#on second thought I am not going to wait for him to finish this call. I am going to go play pokemon bc god knows I don’t need to kill any

[iwillsendapostcard]

Little not-quite drabble inspired by this post from @glitradora and this post from @jonathan-harks about how, after all this, Robert and Aaron are not going to be able to stand to be separated for even one moment.

“Is Robert all right?” Chas says to him as he collects their drinks from the bar. 

Aaron glances back at his… he’s not quite sure what to call Robert at the moment. They’ve not really discussed it. ‘Boyfriend’ doesn’t feel serious enough, but then ‘husband’ feels too much like what they were before. And it’s not official anyway. Yet. 

Robert is looking down at his phone, slightly slouched, but otherwise appearing to be totally normal.  

He doesn’t want to talk about the details of how Robert is really doing these days, especially not with his Mum in a place that anyone could overhear. So, he just says,“Yeah, why do you ask?” 

“Oh, nothing really,” his mum says, concentrating on the pint she is pulling. “It’s just that when you got up to go to the loos, he looked really upset about something. I thought that he was going to follow you and that you might be about to have a row. But he didn’t do anything; he just kept looking at the door.”

She finishes the drink and hands it to Charity, who is doing a similar impression of a ‘person who is not okay but making a good attempt of seeming that way in public by looking at their phone and not making eye contact’.   

“He sort of reminded me of a dog left outside the shops, all sad and alone,” Chas sighs. “His ears practically perked up every time someone came through that door.” 

Aaron casts his mind back, mildly horrified that he might have said something to upset Robert without realising. But, no, all they had been talking about before were plans to order pizza - and they’ve had the ‘does pineapple belong on pizza’ argument enough times for it to have lost all of its emotional weight. 

“You okay?” Aaron asks Robert as he takes their pints over. 

It’s like a light is switched on; Rob looks up from his phone, sees Aaron, and his smile is back instantly, lines creasing at his eyes. He reaches out his hand to Aaron as he sits back down, and they go back to how they were: holding hands under the table and sitting with their heads as close together as public decency will allow. 

Robert takes in one deep breath, like he is breathing all of Aaron in, and visibly relaxes with a sigh. 

* 

“The milk has run out,” Rob shouts from the kitchen. “I’ll run to David’s and get some - be back in five.” 

“Wait!” Aaron steps out from the bathroom, one towel around his waist, another scrubbing at his hair. “Give me a second; I’ll put some clothes on and come with you.” 

“No need, I’ll be back before you know it.”

Rob kisses his cheek and grabs his keys from their hook by the door, leaving Aaron in a slowly forming puddle of shower water. 

He goes to the window, and there is Robert, on the way to David’s, throwing a glance behind him as if he can feel Aaron watching him. Robert disappears from view as he enters the shop and Aaron knows that he should go back to the bathroom to finish getting dressed; Rob will inevitably get distracted by the tins of posh imported olives and the truffle-oil crisps, so he’ll be longer than expected. 

But Aaron finds himself glued in place. What was it his Mum had said a few days ago? ‘Like a dog waiting for its owner outside a shop…?’ 

Oh. Now he gets it… 

He’s still at the window when Robert comes through the door with a bag that definitely contains more than a pint of milk. 

“Alright?” Robert asks, noticing that Aaron hasn’t really moved since he left ten minutes before.      

“I am now,” Aaron admits, stalking over to Robert, losing his towel along the way. It should embarrass him, being totally nude in front of his fully-clothed ‘whatever he and Robert are’ (Soulmate? Bit dramatic) but it feels quite nice to be like this - his full-self just with Robert. 

Robert’s clothes are cold with winter air as Aaron winds his still-damp arms around him and pulls him close so that he can nuzzle at Robert’s neck. 

“I get it now,” he admits, into the collar of Robert’s henley. “I feel it too.” 

Robert drops the bag of groceries to the floor so that he can grope at Aaron’s naked arse with both hands. 

“I bet you do,” he says with a smile. But, as he leans down to kiss his ‘honestly, soulmate feels like the only accurate thing to call this, actually’ there is no heat to it. There’s just he warmth of Robert’s body and the knowledge that he is here, in his arms, and he will never have to let him go again.  

[thangyus]

been thinking about @luiuni's thangyu swap au (original artwork posts here and here) for so long that i just had to write a little something based on it. apologies if it is not great,,, this was a a bit of an experiment in figuring out their swapped personalities, i feel like i could never do this incredible art justice but it was super fun to write and i am so so obsessed with this au so i hope you enjoy it regardless 🙏

read the ficlet below the cut! [2.5k words]

First, there was that man that had been lurking in the alleyway outside of Club Pentagon, seemingly waiting for Su-bong to finish his shift– that weird fucker, wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase of money that had asked him to play ddakji, and had slapped Su-bong so hard every time he lost that his cheeks had hurt for the next few days. 

First, there was that man that had been lurking in the alleyway outside of Club Pentagon, seemingly waiting for Su-bong to finish his shift– that weird fucker, wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase of money that had asked him to play ddakji, and had slapped Su-bong so hard every time he lost that his cheeks had hurt for the next few days. 

Then, there was the business card that the man had handed Su-bong before disappearing out of the alley and into the busy city streets, gone before Su-bong had even finished reading what was on the card. On one side, the print of a circle, triangle, and square; on the second side, a phone number that, when Su-bong finally called it a few days later, gave him a time and place to meet. 

Every instinct in Su-bong had told him not to go to the meeting place, and the warning in his gut grew even worse when a creepy-as-hell van pulled up in front of him, and a person in a pink jumpsuit and a black mask sitting in the driver’s seat ordered him into the van… but what other choice did Su-bong have? Go back to his apartment that he was sure to get kicked out of when he couldn’t pay his rent the following week? Go back to his shitty life, ruined by the fucking crypto scam that had drained him of everything he’d worked so hard for the past few years? Go back to his job at the club where he was overworked and underpaid, ignored by the clients he did so much for, where the only perk was the occasional time he could sneak some of the drugs they secretly sold to the highest-paying customer and get high in the staff bathroom?

Maybe it was a stupid idea for Su-bong to get in that van, but what else did he have to lose?

He thought the man in the suit, the mysterious business card, and the shady van had been weird… but Su-bong’s strange and confusing week only continues, and now has some fear thrown into it, when he passes out mere seconds after getting into the van. When he comes to, he can’t tell how long he’d been asleep for– just that his mouth is uncomfortably dry, he has an uncomfortable ache in his neck like he’d been sleeping on it weird, and… and that he’s not wearing his clothes. 

When he’d gotten into that van, Su-bong had yet changed out of his all-black work clothes, since he’d come straight from his shift at Pentagon to the meeting spot; now, he wears plain white shoes and a green tracksuit, the latter of which has a patch with the number 230 stitched onto the fabric, the number resting right above Su-bong’s heart– which is starting to beat faster as his confusion, and slight panic, grows. 

The cheerful music that starts suddenly to play doesn’t help his panic, either– nor does the realization of his surroundings, when Su-bong finally looks up and sees where he is: a large room, filled with tall bunk beds– one of which Su-bong himself lays on– and what looks like hundreds of other people, all wearing identical outfits to him. 

Well, almost identical– it seems like the only difference between each of them, as far as Su-bong can see, are the numbers on each of their tracksuits. Su-bong glances down at his own number, then back up to the rest; there are too many people around him to count, as they all start to get up from their beds and congregate in the middle of the room, and Su-bong can only catch brief glimpses of the numbers around him– 333, 044, 120, 380– just how many people are here? Had they all been invited by that same man? Is this even real, or had Su-bong taken a bit too much of a “free sample” during his last shift, and this was all just some weird trip he hadn’t yet come down from?

It’s been a strange and confusing week for Su-bong, but standing in a crowd of hundreds of other people all dressed in identical outfits, all looking up at a line of men dressed in weird pink costumes and black masks, and being told that they had all been brought here to play a bunch of games for a week to win money definitely takes first place in the strange and confusing department.

What the fuck is going on? Su-bong thinks as the pink-clad man at the front of the room explains their situation. He remembers the man in the suit saying something about games when he’d handed Su-bong the card, but that motherfucker had failed to mention anything about getting drugged in a van and taken away to an unknown location.

Su-bong is so caught up in his own thoughts that he’s not quite paying attention when some of the other people, the ones in the green jumpsuits just like him, start to speak up, voicing their own concerns about the situation and asking questions. He tries to tune them out, trying to focus on not freaking the fuck out– when someone else speaks up, and sends a shock through Su-bong’s system. 

“What’s with these shoes?” whined a frustrated voice from behind Su-bong. “My shoes are limited fucking edition– they’re hard to find! Are you going to replace them if they get damaged?” 

The words ring through Su-bong, echoing in his mind even after the next person speaks up to complain, though it’s not the words exactly that caught Su-bong’s attention; rather, it’s the voice that spoke them– a voice that Su-bong recognizes immediately.

With people cramped on either side of him, hundreds of bodies squished into the middle of the room, Su-bong isn’t able to fully turn around. He can only look over his shoulder, but even just that is good enough, as when his eyes quickly scan the sea of green behind him, it isn’t long at all before they locate exactly what Su-bong is looking for. 

Dark hair streaked with green, grown down to shoulders and styled in a way that made it seem effortlessly messy. Metal piercing an eyebrow, both ears, and a bottom lip (and, though he can’t see it from here, Su-bong knows a similar metal bulb pierces his tongue, too), flashes of cold silver against warm, fair skin. A gaze darkened by black makeup, shadows around the corners of eyes that Su-bong had many a time found himself getting entranced by. A beautiful face pulled into a cold, mean expression as he stares up at the pink guards, desperate to know what happened to his designer shoes. 

Su-bong had been starting to feel like he was suffocating in that room, with so many other people around him and under the fear of having been taken to an unknown location, but now, just for a moment, he feels like he can breathe again. 

_______

Once that weird guy in the pink uniform finishes explaining the rules of this… competition, or whatever it is that they’ve all been brought here to do, he orders all the players who wish to proceed with the games to line up. For some consent form, Su-bong thinks he said, but he had sort of stopped listening to that droning voice once he’d caught sight of him in the crowd. 

Kim Nam-gyu. The Joker. 

Su-bong knows of his music, of course– The Joker had risen to stardom in the past few years, ever since he’d appeared on the Rap Battleground competition; even though he’d fucked up his own song in the final round and landed in second place, he’d still won the prize of fame, and it wasn’t long after the underground rapper made his first appearance on a competition show that he was selling out stadiums.

Su-bong knows of The Joker’s music, but it isn’t his fame that makes Su-bong push against the crowd, moving in the opposite direction while the rest of the green-clad players start lining up to sign their waivers. It isn’t The Joker’s celebrity status that made Su-bong’s heart skip a beat when he’d first spotted him in the crowd, either. It isn’t the fact that he’s The Joker at all that draws Su-bong to him, or what drew Su-bong to him back then either. 

The Joker moves through the crowd in a way that makes it hard for Su-bong to keep track of him– pushing in front of other people, glaring at those who try to tell him to get to the back of the line– and his shorter height doesn’t make it any easier to keep track of him as he moves, but at least his signature dyed hair gives Su-bong something to pick out of the crowd, to keep searching for as he gets closer. As he gets closer, Su-bong feels himself getting more excited– relief that there’s someone else in this place that he knows, relief that he isn’t going to be here alone, but also… a thrill that that someone is The Joker, the same thrill that Su-bong always felt course through him whenever he would see the singer walk through those club doors–

A thrill that quickly dissipates when Su-bong reaches him, when a hand on The Joker’s shoulder causes him to turn around, when he stares up at Su-bong with that cold, mean expression and asks, “What?”

Su-bong swallows his surprise at the reaction, ignores the humiliation from the people around them starting to stare, and smiles down at the other man. “Nam– I mean, Joker,” he says. “What the hell are you doing here, man?” 

The Joker only continues to stare at Su-bong, looking like there’s a bad smell in the air. He shrugs Su-bong’s hand off of his shoulder as he gives Su-bong a once-over, before he asks, “Do I know you?”

Su-bong lets his hand fall back down to his side, and tries not to feel hurt by the sharp, cutting edge to The Joker’s words. That’s just how he is, Su-bong reminds himself. He keeps his smile and steps closer to the singer, joining him in the line despite the people waiting behind them. “Come on, don’t you recognize me?” Su-bong jokes, forcing a light laugh. “It’s me, Su-bong.” When The Joker starts to turn back to look back to the front of the room, looking clearly uninterested, Su-bong quickly adds, “From Club Pentagon?”

