just anger.

That—more than anything—set something off in you.

You pushed up from your seat, fury rising hot and fast in your chest as you crossed the room. Your steps were sharp, shoulders squared, every inch of you coiled like a wire about to snap. You stopped just in front of him—close enough to feel his breath, close enough to see the faint pulse jumping at his throat.

You stared at him, eyes burning, your own jaw tight.

And then… it faltered.

Because when you looked, really looked, you saw it. A flicker. Small. Flickering like a candle left too close to an open window. Regret. Realization. The slow, dawning horror of what he’d just said.

But it was too late now.

You’d never seen him like this before.

Not like this.

It didn’t feel like Lando. Not the boy who used to knock on your window at midnight just to bring you shitty gas station ice cream. Not the friend who instinctively moved to stand between you and the world on your worst days. Not the man who knew your favorite coffee order better than his own.

This wasn’t a friend. This wasn’t safety. This wasn’t love.

This felt like a punishment. A cruel, twisted consequence for falling in love with someone who never promised you anything, but still let you hope.

You felt your throat tighten, all your words turning to ash before they could form. You wanted to scream, or cry, or laugh in his face. You wanted to say something that would sting as much as his words had. But none of it came.

Only silence.

You stared at him like a stranger. And maybe that’s all he was now.

And he—he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, the edge of fear ghosting across his expression. Fear of what he’d done. Of what he was watching slip away.

His lips parted like he might say something, but you raised your hand, just slightly, palm open, quiet and final.

He froze.

You shook your head once. Small. Certain.

This wasn’t the man you’d loved. This wasn’t your best friend.

Your hand lingered in the air for a beat too long—steady, trembling slightly—but it said everything you couldn’t. And when you dropped it back to your side, something in Lando’s face seemed to fall with it.

He didn’t reach for you. Didn’t try to speak again. Just stood there, still rooted to the kitchen floor, like if he didn’t move, maybe none of this would be real.

But it was. It was so real.

You turned without another word.

Your feet moved before your mind caught up. You were down the hall, past the photos lining the wall, old ones, bright ones, the kind you used to stop and smile at. You didn’t glance at them now.

Your room was too quiet when you stepped inside.

You didn’t need much.

You grabbed your small overnight bag from the closet and filled it with a few essentials—clothes, your charger, your toothbrush. Mechanical, detached. The weight of your limbs didn’t match the speed of your thoughts. Everything felt underwater.

Your hands shook when you zipped it closed.

And when you turned back toward the door, he was there.

Standing in the frame like he didn’t know how to stand anymore. Like the fight had knocked the structure right out of him. His arms hung loose at his sides, knuckles red from clenching too hard, mouth parted like he still couldn’t believe you were really leaving.

“Are you really gonna just go?” he asked quietly. Not angry anymore. Not cruel. Just lost.

You didn’t look at him.

Didn’t trust yourself to.

You brushed past him gently. Not touching. Not lingering. Just… gone.

He called your name once. Just once. Soft and broken. Like it hurt to say.

But you didn’t turn around.

The front door opened with a creak that felt too loud. The late afternoon sun spilled in, golden and heavy across the floorboards. You stepped into it, out of the only home you’d ever really had with him.

The door clicked shut behind you.

tag list

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[forthebrokenheartedthings]

Exactly Like You Said 🔥

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Bucky Barnes have always had that thing—the kind of sexual tension everyone sees coming from a mile away. Every sparring match somehow ends the same way: your thighs locked tight around his head, pretending it’s just part of the fight. But today, Bucky decides he’s tired of pretending. One snarky comment turns into a moment you can’t take back—and don’t want to. He pins you to the mat, hooks your legs over his shoulders, and shows you exactly how long he’s been thinking about this.

TW: Explicit Sexual Content (18+), Female Receiving, Minor Praise Kink, Bucky Barnes

AN 💌: I’m writing this on my phone, so please excuse any mistakes. I was watching funny marvel edits with Seb and Anthony and Seb had mentioned he was lucky because he kept ending up between Black Widows legs. That’s where this came from. Don’t mistake it, it’s all smut 🙈

The gym smelled like sweat and old leather, the mats stained from countless bruises and ruined egos. You’re on your back this time, but it hardly matters—because somehow, somehow, your thighs are already bracketing Bucky’s neck.

His hands are braced on the mat beside your ribs, his face maddeningly close to where you ache for him. You glare down your body at him, but he’s smirking like he’s been waiting for this exact position all day.

“Y’know what’s funny?” he drawls, voice rough. “Every spar. Every single one. We end up exactly here—your legs wrapped around my goddamn head.”

You shift, pretending you’re about to shove him off, but he doesn’t budge. His metal hand slides up the back of your thigh, pulling it higher over his shoulder. The angle makes your breath hitch.

“It’s called leverage,” you bite out.

His grin goes slow and wolfish. “Sure it is.” He curls his fingers around your other thigh, settling it over his other shoulder, and the position leaves you embarrassingly open, heat pulsing between your legs. “Leverage. That why you’re soaking through your shorts?”

“You’re an asshole,” you say, but your voice comes out thin.

“Yeah?” His gaze flicks up to meet yours, dark and hungry. “Then stop me.”

You don’t. You dig your heels into the top of his back instead, pulling him in. Something in his expression snaps—restraint unraveling in one sharp moment.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You really don’t want me to stop, do you?”

He hooks his arms under your thighs and lifts, dragging you flush to his mouth. Your back arches right off the mat.

“Bucky—”

“Shh.” His breath fans over you, hot and electric. “Keep ‘em right here.” His thumbs press into the crease behind your knees, pinning them in place over his broad shoulders. “I’m not moving until you come.”

He pulls your shorts to the side, leans in and drags his tongue over you—slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring every second. Your whole body shudders, thighs instinctively squeezing around his head. He groans into you, the vibration sparking heat low in your belly.

“Oh—fuck—”

“That’s it,” he murmurs, voice gone hoarse, mouth brushing slick against your clit. “Squeeze all you want, baby. Not letting you go.”

You feel it when he smiles, feel the scrape of his stubble, and then he sucks you into his mouth—hard enough your vision blurs. Your thighs clamp tighter around his head, heels digging into his back. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down.

“God—Bucky—please—”

He answers with another deep, slow lick, then seals his mouth around you and groans. The sound vibrates through your core. Your hands fly to his hair, tugging, but he doesn’t let you pull away. His hands flex under your thighs, anchoring you exactly where he wants you—legs locked over his shoulders, nowhere to go.

The pressure builds sharp and unstoppable, your body tightening around his mouth. You come with a strangled cry, thighs trembling against his ears, and he stays right there, working you through every pulse.

When he finally lifts his head, his lips are slick, eyes dark. He smirks up at you, hands still holding your legs draped over his shoulders like he owns them.

“Told you,” he rasps. “Every time. Legs around my head.”

He presses a kiss to your thigh—soft and almost unbearably tender.

“And next time,” he adds, voice low and dangerous, “I’m not stopping here.”

[rokiibrok]

Gentle Scratches

Smut with a plot.

Caleb x you

synap: After getting bruised in a fight with wanderers, Caleb offers to clean you up, leading to undeniable sexual tension.

The phone in your back pocket vibrated repeatedly. When you finally took it out, a very enthusiastic voice greeted you.

“Hey, pipsqueak, what are you up to?” You could almost imagine him twirling his hair like some excited teenage girl.

“Running a few errands, I hope you’re still free after,”

“I already cleared the rest of my schedule for you,” which wasn’t as easy as he made it sound.

“What are you doing?” You mumbled, tucking the phone between your shoulder and ear.

He let out a slow, exaggerated sigh. " Boring colonel paperwork," His pen now twirling in his fingers.

"I would have thought you'd always be on your feet, stressing about something," you replied with a teasing tone.

“No, most of the time-” He paused. You could hear a faint knock before another voice started speaking. They sounded almost panicked as they rushed their words out. But you couldn’t make out a single sentence. “Sorry, pipsqueak, I have to go. Make sure to call me when you get to Skyhaven,”

You responded with a quick will do before ending the line.

You finally finished all your errands, but unfortunately, a hunter never gets a day off. Shortly after your watch pinged, Wanderers appeared. You quickly pulled out your gun, keeping an eye out for the fleeing people while also trying to contain the Wanderers and protect the rest of the city. The fight ended quickly, but you didn’t come away unscathed. Keeping people safe while fighting wasn’t easy; you had bruises, scratches, and some minor bleeding, but nothing life-threatening. An ambulance arrived and offered to take you to the hospital, but you declined; you were used to a few bruises by now. Finally, after everything, you arrived in Skyhaven, feeling relieved to have made it.

You didn’t even have enough time to click Caleb’s name on your phone before your name was called. The excitement in his voice cut off immediately.

“Are you okay? What happened?” He rushed towards you. His hand was hovering slightly above your face. His voice was stern.

“Just a bit exhausted,” You looked up at him, his brows furrowed. His hand finally cupped your cheeks ever so gently. He turned your face left, then right, slowly. “I’m fine, I swear,” you smiled, hoping it would ease the tension a bit.

“Was it Wanderers?” The way he spoke, moments when his voice lost all playfulness, all emotion. It reminded you he wasn’t the boy you grew up with. Not anymore. You nodded a bit, grabbing his hands.

“Let’s just forget about it. I’m not hurt, just a few cuts,” he didn’t respond right away.

“Can I at least check on you when we get home?” he said softly, almost as if he were begging. His violet puppy eyes looked down at you, and no matter how many times he gazed at you with that almost hurt expression, you always fell helplessly for it.

“Of course you can,”

——————-

——————

Caleb's thumb held your chin as he turned your face. Y'all were now at his place.

“Does that hurt?” His free hand gently running down your neck then stopped at the edge of your shoulder. You almost shudder at the touch.

“No-tickles,” you giggled a bit, which earned a small smile from him

“You have dirt in your hair,” he said, backing away and ruffling your hair. His voice was tinged with a hint of sorrow. He spoke softly, his brows pointing upwards. Lips pouted so slightly, if you hadn't known him so well, you would've missed it.

“Offering to wash it?” It was almost a joke. You felt kind of icky after the fight. After all, you had rolled around in dirt. Dried blood and sweat still stuck to your skin.

“I-,” he paused before smiling. “I haven’t washed your hair since we were kids,” you hummed, smiling.

“Because you'd pull my hair,” you teased, walking to the bathroom.

“Mayyybe because you couldn’t sit still.” He followed behind you, and you didn't notice when his gaze quickly flickered across your body.

You now sat in the tub. Bubbles sitting right above your chest. With Caleb, you never felt uncomfortable. Not even while you sat naked in the tub. Bubbles covering your most intimate parts. After all, you’d sat like this time after time with Caleb.

“Little Miss Hunter,” He spoke lowly. His fingers gently rub your scalp. “Always rushing head first into danger,” His fingers somehow massaged your scalp like an expert. Gently soaking the bubbles deeper. You almost hummed at the soothing sensation. “Try not to squirm, I don’t want soap getting in your eyes,” His voice low, breathy. Heat from his mouth brushes against your neck, causing you to shiver. One hand traces the curves of your back. “Does this hurt?”

It took you a moment to respond, not because of the question, but because you were worried you'd let out a moan for an answer. “No,” the words slowly fell from your lips, hesitant yet firm.

“Look up,”

You did as told without a second thought, almost instinctively. You shifted slightly, closing your legs as a pressure began to build in your lower stomach. It was something you were somewhat used to; after all, Caleb was a handsome man. It would be strange if he didn’t make your heart race once or twice, right? Especially when he spoke so low it should’ve been a whisper. It didn’t help when one hand ran water through my hair. You took a deep breath before slowly letting it out. Your chest, wavering. Your body reacting in ways you wish it didn’t. Goosebumps covering your skin.

“Try not to squirm I don’t want soap getting in your eyes,” He laughed slowly, a teasing, low laugh that made your head spin and your eyes roll back. Both of his hands rested on your shoulders. His left hand remained still while his right hand trailed down your arm, moving only with his fingertips.

“Your entire arm is bruised.” His voice was soft and slow, like it hurt to say. That quiet worry made your thighs press tighter together. God, he cared. And that did something to you.

“I’m okay,” A breathy moan escaped your lips involuntarily. “Promise,” you added quickly. Hoping to brush past the sound. Whether he noticed, he didn’t respond. You glanced over your shoulder and took in his disheveled hair, with a few strands sticking to his forehead, likely from the stream. Then, your gaze fell on the sleeves of his shirt, which were rolled up to his forearms. You noticed the bare skin of his arms, the visible veins, faint scars, and the contours of his fingers. His hand rested on the side of the tub for support.

“Distracted?” That boyish grin drove your imagination wild. Your eyes rolled as you looked away. The teasing lit in his voice caused you to smile. You couldn’t stop it if you tried.

“You done?” Maybe if you got him out of the bathroom, the heat consuming your body would slow down.

He smiled and tilted his head a bit before pushing himself up. “Yea yea,” that smile never leaving his lips. His eyes not quite leaving you either.

The moment he left, you let out a sigh of relief. The heat in your face slowly going down. You rinsed off the soap, feeling the water trickle down your body. Your mind wanders to the memory of Caleb's slender fingers against your bare back. Imagine the feel of his hand on other parts of your body. You quickly shook your head and got dressed. Which was unsurprisingly his shirt and shorts. They almost hung on you like a blanket.

“We aren’t playing doctor all night, are we?” You teased walking out of the bathroom. Caleb is already holding a few Band-Aids.

“Not much longer, promise,” He patted the open space on the couch. “We can do whatever you want after,” his smile didn’t fully reach his eyes.

“Whatever?” you echoed with a grin, your voice lilting just enough to let him know you were poking fun.