That is what seems to finally jog his memory, as The Joker slowly turns back to face Su-bong, and the slightest hint of recognition spreads across his face. “Pentagon,” he repeats, and Su-bong nods, breathing a sigh of relief when The Joker continues with, “Right. Sure.”

He probably just doesn’t recognize me when I’m not under the club lights, Su-bong tells himself. After all the free shit I’ve given him, after everything I’ve done for him, he can’t not know who I am… right? 

“So, what are you doing here?” Su-bong asks as the line moves forward; he and The Joker are standing around the middle, meaning that they’ll still have some time before it’s their turn. After all, Su-bong is here because he’s flat-broke and drowning in debt… but The Joker is a famous rapper, known for flaunting his wealth any chance he gets. Surely he can’t be in the same kind of situation as Su-bong… right?

The Joker lets out a quiet tsk, an irritated click of his tongue, but doesn’t give Su-bong an answer. 

“Do you really think they’ll be giving out 45 billion?” Su-bong decides to ask instead. “I mean, that seems like a wild thing to do just for… playing a few games, you know?” The Joker remains quiet, just staring ahead as they get closer to the front of the line, but Su-bong continues this one-sided conversation. “They better not be fucking with us,” he goes on, glancing up at the empty piggybank above their heads. “That fucking club pays like shit, and I don’t know how else I’m supposed to get back all the money I lost investing in that stupid fucking crypto coin, Dalmatian–” 

“Dalmatian?” The Joker repeats, finally looking back towards Su-bong, his interest seemingly piqued as he raises a pierced eyebrow.

Su-bong nods, a wave of delight passing over him as The Joker finally pays attention to him… which quickly disappears though, when he’s reminded of the reality of his own situation. “Yeah– you heard of it?” he says.

The Joker scoffs, his expression grim. “Heard of it,” he confirms, his voice low and smooth. “Lost a billion won to it.” 

“A billion?” Su-bong says, then quickly covers his mouth with his hand as he realizes his shock made him speak without thinking. “Sorry.”

The Joker glares at him, a faint pink blush spreading across his cheekbones, before he continues. “It wasn’t my fucking fault– I’m not some kind of idiot,” he says firmly, like he’s trying to defend himself from an accusation Su-bong never made. “I only did it because that fucking bitch tricked me.” 

“Wait– are you talking about JH Coin?” Su-bong asks as they once again move forward in the line. At the sound of her name, The Joker tenses, then nods. “Ah– she’s the one that fucking scammed me too!” Su-bong tells him, bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement as he realizes that he and The Joker have something in common. Sure, that something might be life-ruining debt, but still… it was something. 

The Joker looks at Su-bong, almost like he’s studying him, almost like he’s… assessing Su-bong, trying to decide what to make of him. His gaze is heavy, enough to almost make Su-bong squirm, but he knows that this could finally be his chance, his chance to really stick it with the rapper, to become more than just the guy who works at Club Pentagon.

The Joker’s gaze is heavy… until it turns amused, and his lips pull into a cunning smile. “She’s here too, you know,” The Joker says, taking a step closer to Su-bong. “Did you see how those pink bastards aired her business for everyone here to see?” Su-bong hadn’t, for he’d been too busy staring at The Joker in the crowd and trying to figure out if this was all a dream or not, but he doesn’t say that, and instead just nods. “Ever since the coin fell through and her channel went quiet, I thought she was gone for good, that she’d just ruined my life and fucked off… but now, she’s in here with the rest of us.” The Joker’s smile grew in a way that is eerily similar to the one tattooed on the back of the rapper’s hand, a signature part of his persona. “What do you say we go have a little word with her once we’re done agreeing to this thing?”

Despite that being the longest conversation he’s ever had with The Joker, just one simple word rings through Su-bong’s mind– we. 

Su-bong can’t help but match The Joker’s grin. “I’m right behind you.”

[willowfoot]

Dad is trying to convince me to “get into” AI video generation and I am two seconds away from committing Batman-level crimes

[beersangel]

warm enough ⋆˚౨ৎ ⋆.˚

⋆. 𐙚 ̊. During a late-night filming a paranormal investigation with sam and colby, things take an unsettling turn. shaken by what they experienced, what happens when y/n struggles to sleep alone and ends up in Matt’s room?

trigger warnings: pure fluff ig :3

matt sturniolo x reader <3

click here -`♡´- for the next part!

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“Oh fuck! My candle went out, shit shit shit-” I say as I kneel over and set it down quickly. Matt spawns next to me with a match he had been using as a toothpick, quickly lighting up my candle before the 10 seconds run out.

“I got you” Matt nods, making sure my candle is lit.

“Jesus Christ” Sam exclaims.

“Oh my god, my heart almost stopped, I have the worst reflexes ever” I blow out a laugh, my hand on my chest.

You can already guess where I am and what we’re doing. Somehow, Sam and Colby convinced me to tag along with them and my roommates and best friends Matt, Nick, and Chris to this investigation where we’re summoning a spirit called the Midnight Man.

“Thanks, Matt,” I say with a grin, nudging him as we walk side by side to the room next to the kitchen. We sit down in a circle and Sam introduces a new piece of equipment, a recorder.

Sam explains that each one of us is going to ask a question and wait 10 seconds for an answer from a spirit. We all nod along to the instructions, and as soon as he clicks the record button, each of us asks a question, leaving 10 seconds in between for answers.

And when we’re finally done, we listen to the recording again, and our hearts drop to our asses.

A scream.

A very clear scream.

And towards the end of the recording, a clear “GET OUT OF HERE” is heard, and I look towards Matt with wide eyes and a nervous smile.

The rest of the night is pure chaos. We leave Sam and Colby’s old house after finishing the ritual, and I’m still replaying the events of the night on the car ride home. It’s stupid, but it freaked me out.

Back home, we all bid each other goodnight and head to our rooms. I lay down in bed, thoughts of the night still replaying in my head.

I see a figment of my imagination in the corner of the room, a shadow, and I turn on my nightstand light quickly, heart beating fast. I sigh before throwing the covers off, opening my bedroom door, and padding downstairs to Matt’s room. I knock gently. No answer. I knock again and open the door slightly, peeking in. Matt turns in bed towards the door with squinted eyes.

“Y/N?” he says with a sleepy voice.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” I ask, still standing in the doorway.

Matt blinks a few times before answering, “Come here” he says, lifting the covers.

I shut his bedroom door and walk over to his bed, sliding beneath the lifted covers. He makes sure I’m covered before laying down on his back next to me.

“You okay?” he asks after a few beats of silence.

“Mhmm. I was just freaked out about what happened tonight” I say, turning my head to look at him.

“You haven’t come to my room at night in a while” he grins.

“Yeah, well, I stopped watching those scary videos I used to watch before bed” I laugh, adjusting myself so I’m facing him.

“I don’t know why you watch that creepy shit if you know it’ll have consequences later at night” he says.

“Okay, stop lecturing me. I don’t watch it anymore” I frown, and he laughs.

“I missed our sleepovers,” he smiles after a few beats of silence, now turning to face me.

“Yeah, me too” I say, smiling softly.

I move a little to adjust my position when my cold toes graze over Matt’s leg.

“Holy shit, Y/N!” he says as he jumps slightly.

“What!” I say, panicked, thinking he saw something behind me.

“Nothing, you idiot. Your icicles grazed my leg,” he exclaims with a small laugh.

“Matt!” I frown, hitting his chest. “You scared me, asshole,” I say.

“Ow! Why are you so cold?!” he says, holding my hand against his chest.

“It’s freezing in here!” I exclaim with a laugh.

“It’s not,” he argues.

“Yes it is.” I pull my hand from his grip, but he holds on.

“Jesus Christ, just come here” he says, tugging me closer with the hand he has a grip on, wrapping his arms around me to warm me up.

I let my forehead fall on his chest as I sigh. “You’re so warm. How are you so warm?” I say.

“It’s not me that’s warm, it’s you that’s freezing cold” he chuckles, rubbing my back to warm me up.

“It’s because your room is a literal freezer-” I start to argue.

“Shhhh, go to sleep,” he interrupts me, tangling his legs with mine to warm my cold feet up.

“But it’s literally-” I start.

“Y/N, close your eyes and count the sheep, c’mon” he cuts me off, making me burst out laughing.

“When have I ever closed my eyes and counted sheep to go to bed? You mistake me for Chris” I grin.

“He does do that, doesn’t he?” he chuckles.

“Yeah, he does” I smile, nuzzling my head into his chest.

I yawn, my eyes starting to get heavy.

“Night, scaredy cat” he murmurs into my hair.

“Goodnight, asshole” I say in a sleepy voice, and he chuckles.

I doze off to him rubbing my back, and I realize just how lucky I am to have him.

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author’s note: I haven’t written in a LONG while, hi tumblr I’ve missed u! anyway I love writing fluff so here u go! hope you enjoyed <3

[hot-patootiee]

Part 2 of this. And can you tell I had issues with my ex? Like holy shit I’m having flashbacks writing this.

Nancy stands up and walks over to Eddie though, and gently pushes him towards the door.

“Go fix it.” She demands.

Eddie makes a confused sound as he is gently pushed out of the house, having to push open the door or be squished into it.

…

When Steve’s doorbell rings again, he’s getting a little annoyed.

He swings open the door and Eddie is there.

Steve begins to close the door.

Unfortunately he is forced to deal with his feelings, so Eddie puts a hand on the door and pushes it open.

“Did you think we were dating?” Eddie seems almost accusatory in his tone, which immediately annoyed Steve.

“What do you mean by ‘think’ Eddie? I asked you out, you said yes.” Steve was still trying to shut the door in Eddie’s face, but he looked more angry than sad. “Unless this is some sort of strange apology and declaration of love, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“It is! It is! Just don’t close the door.” Steve furrows his brows and lets the door swing open.

Eddie stumbles in, tripping over the entrance and nearly falling into Steve.

Steve stares at Eddie, waiting.

“I thought you were just experimenting and I’m so sorry for thinking your confession was a joke.” Eddie says sincerely, shifting slightly on his feet in discomfort.

“You think everything I do is a joke. Everyone does! Poor little Steve Harrington gets hit in the head too many times and now is incapable of a coherent thought.” Steve finishes with a self deprecating laugh. His eyes are shining and Eddie can see the rage festering in them, the resignation transforming into simmering anger.

Eddie opens his mouth to refute it, but is cut off instead.

“Was kissing me a joke too? Am I too stupid to know?” Steve moves into Eddie’s face, crowding him before pulling back suddenly. A strong gust reminds Eddie the door is open and anyone close enough could hear them.

“No, no of course not. Shouldn’t we close the door?” Eddie suggests.

“You’re the dumbass who didn’t close it. There is no we in that.” Steve sneers at Eddie’s implication at Steve being incompetent.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Eddie murmurs, pushing the door hard and letting it swing shut. His shoulders are hunched, as if he was trying to placate Steve by making himself smaller.

“I thought you were different, I put up with everybody else calling me stupid all the time, because most of them are children, and I thought you, my boyfriend, was different. But, apparently, you think I’m too incompetent with my own feelings that you need to make the judgement for me.”

“I thought you were joking.” Eddie repeated, Steve was honestly beginning to hear the needle on the vinyl from how many times Eddie had been repeating himself.

“And when I kissed you, was I still just joking?” Steve probed.

“No, can you just let me explain for a second?” Eddie spat his words out quickly, knowing if he went slower Steve would continue to yell at him.

“No, because you’re charging in here with some half cocked apology to try to fix something, just because someone else pointed out that you should. You need to feel better, so you came over to apologize, without considering that I’ve been wallowing in my house for days because of something you did. Actually fucking apologize because you feel bad about putting me in pain, not because you want to stop being uncomfortable with your own actions.” Steve lectured, he massaged the bridge of his nose slightly in an attempt to alleviate his own frustration.

“What do you want me to do? How do I fix this?”

“Those are questions you have to answer yourself. Maybe apologize with something that screams ‘sorry for thinking our entire relationship was a joke’. If you come here with some fucking flowers or chocolate and think that that’s adequate, I will break your fucking guitar.” The wrinkles in Steve’s brow just became deeper as he threatened Eddie. His muscles trembled slightly as he reminded himself of how angry he was.

Eddie nods, looking slightly resigned.

“Oh, and your fucking behavior should change, treat me like a goddamn person. I pulled your ass out of hell, I’ve proved myself to be capable a thousand times over. Treat me like I am.” Eddie couldn’t help but focus on how Steve’s hands shook.

Eddie nods and begins to pull away from Steve, looking sad as he slowly moves to the door.

“What are you doing?” Steve looked genuinely puzzled, prompting Eddie to stop with his hand on the doorknob.

“I’m leaving, I didn’t think you’d want me here.” Eddie shrugged, looking a lot like a kicked puppy as he whimpered. He then began to turn the doorknob to exit the Harrington house.

“What did I just say about making decisions for me?” Steve has his hip cocked and his hands resting on his waist in his signature annoyed mom look. Eddie freezes, unknowing of what to do.

“Come on, go to my room and wait, I just need to run the dishes.” Steve shoos Eddie, who quickly scampers up the stairs and slipped inside Steve’s room. He was unsure of what to do so he waited at the foot of the bed, sitting on the edge of it.

He isn’t sure how long he waits, but Steve finally pads into the room.

Steve pushes Eddie onto his back. Crawling inbetween his legs.

Eddie opens his mouth to express his confusion, but is interrupted by a firm “scooch” which spurs Eddie into backing up into the headboard. Steve follows quickly behind.

Steve tucks himself into Eddie’s collarbone. He settles easily, even though Eddie is still incredibly tense.

“Tell me the other thing you came here to say.” Steve demands.

“Oh darling I like you so much. I’ll stay with you forever, I’m so sorry for leaving.” Eddie rambles, like the floodgates holding him back had been released.

“Again?” Steve said quietly, barely louder than his breath.

“I like you a lot, Steve. I got the biggest crush on you. Never thought you’d ever like someone like me. I don’t deserve you.” Eddie ends with a damn near whimper, but Steve’s resolve didn’t change in the face of Eddie’s words.

“You’re right, you don’t. You left me and you were planning on leaving me again if I didn’t accept your apology. It’s been days and all I want is to be with my boyfriend.” Steve’s voice slowly tampered down to a whisper as he spoke.

“I didn’t think of it like that.” Eddie murmured shamefully.

“Yea, no shit.” Steve snapped.

“I’m sorry.”

“Your formal apology better be fucking amazing.” Steve countered playfully.

“I’ll do my best.” Eddie pauses for a second. “What if it’s not good enough?”

“Then I break up with you.” Eddie deflates slightly. Steve continues though. “I can’t be with someone who doesn’t value me or respect me, I’ve made that mistake before.”

Eddie felt his stomach sink, but began to brainstorm on how to make it up to Steve.

Btw El and Will are making Brownies for Steve rn.

PART 3 IS HERE

Omg I’m such an ass, pt 3 coming soon if I’m harassed enough to do it.

Also, psa if you fuck up big, you need to actually show you’re sorry. Don’t apologize to make yourself feel better, apologize to make the other person feel better. Make an actual effort to not repeat your past actions. If someone doesn’t accept your apology, remember you aren’t entitled to their forgiveness. No matter how much society tries to act like you deserve it for simply apologizing.

Also if it isn’t evident, I was forced to accept a lot of apologies when I didn’t want to.

@stripey82 @genderfluidbitch @mensch-anthropos-human @c4tharsys @scoops-aboy86 @breealtair @raleighrox @wannabe-edgy-grandpa @flustratedcas @shoujo-wizard @polysdoitforscience @exasperatedsighohmy @piemaker93 @tinyplanet95 @skepticalqueen @sharingisntkaren @scarletyeager @crypticcrytid @midnightskeeper @wheneverfeasible @ancientwormcivilization @fucjinf-whatever-dude @estrellami-1 @queenofshenanigans @grilledcheesehasfeelings <- get out of my walls

@ellietheasexylibrarian @live-laugh-love-dietrich @turinspeachjam @me-ig7 @revevivant @motherofpirates @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @samsoble @legalmenace87 @thehanwen @bigspongey @thedragonsaunt @newagemyth @pentapoctopus @my-hyperfixations-hell-blog @bumbledoubletea @blackbirdflyflyfly @what-if-a-dragon @reddiandbyler4life @i-think-i-thunk @gregre369 @fiddledeedee85 @ladykailitha

Rest of the mentions will be in the comments because fuck there is a lot of you.

[froggiequarium]

imagine non!mc reader being seen by the li's best friends ii

part iii

imagine being dragged to mo's art studio by miss hunter, insisting you tag along to aid in rafayels search for new inspiration.

you dont really think he needs it after arriving and laying your eyes on the canvas, his newest masterpiece he's been working on the past couple of days, but you hear him rambling on & on to miss hunter about it missing something and that she must help him.

imagine sitting on a far end of the sofa, watching rafayel and miss hunter standing by the window, engaged in an animated conversation that you dont have the heart to keep up with.

the only thing you can hear is the waves crashing against the shore as your heart feels heavier and heavier in your chest at the sight. he's barely even spared you a glance this entire visit.

"animated, isn't he?"

you're startled from your thoughts, whipping your head around at the sudden voice.

"oh," you breathe out, hand coming up to your chest in an attempt to calm your rapidly beating heart.

his rich chuckle rings out beside you.

"sorry, i didn't mean to frighten you," he says, eyes softening the longer he stares at you before glancing off to the pair.

"you were dragged here again?"

you huff out a small breath.

"what gave it away?"

he sees the longing in your eyes— he would be blind not to— everytime this happens, when rafayel and miss hunter are lost in their own little world and you feel left out of it.

he's not sure if rafayel is that blind, or if he simply doesn't care.

but thomas was determined to show you that someone does.

"well, i was just about to drop by a café for a light lunch. would you care to join me?"

your gaze flits up to meet his eyes, and you feel your heart flutter at the look in them before moving down to his outstretched hand he's offering towards you.

between the look in his eyes and the hunger welling up in your stomach, you cant help but to take his hand in your hold.

even after helping you up from where you're sat, leading you out the door and outside, enveloped in the fresh air, he doesn't let go of your hand for a moment.

and he doesn't think he wants to. not anytime soon.

imagine being left to your own devices once again, having watched sylus take his impromptu leave from your place in the kitchen, sparing yet another curt wave and a short "dont wait up," before strolling out the door, donned in his black leather that made you involuntarily swoon.

you knew the reason without him having to say: another night spent with miss hunter—

and another night spent without you.

its been like this for a couple of weeks now, maybe you should be used to it. or maybe you dont want to be. maybe you're hoping, silently, that he'll extend the invite to you.

after all, she's your friend too.

but you're not sure "friends" is what they're calling each other.

before your thoughts can spiral further, a door bursts open nearby, followed by hurried footsteps.

"madame! madame!"

you blink, turning towards the pair that almost appear to be racing towards you, excitement clear in their movements. they lightly shove each other out of the way.

kieran beats luke by a second, stopping just short of you as luke stumbles behind him.

"hey, no fair!"

"you deserved that, now behave in front of the madame!"

"no way! madame, tell him to be nice!"

"WHAT?! i am nice!"

"madame, look what we found!"

"wait– you– no fair!"

you let out a light laugh at their back and forth, eyes shifting towards luke's phone he has pointed towards you.

you lean in, eyeing the photo.

"'crimson crow cake with buttercream frosting.' a cake? what's the occasion?"

you tilt your head in question, meeting luke's eyes (or, the masks' eyes), quickly glancing over to kieran for an answer as well.

"no reason," kieran shrugs.

"we just wanted to make it with you!" luke finishes the thought.

"can we?" kieran almost begs, falling to his knees with his hands clasped together.

"well..."

"PLEASE," luke chimes in, knees hitting the tile with a soft thud, hands clasped tight.

"you're the best baker we know!"

"you can always call a professional–"

"ITS NOT THE SAME!" luke cries.

"we want to bake with you, not have something made for us!"

"its the act that counts!"

"the thought," kieran corrects.

"same difference," luke counters.

this wasn't an uncommon occurrence. the twins, having also been left behind more often as sylus left on his excursions with miss hunter, were not blind. they caught sight of you lingering, staring at the door he left from for minutes after he'd already been gone, solemn look on your face.

even with how loyal they felt towards their boss, they couldn't help but ache for you. you, who had been there for them for as long as they could remember, you who patched them up after every mission gone awry, you who indulged in their pranks and nonsense–

you, who always, willingly, looked after them.

because of this, they took it upon themselves to spend time with you whenever they could, by either playing a game, watching a show or movie, or like right now, begging you to bake something with them (because they both seemed to have quite the sweet tooth, and a love for your treats).

you looked from one crow mask to the other, sighing softly in defeat.

"alright, why not?"

they simultaneously jumped up, cheering in triumph.

"sweet treats, sweet treats~" luke sang.

"crow cake~ crow cake~" kieran sang back.

"start getting the ingredients together, yea?"

"aye, aye!" they salute in unison, turning to the pantry to grab everything.

you grab some bowls and utensils, smiling to yourself.

the kitchen would undoubtedly turn into a mess of ingredients sprawled almost everywhere but the bowl it was supposed to be in, but the twins were never afraid to get their hands dirty if it meant seeing you smile for another day.

rest of the brainrot 4 the others before i make longer versions for everyone :x i considered making thomas divorced for this scenario buuut may not just 2 keep it simple.... for the twins ,i wrote it w a platonic relationship in mind so hopefully it still hits ok ? this batch was a bit difficult for some reason lolol

im surprised how much attention it received so quickly thank u for liking this idea as much as i do ! i have lots of ideas w a good mesh of angst n yearning n fluff i can't wait 2 share more thoughts :x

dividers by cafekitsune

[curlysswirlywirly]

one piece men + overstimulation <3? nsfw pretty please !! i am starving for more of your content it’s delicious

OVERSTIMULATED

awww tysm for the kind words! ummm not my proudest piece of work but i’ll get better ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ) how would you guys feel about a katakuri fic.... perhaps....

୨ৎ MONKEY D. LUFFY overstimulation with him is never malicious, more so pure oblivion. he thinks your twitching means “more,” not “stop.” when you’re panting and gripping his wrist, he just grins and keeps his fingers moving faster. you whine his name, body curling in on itself, and he lights up like it’s encouragement. you tell him you can’t take it anymore and he tilts his head. “you already are.” then he giggles, presses his cheek to your thigh, and goes right back to making you convulse.

୨ৎ RORONOA ZORO overstimulation is his idea of training you. when he’s got you bent over and shaking, he doesn’t pull out, doesn’t even slow down, just murmurs “don’t waste it, keep going.” you’re gasping and clawing at the floor but he holds your hips firm, determined to push you through it like it’s a set of reps. overstimulating him takes effort, you’d think he could endure anything until you go down on him after he’s emptied inside you. he grunts, big hand on your head, muttering “fuck, quit—” but doesn’t push you off. his thighs lock, his abs seize, and when he groans through another orgasm he looks at you like you’ve bested him in battle.

୨ৎ VINSMOKE SANJI overstimulates you by eating until you’re incoherent, tongue pressing everywhere until you’ve pushed his head away a dozen times. he’s crying through it, moaning into you, hands shaking as he pins you open. he doesn’t want to stop even when you’re sobbing because he thinks you sound too divine. he is hell-bent on wringing every last drop from you, and he does it with a desperation that borders on religious devotion. when you’ve cum so hard your body slumps against the mattress, he doesn’t take it as a sign to stop. he pulls you onto his lap, kisses your face messily, and whispers, “just one more, mon amour, i swear.” overstimulating him happens when you edge him half the night, never letting him finish, until he’s on his knees and crying into your thigh. the second he finally spills, he thinks he’s safe but then you tug him back into your mouth. his whole body jerks, his voice cracks, and he tries to push you away, but he’s still rutting against your lips. overstimulated sanji looks fucked-out in the purest sense. red eyes, wet cheeks, hiccuping through broken whimpers.

୨ৎ PORTGAS D. ACE doesn’t stop when you tell him you’re sensitive. he laughs, kisses you like it’s a secret joke, and keeps rolling his hips. “thought you liked it,” he teases, even while your nails sink into his shoulders and your voice breaks. overstimulating him is easy. all you have to do is stroke him lazy after he’s filled you, his cock still twitching, and he melts. his eyes flutter, his lips part, and the cocky grin disappears, replaced by a vulnerable gasp you’ve never heard before. he clutches at your wrist, mutters “fuck, wait—” but you feel him throb and spill again. he hides his face in your neck, groaning, ruined but still laughing faintly against your skin.