“Anything,”

“What if you regret saying that?” You sit down next to him. He scoots a little closer. You were only teasing-or at least it’s supposed to come off as that way. He paused a little, then smiled wider this time.

“Turn your head, pipsqueak.” The Gentle tone he used affected you more than you wish. As you did so, you could feel his hands on your jaw as he laid down a band-aid. He started covering the rest of the open wounds on your body. His hand gentle around your waist. You had to look away so you wouldn’t stare.

Especially when he dropped to his knees. Settling between your legs. Putting a Band-Aid around your ankle, with all his attention focused on that one leg. His eyes looked up. Those soft violet eyes made your heart jump. Just one glance from him could make your body shudder. Not to mention the feeling between your legs returned tenfold. His fingers spread as they slowly moved up your leg, inspecting every inch.

“Relax,” His voice was soothing and intoxicating all at once.

“I... am just," You paused, taking a quick breath. “Stings,” the words sounded more like a question. You shook your head, a bit embarrassed with yourself. It felt silly-the sexual tension building had to be your imagination. Caleb's eyebrows tilted ever so slightly. He glanced back at your leg before placing one more band-aid on your upper thigh.

“When we were kids you’d always get hurt doing the silliest things,”

He sat up, still on his knees between your legs. His ruffled hair covered his face as he looked down. His attention was on the same leg. Seemingly lost in thought as his fingers ran down. Stopping right above your ankle. He let a low, breathy chuckle.

“Then you’d come crying -Caleb, oh Caleb, I think I broke my leg,” he mocked. Then, slowly, he glanced up. His hair was still blocking his face. His eyebrows raised as he looked up at you, passing his lashes and strands of brown hair. “And I’d take care of you,” his thumb caressed the middle of your leg. “Until you felt better,” His tone steady and low. A moment passed, yet you couldn’t look away. Especially when you caught glimpses of his eyes.

“Caleb,” The words came out slower and softer than you expected. He didn’t respond right away, his head dropping to your leg once more. His fingers slowly trailed up your leg. One hand around your calf while the other on top. Both hands moving in sync. Then he said your name. So low you could’ve missed it if the outside world wasn’t so quiet. His hands stopped below your knee. He seemed almost hesitant.

“Is this okay?” The question seemed simple. But in reality, he was asking, Is it okay to cross this silent boundary? The one that kept us friends? Would it be okay if we went passed the point of no return? Slowly, you nodded, holding his eye contact. It took a moment before he stood up. One hand remains on your leg. Slowly moving up until it reached the outer side of your thigh. His other arm reached out beside your head. As he places his hand on the back of the couch. You followed his movements, then stopped back at his face. Your eye darted from his lips to his eyes. The dog tag you had gifted him was dangling from his neck. Slowly swinging back and forth. Him now standing between your legs.

“I need to hear you say it.” The usual teasing edge in his voice was gone, replaced by a quiet firmness that made your breath catch

“Yes,” you paused and glanced away. Only for a second. “It’s okay,”

The hand on your leg that was hesitating before now continued to roam over your thigh. You could feel the faint warmth of his body. He tilted his head and leaned in but stopped halfway. His unsteady breath hits your bottom lip. His eye was glued to your lips. Then they slowly trailed back to your eyes. He waited like a quiet invitation. As if he were asking, “Are you sure,” one last time. Wrapping your hand around his neck, you pulled him in. His lips immediately moved once they connected. His hand on your thigh roaming up passed your ass then stopping at you lower waist. He pulled you closer to him. It was slow and passionate. Like two flickering flames slowly connecting. His free hand on your neck. He slowly tilted your head down to follow his movements. His knees were back on the ground. His pelvis was on the edge of the couch. You could feel his chest against your lower stomach.

He was the first to pull back. You could see his eyes moving around your face. His lips slightly parted, his breathing irritated. Both his hands on your waist now.

“I want you.” Your eyes wandered to his chest. “I need you Caleb.” It wasn’t long until his lips were back on yours. His fingers tightened slightly. Not hurting, just firm. You go to take off his shirt. He pulls back for a second to slide his shirt over his head. His chest was firm. His torso was bare beneath the light. Lean muscle shifted with every subtle movement, each line of his abdomen carved like stone, sharp and defined, the kind of abs that made it impossible not to stare. the taper of his waist draws the eye lower.

“You have me,” he went back into the kiss. Tongues connecting, His slight groans muffled by your lips. Both of his hands now cupping your cheeks. He leaned into the kiss. Pushing your back against the plush couch. His hips moving between your legs. Your slight groans muffled with each kiss. “You’ve always had me,” He murmured against your lips. Not fully pulling back as if he wasn't ready- wasn't capable of breaking the kiss. You pulled back to slip your shirt off. A trail of saliva follows you. Now leaving you in just his shorts. He watched your every movement. Caleb's eyes seemed awestruck. Especially when he leaned back in with a smile. “You’re beautiful,” he said, kissing the side of your neck. His hands following the curve of your waist.

“Every part of you,” His lips trailed down your neck. Leaving small kisses in a slow trail. Finally stopping at your collarbone. He paused for a moment before continuing to kiss down your body, stopping just above your chest.

“Caleb,” The way you said his name was almost whiny. Showing him how impatient you were growing by the second. It didn’t make him move any faster. In fact, all he did in response was hum a little as he started kissing up your neck. Stopping right below your ear. His hum was almost a mocking "yeah"

He kisses your jawline, then pulls you back into his chest, before scooping you off the couch. You could feel his muscles as he carried you like nothing. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him into another hot and heavy kiss. One arm wrapped around his neck. Your other hand was tangled in his hair, gripping slightly. You moaned into the kiss. His hand gripping under side of your thigh. He gently pushed your back against a wall. You leaned back, looking at him. His cheeks a slight shade of red. His head tilted ever so slightly. One of your hands rubbed down his bare chest. Keeping a slow, tantalizing speed. Feeling each ab on your fingertips while holding eye contact. He groaned at your touch. You could feel him grow tense. His eyes followed your touch. He squirmed as your fingers slid down. Without moving his head, he locked eyes with you. He was smiling. Your hand stopped at his waistband. You gently pulled at the front, making sure not to break eye contact. He whined just at your touch alone.

Putting his hands on your lower back, he pulled you into his chest before backing off the wall. He kissed you once more, like a starving man. He wasn't ashamed to be vocal, that's for sure. Using his foot, he kicked his bedroom door open. He dropped you onto his bed, your legs spreading as you looked up at him.

You leaned in, grabbing his dog tag and pulling him on top of you. He followed along, crawling over you, his arms resting on either side of your head. The tip of the tag rested on your bottom lip. You pulled at it, dragging him closer. His tongue tangled with yours. He slowly lowered himself onto you, his hands finding your waist. He moaned into your mouth as you both felt each other’s most intimate parts. The print in his pants rubbed against your clothed cunt.

He took the first initiative to take off your pants, sliding the oversized shorts off and dropping them to the floor. He paused for a moment, looking up at you. His lips spread into a slow smile as he looked down at your panties.

"You're wet," he said — almost like he couldn't believe it, like it was a dream. He leaned down, kissing your lower abdomen.

You tensed up a bit. You head rolling back on the soft pillow, one hand in his hair. Not pulling, just holding. The other holding the side of the bed. "Relax," He mumbled into your stomach. A low vibration followed his words. He trailed down, leaving kisses. One hand sneaking from your waist to your lower stomach. His fingers spread out. "I read you better than anyone,' The last word sounded venomous. Whilst the rest were low yet comforting. "I'll know if you start second-guessing," He said, kissing the lace on your panties. "I'll know," he kissed again. "So," he pushed your leg open, placing a kiss above the crease between your thigh. "Trust me,' He spoke slowly, his words sounding like a whine. Like he was silently begging.

"Of course, I trust you," the hand in his hair falling to his cheek for a moment. The way his brows rose, his red cheeks. His slightly parted lips. It made your heart rate rise. He kissed the space between your legs. Earning a low whine from you. A silent approval as he slowly slid your panties off. His eyes trailed down your legs, then back to the middle. He leaned in, not quite doing anything. Not yet, at least. His arm lying on the top of your upper thigh. Slowly he ran his thumb down your clit. you squeezed the side of the bed and looked away.

"Do you like it when I do that?" He asked, rubbing a small circle in the same area. A simple yes wouldn't be enough. It took you a moment before you nodded a meek yes, leaving your lips. Quickly followed by a soft moan. He played with your clit, enjoying your reactions. He'd been yearning for so long that he'd never want to rush this moment. Especially not with you. "I want to hear you," it took a few seconds before he continued, "Baby." His voice is enrichingly deep.

"Yes," Your words came out in a single breath.

"Okay' He leaned in. The tip of his nose on your bare pussy. "okay" He mumbled into you before leaving a kiss. Then he stuck out his tongue. Staring from the bottom and stopping a you clit. It was slow and long. Your body involuntarily jolted. Your back lifted off the bed for a second. One hand was squeezing his hair. His moans vibrating off the walls of your cunt.

"Please," you moaned, looking down at him. His eyes appeared between your legs. "Caleb." Whether it was your tone, his name, or the way you begged. Something made him snap. He ran his tongue over your soaked core one last time before finally slipping it inside you. Your breathing became ragged, your throat dry, as involuntary whines left you. Both Caleb's hands are on your thighs. You could feel the faint pressure of his Evol keeping your legs open. Your eyes rolled back. The heat in the room prickles your skin with sweat. You moaned louder when you felt a finger enter. His tongue still ravishing your pussy as he fingered you. You moaned his name. His tongue now lapping at your clit. His fingers kept a steady, slow pace. Finally, he lifted his head. The area around his mouth glistened. He watched looking at your chest rise and fall quickly. His fingers were still moving. He watched as you tried to hold eye contact. But failed as you continued to whimper. Your head falling back on the bed. His fingers wiggling inside of you. His evol letting up so he could watch you squirm in his grasp. Your legs shaking with every pump of his fingers. Then, as you reached your peak, he stopped. You heaved as your chest lifted and fell, struggling to catch your breath. After a moment you spoke.

"You’re such a tease," you said, not directing your comment at him specifically. Eyes glued to the ceiling.

"I can't help it," He sat up. "it's not my fault you sound-" He paused as you sat up and jabbed his chest gently.

"shut up," You pulled him back on top of you, pulling him into a kiss.

"So bossy," He spoke against your lips. Your hands found the buckle of his pants. He helped you slip them off alongside his drawers. Finally letting his cock spring to action.

"Oh," you leaned back on your arms. He was huge—realistically huge. It jumped as you stared, eyes tracing the curving veins. You sat up on your knees, taking a moment before gently pushing him down on the bed.

"Okay," you whispered next to his ear, your finger trailing slowly down his chest, giving him the same kind of slow torture he gave you.

You watched him whine, eyes locked on yours like he'd do anything you asked in that moment, no matter how ridiculous. He tensed when your fingers traveled back up his chest. He moaned your name and grabbed your wrist, not to stop you, just to feel you. You kept stroking his chest, and he jolted at your touch. Your fingers spread as you trailed down his chest. Feeling his chest and the ripple of his abs.

You hadn’t even touched his cock yet, and still it jumped like you did Pre-cum dripping down. "Do you... like this?" You asked hand lowering. Finally touching the tip if his cock. Cum sticking to the palm of your hand. He moaned, his fingers pulling at his hair.

"can-" He took a sharp breath as you ran your hand down his cock. "I want to feel you, baby." His voice wavered. You paused, looking up at him. His soft voice, almost a pleading tone. It made you ache to feel him. You leaned over him, catching his lips. You straddled his hips. His hands found your waist as you fervently made out. You moaned against his lips. Your hands on his bare chest holding yourself up.

"Is this okay?" You whispered, looking down at him. He took a moment before speaking.

"I want to make you feel good," he whispered softly, reaching up to caress your cheeks. His thumb rubbed small circles as he continued, "I want you to feel how much I love you."

His words were all you needed as you hovered over cock. Before slowly sitting on top of him, you stopped at his tip. It stretched you open. He sucked in a deep breath his fingers tightening on your waist.

"Are you okay?" He asked with a husky tone. You nodded, giving yourself a moment to adjust to his size. Your hands are still on his chest most of your weight focused there. You slowly dropped yourself lower. A gasp left Caleb as you clenched around him.

You moaned his name when his cock twitched inside of you. His eyes still glued to you. Occasionally, trailing over your body. Taking in the sight of you on his penis. He stuttered as he said your name, head rolling back. "do you like that," His voice low.

You nodded, moving your waist. His penis moving against your walls. He whimpered, hands once again tightening.

"good job, baby," His voice was high. His breath was heavy with every word. Your hips bounced once more until you found the perfect rhythm. You moaned a bit, stifled as you covered your mouth. "let-" He interrupted himself moaning. "l-let it out," You clenched around his cock. His voice was low, husky, ragged, like each word was dragged from the back of his throat. “Just like that…” It rumbled out of him, breathless and broken, the sound heavy with want. Every syllable felt earned, like he was speaking through clenched teeth, trying to hold himself together while you moved on top of him.

"Yeah,” your words came out as a whine. One of his hands rested on the back of your neck, holding your head still to maintain eye contact. Your stomach tightened as the pressure built. Using his hand on your neck, he pulled you in for a kiss. The other hand traveled from your cheek to your lower back. Slowly, he flipped you, positioning himself on top. You let out a small gasp as your back hit the bed. “You feel so good…” You gasped, the words tumbling out between moans. Caleb slowly moved in and out of your pussy. Make sure to leave the tip in before slowly pushing back in. A plethora of wet sounds with each thrust. Caleb nodded at your words. His dog tag dangled violently, swinging with each thrust. Sweat dripped down his toned arms with each hand on either side of your head. His moans were loud, unashamed, and unrestrained, echoing in the air between you. There was nothing held back, no control—just raw, desperate sound spilling from him with every roll of his hips.