୨ৎ FLAME EMPEROR SABO has restraint in everything except you. overstimulating you is his indulgence. when you’ve collapsed against his chest, he props you up, presses two fingers inside again, and says softly, “you can take more.” he doesn’t let you hide from it either, holds your chin so you’re forced to look at him while your body jerks apart under his control.

୨ৎ DONQUIXOTE DOFLAMINGO overstimulates you on purpose. sadist. keeps your arms tied while his cock keeps bullying your cunt raw, loves when your legs shake so hard you can’t keep them open. you’re thrashing, sobbing, and he laughs, purring about how perfect you look ruined. “cry for me,” he croons, and your body obeys. calls you “pathetic” while licking your tears. overstimulate him by riding his cock after he’s finished, he thinks he’s untouchable until you grind down mercilessly. overstimulated doflamingo is still laughing, but it’s ragged, shaky. his body jerks uncontrollably, hips bucking with zero grace. he moans deep and ugly, teeth gritted, telling you you’re going to kill him. still pulls you back down because he’d rather die than lose.

[kenzdolls]

STORMY HEARTS . 5.7k

⌗ synopsis: after blowing up on your boyfriends, they decide to “ignore” you out of hurt.

⌗ pairing: katsuki bakugo + eijiro kirishima x fem!reader

⌗ sent in by: anonymous

⌗ trigger warnings: arguments/conflict, emotional distress, mild anxiety, mentions of crying, brief reference to nightmares, use of (y/n).

the alarm blared for the fifth time that morning, and you finally managed to drag yourself out of bed with a groan. nothing was going right today. you'd stayed up until 4 am finishing a report for midnight's class after spending hours helping uraraka with her quirk training. your muscles ached, your eyes burned from lack of sleep, and the dull throb of an oncoming headache pulsed at your temples.

"just get through today," you muttered to yourself, stumbling toward the bathroom.

in your exhausted haste, you knocked over your coffee mug, sending the hot liquid cascading across your freshly ironed uniform. you stared at the brown stain spreading across the white fabric, and for a moment, you thought you might actually cry.

"you've got to be kidding me," you hissed, frantically dabbing at the uniform with a towel. all you managed to do was make the stain larger.

by the time you'd changed into your backup uniform (which was slightly too small after the last growth spurt), you were running terribly late. you sprinted across the ua campus, your bag slapping against your back with each step. the spring morning that would normally lift your spirits only seemed to mock your misery with its cheerful birdsong and golden sunshine.

you slid open the classroom door with seconds to spare before aizawa's arrival, drawing curious glances from your classmates.

"hey, babe! we missed you at breakfast!" kirishima's bright voice called out as you slumped into your seat. he bounded over with that sunshine smile that usually melted your heart. today, it just made your headache worse. his red hair was perfectly styled as always, those sharp teeth gleaming in a grin that screamed energy you simply didn't have.

"yeah, we waited for fifteen minutes," bakugo followed behind him, his usual scowl softening slightly when his eyes met yours. he was wearing the special earrings you'd given him for his birthday – small explosive shapes that complemented his quirk. any other day, the sight would have made you smile. "tch. you look like shit. rough night?"

any other day, you'd have laughed at his blunt concern. but today, everything felt like an attack.

"obviously," you muttered, rummaging through your bag for your textbook only to realize you'd left it in your dorm. "great. just great."

"you can share mine," kirishima offered, already pulling his chair closer. his warm thigh pressed against yours as he scooted over. "i even wrote notes in the margins for once! bakugo's been helping me with that whole 'being a good student' thing."

"i don't need your help," you snapped, immediately regretting your tone but too frustrated to apologize. you shifted away from his touch, creating a small but noticeable gap between you. "i'm not a child who needs to be coddled."

kirishima's smile faltered, hurt flashing across his face like a lightning strike. his hand, which had been reaching for yours under the desk, retreated to his lap.

"the hell is your problem?" bakugo growled, protective over kirishima as always. his crimson eyes narrowed dangerously, and a few small pops emanated from his palms – a sure sign he was getting agitated. "he's just trying to help. no need to bite his head off."

"my problem is everyone acting like i can't handle myself for five minutes!" your voice was louder than intended, causing nearby classmates to turn and stare. midoriya and todoroki exchanged concerned glances from their seats. "i'm having a bad day, okay? is that allowed, or do i have to be perfectly fine all the time?"

"fine! handle it yourself then!" bakugo shot back, grabbing kirishima's arm with more force than necessary. "let's go, shitty hair. she wants space, she can have it. all the fucking space in the world."

"guys, maybe we should—" kirishima started, his voice uncharacteristically small.

"no," bakugo cut him off. "if she doesn't want us around, we're not gonna beg."

you watched them retreat to their seats as aizawa entered the classroom, yellow sleeping bag in tow. the pit in your stomach grew heavier with guilt, but pride kept you from running after them. besides, aizawa was already starting attendance, his bloodshot eyes promising detention to anyone who disrupted class.

throughout the morning lessons, you could feel kirishima's concerned glances boring into the back of your head. unlike bakugo, who resolutely stared ahead with his jaw clenched tight, kirishima had never been good at holding grudges. once, during english with present mic, you caught him writing something on a scrap of paper – probably a note to pass to you. but when bakugo noticed, he whispered something that made kirishima's shoulders slump, and the note disappeared into his pocket.

by lunch, the tension was unbearable. you gathered your courage and approached their usual table, tray in hand.

"can i sit—" you began, but bakugo cut you off before you could finish.

"tables full," he said coldly, despite the two empty seats beside him.

"come on, bakugo," kirishima said softly. "that's not manly—"

"it's fine," you interrupted, pride once again getting the better of you. "i'll sit with mina and the others."

as you walked away, you heard bakugo mutter, "see? she doesn't care anyway."

if only he knew how much you did care. how the lump in your throat felt like it might choke you as you forced yourself to smile at mina's table.

"lover's quarrel?" mina asked, her black and gold eyes filled with genuine concern as you sat down.

"something like that," you mumbled, pushing food around your plate without appetite.

"they'll come around," tsuyu said matter-of-factly. "kero. boys just need time to cool off."

but as you glanced over at your boyfriends, seeing kirishima's forced laughter and bakugo's stormy expression, you weren't so sure.

--

the next three days were excruciating.

your boyfriends weren't outright ignoring you, but they had clearly taken your outburst to heart. whenever you entered a room, conversations became strained. lunch found them sitting with kaminari and sero rather than saving you a spot. kirishima's daily good morning texts stopped, and bakugo didn't wait for you after combat training like he usually did.

the distance between you grew with each passing hour until it felt like a chasm.

on wednesday, you paired with ochako for combat exercises while kirishima and bakugo immediately gravitatedtoward each other. the sight of them working together seamlessly, complementing each other's quirks with practiced precision, sent a pang of loneliness through your chest.

"you're distracted," ochako noted gently after you failed to dodge a simple attack. "is everything okay with you and the boys?"

"i'm fine," you insisted, wiping sweat from your brow. "just tired."

but you weren't fine. that night, you lay awake staring at your phone, thumb hovering over your group chat with kirishima and bakugo. the last message was from three days ago – a silly meme kirishima had sent about hero costumes. you started typing several messages, only to delete them all.

i'm sorry i was such a jerk.

delete.

can we talk?

delete.

i miss you both so much it hurts.

delete.

pride and fear kept you from sending anything. what if they'd decided they were better off without you? what if your one bad day had shown them that dating two people at once was more trouble than it was worth?

thursday morning brought no relief. in homeroom, you noticed bakugo had switched seats to sit farther away from you. kirishima still occupied his usual spot, but he seemed deflated, his normally spiky hair slightly less enthusiastic, as if reflecting his mood.

"trouble in paradise?" mina whispered during modern hero art history, nodding toward where kirishima and bakugo sat together, pointedly not looking your way.

"it's fine," you lied.

"well, you better fix it soon," kaminari leaned over to add. "bakugo's been twice as explosive in training. he nearly singed my eyebrows off yesterday."

"and kirishima keeps breaking things because he's hardening unconsciously when he gets upset," mina added. "he crushed three pencils in math alone."

it wasn't fine. the classroom had become a minefield of awkward silences and avoided glances. even your classmates had begun to notice, exchanging worried looks whenever the three of you were in proximity. at one point, you heard iida lecturing mineta about "respecting the delicate dynamics of polyamorous relationships" – a sure sign that your love life had become a topic of class discussion.

that afternoon, you spotted kirishima alone in the common area, a rare sight these days. gathering your courage, you approached him.

"hey," you said softly.

he looked up, surprise and something like hope flashing across his face. "hey."

an awkward silence stretched between you.

"how have you been?" you finally asked.

"good! fine, totally fine," he responded too quickly, his forced smile not reaching his eyes. "just, you know, busy with training and stuff."

"right," you nodded, heart sinking. "me too."

before you could say more, bakugo appeared in the doorway. his eyes narrowed as he took in the scene.

"kirishima. we're supposed to be studying," he called sharply.

kirishima glanced between you and bakugo, conflict written across his expressive face.

"coming," he finally said to bakugo, then turned back to you with an apologetic look. "i gotta go. but, um, it was good talking to you."

as they walked away, you heard bakugo mutter, "what were you thinking? she made it clear she doesn't need us."

kirishima's response was too quiet to hear, but the slump of his shoulders told you enough.

by friday afternoon, you couldn't take it anymore. sitting alone in your dorm room, you hugged your knees to your chest and finally let the tears fall. you'd messed up. one bad day had potentially ruined the best relationship you'd ever had. the charm bracelet they'd given you on your two-month anniversary felt heavy on your wrist, each small charm – an explosion for bakugo, a hardened fist for kirishima, and a symbol representing your quirk – a reminder of what you stood to lose.

you fingered the charms, remembering how bakugo had pretended to be annoyed about shopping for "sentimental crap" but had been the one to spot the perfect bracelet in the store window. how kirishima had insisted on charms that represented all three of you "because we're a team!"

the memory only made you cry harder.

a soft knock at your door startled you.

"go away," you called, hastily wiping at your tears. you didn't want anyone to see you like this, especially not mina or tsuyu with their well-intentioned advice.

"(y/n)." it was kirishima's voice, uncharacteristically serious. "please open the door."

your heart leaped to your throat. had he heard you crying from the hallway?

when you didn't respond, another voice cut in.

"open the damn door or i'll blow it off the hinges." bakugo, as subtle as ever.

"dude, we talked about this," you heard kirishima whisper harshly. "that's not the approach we agreed on!"

"well, she's not answering, is she?" bakugo shot back. "we've been standing out here for five minutes!"

with a heavy sigh, you pulled yourself up and unlocked the door, quickly wiping away any remaining tears. you weren't prepared for what greeted you on the other side.

--

kirishima stood there clutching an enormous bouquet of your favorite flowers, his crimson eyes wide with concern. the blossoms were slightly crushed on one side, as if they'd been held too tightly by nervous hands. beside him, bakugo held a bag from your favorite bakery in one hand and what appeared to be a small wrapped gift in the other. his usual scowl was present, but there was uncertainty in his eyes that you rarely saw.

"can we come in?" kirishima asked softly.

you stepped aside wordlessly, and they entered. bakugo immediately began pacing the small confines of your dorm room, while kirishima stood awkwardly by the door. the silence stretched between you for a long moment before all three of you spoke at once:

"i'm sorry—"

"we shouldn't have—"

"i was being a jerk—"

the tension broke as kirishima let out a relieved laugh.

"we've been complete idiots," he said, setting down the flowers to take your hands in his. his palms were warm and slightly calloused from training, the familiar texture making your heart ache with longing. "we should've known you were just having a rough day."

"i saw you spill coffee on your uniform that morning," bakugo admitted gruffly, still pacing. "should've realized you were already having a shitty day instead of making it worse."

"yeah, and we know you were up late helping uraraka," kirishima added. "deku told us."

"you guys were asking about me?" you questioned, a tiny spark of hope igniting in your chest.

"of course we were," bakugo stopped pacing to look at you directly. "just because we were pissed doesn't mean we stopped caring."

"i should've handled it better," you admitted, looking down at your and kirishima's joined hands. "i had no right to snap at you like that. you were just trying to help, and i was… i was just so tired and frustrated and taking it out on you wasn't fair."

"and we had no right to ice you out for days," kirishima replied, squeezing your hands. his eyes were suspiciously bright, as if he too might cry. "that wasn't manly at all."

"it was my idea," bakugo confessed, the admission clearly costing him. "i told kirishima you needed space. but i was just being stubborn and hurt."

"i should've stood up to him," kirishima added. "i knew it was wrong."

bakugo stepped forward, awkwardly thrusting the bakery bag toward you. "here. your favorite. the old lady at the bakery says hi, by the way. asked where you've been."

you peeked inside to find an assortment of pastries that made your mouth water – custard-filled taiyaki, melon pan, and the red bean mochi you loved so much.

"you went all the way to mrs. sato's bakery?" you asked, touched. it was at least a thirty-minute train ride from ua. "in the middle of the school day?"

"we may have skipped last period," kirishima admitted with a sheepish grin. "but all might is pretty understanding! we told him it was a relationship emergency."

the mental image of your boyfriends explaining to the former symbol of peace that they needed to skip class to buy you pastries almost made you laugh despite the tears threatening to spill again.

"we've been following you around all day trying to find the right moment to apologize," kirishima confessed, rubbing the back of his neck. "but you always looked so sad, and we weren't sure if you even wanted to talk to us anymore."

"plus hair-for-brains here kept chickening out," bakugo added, earning a protest from kirishima.

"me? you're the one who kept saying 'the timing isn't right' every time we saw her!"

"because it wasn't!"

"of course i want to talk to you," you whispered, cutting off their bickering and feeling fresh tears spring to your eyes. "i've been miserable without you guys. i tried to text so many times, but i was afraid you'd moved on. that maybe you realized having a girlfriend was more trouble than it's worth."

bakugo's expression softened, and he reached out to brush a tear from your cheek with surprising gentleness. "don't be stupid," he said, but his voice held no bite. "as if we'd give up that easily."

"we were miserable too," kirishima admitted. "bakugo blew up the microwave when kaminari mentioned your name yesterday."

"i did not!"

"you totally did. and i crushed my phone when i saw your name pop up in my memories app."

"is that why you have a new phone?" you asked, noticing the unfamiliar device poking out of his pocket.

"yeah," he smiled sheepishly. "hardening quirk and emotional distress don't mix well with electronics."

bakugo handed you the small wrapped package he'd been holding. "here. this is… from both of us."

you carefully unwrapped it to find a small velvet box. inside was a delicate silver necklace with a pendant that matched the charms on your bracelet – the three symbols intertwined into one design.

"kiri picked it out," bakugo mumbled, a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

"we both did," kirishima corrected, beaming now. "we wanted something to remind you that even when we fight, we're still connected. the three of us, together."

"plus," bakugo added, avoiding eye contact in that way he did when being sincere embarrassed him, "you're always touching that bracelet we gave you. even this week when you were ignoring us. so we thought…"

your heart felt like it might burst as kirishima took the necklace and moved behind you to fasten it. his warm breath tickled your neck, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. when he finished, his lips brushed against your shoulder in a featherlight kiss before he moved back to face you.

"i'm really sorry," you said again, looking between them and touching the new pendant resting against your collarbone. "for everything. i promise i'll try to communicate better next time i'm having a bad day instead of bottling it up and exploding."

"that's my job," bakugo said with a smirk, referring to his quirk. the familiar joke made warmth bloom in your chest.

"we are too," kirishima replied, pulling you into a warm hug. you sank into his embrace, breathing in the comforting scent of his cologne and the faint smell of cinnamon that always seemed to cling to him. "we should have checked on you instead of assuming the worst."

after a moment's hesitation, bakugo joined the embrace, his strong arms encircling both of you. it was rare for him to initiate this kind of physical affection, making the gesture all the more meaningful.

"if you ever feel like that again," he murmured against your hair, "just tell us to back off instead of bottling it up, got it? say 'bakugo, kirishima, i need space today,' and we'll give it to you. no questions asked."

"and if you need help," kirishima added, "just say that too. we're not mind readers."

you nodded against his chest, feeling the weight of the past few days finally lifting. "i promise."

the three of you stayed like that for a long moment, simply holding each other and reconnecting without words. finally, kirishima pulled back slightly, his trademark sharp-toothed grin back in full force.

"so," he said, his voice bright with hope, "movie night in the common room? i think we all could use some cuddle time."

"as long as we don't have to watch another one of those action movies where the heroes do everything wrong," you teased, feeling yourself smile for the first time in days.

"only if i get to pick the movie," you teased, feeling yourself smile for the first time in days.

"as if," bakugo scoffed, but the arm around your waist tightened affectionately. "it's my turn."

"we'll negotiate," kirishima laughed, pressing a kiss to your temple.

--

the common room was already bustling with activity when the three of you arrived, your hands interlinked with kirishima on one side and bakugo on the other. conversation died down momentarily as your classmates took in the sight of the three of you together again, expressions ranging from relief (midoriya) to knowing smirks (mina).

"thank fucking god," kaminari whispered loudly to jirou, who elbowed him in the ribs. "what? i'm just saying what everyone's thinking! i couldn't handle another day of bakugo being even more explosive than usual."

"shut it, pikachu!" bakugo growled, but there was no real heat behind it. his thumb traced small circles on the back of your hand, a subtle gesture of affection he probably thought no one noticed.

"movie night?" todoroki asked from his spot on one of the couches, his mismatched eyes taking in your joined hands with quiet approval.

"yeah, if that's cool with everyone," kirishima replied with his usual enthusiasm. "we were thinking something chill."

"as long as it's not another documentary about mountain climbing," sero groaned. "i still have nightmares about that last one iida made us watch."

"the educational value of understanding extreme environments is not to be underestimated!" iida protested, chopping his hands through the air emphatically.

the familiar banter washed over you like a soothing balm. mina gave you a thumbs up from across the room, mouthing "told you so!" with a wink.

"i guess we were pretty obvious, huh?" you whispered to kirishima as the three of you claimed the loveseat, which was just barely big enough for all of you if you didn't mind being squished together (which you certainly didn't).

"extremely," tsuyu confirmed from nearby. "the whole class was walking on eggshells. kero. aizawa-sensei even asked if there was something wrong with the three of you."

"he did not!" you gasped, mortified at the thought of your homeroom teacher discussing your love life.

"he totally did," uraraka confirmed, floating a bowl of popcorn over to your group. "he said, and i quote, 'fix whatever's going on because your performance in joint exercises is suffering.'"

kirishima laughed, the sound warming your heart. "sorry about that, guys! everything's manly and awesome now!"

"yeah, yeah, just keep the makeup pda to a minimum," kaminari teased. "some of us are single and bitter about it."

"you're just jealous because you can't get a date," bakugo shot back, but there was almost a hint of playfulness in his tone.

as the lights dimmed for the movie (a compromise selection that had something for everyone), you found yourself sandwiched between your boyfriends on the small loveseat. kirishima's arm draped around your shoulders, his fingers idly playing with your hair. bakugo's thigh pressed against yours, warm and solid, his hand finding yours in the darkness.

"this okay?" he asked quietly, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

"perfect," you whispered back, giving his hand a squeeze.

as the movie played, you felt bakugo's foot nudge yours under the coffee table. when you looked his way, he was staring straight ahead at the screen, but the corner of his mouth was quirked up in a small, private smile meant only for you.

with kirishima's radiant warmth on one side and bakugo's protective presence on the other, you knew that no matter what bad days might come, the three of you would weather them together.

later that night, after most of your classmates had drifted off to their dorms, the three of you remained cuddled together on the loveseat. kirishima had fallen asleep, his head resting on your shoulder, soft snores escaping his slightly parted lips. bakugo was still awake, his thumb tracing lazy patterns on your palm.

"hey," you whispered, careful not to wake kirishima. "thanks for not giving up on us."

bakugo looked at you, those fierce crimson eyes softening in a way they only did when he was with you and kirishima. "as if that was ever an option," he murmured. "just don't scare us like that again, got it?"

"got it," you promised, leaning over to press a soft kiss to his cheek. "next time i need space or help, i'll just say so."

"good," he nodded, then added quietly, "i missed you."

coming from bakugo, those three simple words meant everything.

"i missed you too," you whispered back. "both of you."

"we know," he replied with that rare, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat. "now get some sleep. shitty hair here has already drooled on your shirt."

sure enough, there was a small damp spot on your shoulder where kirishima's head rested. somehow, even that was endearing.

with a contented sigh, you closed your eyes, surrounded by the warmth of your boyfriends. the last thought that crossed your mind before sleep claimed you was that maybe, just maybe, bad days weren't so terrible when you had people who loved you enough to chase after you with flowers and pastries, even when you pushed them away.

and maybe next time, you'd just ask for that hug you needed right from the start.

the next monday, the change in atmosphere was palpable. as you walked into class flanked by your boyfriends, kirishima's arm draped casually over your shoulder and bakugo's hand intertwined with yours, a collective sigh of relief swept through the room.

"thank god," kaminari whispered loudly to jirou. "i couldn't handle another day of bakugo being even more explosive than usual."

"shut it, pikachu!" bakugo growled, but there was no real heat behind it.

mina gave you a thumbs up from across the room, and even todoroki seemed quietly pleased by the restored harmony.

"i guess we were pretty obvious, huh?" you whispered to kirishima as you took your seats.

"extremely," tsuyu confirmed from the desk behind you. "the whole class was walking on eggshells. kero."

kirishima laughed, the sound warming your heart. "sorry about that, guys! everything's manly and awesome now!"

as aizawa shuffled in to start homeroom, you felt bakugo's foot nudge yours under the desk. when you looked his way, he was staring straight ahead, but the corner of his mouth was quirked up in a small, private smile meant only for you.

with kirishima's radiant grin on one side and bakugo's quiet affection on the other, you knew that no matter what bad days might come, the three of you would weather them together.

and maybe next time, you'd just ask for that hug you needed right from the start.

taglist: [open]

mutuals

@https-bakugo @haikyuubby @va-3 @lotusstarr @tulippanes @gh0st-g1rll @luvseraphh

© property of kenzdolls — do not copy, steal, or plagiarize my work

[ravencp86]

Ghost - Jegulus - @into-the-jeggyverse - Word count: 842

Part 1, Part 2

James was slouched down on the sofa in the living room, flicking through the TV channels without really paying attention when Sirius got home.

“Alright, mate?” Sirius asked as he dropped on to the sofa next to him.

“Yeah,” James replied, somewhat distracted.

“You sure? Cause you look sad as fuck.” Sirius chuckled.

James heaved a heavy sigh.

“Yeah, it's fine, just-” James didn't finish his sentence, but glanced at his phone sitting on the table.

“Oh,” Sirius said. “Again?”

“Yup. That's the third one in as many weeks. I don't know what I'm doing wrong.”

James had been desperately trying to get back in the dating game. Desperate was probably a bad word, but it sometimes felt like he was. Everyone he knew was in some kind of relationship and he was ready to be too.

James just sighed again. “Whatever, it's fine. Do you want a cuppa?” James asked, as he got up and walked into the kitchen.

“Yeah, please.” Sirius called after him.

Later that night, James was starting to get annoyed with Sirius, who hadn't put his phone down in over an hour.

“Mate, you know I love Remus, I do, but you spent most of the day together and now I'm trying to infiltrate this camp of ghouls and you're supposed to be helping!”

“Oh, shit, soz.” Sirius half apologised.

“You know what, never mind.” James quit the game and walked off down the hallway towards his bedroom.

He didn't mean to snap at Sirius, but he just wanted to be someone's focus for a second. James knew he wouldn't be in this mood tomorrow, it was purely circumstantial, so right now he reserved the right to be a bit pissy.

He crashed down on his bed and grabbed his book.

He had only been reading about 5 minutes when Sirius knocked and walked straight in.

“You're supposed to wait for an invitation,” James huffed, not looking up from his book.

Sirius plopped down on the bed next to him. “Listen up, sad sack. Don't say I don't do anything nice for you.”

James squinted at Sirius and waited for him to elaborate.

“I've got you a date.” Sirius announced.

“You what?” James blanched.

“A date. With a real, human man and I can personally guarantee this one will not ghost you like the others.”

James scoffed. “And how, pray tell, can you guarantee that?”

“Cause I happen to know this bloke is fucking nuts about you and actually, has been asking me to set you both up for ages now.” Sirius looked put out by his own statement.

“Why haven't you then?” James was worried what the answer was going to be.