Balancing himself on one arm, he touched your lower stomach. He could feel the tip of his cock when it entered. He pushed down softly and earned an abrupt, loud moan from you. It left your lips without shame, high and needy, the kind of sound that made him look at you like he was ready to ruin you all over again. The pleasure building inside of you. You could tell he was at his climax. His words came out strangled. His breathing was heavy and whiny.

"Caleb, I'm going to-" You couldn't even finish speaking. Caleb nodded, his fingers curling around the sheets. The moment you stopped speaking your walls clenched around his penis. He moaned your name as he leaned down, catching your lips. Your moans entangle with his tongue. The world blurred for a moment as you both came undone. Legs shaking as the high slowly subsided. Caleb slowly dropped on top of you. Rolling over a little, not to crush you. Your limbs still entangled.

He took a few heavy breaths before he spoke. "Are you okay?" He seemed to speak in one breath. You nodded before turning your head to look at him. Strands of his hair stuck to his forehead. The rest is messy. His eyelids were lowered like he'd fall asleep at any moment. Unable to restrain yourself, a smile crept onto your cheeks. The euphoric moment takes hold of you.

"are you okay?"

He nodded at your question, smiling. His eye widened slightly, sparked with new life. His hand once again found your cheek. His thumb caressing your face as he held eye contact. Neither of you could speak. The moment was filled with comfortable silence as he admired you. He leaned in pressing his head onto yours.

"I love you,' He whispered before closing his eyes.

"I love you, too, Caleb." Your eyes fluttered closed as well, listening to his soft breathing.

----------------------

This was my first time writing actual smut. So I hope you all enjoy, and if you have any requests or feedback please let me know :)

[rinsnumber1fan]

Sae itoshi x reader

[Reader is sae's manager][nsfw content ahead!]

he can't control himself but he has to.

When you two get into a stupid fight and haven't been talking but one particular night he takes things rather personally.

You and Sae were closer than just manager and player, you were like friends. You'd tease him constantly and he'd pretend not to see you. Still he was better than most men you'd been friends with before.

Today was.. however a bit different. You and Sae got into a stupid childish fight about how you threw a pillow over his face to get his attention when he was ignoring you and then he crashed out on you.

You knew you shouldn't have!! But ugh, its not like he hasn't hit you with a pillow before!

Glancing at the time which hit 12:45AM You arrange your stuff in your office which ego designed specifically for you to do your work properly. The door that was closed had a familiar knock placed over it the sound echoing in a distance.

"You can come in!!"

You said as you tried to arrange the things on the top shelve and tried to get out a certain file.

The man had entered your room and placed some thing you considered to be a register down on your table without saying anything. You hummed in acknowledgement, "jus' keep it right there! I'll keep it in a min-"

the file you so desperately tried to reach at the top of the shelve was now being accompanied by saes hand, slowly drifting the file down the shelf was when you realized just how close he was to you.

Your back pressed against his chest, his hand right above your head like he was pinning you.

You quickly look back only to regret how close he was to you, "your file." He said in a voice which would be his usual voice but it wasn't. It was deeper, raspier.

His eyes were locked onto you like he was trying to focus on something else but he kept being drifted back on you.

You froze for a moment, "..thanks.." you replied shortly, but he didn't move.

Just stayed there not moving an inch.

His eyes half lidded as he looked down at you, unable to stop himself from leaning his head lower and lower. He wasn't even doing it himself it was like a.. magnetic pull.

"You know," sae started, breaking the silence.

You looked back up at him, he seemed to be,

Undressing you with his eyes.

Half-lidded trailing over and under your body, your lips, just thinking about how how you'd look if he could do all sorts of things to you in this office right here over the desk.

But he had to stop himself...

He tried to.

He gulped lowly, "you're too naive."

You blinked twice at his words, you expected 'can I kiss you?' Or something romantic after all that tension but he just insults you?!

"Naive? Please, you're still mad at me for-" the words caught in your throat are lost as thoughts only when he pushes you back against the shelf and pins your hand over your head making you feel unbearably exposed.

"You'd just let any guy in your office after midnight, hm?" He asked like he was mocking you.

"You really are naive." He fought back a smirk.

You scoffed, not making any effort to push his hand away from your wrist because you liked how it felt and shot back, "but I know you're not that kind of guy!"

You sounded so sure of yourself.

"Really?" He stepped closer and closer and suddenly friend didn't seem to good of a title to describe whatever this was. "You trust me, that much?"

He asked leaning closer and closer. Your heart races, you want this its all over your face and body. The way you look up at him so longingly and then he pulls back

He pulls back.

Putting his hands away, "im sorry." He said before turning around and going to rhe door to avoid you for the rest of his life but you grab his wrist, "dont be sorry!" You frowned but a rosy pink blush appeared on your cheeks as he turned back to see you. "....huh?" He deadpannned.

"I'm...I.. uhh.." you stammered having nothing to back it up.

"Nevermind! g-good-bye!!" And you slammed the door shut after throwing him out.

He might not avoid you after all.

I wrote this half asleep pls send help if anything seems stupid or wrong and also pls don't be mad there's no real smut because we'll he's supposed to control his urges and I thought it's hot when he's kinda holding back and shiii type shi 🤑🤑🤑🤑

[sinsxo]

symphony. —itoshi rin

cw. mdni! nsfw, fem!reader, toxic relationship dynamics, angst, degradation, emotionally charged arguments, make up sex, rough sex, soft aftercare.

based on this request.

note. loved writing this. had the perfect song in mind — symphony by highvyn ft. JEY.

synopsis. another cold war. unresolved arguments. you and rin can’t seem to talk without it ending in a fight — or something worse.

wc. 2.3k words, not proofread.

again.

you sighed, slumped on the couch in the living room of the apartment you shared with rin.

cold, bitter, and alone.

just like what your relationship had become.

you checked your phone again — looking for anything. a text, a missed call, even a single-word reply — just an update from rin.

none.

figures.

you and rin were in another cold war. tension high, wounds fresh from your last argument — yet neither of you did anything to fix it. it was just quiet now. empty.

the sound of the front door opening pulled you out of your spiral. rin walked in, fresh from training, the same blank expression on his face.

“didn’t think you’d come home,” you muttered, eyes still on your phone.

“don’t start.”

you scoffed. “don’t start? you do know you have a phone, right? a simple text would’ve been greatly appreciated.”

“didn’t think you’d care,” he replied flatly, already walking toward the bedroom without looking back.

you followed.

“you’re right. maybe i shouldn’t care next time,” you said, leaning against the doorframe. “couldn’t even spare five seconds for a damn message? i’m supposed to be your girlfriend, but i don’t know where you are half the time — your schedule, your plans — nothing.”

he exhaled through his nose. “can we not do this right now? i’m tired.”

“yeah? when are you not?”

he stopped by the dresser, jaw clenching. “my schedule’s packed even during breaks. i come home to this — to you — picking a fight. i leave for germany again in two days, and you can’t give me a fucking break?”

“i’m not picking a fight, rin. i’m asking for basic communication!”

“and using that tone that makes it worse,” he snapped. “it’s always about you, and i’m so fucking tired of it. drop it — we’ll talk next time.”

you stared at him, chest heaving. “next time? it’s always next time, and it ends like this every time. i hate it. i hate you.”

“good,” he said coldly. “the feeling’s mutual.”

and with that, he slammed the bathroom door behind him.

you stood there, seething. for someone so cold, he sure boiled fast.

you slammed the bedroom door shut behind you, throwing yourself onto the bed. lying on your side, you curled into yourself, your phone abandoned beside you.

how did it get like this?

every fight followed the same cycle.

you argued, you avoided, then you ignored each other until something snapped and it all spilled over again.

you let out a loud sigh. then another.

and by the third, the bathroom door opened.

“can you not?” rin’s voice came from the doorway of the master bathroom. “your sighing is so loud. it’s annoying.”

you rolled over, finally looking at him. “what? i can’t breathe now?”

he didn’t respond at first. just stood there, jaw clenched, putting on his clothes.

then he sighed. you understood him now, because that pissed you off too.

before you could say anything else, he walked over and sat beside you on the bed, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“look,” he said, voice low, tired. “i’m sick of this too. it’s not just you.”

you had your eyes closed, trying to shut everything out. but he saw the scrunch in your expression, your trembling lips.

“i don’t mean to give you the silent treatment,” he continued. “but the more we fight, the more i avoid you — not because i don’t care, but because i don’t want to say something i’ll regret. i know my temper, and i know yours. it’s like… fighting fire with fire. no control, and we both get burned. i just wish we’d just let our pride go sometimes.”

his voice dropped even lower.

“i know you don’t mean half the shit you say when you’re upset. but it still cuts deep. and i know i do the same too, no excuses for that. i just… i’m done pretending this is normal. that we’re fine.”

you slowly opened your eyes, then sat up, ashamed.

“i don’t mean to pick fights,” your voice came out small. “i just get so overwhelmed sometimes. we barely spend time together anymore. and when you come home exhausted, i feel like i can’t even talk to you. like i have to hold it in so you won’t get tired of me too.”

your voice cracked. “i didn’t mean to become the thing i feared. i didn’t mean to push you away.”

you looked at him then — eyes filled with guilt.

“i don’t want to be the reason you stop loving me. but sometimes i feel like i already am.”

“is that what you’ve been thinking?” he asked softly.

“yeah,” you whispered. “i’m scared you don’t need me the way i need you.”

rin leaned in, brows furrowed. “so that’s what this was about.”

you looked up, confused. “what do you mean?”

but before you could finish, he moved — leaning over you, arms caging you in as your back met the mattress.

“you could’ve just told me,” he muttered, voice low. “but no. you chose this way.”

his expression was tight. angry, yes — but not at you. not really. maybe at himself, for missing it. for not seeing it sooner.

before you could reply, his lips were on yours — rough, desperate. all emotion, no control.

maybe anger. maybe guilt. maybe frustration. maybe love.

your arms wrapped around his shoulders, tugging at his shirt. he broke the kiss only long enough to take it off, doing the same to you — undressing you with trembling hands.

then he was kissing you again. deeper. like he needed to.

you kissed him like you were afraid he’d leave mid-breath, and he kissed you like he was trying to make you stay.

“for someone who says they hate me,” he mumbled against your lips, “you sure hold on tight.”

“shut it,” you whispered, pulling him back into a kiss.

he groaned low in his throat, his lips trailing from your mouth to your neck, collarbone, chest — every inch of you. everything felt so raw, like you were making up with each other with touch instead of words.

you couldn’t even remember the last time you touched each other like this. not even a hug. not even holding hands.

and now you clung to each other like you’d shatter if you let go.

he spread your legs open before you realised.

you inhaled sharply, your thighs twitching under his touch.

“keep them open,” he muttered, voice low, warm breath ghosting over your inner thigh.

you tried to close them on instinct, flustered, unsure if you were still mad at him or you were just that needy, but his hands were firm, prying you apart again.

“don’t be difficult now. you’ve been doing that all day.” he looked up at you with that same cold, condescending stare he gave you during fights — but now it made your stomach flutter.

“fuck off.” you tried to sound strong, but your voice wavered.

“mm,” he hummed, fingers brushing over your heat, slow and teasing. “still got a mouth on you. but i wonder how long that’ll last.”

you reached down to swat his hand away, but he caught your wrist midair.

“don’t,” he glared at you. “you’ve talked enough for one night.”

he didn’t wait for a reply.

his mouth was on you before you could form a thought — tongue working slow circles that had your legs shaking in seconds. you gasped, back arching, one hand clutching the sheets while the other tangled itself in his hair, tugging hard.

“ah— fuck, rin—!”

he sucked harder, the pressure making your hips buck. he held them down with one hand, the other slipping up to your chest, pinching your nipple just to hear you gasp again.

“such a mess already,” he said, pulling away just enough to talk.

his lips and chin were slick with you. “missed me that much?”

you glared at him through your haze. “hurry up and fuck me already...”

he raised a brow. “so needy,” he sat up, grabbing you by the ankles and yanking you down the bed until your hips hit the edge. “spread.”

you did — barely — still glaring, defiant.

“you know this is all we ever do,” he muttered, voice sharp as his fingers dug into your thighs. “fight until we’re so fucking drained, then fall apart like this.”

his jaw clenched, eyes flickering over your bare body beneath him. he looked angry.

not just at you. maybe even more at himself.

“what the hell are we even doing?” he asked, voice low as he dragged two fingers along your slit, watching you squirm. “we tear each other apart just to crawl back like this every time.”

you didn’t answer. couldn’t.

your breath hitched as his fingers circled your clit — teasing you, like he was taunting you.

“you hate me,” he said — like he was reminding himself. “you say it all the time. say you’re done. say i’m not enough.”

then he pushed two fingers in — without warning — and you cried out, hips lifting from the bed before he shoved them down again.

“but here you are.”

your fingers curled into the sheets, the burn between your legs making your thighs tremble.

“every fucking time,” he hissed, curling his fingers until your back arched. “you hurt me. i hurt you. and we still end up like this.”

you bit your lip. your voice was shaky.

“what do you want me to say?”

he laughed — sounding bitter — before pulling his fingers out and replacing them with the thick press of his cock, dragging along your folds before pushing in all at once.

you screamed, nails scratching down his back as his hips were flush against yours. he didn’t ease in. didn’t ask. just pushed forward until he bottomed out and you cried out beneath him.

“don’t say anything,” he groaned against your neck. “just shut the fuck up for once.”

you bit his shoulder hard, and he moaned — gripping your hips hard enough to bruise before he started moving.

“so fucking tight for me,” he gritted as he thrusted into you roughly.

you choked on a moan, head spinning.

his pace didn’t slow — it grew rougher and sloppier — frustration spilling out in every thrust, every smack of skin, every breathless insult laced with something more. something like love mixed with anger.

his hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back.

“you make me fucking sick,” he muttered, lips brushing your jaw. “i hate what you do to me.”

but he kissed you anyway — deep, tongue sliding past your lips as he fucked you even harder. and you kissed him back like he was your oxygen, nails digging into his back like you needed to anchor yourself to him or you’d drown.

“this is the only time we don’t lie to each other,” he muttered. “when you’re under me like this.”

you couldn’t deny it. didn’t even try.

because he was right.

you wrapped your legs around his waist, dragging him closer, making him fuck you deeper until your cries turned into sobs — broken and breathless, like your pride was cracking at the seams.

and maybe it was. maybe his was too.

he leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath stuttering against your lips as his thrusts turned frantic, rough and filled with everything he couldn’t say.

“hate you,” you gasped, eyes glassy as you reached your release.

“i know,” he whispered, letting go inside you. “me too.”

but he kissed you again — tongue tangling with yours as your bodies moved in sync, like the fighting never mattered. like nothing ever did, except this.

you didn’t know what this was. maybe love. maybe something worse.

but whatever it was, it destroyed you every time. and you always came back for more.

then silence.

just the sound of your ragged breaths, coming down from both of your highs.

sweat clinging to skin.

your hand still tangled with his as he hovered over you.

he didn’t speak.

but he didn’t leave either.

rin pulled out slowly, watching the way you winced — watching your body twitch from the aftershocks, trembling from everything he gave you and everything he took.

then he cleaned you up without a word.

not rough. not soft.

just careful.

like he was trying not to be cruel anymore.

like it was the only apology he knew how to give.

you were in a daze for a bit until your eyes fluttered open — barely.

just enough to catch the tension in his shoulders, the tight line of his jaw, the way his brows furrowed as he wiped your skin with a warm, damp towel.

when he was done, he tossed it somewhere off the bed, pulling the blanket over you both before slipping in behind you without a sound.

and then he wrapped his arms around you.

tight like he didn’t want to let go.

desperate like he couldn’t.

you exhaled softly, the last of your strength giving out as you melted into him. his chest met your back and you pressed closer, instinctive, vulnerable.

he kissed your shoulder, then again. softer. like he didn’t mean to. like the ache inside him needed a place to rest.

you weren’t facing him.

but his hand found yours beneath the covers and linked your pinkies together — the way he always did when he couldn’t say sorry — when the guilt sat too loud in his throat and too heavy in his chest.

and even though not a single word passed between you, even though the air still pulsed with all the things left unsaid, you fell asleep like that.

this kind of love made you feel drained yet aching, tethered by one fragile finger and everything you both refused to say. but at this moment, with the both of you tangled in each other’s touch, nothing mattered — not the damage, not the distance — just the ache of holding on anyway.

because in two days, he’d be gone again.

just like he always was.

© all written works are created and owned by @sinsxo. do not plagiarise, modify, repost or translate any of my content on other platforms under any circumstances.

all images, aside from the dividers, do not belong to me. credit belongs to their original creators on pinterest & xhs.

[ameliaenya404]

More than a Spark

Pairing: Eddie x gn!reader [no explicit detailed mention of the reader's genitalia and gender neutral terms]

Lots of built up sexual tension because it's the best kind of tension

Wc: 2000+

Desperation.

Yearning.

Two things that look unbelievably perfect on every dateable in your home. Especially a certain brooding, dark-haired man down at the breaker box. It's undeniable how Eddie's no good for you, how he's a bit of an asshole who struggles with getting any emotion other that stoicism, which is really a lack of emotion, out when he's around anyone, much less you. But you can see it on his face when he doesn't think you notice.

His heavy-lidded gaze lingers on you as you nurse a drink at the bar, Volt sweet-talking you and Johnny Splash performing yet another charming but terrible a cappella on the stage. Eddie wants you. Badly. You can see it written all over his face, and the white knuckled grip he has on the drinking glasses whenever you tease him.

Volt is easier to read, easier to talk to and touch and Makeout with in the shitty dim lit backroom of the breaker box. Eddie not so much. You've yet to get your hands on his chest and your tongue on his but you have a feeling it might be tonight with the way the bar starts to clear out and he's still glancing your way as he wipes down the bar top.

"You heading home or what?" His gruff voice almost gives you full body shivers, it fills the empty air and demands your attention.

Glancing back at him and moving down a few barstools to sit in front of him, propping your elbows onto the counter he's trying to clean, you smile at him.

"Sounds like you want me to leave," You pout, not that you can pull any sympathy from the man in the state he's in, but maybe you could get something in other than a tired goodnight.

"There are a lot of things I want," his response is vague and casual but leading onto something more that makes your core feel weird. Good weird.

His voice never failed to stir up some feeling inside of you. More specifically the way he spoke. His tone. The words he used. Every sentence is crafted carefully to further uphold the closed-off vibe you got from him. Like he'd let on just enough to pique your curiosity and leave you wanting for more, it was begging to get on your nerves.

"Are you always-"

"Such an asshole?" He chuckles lowly before you can finish.

"Difficult. I was going to say difficult." You retort with a roll of your eyes.

"I'm not exactly sure what it is you want from me, Volt gives you plenty of attention."

"There are a lot of things I want," you repeat his vague statement, giving back the same energy he gave to you.

"Real smart, one of those things being?"

"You," it was time one of you came out and said it.

You were beginning to grow impatient and would rather get shut down than not take a chance at this. Plus talking to Reggie was enjoyable to you, at least there were some positives to getting rejected.

"You have Volt," he says, tossing the towel over his shoulder and giving you a look.

"Call me greedy but I want you too," you shrug, tracing little shapes onto the bar top with the tip of your finger, looking at him through your lashes.

"...I have a feeling I'll regret inviting you to the back," he groans. Which bassicly meant you were.

Months of chipping away at the man's patience led up to this moment and you were thrilled, though you tried not to show too much of it on your face. Only a fraction of it in the form of a slight smirk to mirror his own.

"I'll be good I promise," you giggle softly.

"Oh I'm sure you will," he grumbles, the back of his knuckles sliding against the underside of your jaw and across your cheek slowly before he turns around a begins walking, "You coming?"

You fight back the urge to say 'Oh I will be," instead opting to follow him to the back of the club. The minute you step foot in the back area your arms are around his neck, lips brushing eachother as a silent request.

Permission is granted when he presses his lips against yours. It's hungry and desperate and tense, everything you expected a kiss with him to be like. Behind all the pent-up frustration it's surprisingly gentle and considerate. His hands are on your back, sliding down to get a firm grip on your ass, something that prompts you to moan into the kiss.

Messy is the only way to describe the way your tongue slides against his as one hands find purchase in his hair and the other rests on his firm chest. You tilt your head to kiss him better, deeper. Your noses bump and teeth clash a bit but neither of you finds it in yourselves to react or make a deal out of it, too lost in the heart-racing sensation of each other's lips locked after months of built-up glances and sexually charged interactions.

Eventually, you have to part with him for the necessity that is oxygen. If you didn't need air you think you'd never willingly part from him. Forhead to forhead, his hands still gripping onto your ass, your hands still in his hair now dragging down to hold his face as you both pant. It's hot and stuffy in the backroom, a shitty torn up couch and box TV shoved in a corner to keep Volt and him entertained or something, Volt talked about it one time but you were too preoccupied with kissing on his neck to care.

The fantasy of having them both on and in you was never fleeting, but you had just gotten Eddie so you figured you'd still have to work up to the Volt and Eddie sandwich you so desperately wanted.

"I want to fuck you so bad, I need to fuck you so bad" Eddie groans. A sentence you've never thought you'd hear in your life time blessing your ears. You could have jumped up and down with joy if it wasn't mood-killing.

"I wanna fuck you too, so fucking bad Eddie you don't even know." You chuckle, kissing him again.

"Oh I think I know," he groans against your lips, lifting you up with ease and dropping you onto the couch.

For a torn-up god knows how old piece of furniture it provided some comfort, just about the bare minimum though. It was awkward to position yourselves on, you opted for having him take his pants off and sit down, and straddle him for a more efficient position. He slid his vest off and let out a groan the minute your hands touched his bare chest and your lips were kissing his neck and jaw.

You wondered if he could shock you. Maybe not, Volt was the real electricity and energy, Eddie was just the...wires? Well, you could get shocked by wires, yeah? Volts shocks stung enough so you weren't exactly willing to test your theory with Eddie. Instead trying to avoid his wires, similar to how you avoided touching Volt's wild hair. Though it was pretty to look at.

"You want this, live wire?" The endearing little nickname leaving his lips in his voice in that tone made you shiver. Nodding enthusiastically.

"I need to hear you say it," he chuckles, one hand gently holding your chin, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your cheek as he forces you to meet his gaze.

"I want this," you practically whine. The sexy confident act falls a little, leaving behind the sight of someone who needs something really bad. Leaving behind the sight of pure desperation and desire. You could see some of it in his dark eyes too.

"You want what, live wire?"

The way he was looking at you was positively simple and it made you weak everywhere.

"I want you to fuck me Eddie, need it. So so bad. Need it so bad, please fuck me." You amped the pleading up, giving him everything he wanted and more, giving him a look of want, slightly biting your bottom lip, your brows furrowed a bit and your eyes sparkling with something sensual.

It felt erotic.

It was erotic.

It was no longer just sexy, passing glances. No longer a thought in your mind you entertained every night alone in bed. You were straddling him on his couch, your hands exploring his chest. It was sensual and erotic and almost perverted the way the two of you were looking at each other. Touching each other, as if you'd never touch each other again.

Which you very well might not. He could decide he wants nothing to do with you after tonight. But deep down part of you knew Eddie and how he wouldn't do that. Once he's deep in something, he stays. And soon he'd be deep into you, literally.

With your explicit permission he slides down your pants until they fall onto the floor, you in turn sliding down his boxers until they rest halfway down his thighs. He's a good size, the perfect girth to fill you up and leave you completely satisfied with no want for anything more other than him pounding into you.

You giggled softly as he groaned from your hands sliding down his chest, brushing against his happy trail and down to his cock. Stroking it a few times just to relish in the sounds he made in response before lining yourself up with his length.

The sounds you both let out as you sit down on him are sinful and filled with pleasure. Your head tilts back as you moan but his hand comes up to grab your chin bringing your face inches from his, his lips brushing softly against yours as you settle on his cock. Accustoming yourself to the stretch and the slight sting that melts right into ecstasy. Eddie kisses you with passion, pouring everything pent up into it as you got used to the feeling of his cock inside you. The gruff closed off asshole who worked at the Breaker Box now laid beneath you looking perfect and kissing you like he'd never get the chance to again.

"I'm gonna move now, kay'?" You mumble softly against his lips and he nods, with his permission you begin to slowly move up and down his cock before going just a bit faster once you get a sense of rhythm.

The sounds he makes are more than enough to let you know you're doing perfectly. Riding him is euphoric, a sensation unlike any other. The dimly lit stuffy backroom and broken-down couch creaking only add to the dirty real feeling of it all. It was messy, your wetness making your thighs slick as you went up and down on his cock. His cock felt perfect and snug inside of you, your hands resting on his broad shoulders, finger nails digging into them drawing a groan from his lips which you then kissed, swallowing the sounds he was making, your own sweetly blending with them.

You reach your peak, coming with a long satisfied moan, head thrown back a bit, his calloused hands gently rubbing your hips and working you through it. Right before, you can feel him about to come, slipping off of him and stroking his cock a few times until thick ropes of cum hit your and his stomach as he finishes with a satisfied moan.

You both sit there, sweaty and panting, trying to calm down.

"You know, I would've appreciated a little invitation to this show." Volt's voice startles both of you out of the trance you were in.

"I'll be sure to let you know next time then," Eddie chuckles, his hands resting warmly on your waist and everything seems to click into place as you all let out small laughs.

[tsmukanii]

Begin Again

She never told you when she was coming, she just appeared. Usually with her things thrown everywhere, raiding your fridge and her dog running around upstairs. It’s just the way things were with her. You never tried to push or ask questions, knowing that she only comes after missions that are really heavy for her. It’s why you made sure to always keep mac and cheese and her favorite vodka stocked. You were out in the barn when she came this time. 

“You got another horse? What’s next, are you gonna get some goats, a chicken?” You chuckled as you turned around to face her, taking in her appearance. There was a noticeable tension in her stance that seemed to ease with every breath she took but the look in her eyes was one you knew all too well. 

“Don’t be jealous, I told you I would get you your own horse when you feel like you're ready for it. Are you just here for the night or are you staying for a bit?”  She gave you a small smile before replying. 

“Ready for me to go already? You didn’t miss me?”

“I see you once every 4 to 6 months, Yelena. Even longer if it calls for it and you can never check in, of course I miss you.” You turned back around to avoid her stare, slinging 2 bags of horse feed over your shoulder before walking to set it down in the storage room. 

You two have been friends ever since she set you free from a covert facility she was sent to destroy by Valentina. You were strapped down to a table having your blood drawn and being tested when she came in. You were in awe of her from the moment you saw her, with her widow bites and her agility. In all honesty you thought she was there to kill you but surprisingly she let you go, brought you to America, introduced you to Valentina who immediately wanted you to work for her as well. You said no.

“What’s his name?” Yelena had walked over to your new shire horse, patting him as he nuzzled his giant head into her neck. You looked on with a bit of jealousy as it took him a while to warm up to you yet here he is falling in love with Yelena. 