“Cause,” Sirius took a deep breath. “It's Reggie and the thought of you and my little brother together makes me wanna heave.”

James sat bolt upright. “Wait! Regulus Black wants to go out with me?” James was stunned. He had never even entertained the idea of Regulus liking him back.

“Please don't full name him.” Sirirus grimaced.

James swiftly punched Sirius in the arm. “Why the hell didn't you set us up earlier?”

“Firstly, ow!” Sirius punched James back. “Secondly, I told you!” Sirius retorted as he rubbed his arm. “He's my little brother. It feels like incest!”

“Eww, gross, Sirius. It's nothing like that at all!” James exclaimed.

“Well, yeah, I know that, but still. Anyway, Remus told me to stop being an arse and just make this happen. Apparently, he's just as bored of listening to Regulus complain about his shitty dates, as I am listening about yours.” Sirius explained.

James was pacing. “So, Regulus really wants to go out? With me? This isn't some elaborate prank?”

“I swear on your life, James.” Sirius proclaimed. “Remus said he was sure he would say yes. So, I've actually been speaking to Reggie for the last hour trying to sort it and make him also believe me that this isn't a joke. Sooooo,” Sirius drew out. “Here.” Sirius held out a slip of paper.

“What is it?” James asked, not sure this was real.

“It's Reggie's number. He's expecting your call.” Sirius got up, handed the paper to James and started to leave the room.

“Wait!” James called out and Sirius turned back around. “Where are you going?” James asked, slightly panicked.

“Oh, if you think I'm going to sit here and listen to you gush down the phone, you've got another thing coming.” Sirius turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

James stared at the piece of paper in his hands and before he could talk himself out of it, he picked up his phone and dialled the number.

It rang and rang and just as James was starting to feel deflated and was about to hang up, there was a click and a quiet voice spoke.

“Hello?”

“Erm, hi, Regulus, it's erm, James. James Potter?” Fuck sake, James cursed himself for his ineloquence.

However, instead of the line going dead, James heard a quiet laugh. “Hello, James.”

James beamed.

[rynwrites4fun]

Across The Hall (8) | Michael Robinavitch x Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Michael Robinavitch x F! Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Summary: Michael finally acts on his feelings for you, risking it all to get closer. But the situation grows complicated, and some hard truths come to light.

Word Count: 3336

Warning: Age Gap (Mid 20s/ Early 50s), romantic and intimate content

Authors Note: (today years old finding out Noah Wyle/Robby has tattoos??? hello??? I never noticed. I took this gif for me to realize lol) So...y’all are gonna love me for 5 seconds then hate me bad. BYE 😬🫣 - ryn

Michael was headed to work when he stepped out of his apartment and caught himself staring at your door.

Last night, he’d wanted to kiss you—God, how he’d wanted to kiss you. Not just then. So many times before. He’d wanted you more than anything.

He needed to tell you how he felt. I should’ve said something last night, he thought.

But he didn’t.

He’d figured it was obvious—the way he looked at you, the way he stayed, the way he showed up. Surely you could feel it too.

And then you’d call him your friend.

The word had hit harder than he expected.

Friend.

It stung—maybe more than it should’ve. It bruised something in him

He sighed, adjusting the backpack dangling from his right shoulder.

Jamming his keys into his hoodie pocket, he stuffed his hands in after them and headed down the hall toward the elevator. He pressed the button and waited, his thoughts spinning.

I just need to go for it. Before it’s too late.

The elevator chimed. The doors slid open.

He stepped inside, settling into the corner and leaning against the wall. The silence wrapped around him.

Next time I see her, he’d told himself, I’m not holding back. I’m going to walk right up to her and—

“Morning.”

Out of nowhere—you.

He froze.

Okay—well, definitely wasn’t expecting to see her now. Not this soon. Not when he was still half in his head, rehearsing how it was all supposed to go.

“H-hey.”

Michael cleared his throat and quickly stood up straighter as you stepped inside.

The elevator doors closed behind you.

You could feel his eyes on you. You glanced sideways, then turned to face him fully, eyebrows knitting together.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said a little too quickly, he still stares at you. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“How am I looking at you?” 

He was looking at you the same way he had that morning in his bed—hovering over you, lips parted like he wanted to kiss you… and more. He looked at you with yearning. With longing. Like he could snap at any second.

“I don’t know… like—”

But you didn’t finish the sentence. Your throat tightened. You swallowed hard and turned back toward the doors, heart suddenly thudding in your chest.

Your breathing picked up as you tried to stay calm, but his eyes were still on you. Watching. Burning.

And then something snapped—his self-control, usually so carefully kept in check, cracked under the weight of everything he’d been holding back. It was all impulse now. He couldn’t waste another second.

Fuck it, he thought.

He needed you. Right then. Right there. Needed to feel your breath hitch against his lips, to finally cross the line he’d been toeing for far too long. 

He needed to show you how he felt, how you made him feel. 

All he knew was that he had to kiss you like you were his.

Michael dropped his backpack to the floor. 

He stepped closer, gently taking your hand and guiding you toward him.

You gave him a confused look—right up until your bodies pressed together, close enough to feel the rise and fall of his chest against yours.

Your breath caught as his hand came up to cradle your cheek, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate line along your skin. For a moment, he just looked at you—eyes locked on yours, searching, aching.

“Michael, w-what are you doing?” you whispered.

“What I should’ve done last night on the park bench… that morning after you stayed over when i had the worst shift of my life… God, what I should’ve done a long time ago.”

Neither of you moves at first. But then, slowly, like gravity has shifted, you both begin to lean in. Your breaths mingle. Noses nearly brush. His gaze flickers to your lips.

And then… you both stop.

Instead, your foreheads rest together, the moment suspended—tense, quiet. Neither of you pulls away. Neither of you says a word. You just stay there, breathing the same air, hearts beating loud and close.

You shouldn’t kiss him—you really shouldn’t. But your heart didn’t care.

It drowned out your brain, smothered logic, silenced reason with want, with need.

Your mind screamed: This will end badly. He’ll get hurt. You can’t hurt him. But still… you leaned in.

The kiss is soft at first, hesitant, gentle. Your foreheads touch again as you pause for breath… and then kiss again. And again. Each one deeper. Each one is more certain. The passion builds, quiet and slow, until it’s not quiet at all. I'm hungry. Needy. Hard.

Like neither of you can bear to stop.

Your bag dropped to the floor with a thud as you grabbed him—hands fisting in the fabric of his hoodie.

He groaned into your mouth, hand sliding to your waist, holding you like he was afraid you might vanish if he let go.

Your fingers curled tighter in response—latching yourself to him more.

You gasped against his lips, a soft whimper escaping before you could stop it—raw, involuntary, real.

“Fuck, sweetheart…” he breathed, voice low and ragged, like the feeling of you was too much and still not enough.

The term of endearment sent a sigh spilling from your lips.

He was panting now, forehead nearly resting against yours, trying to catch his breath—but unwilling, unable, to pull away.

“You don’t know how long…I’ve been wanting to do this…wanting to kiss you…Touch you..” he murmured between kisses, each sentence catching its breath between the next.

“Don’t stop… please” you begged.

Then—without warning—he turned you with urgency, guiding you backward until your back met the cool wall of the elevator.

The chill of the metal against your spine contrasted with the heat of him pressing into you.

You barely registered the buttons behind you, lost in the haze of his mouth, his hands, the weight of his need.

One hand braced above your head, the other slipped beneath your shirt—his calloused palm gliding over your skin like a promise, grounding you.

The elevator gave a shudder and stopped—probably because one of you had hit the emergency button somewhere in the frenzy.

Neither of you noticed.

Neither of you cared.

He kissed you like his life depended on it—like it was the last night he’d ever get to touch you.

Like he was trying to memorize you with his mouth, to savor every second as if he knew he might never get this chance again.

His lips trailed along your neck, each kiss sending a shiver down your spine.

It felt good. God, it all felt so good. You’d never felt anything like this.

It was easy to get lost in the warmth of him—his breath, his body, the way his touch set your skin alight.

The feelings crashed into you like a tide you didn’t want to resist, pulling you under.

Something deep inside you stirred—raw and aching.

Every brush of his fingers sent tremors through you.

In that heat, in that closeness, nothing else existed.

There was only him.

Only this.

But somehow, against all odds, your mind claws its way back to reality. You reason coming back to scream at you. 

You shouldn’t be doing this. This wasn’t right.  Especially what happened last night after you two said goodnight. 

You had to stop this. You had to tell him. 

“M-Michael” you stutter out breathless. 

“Mhm?” He mumbles as he continues to assault your neck with open mouth kisses. 

“Michael”

“What is it? Huh? What is it, baby?…” he murmured between kisses, his voice low and breathless against your neck, each word tumbling out like a plea

“Michael—s-stop, I—I can’t.” 

He froze.

Everything stilled at once—the heat, the urgency, the world. He pulled back immediately, hands lifting off you, then reaching for your face.

His fingers brushed your cheek. “Hey… what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice suddenly softer, more grounded.

He saw it in your eyes—a look of regret, look of guilt, the shift from passion to shame.

“Are you okay?”

A beat passed.

Then his expression shifted, guilt crashing into him like a wave.

“Shit,” he breathed. “I’m sorry… I went too far, didn’t I?”

His hand dropped from your face, and he stepped back—once, then again—putting space between you.

You shook your head quickly. “No, no. It’s not you, Michael—”

His brows pulled together. “Then what is it?”

You couldn’t look him in the eye.

“Hey…” His voice softened. “Sweetheart, talk to me.”

He reached for your hands, gently taking them in his. His thumb brushed over the top—slow, soothing

“I—I’m still with Aiden,” you blurted out, the words crashing out before you could stop them.

His thumbs stopped brushing your hands, as he blankly stared at you. Your chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths. You couldn’t stand seeing the look on his face. 

“What?” His voice was quiet, but sharp at the edges. Just looked at you, as if trying to make sense of what he’d just heard.

Michael shouldn’t have assumed. But after last night, after everything, he thought it was over between the two of you. It had to be. Who in their right mind would go back to that? How could this not have been the last straw for you? Because if he was you, it would’ve been. Hell, if he was in your position, he would have broken up with Aiden ages ago. 

This just made things even more complicated.

“I—I talked it out with Aiden… last night,” you repeated, softer this time, almost like an apology.

Michael began to laugh. Not a joyful laugh—not even close. It was hollow, sharp, disbelieving.

“You’re joking, right?” he asked, his eyes searching for yours, hoping for some sign that you were messing with him. That this was just some badly timed joke. 

But you didn’t laugh.

You didn’t say a word.

The silence between you answered for you.

Michael stepped back completely away from you like you’d physically struck him. His hands dropped yours and hung limply at his sides.

“You’re still with him? Did you not hear anything I said last night?” he asked, staring at you like he couldn’t believe this was happening. “Were you not listening?”

He begins to slightly pace the small space. 

His voice rose, sharp and broken. “How can you go back to him after that? You can’t be serious!”

He let out a bitter breath, dragging a hand through his hair.

“You’re still with him—and I just—God, you just let me—we just—” 

He dragged his hands down his face, like he could scrub the memory out of his skin.

“You patched things up with him last night—you knew this and you still let me kiss you and touch you like that?!” His voice cracks, finger stabbing the ground as if trying to make sense of it all. 

You flinched, breath hitching as tears welled in your eyes.

His voice cracked with disbelief. “Jesus.”

“Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to care about someone? To feel something real for someone, and watch her waste her time on a man who doesn’t even see her? Who gives her nothing—no love, no attention, not even the bare minimum she deserves?”

His voice cracked, raw now, spilling from the wound you’d just torn open.

“You don’t know what it’s been like for me. Standing on the sidelines these past few months… being your neighbor, your friend—when all I’ve wanted is to be yours.”

He stepped closer, the space between you shrinking with the weight of his truth.

“I want to be the one you depend on. The one you lean on. The one you count on—not just when things fall apart, but always.”

“He came back and—I… I just—” your voice faltered, the words catching in your throat. 

“If I had known—”

He cut you off, sharper this time. “No. Don’t say that. We both knew, deep down. We knew there’s something between us.”

His eyes were hard now, voice tight. “You just chose not to do anything about it.”

Tears stung your eyes, but you blinked them back—until you couldn’t.

“I was scared… I am scared,” you said, your voice cracking.

Pushing off the wall, you moved behind him. Michael turned to face you, eyes searching.

“Everything between us…” You shook your head, the words trembling out. “I’ve never felt anything like this before—and that terrifies me. I don’t know what to do with it. I didn’t know how to handle you… or the way you make me feel.”

The tears came fast now, hot and relentless.

“With him… I knew what to expect, but you…” You looked at him through the blur of tears. “You make me want more. You make me feel safe, make me feel seen, heard— and that scares the hell out of me, because I don’t know what to do with good things!”

“So you chose what was familiar,” he said quietly, “Instead of choosing what you really want”

He shook his head, frustration flickering behind the hurt. “Instead of being honest with me—about how you felt—having a conversation with me, you self-sabotaged. You denied yourself. You pushed away something real and good that was right in front of you by going back to him.”

A sob escaped before you could stop it. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“But you did,” he said—not cruel, just tired. “And the worst part is… I don’t think you even realized you were doing it. You were so scared of something real, you threw it away before it even began”

He exhaled, as if the weight of it all was finally too much. “I can’t keep doing this.”

His voice softened, but the words still hit like a blow. “I showed you how I feel. I told you. I put it all out there right here, right now, but I guess I was too late. You made up your mind before anything could even start.”

“Whatever this is… I’m done.”

Those last words hung in the air—tight, final. But underneath them was something raw. Hurt. Disappointment. And maybe even heartbreak.

He didn’t want to be done. He didn’t want to give up on this—on you—before it had the chance to become something real.

But what choice did he have?

He paused, then added, “You need to figure yourself out. Really figure it out. What you want, what you feel… why you push people away when they treat you the way you deserve. Because if you don’t, you’re just going to keep hurting the people who care about you.”

He paused, jaw tightening. “So… I wish you nothing but the best.”

“Michael,” you breathed, his name catching in your throat.

He looked at you then—eyes distant, walls rising—even though his feet hadn’t moved.

“I care about you,” he said, voice steady but low. “Not just in passing. Not like someone who comes and goes. You matter to me.”

He hesitated, the words aching in his mouth. “And maybe that’s what makes this so damn hard.”

“I think it’s best we stop hanging out,” he said, more carefully now, like he had to choose every word with precision just to keep from unraveling. “If I see you around, I’ll say hello. I’ll be polite. But that’s it. Don’t come to me for help.”

It gutted him to say it. But he knew he couldn’t anymore. At least for night now. He needed space. Boundaries. Because caring this much was costing him more than he could carry.

And just like that, he began to step back—not just physically, but emotionally—shutting doors he never wanted to close.

Michael turned toward the panel and pressed the “door open” button. Nothing. He hit “Lobby.” Then another floor. Still nothing.

He pressed a few more buttons in quick succession, frustration creeping into his movements. Nothing. The elevator was still. 

Of course. Of course you were stuck now—trapped in a metal box with the man whose heart you just shattered.

He let out an annoyed groan, sharp and brittle. “You’ve got to be kidding me…”

You stood there, arms folded tightly over your chest like they could hold you together. “Did… did we press something?” you as quietly as you sniffle. 

Michael gave the panel a deadpan glance. “Yeah. The emergency stop. Guess we hit it when—” He cut himself off, jaw clenching.

You both knew exactly when.

Silence followed, thick and choking.

“I’ll call maintenance,” he muttered, reaching for the phone on the panel. He picked up the receiver, waited for a beat, then spoke into it. “Yeah, hi. We’re stuck in elevator three. No, no one’s hurt. Just… just stuck.”

Another pause.

“Alright. Thanks.” He hung it up and sighed. “They’ve got to reset the elevator. Said it could be ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”

You nodded, staring at the floor like it might offer a way out.

Fifteen more minutes in this suffocating space with him.

Fifteen minutes of trying to hold back your cries. Trying not to say the wrong thing again. Trying not to reach for him even though everything inside you wanted to.

He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and his eyes fixed somewhere above your head. Not cold. Just… gone.

You swallowed hard, trying not to look at him. “Michael…”

He cut you off, voice low and sharp. “Don’t,”

“Please don’t.” he said softly

It wasn’t cruel. It was protective. A quiet plea from someone trying to hold himself together.

The silence settled again.

After a while the elevator shuttered and hummed back to life The floor numbers flickered, then steadily climbed downward. Relief washed over you, but it was tangled with the heaviness between you and Michael.

He didn’t say a word as the elevator glided to the lobby. The doors slid open smoothly, flooding the small space with the bright fluorescent lights of the lobby.

Without hesitation, Michael grabbed his bag from the corner, slung it over his shoulder, and stepped out briskly. He didn’t look back.

You grab your bag and slowly follow out behind him.

He was moving through the lobby, his steps brisk and determined, focused on putting distance between the two of you. The coldness wasn’t anger. It hurt. And right now, he needed to get away.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. You stood there in the middle of the lobby as you watched him leave through the doors. 

The lobby felt suddenly enormous and hollow, like the space between you and Michael had stretched far beyond the few feet that separated you. Your fingers tightened around your bag strap, heart aching with a sharp mix of regret and helplessness.

You wanted to call him back—to explain, to try and fix what you’d broken—but after everything said in the elevator, the damage was done. The words felt useless now. There was no coming back from this.

His words echoing in your mind like a heavy weight pressing down on your chest.

You need to figure yourself out.

The truth of it settled deep inside you, sharper and more painful than you expected. You thought about all the times you've pushed people away—out of fear, confusion, or simply not knowing how to accept love.

His words weren’t just an accusation—they were a warning.

If you didn’t face what was inside, if you didn’t understand what you truly wanted and needed, you’d keep hurting the people you cared about.

But more than that, you’d be hurting yourself.

Holding on to a past that didn’t value you, to a relationship that made you feel small and invisible.

You need to stop settling for less than you deserve and start choosing yourself—learning to listen to your own heart, discovering what happiness really means for you.

Because moving on isn’t just about leaving someone behind—it’s about finding who you truly are, and finally believing you’re worth more than pain and neglect.

It’s about opening the door to a future where you can be whole again.

The End...

(SIKE! LMAO, I’m just playing. I wouldn't do y'all dirty like that… I did do you dirty with this part with Robby and reader 💀 IM SORRY Y’ALL KNOW THE DRILL…SLOW BURNNN)

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[missmadella]

"How they react when you come back from a Terrible Date" (They're Secretly in Love With You) // Tokyo revengers

Charakters: Mikey, Mitsuya, Chifuyu, Ran, Rindou, Draken, Hanma, Shinichiro, Kazutora, Sanzu

Synopsis: You come home from yet another awful date — frustrated, humiliated, and swearing off dating for good. He’s waiting. Always is. The one who never says it, but watches you like he could burn the world down for you. You start ranting, words sharp and bitter... but before you can finish, he’s already in front of you. Close. Too close. One look. One kiss. And it all snaps.

“Shut up,” he breathes. “You’re mine.”

And maybe you always have been.

Mikey (Sano Manjiro):

You slam the front door a little harder than necessary.

Shoes off. Purse on the floor. Frustration clinging to you like a second skin.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter to yourself.

Mikey’s sitting exactly where you left him—on your couch, legs crossed, eating Pocky like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. He doesn’t say anything yet. Just watches you from the corner of his eye, tracking your every movement like a cat waiting to pounce.

You’re too annoyed to notice.

“Literally the worst date I’ve ever been on,” you grumble, heading to the kitchen to put your keys in the dish.

Mikey leans his head back. “Didn’t think anyone could top last week’s guy.”

“Oh, this one did,” you say, raising your voice from the other room. “First, he shows up late. No apology. Then spends half the dinner talking about himself—nonstop. Doesn’t ask me a single question.”

Your voice grows sharper, more animated, as you stalk back and forth, venting.

“I mention I like manga, he says ‘Oh, that nerd stuff?’ Like, excuse me?” You scoff, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and slamming it down. “Then he tries to guilt-trip me into inviting him up to my place. Said I was leading him on because I smiled too much.”

Mikey’s body shifts slightly. His eyes are locked on you now, and he’s not blinking. Still silent.

“And the worst part?” You huff. “I actually tried. I tried to be interesting, polite, charming. I laughed at his terrible jokes. I wore the dress I wasn’t sure about because I thought maybe it’d make me feel confident.”

You open the fridge, grab a bottle of water, ramble on.

“I just—God, why do I even bother? Every time, I end up with these walking red flags in human skin. Like I’m cursed or something.”

You twist the cap off and lean down to shove some leftovers back into the fridge, muttering to yourself.

“What’s so hard about finding someone who just... sees me for who I am?”

And that’s when it happens.

You turn around and nearly bump into him.

You didn’t hear him move. Didn’t hear a single step.

But Mikey is suddenly right there, only inches away. His expression unreadable. Shoulders tense. Eyes locked on you like he’s barely holding something back.

Your mouth opens, confused. “Mikey—”

His hands grip your waist.

And then you feel your back hit the wall behind you with a gentle thud as he presses you there, body close, leaving you no room to retreat. The bottle of water slips from your fingers and rolls away.

“Mikey, what are you—?”

You don’t finish.

Because he kisses you.

Hard.

It’s not a question. It’s not careful or delicate. It’s the kind of kiss that steals the breath from your lungs, the kind that tastes like every unsaid word he’s ever swallowed. His mouth claims yours like he’s starved for it, like he’s furious with how long he’s waited.

Your hands go to his chest out of instinct, half in shock, half because your legs are suddenly jelly.

When he finally pulls away, just barely, his voice is low and trembling.

“I’ve been in love with you since forever.”

You stare up at him, stunned, lips parted, your heart slamming in your chest.

He breathes out a shaky laugh. “Since the first time you called me out on my shit. Since you patched me up after a fight without asking questions. Since you sat next to me in silence when I didn’t know how to talk.”

His forehead presses against yours.

“And every time you told me about those stupid dates... every time you came home looking sad and tired... I wanted to be the one you came home from a date with. I wanted it to be me.”

You’re still breathless.

Still pressed to the wall by the only person who’s ever made you feel this seen—like your words, your fire, your rants aren’t too much.

You swallow, still stunned. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

His hand cradles the side of your face gently now, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“Because I was scared,” he whispers. “That if I kissed you, I wouldn’t be able to stop.”

There’s a moment — one long, charged heartbeat — where the world seems to go quiet.

And then you say it.

Soft. Barely a breath between you.

“Then don’t.”

His eyes flicker.

And that’s all it takes.

He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t hesitate.

Mikey dives back in like a man who’s drowning and you’re the only air left on Earth. His mouth crashes onto yours again — rougher this time, messier, needier. His hand cradles the back of your head, angling you just right, while the other grips your waist with something between desperation and relief.

You gasp into the kiss, and he takes advantage, deepening it until you’re practically melting against the wall. Your fingers twist into the soft fabric of his hoodie, pulling him impossibly closer as he kisses you like he’s making up for every second he’s kept this to himself.

Teeth clash. Lips bruise. Tongues slide.

It's not pretty. It's not polite.

It’s raw, breathless, real.

He presses his body against yours fully now, like he wants to sink into you, like this is the only place he’s ever wanted to be. You can feel his heart racing against your own — fast, erratic, like he’s on the edge of completely losing control.

He breaks the kiss for just a second to breathe, but your lips chase his, and he lets out a low, broken sound that sounds almost like your name before he kisses you again — slower this time, but no less intense. He tastes like sugar and fire and something you can’t name, but know you’ll never forget.

You barely register that your back is still pressed to the wall, that the water bottle rolled across the floor. The only thing that exists now is him — Mikey, here, holding you like he’ll never let go.

And you kiss him back like you feel exactly the same.

Because maybe you do.

Maybe you always have.

___________________________________________________________________________

Mitsuya Takashi:

The door clicks behind you with a sigh as you step into your apartment, emotionally wrung out and physically exhausted.

You’re already shrugging off your jacket, toeing off your shoes, when you hear him.

“Hey,” Mitsuya’s voice comes from the kitchen. “Welcome back.”

You hadn’t even remembered he was coming over. But there he is — sleeves rolled up, a gentle expression on his face, stirring something warm on the stove. It smells like curry. The good kind. His kind.

Your lips tremble before you even realize they are.

He glances at you and pauses.

“Bad date?”

You let out a sharp laugh. “You could say that.”

You step further in and drop your bag onto a chair. He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t push. He just keeps stirring, calm and steady, waiting.

You lean against the counter and start talking.