“His name is Arion. But I’m thinking of calling him Traitor.” The smile that comes to Yelena’s face is enough to brighten your mood. 

“Aww green is not a good color for you, dorogoy.  Don’t worry there is plenty of me to go around.” You tried not to react to the cheeky wink she sent towards you by changing the subject. 

“What was it this time?” The silence was enough to tell you it was a bad one. Yelena took a deep breath before making her way towards you, still keeping her head down. You meet her in the middle, pulling her into your arms by her waist as you lean down a bit, her head just barely reaching your neck. You held onto her tight, hoping to pour in how much you cared for her with just a simple hug. Then you heard her sniffle, making you start to pull away to look her in her eyes but she just held onto you tighter. 

“I’m going to quit.” You paused at first, not knowing what to say. She would never really tell you what would happen on these missions but you could only imagine after the state she would be in when she would come visit. 

“...Well it looks like Arion will be your horse then.” She finally let go of you to flash a watery smile before frowning.

“I’m serious, I’m going to tell Valentina I can’t do it anymore.” Honestly you believed her. It was like the weight of the world was always hanging on her shoulders and you couldn’t feel more relieved. But why was there a pit in your stomach as she told you she was going to call Valentina later on.

-

That night you had celebrated with Yelena as if it was a ‘retirement’ party. You cooked dinner for her and even made her pie and put a candle in it, telling her to make a wish. You regretted it though because as soon as she blew out the candle, her phone rang. Valentina was calling her. She left again, with a promise that this was the last mission. You didn’t even try to fight her on it, just asked her to be careful like you always do. 

Hours later you get a call from an unknown number. Before you could even say anything, a man with a heavy Russian accent was telling you that Yelena was in danger and needed your help. So that’s how you found yourself stuck in the back of a limo on the way to Utah with a man belting out ‘Poker Face’ by Lady Gaga while you were trying to sleep. You knew you should’ve asked more questions but wanting to make sure Yelena was safe triumphed over everything. 

Next thing you know, you were waking up to the sound of the horn blaring and Alexei yelling out for you to wake up when he skidded the limo to a stop, making you fall to the floor, face first into trash. 

“Yelenaaa! It’s your dadddd!”

You didn’t listen to the rest of what was said as you peeled off a piece of old pizza and a sock with 3 different odors off the back of your suit. The limo door opened just as you were about to, making you fall right out onto the hard concrete. 

“Fuckk.” 

“Oh who the hell is this? Another washed up wanna-be?” 

“Oh I know the fucking Reject Captain America isn’t talking.” Yelena pulled you up off of the ground while her and the Ghost were laughing at your comment. You only knew who she was from hearing the briefing Valentina gave Yelena while she was at your place. 

“Haha whatever, can we go now?” 

You all piled into the limo, hoping to outrun Valentina’s army but luck was not on your side as you all could see a military convoy in the rearview. You start to worry as Ghost isn’t able to use her powers to help with the convoy and facepalm as Alexei triggers the limo’s sexy time song to play. 

Deciding it was time to help, you move to the other side of the limo before kicking off the seats and into the door, snatching it off as you barrel roll into the dirt. Standing up, you dust yourself off, still grasping onto the limo door while you walk back into the street as the military convoy comes barreling toward you. You hear the sound of tires screeching behind you but you pay no mind as you take off running to the convoy. They don’t stop as they see you and you don’t either as you leap into the air, leaping higher than any human can, and spinning before throwing the door with so much force, as it imbedded the hood of the first humvee, it flips. 

 As you start to come down, the second humvee aims its gun at you and starts shooting but you just let out a yell as you release a set of black wings with blue tips from your back, releasing an array of feathers that slide to the undercarriage and slice upward to the top of the convoy, making it explode. 

The third humvee suddenly flips before you have a chance to attack it. You make out a silhouette of a man through the smoke and you go to fly down but suddenly you are hit with an explosive, making you pass out. 

Next thing you knew, you were waking up in chains trying to figure out where you were and why the Winter Soldier was holding you hostage but Yelena explained everything and tried to convince you to join them in stopping Valentina from using someone named Bob. You were hesitant but you agreed after seeing how important it was to her. 

-

You guys got your asses handed to you. ‘Sentry’ broke one of your wings and it was hell for you to retract it back. Then it got worse as he started to take everyone into the Void. You all were trying to get away to safety or you thought you were when you heard Alexei scream out.

 “Wait! Yelena!” You whipped around to see Yelena standing in the middle of the road, facing the incoming darkness. You tried to hurry to her, but you were stopped by John pulling you back. “No, no, Yelena!”

You kicked at John’s knee, making him fall back and you took off running, not caring about what happens to you in the process. You barely made it but you were able to rest your fingertips against her shoulder and followed her into the Void.

-

After ‘Sentry’ almost took over New York and you all came out the other side, Valentina tried to rebrand you all as the New Avengers. You left right on the spot. You knew this life wasn’t for you but what you hadn’t expected was Yelena to follow you. It was a complete shock as she showed up at your door 2 days later with a duffle bag over her shoulder and Fanny at her feet. You asked her why she left, why she gave up the chance for something new.

“I promised you that it was my last mission.” She shrugged her shoulders as if it was no big deal but you shot her an incredulous look as if she didn’t just give up something so huge for her all for a silly little promise that you didn’t believe in the first place. So you pestered her for a real answer until she finally gave it up.

“...You are more important to me.”

You could see the timidness in her eyes from that statement, the fear of your rejection but you just smiled brightly at her. You reached out, placing both of your hands on the sides of her face and placed a soft kiss onto her lips.

“I love you, Yelena.” You whispered against her lips. You watched as tears started to form in her eyes.

“I love you too.”

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

WHATCHA DOING- M. MURDOCK

day twenty six of the june bug masterlist

pairing: ex- boyfriend! matt murdock x fem! reader (fake dating)

word count: 3.7k

summary: your distant cousin invites you and your ex-boyfriend matt to her wedding, under the impression the two of you are still together. wanting to keep the peace, you decide to invite him with you as your "fake" partner, in hopes it can rekindle the flame.

warnings: SMUT, praise kink, petnames, choking, flirting, sexual tension, fake dating trope!, kissing/ making out, mentions of alcohol, swearing

 “whatcha doin' to me, baby? i’m scared to death/ that you might be the one to change me, you're in my head/ and now you're cloudin' my decisions, got me headin' for collision…”- whatcha doing, dua lipa

 The corner of the envelope dug into your skin as you grasped the thick material, scanning over the fancy cursive, in bright red ink.

A smudge on your name, making it appear as if it was blood.

A scarlet letter.

Matt’s name next to yours was something you hadn't seen in months. It was as if time had stopped for a second, and you were no longer in a rush to scramble out of your work clothes and to pour a glass of wine.

It had been a long, tiring day at the office, the piles of papers seeming to stack so high they’d topple over with a single touch. It was dark when you entered those clear, revolving doors, and it was dark when you left them for the rush and bustle of the city's nightlife.

But the day had slipped out of reach as you saw your name next to your ex-boyfriends from your cousin.

It had been months since you and Matt were together, and you had tried so hard to put that past you. Things had ended on decent terms. No fall outs, no vicious fights or nasty words shouted. Things had just… disappeared.

Long, lonely nights became too much for you to bear. Now they were your typical nights.

Your cousin couldn't have known, of course.

You barely spoke to her, as she lived hours upon hours away- both of you too wrapped up with work and your own lives to make time to talk. But here her name was, on an envelope- containing a wedding invitation.

The words “You’re Invited” seemed to stare back at you, permanently etched onto your eyeballs.

Of course you would go, it only seemed right to support Hannah. She was your family, after all- and you were sure she would do the same for you…

Thoughts of what you and Matt could’ve been swirled around in your mind, covered by a translucent white wedding veil.

No. No, this was not about you- this was about her. You would do this for her, no matter how painful it was.

You took a deep breath, tossing the paper to the side. You’d deal with this later. Now, you just needed a hot, hot shower and sleep. Forget the wine. All you wanted was your head against your soft pillow as soon as possible.

As you trudged to the bathroom, all you could think of was Matt. How would you possibly explain this to him? Or your cousin? You were sure you could send her a letter back explaining everything… but… did you really want to?

You missed Matt more than anything.

This was… an opportunity.

An excuse, if you will- to see him again.

Did you really want to let that slip through your fingers?

You peeled your clothes off, running a hand through your hair as you stared at yourself in the mirror which had started to fog up, hot water running from the showerhead. It was so hot it burned as you stepped under the trickling water, and you let it.

You were stumped on what to do. At least that's what you told yourself as you let the steam scorch your skin, washing yourself with lavender soap.

But no amount of soap could wash away the memories of Matt Murdock, even as they spun down the drain.

·•—–٠✤٠—–•· ·•—–٠✤٠—–•· ·•—–٠✤٠—–•·

Listen, I need your help with something. I know it's been months since we’ve really talked, and we aren't together anymore but you  said if I needed anything to call or get you so here I am, at your law firm.

You almost laughed out loud at how stupid that sounded. Here you were, on your way to Matt's office on a Friday afternoon, practically about to get on your knees and beg like a whining puppy. You didn't want to call him and ask, that seemed too… fake.

You had been together for three years, the least you could do was ask him to be your fake boyfriend/ date to this wedding in person. You owed him that much.

Unless he wanted nothing to do with you anymore. Then the phone call would be better, the rejection wouldn't be visible on his face and it wouldn't cut as deep.

It was too late now. You were nearly at his firm, nothing with you but your purse, and the invitation. Your pride and dignity was left at home. You felt yourself start to slow, taking a deep breath as you turned the corner to a street you knew all so well.

It had been a while since you had been around this area of the city. But it was as if you had never left. Nelson and Murdock reflected in the sunlight, the gold freshly polished, catching your eye. A contrast against the bright red brick, just like the envelope.

You were tired of red. All it reminded you of was Matt.

You yanked open the door, the lock seeming faulty as you struggled to twist it open. It was cold as you entered, the air on full blast- the walls in the hallway empty, and plain white. Your heels clicked against the tile floors past the empty offices before finally reaching theirs.

It had been months since you had seen Foggy or Karen, and you hoped they were there. Just because you and Matt were not speaking as much didn't mean you had to have a falling out with your mutual friends. It was just a lot more difficult when they were so far and worked with your ex.

You finally reached their office, ignoring the ‘Back in Thirity Minitues’ sign draped over the handle. From what you remembered, they usually had their lunch break here.

“Oh I’m sorry we’re just on bre-” She paused, realization coming across her features as you walked in.

“Y/N! Ohmygosh!” You smiled as Karen skipped over for a hug, gripping you tightly, swaying you back and forth.

“Its so good to see you again!”

“Its been so long. I’ve missed you.” you smiled, squeezing her hands as she entangled them with yours, squeezing them back. She looked well and happy, cheeks a rosey tint, smile bright on her face.

You really did miss Karen. She was always so kind to you, even when you and Matt had split.

“Is Matt here?” you asked, and her smile faltered.

“Yeah, just in his office. Why, is everything okay? I mean I figured you were here to see him but ya know, you havent been here since things..”

“I’m okay, really. I just need to speak with him. Do you think he’d be okay with me coming in?”

She nodded. “Of course! Just go back and knock.”

You thanked her, sending a wave to Foggy through his opened door, his legs crossed up on his desk. You took a deep breath, hand resting on the doorhandle. You knew Matt could hear your uneven breaths, and he knew you were here.

If anything, it made you more nervous.

You rattled your knuckles against the wood, poking the door open a sliver. “Matt? Can I come in?” you asked softly, and he poked his head up from his papers, his fingers leaving the braille.

“Y/N. I was waiting for you.” he smiled softly, that boyish grin so familiar to you.

You missed it. You slipped through the crack, shutting the door softly behind you.

“You were?”

“Well yes, your anxious pacing down the hall could probably be heard down the block.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Hardy har. Very funny Murdock.”

He smiled, rubbing his hand through his hair. “How've you been?” he asked, all teasing dropped from his voice. You sighed, letting out a gentle laugh. That was a loaded question.

“I’ve been okay. Just.. ya know.”

His eyebrow raised. You sighed, sitting down in the chair across from him.

“My cousin is getting married soon, Hannah- you know, you’ve met her. And she sent us an invitation.”

“Us?”

You anxiously fiddled with your fingers, wringing them out. “Yeah… she didn't know we broke up. And she sent an invitation to both of us, and I just don't wanna trouble her with everything, and make things more difficult than they need to be.” you mumbled.

“Understandable.” he said, tilting his head. You didn't know if he knew where this was going or not. Hesitant to go on you cleared your throat anxiously.

“Well, I was wondering… could you maybe be my fake date to the wedding?”

He laughed. “Fake date? Of course princess. I think I’ve had some practice with that.”

“You- you mean you’ll do it? Seriously?”

You let out a small sigh of relief. Jesus. Okay, this wasn't going as bad as you thought it would.

“Course I will. Is there an open bar?”

“Yes. At least I think so.”

He nodded, extending his hand out for you to shake. “Then I’m there. It’s a deal.”

You gripped his hand, the skin slightly caloused and rough against your soft skin, but he was so warm compared to your chilled body. You savoured the warmth as he took your hand and brought it to his lips, planting a little kiss to your knuckles.

“A deal. Thank you Matt, seriously. It really means a lot.”

“I told you you could ask for my help anytime, for anything did I not? I still care about you, Y/N.”

Yeah, but not the way I want you to care about me, you thought- clinging to the ghost of the past as his hand brushed yours. Your skin prickled with little needles as you slipped it back in your lap, replacing his touch with your own to self soothe.

“I know.” was all you could slip out meekly, biting your lip hard enough until you tasted coper.

“Just call sometime and tell me the details okay? I think I’ll have the hang of pretending to be your boyfriend. Past experience and what not, it's already on the resume.”

You couldn't help but giggle at his remark, so overcome with relief you felt slightly dizzy as you stood, a foot already out the door before you could muster a goodbye and another thank you.

Okay, so this was really happening. Matt was going to the wedding with you, as your boyfriend.

Your fake boyfriend.

·•—–٠✤٠—–•··•—–٠✤٠—–•··•—–٠✤٠—–•·

You stared at yourself in the mirror, the dim, yellow hotel lighting making you look almost sickley.

You felt sick.

You felt like your entire breakfast was going to come back up and out of you, all over the reflective surface.

You didn't know if you could handle Matt's touches and looks towards you when others stared, knowing deep down it wasn't real. But you had asked him- for Christ's sake to do this. You had to pull yourself together.

You brushed the anxiety to the side, trying to push down the nausea as you pulled up your dress. It fit perfectly, and you couldn't help but feel a smidge proud of yourself for how well it suited you. There was just one little problem.

“Matt?”

You stepped out of the bathroom, clutching your dress. His head turned to the sound of your voice as he sat on the end of the hotel bed, waiting for you.

“Could you um… help me zip up this dress?” you asked, wincing slightly at how coupley it felt.

He smiled, fingers curling- indicating to come over to him. He stood as you turned in front of him, breath hitching as he stood, towering over you, fingers tracing your curves before the bare skin of your lower back to find the zipper.

You sucked in a breath as he took his sweet time, slowly inching the zipper up until it was done up.

You didn't move. He took a deep inhale, as if trying to ground himself before mumbling in your ear.

“You smell really, really delicious.”

You reached for your clutch, then froze. And yet, he acted like nothing had happened.

“Shall we go?” he asked, placing his hands on your shoulders tenderly as he slipped by, off to the door with ease.

Like this was second nature to him.

·•—–٠✤٠—–•··•—–٠✤٠—–•··•—–٠✤٠—–•·

No amount of champagne could dull the thudding of your heart each time Matt touched you.

Which was a lot.

Always near you, a hand resting on your wrist as you sat at dinner, chatting with extended family- feeling your thumping pulse. An arm wrapped around your middle whenever you stood off to the side- giving you a little squeeze. He hadn't been so bold as to kiss you- but you wouldn't put it past him.

You had to give credit where credit was due- he was playing the shit out of this role. And the worst part? It didn't even feel like he was acting. It was as if the two of you had never changed. The dynamic was the same- from the way you looked at him- to the way his body seemed to mold perfectly next to yours.

And you couldn't even get upset at him for acting this well- because you had asked him to do this.

You had asked him to break your heart all over again, because it was a glimpse into the past, and the future. What could've been. You had placed that burden on yourself- letting yourself get pulled into this fantasy, this make believe that a spark was still engited. Despite it being a happy day, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment that things hadnt worked out between you and Matt.

This had just solidified the pain.

Maybe this was a stupid idea, you thought, nursing another glass of bubbly in the corner, sulking in the shadows.

Matt had disappeared to god knows where- which was good, it gave you time to be trapped with your thoughts as punishment. But before you could get too wrapped up in the chain of regrets, a hand brushed your lower back, just barely grazing your ass.

“You okay sweetheart?”

He had appeared as if he had heard your thoughts screaming for him telepathically. You hated him, for how well he could read you.

“I’m fine.”

He raised an eyebrow. “No, you’re not. You forget that I know you.”

“I know you know me.” you snapped, instantly regretting your harsh tone. “Sorry, fuck. I’m really sorry Matt I didn't mean to snap. Its just been a long day, and still is going to be a long night, I’m just tired and a little intoxicated, my feet hurt and- now I’m rambling arent I?”

He chuckled, giving your ass a little reasurring pat, feeling pairs of eyes on you two. You sucked in a breath, hating yourself for how much the simple flirtaous touch effected you.

“Go on sweetheart. Act like no ones watching us, yeah?”

You nodded, sighing before you took another sip of your drink. “I just- I kinda regret inviting you. Honestly.”

“Am I not doing good? Shit I’m sorry Y/N I thought things were going well-”

“No, no its not that. I guess I’m just, not handling this as well as I thought I could. And I’m honestly, a little bit jealous of Hannah. Which is such an awful thing to say, especially today.”

You shrugged, chugging back the rest of your glass. You felt his thumb start to rub your back soothingly, feeling the emotions bubble to the top.

You savoured it. There was a part of you that just wanted to say fuck it, and give up all control around him. He was dangerous, in that way. All decisions were clouded- as if you were speeding on a highway in nothing but fog.

Perfect for collisions.

Surely, he had to know what he was doing. He was being too perfect. And you desperately craved to find something wrong- and it worried you that you couldnt. Matt Murdock still had your heart captured, held between his fingers.

All he had to do was squeeze.

“Its not awful to say. And I get it, its weird to be here, us- together but Y/N… I’m really happy to be with you again. I’ve missed you. And I’m so, so honoured you asked me to come.”

You froze. “You missed me?”

He nodded, shrugging, as if it was the most obvious thing in the whole wide world. “Who wouldnt?”

That made you flustered. “I-I um… I missed you too Matt. A lot. I’m glad you feel the same.”

He smiled, that charming, handsome smile that sucked you in over three years ago, leaving the same warmth in your chest.

“Shall we dance? To escape your aunt who is rounding the corner as we speak?”

Not wanting to listen to her ramble on for thirty minutes, getting you both caught up in the cross-fire, you set down your empty glass and followed him onto the dancefloor.

Hands free, and heart soaring with hope at the idea maybe, just maybe- this was a good idea afterall.

·•—–٠✤٠—–•··•—–٠✤٠—–•··•—–٠✤٠—–•·

You wanted to scream at him.

What are you doing to me?!

His hands wandered, whether it was for show or sincere, you couldn't tell. But they were everywhere. On your hips, on your ass, stroking his fingers delicately up your bare arm, caressing your skin softly as they captured your jaw.

It was intoxicating.

You couldn't help but laugh at his ridiculously jokes, following him by the arm as he went and got more drinks for the two of you. It wasn't long before the night had gotten the best of you. Now you were screaming at him.

For different reasons.

“F-fuck Matt-” you moaned, clutching the marble vanity as he fucked you from behind. It hadn’t taken much longer before slow teasing kisses on the sides of the ballroom turned into hauling him into some rich, fancy bathroom.

You prayed the music was too loud for anyone to hear you if they walked by. But you couldn't control your noises. He felt too good. And he didn't you want you to control them either.

“Yeah sweetheart you keep making those pretty noises. I’ve missed them. And I’ve missed her- that sweet little pussy of yours that fits me just right. Like you were made for me.”

Your eyes rolled back at his filthy praises, thrusting in deeper as he hiked your dress skirt around your hips. You clung for dear life, the counter practically imprinting your palms as he showed you no mercy.

And you loved it.

You prayed to every god he would come undone, be the needy, desperate, controlling man you loved so dearly between your sheets before. That, it seems, had never left.

“You know that sweetheart? Couldnt fuck anyone else after you. This pussy is too fuckin good. Thought of her everynight with my hand around my cock.”

“Mhmm missed you s’much baby..” you panted, watching the way your tits bounced against the restraint of your dress, your lipstick smudged from when he had hoisted you up against the locked bathroom door and ravaged them like a man starved.

“I know. I know sweetheart just- fuck- just like that. Doing so good for me.” he praised, hand wrapping around your neck, squeezing it gently, just the way you liked- guiding you to arch even further as he kissed you.

Broken moans were swallowed by his tongue- the music outside cranked even louder.

Fuck. You prayed no one was looking for the two of you right now. In fact, after this- you’d find a way to sneak away with Matt- to who knows where, just to get another taste.

“Matt- Matty I’m gonna cum-”

“I can feel ya honey, s’okay. Just let go for me, I got you. I always got you.”

A kiss was planted to the top of your head, so gentle and loving it nearly sent a tear dripping down your cheek. You hadn't realized just how much you had missed him, not only his touch but the way his words, and the way he just… understood. It was like some patched hole in your heart had been fully healed, hearing his praise.

And it was wrong, and you prided yourself on your independence. But you'd do anything to crawl back to him. And it seemed he was right there, down to crawl and meet you there.

You came around him with a cry, legs quivering slightly as he held you up with ease. Your head was so foggy you could barely even register his praises- sounding like they were coming from above the surface of the sea.

Sweet whispers of I got you baby, or You did so good honey, gonna cum inside okay? N’fill you up? Sounded like sweet melodies, and you nodded absent mindley as he filled you up to the brim, the warmth coating your insides.

“Matt- t-thank you.” you whispered as he slowly slipped out, planting a sweet kiss to your shoulder as his cum spilled down your inner thighs.

“Why are you thanking me honey?” he asked softly, grabbing some paper towels to try and clean you up the best he could.

“For making me feel so loved.”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek and he froze, a concerned crease in his forehead as he spun you around, wiping the salty tear with a thumb, letting it slowly rub coaxing circles on your cheek.

“I’ve never stopped loving you sweetheart. I’m so, so sorry it had to be the way it did.”

You nodded, your lashes fluttering against your cheek as he pulled you in close, supporting your weight, your burdens, your fears as he held you to his chest. Letting you get out everything you needed to- no words spoken, just silent tears as your hands found their way to his suit jacket, fidgeting with the fabric.

“You wanna get out of here and feel loved some more?” he murmured, planting another kiss to the top of your head as he started to sway you side to side, like a rocking horse. Just as he used to do, when you were barefoot in the kitchen, in nothing but his t-shirt, slow dancing in the moonlight.

It was so calming you almost felt yourself drifting off against his beating heart, before you fully registered his words. Let yourself smile, and wipe away the tears.

“You really can read me, Murdock.”

[perkypeony]

Hellooooo! Would you do a Umemiya x reader, where they are in a cozy moment after a fight? Maybe reader helps him taking a bath and washing his hair (I love him with the hair down omg), I don’t know, I think he’s gonna be a really sweet clingy boyfriend, he is so cute!!! He then falls asleep in her lap on the sofa */////*

Thank you for taking requests!!!!

Yeah ume definitely the sweet n clingy type!!! Btw thanks for requesting 😆

ℂ𝕆ℤ𝕐 𝕃𝕀𝕋𝕋𝕃𝔼 𝕄𝕆𝕄𝔼ℕ𝕋𝕊

You were just about to binge-watch an anime you’d been saving all week when a sudden knock tapped against your window. Again.

You paused the opening theme and got up with a sigh.

“Hajime?” you asked as you pulled the curtain aside.

Sure enough, there he was. Standing just outside your window, hair a little windblown, a bruise forming near his cheekbone and his clothes messy in a way that could only mean one thing.

“Baby,” he said with a grin, pressing his hand to the glass like a kicked puppy, “open the window. Don’t you miss me?”

You rolled your eyes but unlatched the window anyway. “Why do you always come here after a fight?”

He climbed in, grinning wider when you helped steady him. “Because you once said you like patching me up and taking care of me, remember?”

“That’s probably in your dreams,” you sighed, brushing some dirt off his Furin jacket. “Let’s get you clean first.”

You took his hand, warm and familiar in yours, and tugged him gently toward the bathroom.

Steam quickly began to fog the mirror as you adjusted the water to the right temperature. Hajime peeled off his uniform, revealing scrapes and faint bruises across his shoulder and chest. Your lips pressed into a thin line.

“You really don’t hold back, huh?”

“It’s not that bad,” he said casually, stepping into the shower stall and sitting on the little stool you kept in the corner.

“Yeah, yeah.” You knelt beside him with the shampoo, squeezing a small amount into your hands before running your fingers through his tangled hair. “Tilt your head.”

The moment your fingertips touched his scalp, he sighed. The tension in his shoulders slowly loosened as you gently massaged the shampoo into his hair. Rinsing it with warm water, you worked silently and for once, so did he.

“You’ve got magic hands,” he mumbled.

“You’ve said that a thousand times already.”

“And I’ll keep saying it.”

Once his hair was clean and soft again, you helped him towel off and threw one of his hoodies that you’d borrowed over his head — it smelled freshly of your detergent and sunlight.

You both settled back in your bedroom, lights dimmed, blanket tossed over both of you as you cuddled him. You knew he was getting comfortable when he yawned as the anime resumed, his damp hair brushing your cheek, the scent of your shampoo clinging to him now.

“Don’t fall asleep yet,” you warned as the episode started. “You said you’d watch this with me.”

“I’m not sleepy,” he said, then yawned again. “Just resting my eyes.”

You smiled, running your fingers gently through his hair. Within minutes, you felt his breathing even out, his hand resting over yours.

He was fast asleep. And he snored too, but he looked so peaceful you couldn't bring yourself to be annoyed.

You didn’t bother waking him. You stayed still, eyes on the screen, but your heart on the boy curled in your arms. Maybe he always came here after a fight because he liked being taken care of.

Or maybe, deep down, he just liked having a place where he could rest and be vulnerable without being judged.

And you were happy to be that place for him.

[lvsrckk]

birthday curls

||*. birthday! girl x percy jackson

warnings: none!

summary: it’s your birthday at camp halfblood, and your hair’s a disaster. until you run to percy’s cabin with a curling wand and a plea.

a/n: hiii guys! my first percy fic ever! hope i did him a little justice ;)

your birthday party was in less than an hour, and you were dangerously close to throwing your curling wand out the window of cabin 3.

“okay,” you grumbled, holding it like a dagger as you flopped onto percy’s bed, “either this thing hates me, or i was just never meant to curl my hair.”

percy looked up from his dresser, where he’d been folding a crumpled camp halfblood tee. “you good?”

“no.” you sat up with a pout, the wand in one hand and your tangled hair in the other. “my arms are tired, my curls are flat, and i’m about to cry. i’m suffering. severely.”

he walked over with a teasing smile. “you’ve faced monsters. i think you can survive a curling iron.”

you gave him a look. “easy for you to say, seaweed brain. your hair just naturally looks like that.”

percy chuckled. “so what do you want me to do? fight the curling wand for you?”

“no,” you said slowly, holding it out to him with wide, pleading eyes. “i want you to curl it.”

he blinked. “you want me to do what?”

“please? for my birthday?” you asked sweetly. “you’ve got good hands. i’ve seen you braid annabeth’s hair. you untangled mine on that quest a couple months ago.” you said ever so distastefully.

you loved annabeth like a sister. however when you first began dating percy, you became ever so slightly jealous of their friendship.

he groaned softly. “you’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“nope.”

he hesitated, glancing between you and the wand. then he sighed dramatically, plugging it in. “fine. but if i set your hair on fire, it’s your fault.”

you beamed and dragged a chair over. “you’re the best.”

he grumbled something under his breath but sat behind you, gathering a section of your hair like gently between his fingers as if he were scared to break you. his hands were warm and surprisingly gentle, his fingers brushing the back of your neck as he carefully wrapped the first piece around the barrel.

you shivered. not from the temperature particularly, but from the feeling of your boyfriends hands grazing the nape of your neck.

“this okay?” he murmured, closer than he’d been a moment ago.

“yeah,” you breathed. ��perfect.”

he kept going, curl after curl, his knuckles grazing your cheek now and then, his breath fanning across your shoulder as he leaned forward to concentrate. his lip was tucked between his teeth, which you thought was the most adorable thing ever.

you sat as still as possible. the cabin smelled like sea breeze, strawberry shampoo, and most of all, percy.

clean cotton and salt water.

“you’re really good at this,” you whispered.

“i’m basically a hair stylist now,” he said with a grin. “percy jackson: slayer of monsters, tamer of frizz.”

you laughed, and he paused to smile, the expression small but full of something warm.

when he finished the last curl, he gently ran his fingers through the ends to soften them. then he reached up and tucked one behind your ear, letting his hand linger just a second longer than necessary.

“you look…” he said softly, eyes meeting yours in the mirror. “wow.”

you turned slightly to face him, your knees brushing his. “you think so?”

he gave a soft, breathy laugh, eyes flicking to your lips. “i know so.”

the tension between you shifted. you were close. really close. and you were both very aware of it.

your voice dropped. “this might be the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

percy tilted his head. “curling your hair?”

you leaned in just a little, your breath catching. “curling my hair. sitting with me. smiling at me like that.”

his gaze dropped to your mouth, then back to your eyes. “you’re kind of ruining me right now.”

you were almost 100% sure he could hear your heart beat. “good.”

and then, finally, percy surged forward, his hand slipping to your cheek as he kissed you, soft at first, then deeper. his other hand dropped to your waist, pulling you closer as you curled your fingers into his t-shirt.

the kiss was warm and messy, a little desperate, like you’d both been waiting too long. his mouth moved against yours with a tenderness that made your stomach flip and a hunger that made your knees weak, even though you were sitting down. you let out the smallest sound, and he groaned against your lips like it drove him crazy.

you barely noticed that the curling wand was still warm on the table beside you.

when you finally broke apart, you stayed close, his forehead resting against yours, your noses brushing.

“best birthday ever,” you whispered, completely in a daze.

he laughed, low and sweet. “that good, huh?”

you smiled, trailing your fingers along his jaw. “i guess you’re just a really good kisser. i’m going to need, like, ten minutes before i can function again.”

percy grinned, his thumb brushing your lower lip. “we could skip the party…”

you narrowed your eyes playfully. “and miss the terribly burnt and horribly frosted blue cake you made for me? absolutely not.”

he pressed a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth. “then let’s go show everyone how insanely hot you look.”

you stood, smoothing your outfit, a baby pink v neck dress that stops just above your knees, then turned to look at him, hair bouncing in soft curls. “so this is a thing now?”

“i hope so,” percy said, reaching for your hand. “because if not, i just got very emotionally attached to a curling wand for nothing.”

you laughed and laced your fingers through his. “you’re ridiculous.”

he kissed your knuckles. “i’m yours.”

a/n pt 2: i hope this was good! i’m sorry if percy is slightly ooc :( and also absolutely no annabeth shade, that’s my girl

[kelsunnie]

What Isn't Said (Deltarune Kris X Reader)

HI GUYS LONG TIME NO SEE I'M VERY SORRY FOR THE DELAY BUTBUT FINALLY ITS HERE AND DONT WORRY CHAPTER 4 IS IN THE WORKS IM LITERALLY WRITING IT RIGHT NOW AS WE SPEAK FOR NOW ENJOY THIS ONE LOVE U ALL

Chapter 3: A CYBER'S WORLD?

Kris and Susie instinctively pull out their weapons, with Kris’ being a sharp sword and Susie’s, as you’ve seen before, is an axe. You thought that their weapons fit their personalities, but it made you wonder about the grappling hook. You didn’t even know when and how to use it properly, and you’d hate to use it to hurt anyone.

“Wait! Why are we fighting them? Shouldn’t we, like, maybe… help them?” You tried to reason with the two.

“Well, yeah, dingus. We’re gonna do that,” Susie shot back, gripping her axe, “We just have to figure out how first.” 

You swallowed hard, glancing between the sparking creature and your friends. “Okay… okay. Think,” you stared at the scenario around you, trying to piece together something that could help ease both sides. 

And then—

“… Susie, throw me.” Kris’ voice cut through the tension, low and flat. Their eyes didn’t meet you or Susie, but their voice sounded determined and rushed, like they were trying to finish things up quickly, which you don’t really blame them for. 

“WHAT?!”

Susie hesitated for half a second, then let out a low chuckle. “Man, you’re weird. But hey—whatever gets it done.”

“No, wait! What??? Obviously, don’t! They’re gonna get hurt!”

“Okay, suuure, but do you have any ideas? Maybe throwing Kris at the enemy will help,” 

“Well…” 

“… The wire. Throw me near the wires.” 

“No no no wait. Wait a second. Okay,” you gestured for them to wait, hand on your head, “Okay, I get what you’re trying to do now.” You ran a hand through your hair, trying to calm the panic in your chest.

For the briefest second, you thought you saw it — the faintest curl at the corner of Kris’s mouth. A smile. But it was gone too fast to be sure.

“I have an idea.”

You raised the grappling hook, gripping it tighter, “Let me try something. I can maybe hook the wires—pull them loose, cut the power. We won’t have to hurt Kris at all.”

Susie stared at you, then gave you a smirk, shrugging, “Huh. Alright, nerd. Let’s see what you got.”

You took a deep breath, and with all your strength, swung the grappling hook towards the Werewires in a curved manner. 

“Please, don’t hit them…!” you whispered to yourself, anxiety creeping up on your back, scared of your hook hitting the Werewires. The hook sails in the air as it gets smaller in your point of view, until you can see it reach near the Werewires, quickly pulling it slightly to help make the rope wrap around the wires. The grappling hook obeyed, catching hold, but only snaring one of the cords. Once the rope of the hook clung hard enough, you yanked it. The wire trembled, then snapped loose from the Werewires’ body, falling harmlessly to the ground.

“Damn, I only got one,” you cursed through your breath, frustration bubbling in your chest, “Think you guys can handle the other one?”

“On it!” Susie smirked, glancing at Kris for a plan.

Kris stepped up behind her, cool and focused, resting their arms on either side of them as if bracing for takeoff.

“Alright, then, you weirdo,” Susie grabs Kris by the waist, holding their blue-skinned friend from above while waiting for Kris’ signal.

“Go,” Kris steadily commanded Susie.

“Kris!” You cried, panic rising in your voice.

With barely a heartbeat to spare, Kris drew their blade mid air, slashing cleanly at the wire. Sparks flew as the wire snapped loose, unraveling from the Werewire’s body before dropping to the ground with a thud.

“Are you both crazy?!” You barked, breathless from the sight.

Neither of them answered at first—Kris adjusting their stance calmly and Susei brushing off her hands like it was nothing.

“Throwing Kris aside,” Susie came up to you, face looking smug, “We make a pretty good team.”

“… I can’t deny that,” you exhaled, shoulders still tense, “But that was reckless. What if Kris got hurt?” 

Susie shrugged, “Well, they’re not, aren’t they?”

“I’m not.” Kris answered, their voice steady.

“… That’s good to hear,” you muttered, relief finally washing over your body.

“Well, it was nice fighting after so long!” Susie faced Kris, eyes glinting with excitement, “Now let’s go catch up to Queen!”

Suddenly, a couple wires dropped from above, hitting the previous pink creatures, transforming them into the Werewires you recently fought.

“… Or not!” All of you quickly readied yourselves, 

Until the two Werewires dropped on the ground, as if they fell asleep, the power cords no longer attached and fell on the empty space.

“Huh? They calmed down?”

“I just used my PACIFY spell to put them into “Sleep Mode”!” came a cheerful voice from behind.

“Ralsei! You’re here!”

Ralsei? you thought to yourself. You turned to the unfamiliar but kind sounding voice and your eyes widened. The Ralsei they spoke of looked a lot like Asriel, except way shorter and softer, wrapped in green with a pink scarf. Your heart twisted a little. It shouldn’t have surprised you. After all, this world had already broken every rule of logic the moment you woke up alone in a strange outfit with a grappling hook in your hand. But still, seeing that face—the one you used to look up to like a big brother—made your chest ache in a way you weren’t prepared for.

You’re not him, you wanted to say. But you remind me of everything I’ve lost.

You quickly tried to compose yourself, shaking your head in an attempt to get rid of your thoughts about the new arrival’s physical appearance. 

“I felt a dark presence and hurried over!” Ralsei ran towards all of you, a cheerful smile plastered on his face, “I’m so glad you’re all okay.” 

His gaze shifted to you, soft and warm and he spoke your name, “I’ve been hoping to meet you.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Wait… how do you know my name?”

Ralsei beamed, the adorable goat looking extremely adorable in your eyes, “You’re the star that will mend the bonds!”

“Whaaaaaat?” You blurted out in disbelief, voice raising up to an octave, “This isn’t some game or something, right? I’m probably dreaming all of this, yeah. And what does that even mean?”

“Well, I can help you understand by telling you our history and prophecy!”

“Okay, I think that’ll—”

“BORING!” Susie suddenly groaned, cutting you off, “No more of your fairytale speeches, Fluffyboy. We’ve heard it all before.”

Ralsei flinched, his ears twitching, “But.. But they haven’t…”

“And if we stand around yappin’, Noelle’s gonna end up having her face be turned into a robot or whatever Queen’s got planned,” Susie added, crossing her arms with a loud huff.

You blinked between the two of them, still stunned, “Wait. What prophecy? What ‘star’ thing? What does this have to do with me?”

Ralsei looked apologetically toward you, his hands nervously wringing together, “I… I’ll explain everything soon. I promise.”

“So this isn’t some kind of dream?”

“We’ll talk about it after we save Noelle,” Susie turned around, walking ahead of you, “C’mon, she’s waiting. If we don't do something, she might be..."

You stood there for a second, reeling, glancing at Ralsei, whose worried but hopeful eyes stayed on you before forcing your feet to move. His eyes were gentle, but seemed to be clouded with something unspoken. Whatever he meant earlier still echoed in your head like a riddle half-whispered. The questions in your mind piled higher than ever, but for now, you had no choice but to follow and listen to their conversations. 

One of them will slip eventually. What is this place anyway? You thought with a quiet huff, scanning your surroundings.

“You’re pretty worried for someone you barely talk to,” you eyed your purple classmate, “No offense, but you’re kind of mean to everyone.”

“Well–!” Susie faltered, quickly crossing her arms and looking away, “No! I mean… she’s… nice… I guess. That’s all!”

Then, more defensively, she added, “Aren’t you supposed to be her friend? You’re just messing around in OUR Dark World!”

You blinked, stunned for a second. That stung more than you expected.

“... I didn’t ask to be dragged into this,” you muttered, your voice quieter but sharp, “but I’m not about to stand by and do nothing if Noelle’s in danger.” 

The group fell silent for a beat. You glanced at Kris, hoping for something—anything—but their face was unreadable, eyes distant like they were watching the scene from a step outside themselves. You felt a pang in your heart, thoughts rushing in your head like a dam that broke open—does Kris care about Noelle? Do they care about you? Do they care about your friendship? Their expression unsettled you more than you admitted.

You turned your gaze back to Susie, softening just a little, “I just want her safe, too. That’s all.”

Ralsei quickly stepped in, “Worry not, everyone! All we have to do is seal the Fountain!”

“… Yeah. Yeah! Can’t be mad about another adventure, right?!”

Dark World... Fountain... You echoed in your mind. Right. I’ll remember that. 

“C’mon, Kris!” Susie called out, already cracking her knuckles with anticipation. 

Then suddenly, they all turned at once, striking familiar poses—Ralsei smiling with his arms raised playfully, Susie’s hand on her hip while the other is curled into a loose fist near her chin, a smirk plastered on her face, and Kris… 

You stared for a beat too long. Kris had their arms crossed, their back facing you—silent, unmoving, like they were trying really hard to be mysterious.

“... Are you guys always this theatrical?” You blurted out before you could stop yourself.

No one answered. You blinked, the three of them still holding their respective poses.

“... Seriously?”

Ralsei giggled softly, “It’s tradition!”

You weren’t sure whether to laugh, sigh, or start walking away. Instead, you just muttered, “Okay… Sure. Pose break. Got it,” and reluctantly struck your own awkward stance, hoping no one was watching.

Susie smirked, “Not bad, nerd.”

Kris didn’t comment on your pose, but you thought—just maybe—you caught the tiniest twitch of a smile. Your cheeks burn from embarrassment, swearing to yourself over and over that you were never going to do that again.

“… Let’s go,” Kris said quietly, their voice echoing just enough to pull you all forward again.

Your group pressed on, footsteps rhythmically echoing around the unfamiliar space. Questions still lingered in your mind—about what Ralsei knew about you and the prophecy he was supposed to tell you. Susie seemed to know something about the prophecy, did Kris know about it, too? Did they know anything about you and your involvement? You glanced at the trio walking just ahead. Ralsei was humming a soft tune, his cape swaying with each bounce in his step. Susie was grumbling about “another detour” and “just wanting to hit something already.” And Kris—Kris remained unreadable, walking just slightly behind the others, silent as ever. Why didn’t they say anything back there? Why was it that you, of all people, were "the star that will mend the bonds"?

You sighed, scratching your head in frustration. There were too many questions, but too few answers. 

I guess I’ll wait for Ralsei’s explanation later.

The four of you head to a cliff with yellow arrows—something you were familiar with in this world. Without thinking, you moved first, stepping ahead to scout it, until a sudden tug at your shirt pulled you back. You turned in surprise.

Kris stood behind you, hand still gripping your clothes, “Long way down.”

You turned back to the cliff and almost immediately fear washed your entire body. One step closer and you would’ve been down there, laying flat. 

“… Thanks,” you whispered to your childhood friend, your pulse still hasn’t slowed.

“I’m going ahead, nerds,” Susie called, already sliding down the slope with a confident huff, “try not to fall off the cliff or whatever!”

Ralsei hesitated for a moment, glancing between the two of you, “I’ll make sure Susie doesn’t accidentally break anything… or anyone.” He offered a small, warm smile before following after her.

Their voices and footsteps faded. You and Kris were left in silence, a long pause. And then—

“... Hand,” Kris spoke up, their voice quiet but firm.

You blinked. They had extended their hand to you—calm, yet a little hesitant. Not demanding, but… waiting. You look up, meeting their crimson eyes. Something about the gesture made your chest ache a little. Their gaze felt familiar, unlike the ones observed from them just moments ago. You weren’t sure if it was the same person you’d been watching just minutes ago—the one who felt distant, cold, almost mechanical. Kris didn’t say anything else but continued on staring at your eyes, gaze unreadable but grounded. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and reached for their hand. Their grip was steady and surprisingly warm, making your heart beat a little faster than you’d like to admit. 

Hand in hand together, you both took the first step down. Sliding on a dangerously long slope while holding hands with your childhood friend in an unfamiliar place with robots and moving wires was certainly not your kind of supposed study session. Still, the warmth radiating on Kris’ hand and the comfort you’ve longed for all this time made the chaos feel… bearable. You tried not to think too hard about how tightly you were holding on—or how tightly they held back.

As you and Kris slid further down the slope, a blur of grey, gold, and booming bass erupted from above, matching you and Kris’ pace while sliding down.  A short, square-headed figure zipped into view, its body shaped like a living speaker, with wobbly wires as limbs and their speaker-looking head bobbing rhythmically. An 8-bit music groovy enough for you to bob your head mid-air was playing from its head… speaker. 

“Wait, Kris, who’s tha—” Before you could finish your sentence, something hit Kris. Not physically—but rhythmically. A glowing beat-shaped projectile slammed into their chest, knocking their balance off. Their grip on your hand tightened as they stumbled, pulling you slightly forward. You gasped, nearly toppling over yourself as you both continue falling. 

“You okay?” you yelled over the wind, hoping Kris could hear you, “Whoever that is, they better not be the one doing that!”

“... Yeah,” Kris gritted out, hand still gripping yours tight. Then softer, almost out of breath—“You’ll be okay.”

“Wha—?” You whipped your head toward them, heart racing, “What do you mean me? You’re the one who just got hit!”

But Kris didn’t answer. Their eyes were locked ahead—focused, sharp. Another rhythm-laced projectile lit up the air, pulsing toward you both. 

“… Duck!” they barked, and instinctively, you dropped low just as the beat whizzed past your head. Your body slid faster from the shift in weight, and Kris tugged you closer, using the momentum to steady you both. The air roared past your ears as you kept sliding, dodging glowing notes and gripping Kris’ hand like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Then finally, after a gruelling session of dodging and intense hand holding out of pure survival, your feet hit solid ground. You staggered forward, nearly collapsing, but Kris held on, pulling you upright. 

You gasped for breath, hair windswept, adrenaline still spiking in your veins. “Okay… that was not in the library’s afterschool plans.”

Ahead, the square-headed figure skidded into a pose, striking a confident pose as it flies, or hovers away. 

You looked at Kris, still catching your breath, “Okay. What is happening right now?”

Kris, still unusually calm, gave you a look that said: Welcome to the Dark World.

“Took you nerds long enough,” Susie shouted from the end of the slope, a toothy grin spread across her face, “C’mon, let’s go!”

You were about to speak out about what just happened when your eyes landed on the scenery in front of you. The sky was painted dark blue with a green web enclosing the whole space. Countless tall buildings emerged from below, a few of its lights shining bright enough for you to squint your eyes even if they were miles away. Everywhere you looked, it was all neons, metals, and technology, making for what you surmised was some kind of cybernetic city. A huge sign hovers near the pathway, the words ‘CYBER WORLD’ glowing in neon green. 

You took a step forward, feeling the cool metal beneath your footwear reverberate softly. “… This is where we are now?” you muttered, more to yourself than anyone.

“Welp. Cool, I guess?”

[fairydustttx]

How Does it Feel?

Carmy Berzatto x reader

“How does it feel that it's me and you? Just us two?”

A/N: Just a lil something in honour of season 4 of The Bear !!

Warnings: Angst & Carmy being a dickhead (but what’s new?). I have some details mixed up but that’s on purpose to fit da narrative :)

Wc: 1592

Summary: You return to the Bear for its grand reopening, reigniting long-buried tension with Carmy after a painful falling out.

THE PAST

The Bear was always hot, frantic, unforgiving — but Carmy Berzatto was even worse.

Everyone had been on edge for weeks. The grief, the mess, the broken pipes, the broken people — it was all too much. The kitchen was falling apart. So was he.

And this particular day, so were you.

You and Carmy had never put a label on it. There were too many other things burning for either of you to stop and define what you were. But you knew what it felt like: quiet moments in the walk-in, fingertips brushing when handing off plates, the occasional crash at his place after a double where you'd fall asleep fully clothed, then wake up with his hand on your back like it had always belonged there.

It wasn’t dating. But it wasn’t not.

It wasn’t love. But it was close enough to hurt like hell when it started to fade.

The tension had been building for weeks — bitter undercurrents, comments half-said and always too late, everything you did scrutinized under the weight of his grief. And yours.

Today, it cracked.

"Where's the fucking veal?" Carmy snapped, voice like a whip.

"I told you it needed another two minutes—"

"You told me five things and none of them fucking matter because the veal isn't up," he spat.

You clenched your jaw. "It's two minutes, Carm. You won't survive that?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize we were on your clock now."

You turned, ladle still in your hand, shoulders stiff. "Don't start with me."

"Start?" He laughed bitterly, shoving past Richie to get to the pass. "I've been starting every day cleaning up your half-assed prep and pretending like I don't notice you clock out the second you get the chance."

Your blood went cold. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he snapped. "You're checked out. You've been fucking gone since the second Mikey died. You show up, go through the motions, and act like we're all beneath you now."

Richie glanced over from expo. "Hey—cool it, both of you."

Neither of you listened.

Not anymore.

You laughed — sharp, disbelieving. “That’s rich, coming from you. I’ve been here. Every night. Every service. Picking up after your explosions and putting out fires you light just to see who sticks around to burn.”

“Don’t act like you’re a martyr.”

“Don’t act like you’re the only one who lost him!” you shouted. “I loved him too! He was my friend—he was family—”

“He was my brother,” Carmy bit out, stepping closer now, eyes dark and unforgiving. “Mine. Not yours. And guess what? He’s not coming back. So if you wanna go cry in the alley and feel sorry for yourself, be my guest — just don’t do it on my fucking line.”

You stopped breathing.

"You think I'm pathetic."

It wasn't a question.

And in his silence — that hollow, rage-blind stare — was your answer.

You could see it in his face: he didn’t mean to say it like that. But he didn’t take it back either.

So you snapped.

The ladle in your hand hit the tile with a loud clang. You grabbed the edge of your apron and ripped it over your head, the knot catching, yanking your hair before it gave. You threw it down with so much force it nearly knocked over a pan.

Everyone froze.

"I broke my fucking back for this place," you seethed, chest heaving. "For you. When Mikey died, when you came back here a mess of skin and bones and nightmares, I stayed. I fought for you when you wouldn't fight for yourself."

Carmy didn’t move.

The tears came up hot and fast behind your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not here. Not in front of Tina. Or Marcus. Or Sydney, who was watching you like she wasn’t sure if she should step in or not.

The shame wasn’t about the crying. It was about how small he had made you feel.

How loud you had to get just to be heard.

"And you think I'm less than because I can't stand here and die the way you want me to? You wanna drown? Go ahead. But don’t you fucking dare drag me under with you.”

He opened his mouth — maybe to stop you, maybe to say something that would make all of this rewind — but you were already walking.

“You wanna be alone?” you said over your shoulder, voice cracking. “Congratulations Carmen, now you are.”

You shoved the door open and didn’t look back.

No one followed.

And you didn’t cry until you were halfway home.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

THE PRESENT

The place looked unrecognizable — polished, gleaming, and impossibly calm for a kitchen that had once been the heart of every breakdown you’d ever lived through in real-time.

You stood just inside the front entrance, coat folded over your arm, taking it all in. It smelled like warm sourdough and lemon zest. Like ambition. Like grief turned into something functional.

“Hey,” came a voice from your left.

Richie.

Dressed like a groomsman, smile too wide, pride pouring off him like steam from the pass.

“You came,” he said pulling you in for a hug.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Can’t say no to you, I guess.”

“Damn right.” He nudged your arm. “Kitchen’s back there. Don’t freak, okay? Just thought you should see it. It’s his first night running it like this. Big deal.”

You gave him a look. “You didn’t tell him, did you?”

Richie’s mouth twitched. “He doesn’t know you’re coming. Thought it’d be better if he didn’t have time to… you know. Emotionally spiral.”

You sighed, but you didn’t leave. You were already here, after all — already in the heart of something you once thought you’d build with him. You had your own restaurant now, your own rhythm. You plated dishes that won awards. But you hadn’t stopped wondering what it might’ve looked like if you’d been able to stay.

And then you saw him.

Carmy stepped out from expo in that crisp white chef’s coat, sleeves rolled, hair damp at the temples. His eyes swept the room. And then they landed on you.

He stopped mid-step.

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

Claire emerged behind him, smiling about something someone had said. She placed a hand gently on his back but he didn’t react.

You nodded, just once, your throat tight. Just to say I’m here. I lived.

He turned sharply, disappearing back into the kitchen. Claire’s smile faded as her gaze followed him. Then followed his gaze. Then landed on you.

She started to wave. Then stopped.

You cleared your throat. “I’m just here to eat,” you said quietly. To who you weren’t sure but the room already felt like it had tilted sideways.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

You didn’t stay for dessert.

You slipped your coat back on in the quietest corner you could find, next to the hallway leading to the alley. It was cleaner now, stacked with fresh linens and humming with soft jazz from the dining room. And just as you reached for the door—

“Running again?”

You froze.

Carmy.

Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, apron loosened around his waist. Same voice, same edge, same ache just barely contained.

You turned slowly. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t want me gone the second you saw me.”

“I didn’t invite you.”

“I know. Richie did.”

His jaw flexed.

“Relax,” you said, voice tight. “Your perfect night is still intact.”

“That’s not what this is about.”

“Isn’t it?”

He stepped closer. “Why’d you come?”

You stared him down. “Why do you care?”

“Because you’re here,” he said, something raw in his voice. “And you looked at me like—like everything we had meant nothing.”

“You ended it like it meant nothing.”

The silence sharpened.

“I came,” you said, “because despite everything, I wanted to see the place. I’m proud of them. Of you, too. Part of me wanted to believe you built something that wouldn’t destroy you.”

“That’s not fair.”

“You want to talk about fair?”

He flinched.

“You think I don’t regret it?” he asked, quieter now. “What I said? What I did?”

“I don’t know what you regret, Carm. You never told me. You just shut down and left me there with nothing but your silence and my own self-doubt.”

“I was grieving.”

“I know you were. But so was I. And I still showed up for you, day after day, hoping you’d meet me halfway. You didn’t. You chose the kitchen. You chose the chaos. You didn’t choose me.”

His voice cracked. “I didn’t know how to hold on to you without hurting you.”

“Then you shouldn’t have held me at all.”

He didn’t speak.

“I wasn’t your girlfriend. I wasn’t just your sous. I was somewhere in the middle. Some blurry, unspoken thing that you could lean on until it was too real, and then you pulled away.”

You stepped back, just slightly. “I deserved better than a situationship built on scraps of attention and secondhand grief.”

He nodded slowly, eyes glassy.

“I’m sorry.”

You swallowed. “Too late.”

“I know.”

You lingered for just a second more. Looked at him like you might still recognize the version of him that once pulled you in like a current.

But all you saw now was the aftermath.

“I hope it works out with her,” you said.

His face twisted as you turned the handle.

And when you left he didn’t stop you.

He just let the door close quietly between you, the way he always did.