“I don’t even know why I bothered. He was fifteen minutes late, spent most of dinner checking his phone. Said something like, ‘I don’t usually go for girls like you’—whatever the hell that means.”

Mitsuya’s jaw twitches subtly. But he doesn’t interrupt.

“He laughed when I said I liked sewing. Said it was ‘a grandma hobby.’ Then asked if I had a backup plan, because he didn’t think people ‘like me’ could make a real living out of it.”

That’s when Mitsuya puts the spoon down.

You keep going, frustrated and trying not to let it show how hurt you really are.

“And I just sat there. Smiling. Nodding. Pretending I wasn’t sinking. I don’t know why I do that—I just keep giving these guys chances, hoping one of them will… I don’t know. See me. Actually see me.”

When you look up again, Mitsuya’s closer.

You blink, startled. He was on the other side of the kitchen just a second ago.

“I see you,” he says softly, and the words land so gently it takes a second to register how much they mean.

You smile, trying to brush it off, even as your chest tightens. “Thanks, Mitsuya. But—”

“I mean it.”

He’s closer now. Only a few feet away.

You can see the tension in his shoulders, how carefully he’s holding himself back. He takes another step, slowly, like he’s giving you time to stop him. You don’t.

“I see how hard you try, even when people don’t deserve it. I see how you light up when you talk about the things you love. You’re not too loud, or too much, or ‘intimidating.’ You’re just… real.”

Your breath hitches. He’s right in front of you now.

“And that’s what makes you so damn beautiful.”

You don’t move. Can’t move. The air between you is thick with something unspoken, and finally, finally, Mitsuya reaches out and brushes his fingers across your cheek.

He watches your reaction, searching your eyes. “Can I?”

You nod.

And when he kisses you, it’s soft — like he’s afraid you’ll break. Like you matter. It’s not rushed. It’s warm and reverent, like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth, the taste of this moment.

But then your hands curl into his shirt, and you kiss him back — harder. Hungrier.

That’s when the dam breaks.

His hand moves to your lower back, pulling you against him, the other curling into your hair as he deepens the kiss. He still holds you like you’re something precious, but it’s laced with years of held-in emotion.

When he finally pulls back, both of you breathless, he presses his forehead to yours.

“I’ve been in love with you for longer than I’ll ever admit,” he murmurs. “Just say the word, and I’ll show you every single day.”

You smile, tears prickling behind your eyes — not from sadness this time, but relief.

“I think I just did.”

He lets out the softest breath of a laugh — almost disbelieving, like he’s been dreaming about this moment for too long to trust it’s real.

And then he kisses you again.

This time, there’s no holding back.

It starts slow, sweet — but as soon as your fingers tug gently on the fabric at his waist, something shifts. He moves in closer, kisses deepening, mouth pressing harder against yours. His hand finds your lower back again, guiding you gently until the edge of the kitchen counter is right behind you.

You feel him pause for a second — lips still brushing yours — giving you one last moment to stop it.

But you don’t.

Instead, you murmur, “Come here,” and that’s all it takes.

He lifts you effortlessly onto the counter, settling himself between your legs like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His palms brace your thighs, thumbs dragging slowly, possessively along your skin as he leans in to capture your mouth again.

This time it’s urgent. Hungry.

Your fingers slide up into his hair, tugging just enough to draw out the low, rough sound he makes into your mouth — half groan, half sigh.

“Mitsuya—” you whisper between kisses, your head tilting as his mouth moves to your jaw, your neck, leaving warm, lingering kisses that make your skin burn.

“I’ve wanted this,” he says into your skin, voice husky and low, “for so long.”

You shiver at the way his hands explore — not rushed, not greedy, but purposeful. One hand behind your back, supporting you as he leans you slightly into him, the other trailing up under your shirt, fingertips tracing the warm skin at your waist.

You wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss until there’s barely room to breathe between you. It’s messy now — all teeth and tongue and heat and longing, years of tension finally snapping like thread pulled too tight.

He kisses you like you’re the answer to every quiet ache he’s ever stitched into the seams of his silence.

And when he pulls back for just a second to look at you — cheeks flushed, lips kissed red, hair slightly tousled from your hands — he just says softly:

“Tell me this is real.”

You lean forward, press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and whisper against his lips:

“As real as it gets.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Chifuyu Matsuno:

The bell over the pet shop door jingles as you push it open.

It smells exactly the same as always — soft sawdust, warm fur, hay, and something lightly sweet from the hand-poured candles he insists on keeping near the register. It's cozy. Familiar. Safe.

There’s no one else inside, just the usual sounds — a soft chirp from the birds, a few mews from the kitten enclosure, water gurgling in the turtle tank. You don’t say a word.

You don’t have to.

You walk past the aisles with barely a glance, past the register, past the puppy sleeping in its pen. Straight to the back door — the one that leads into the supply room where Chifuyu’s probably doing inventory or feeding the animals.

Your heart’s still pounding from the rage, the disappointment, the stupid date that went wrong in a hundred tiny ways. You don’t want to vent. You don’t want pity.

You just want him.

You push open the door, and there he is.

Chifuyu’s crouched down next to a big bag of kibble, scooping some into a bin, a soft smudge of something on his cheek. He looks up, eyes lighting up with that instinctive smile he only gives you.

“Hey,” he says, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “How’d it—”

You don’t let him finish.

You step straight into his space, grab the front of his worn black T-shirt, and pull him down into a kiss.

It stuns him at first — a quiet gasp against your mouth — but he doesn’t hesitate long. His hands find your waist, anchoring you, as the kiss deepens quickly. Years of tension. Months of watching you go on dates with guys who didn’t deserve to say your name. All of it explodes in the quiet little back room of his shop.

Your fingers tangle into his hair as he walks you slowly backward until your back hits the old wooden counter. His lips are warm, urgent — like he’s been waiting for this moment so long he’s afraid he’ll wake up and it’ll be gone.

He only pulls back long enough to breathe your name.

“Wait—what happened?”

You don’t answer. You just look at him for a second — really look at him — and whisper, “Don’t ask me about him. I don’t want to waste another second thinking about anyone who isn’t you.”

His throat bobs.

And then he's kissing you again — harder this time, like he finally understands that this isn’t just a moment. It’s you. It’s real.

His hands roam — not impatiently, but like he’s trying to memorize you. One slides up your back, the other resting warm at your waist, pulling you in. You lean into him, your hands never leaving him, your mouths tangled in something that feels so far from temporary it makes your chest ache.

Chifuyu kisses you like he’s spent years holding this back.

Because he has.

You don’t stop until both of you are breathless, flushed, your heartbeats pounding in sync like they’ve finally caught up to the truth.

When he finally rests his forehead against yours, he whispers, “You don’t have to say it yet. But I’ve been yours for a long time.”

You smile — the first real one today — and kiss him again, slower this time.

“I know,” you whisper. “And I think I’ve been yours too.”

Chifuyu blinks, stunned still for a second — then his smile curves slow and real, soft at the edges but burning in the center.

“Stay,” he breathes. “Let me close up.”

You nod, eyes never leaving his. He steals another quick kiss — like he can’t help it — then pulls away just long enough to flip the front sign to CLOSED, twist the lock, and dim the overhead lights until the entire shop feels like a quiet little secret.

He’s barely stepped back into the room when your back hits the counter again and he’s kissing you like it’s the last ten minutes before a goodbye he’ll never recover from.

Your fingers tangle into his shirt, pulling him closer, and he lets out a soft sound low in his throat as he slots his mouth over yours again. This kiss is deeper — less hesitant, more claiming — the kind of kiss that says, we’re doing this now, and I’m not pretending anymore.

His hands settle at your waist, thumbs brushing under your shirt, and your legs part slightly to let him closer between them. The world outside disappears: just the quiet hum of the fish tank, the rustle of small paws, and the warm, breathless press of his body against yours.

You break apart just long enough to whisper, “That bad date might’ve been the best thing to happen to me.”

He laughs, breathless, then leans back in to kiss you again.

“Same,” he murmurs against your lips. “About time.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Ran Haitani:

You don’t knock.

You never do with Ran — not when he’s told you a hundred times, “Door’s open, baby. Just come in.” And tonight? You don’t have the patience for polite.

You step into his apartment, heels clicking on marble tile, barely holding it together.

“Whoa.” His voice slides in from the living room, low and lazy like smoke. “Now that’s an entrance.”

You turn the corner, and there he is — draped across the couch like a damn prince, one long arm over the backrest, shirt half-unbuttoned, gold chain catching the city light pouring in through the windows. He looks you over, head tilting slowly.

“You’re dressed up,” he says. Then, with a smirk, “Let me guess. Bad date?”

You toss your bag down harder than necessary. “Bad would’ve been generous.”

“Oof.” He whistles, sitting up. “Let me get the popcorn. You about to tell me how he cried at the bill or started quoting Jordan Peterson halfway through dinner?”

You shoot him a glare. “He said I was too much.”

Ran blinks.

Then he says, too casually, “...Too much of what, exactly?”

“Too opinionated. Too loud. Too passionate. Too everything.” You pace now, hands gesturing wildly. “Like I should just smile and nod and be one of those girls who only talks in curated Pinterest quotes. He said I needed to be more 'contained.' Can you believe that?”

Ran’s on his feet now, slower than you, predatory and precise. He stalks forward while you rant, hands in his pockets, head tilted.

“I mean—who says that to someone’s face? I should’ve left mid-dinner but I thought, No, be civil. Be mature. But then he had the audacity to—”

You don’t even see him move.

One second you’re pacing.

The next — your back hits the door and Ran’s mouth crashes into yours.

The kiss is sudden, deep, devastating. He kisses you like you’ve been pissing him off for years without realizing it — like every word you just said flipped some hidden switch.

Your gasp is swallowed by his mouth, and his hand comes up to cup your jaw as he tilts your face to deepen the kiss. His other hand braces against the door beside your head, boxing you in.

He pulls back just barely — lips brushing yours, voice low and wrecked.

“You are too much. And I’ve been going crazy over it for years.”

You’re breathless, stunned. “Ran—”

“I’m serious,” he growls, eyes locked on yours. “Too smart, too stubborn, too sharp for those boring little bastards you keep giving chances to. I wanted to kiss you the first time you told me to shut up.”

Your fingers twist in the fabric of his shirt, grounding yourself. “Then why didn’t you?”

He smirks — but this time, there’s heat behind it. Honesty.

“’Cause once I start with you… I won’t be able to stop.”

Your breath catches. And this time, it’s you who pulls him down — crashing into another kiss, rougher, messier, full of everything you’ve both been avoiding.

Ran groans into your mouth as your hands slide up into his hair, tugging slightly, and he presses his body fully against yours, trapping you between him and the door like he owns the air you breathe.

He doesn’t stop kissing you for a long time.

And when he finally pulls away, lips swollen, voice hoarse, he rests his forehead against yours and says,

“Told you I’m not the civil type, baby.”

You barely have time to catch your breath before Ran’s hands are under your arms, lifting you up effortlessly.

“Come on,” he says, voice low and husky, “Let’s get you off your feet.”

Before you can protest, he’s carrying you like you weigh nothing, pressing you close enough you can feel the heat radiating from his chest.

The couch is right there, and he sets you down gently, but his hands don’t leave you — one resting possessively on your hip, the other trailing slow and teasing up your thigh.

You look up at him — all sharp angles and smirking lips — and realize the room feels too small for just the two of you.

Ran leans down, capturing your mouth again, kiss deep and demanding, like he’s staking his claim.

Your fingers find the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer, and he groans — low and rough — into the kiss.

This time, it’s slower, more intimate, like the world around you has finally faded out, leaving just the two of you tangled up on the couch in a heated, breathless embrace.

___________________________________________________________________________

Rindou Haitani:

You showed up at the diner without warning — damp from a light drizzle, hair messy, eyeliner smudged. You didn’t even text him you were coming, but Rindou didn’t seem surprised when the bell over the door rang and you walked in like you’d just run out of a dream and straight into his world.

He looked up from his coffee, eyes locking on you like gravity.

You dropped into the booth across from him, exhaling like you’d been holding your breath the entire night.

There was a pause — thick and full of tension — before you finally spoke.

“He was nice,” you said flatly, folding your arms over your chest. “Too nice.”

Rindou tilted his head slightly, but didn’t speak. He knew you well enough by now to let you get it out.

“He asked all the right questions. Laughed at everything I said. Held the door open. Didn’t check his phone once.” You paused, eyes narrowing. “But it felt like I was sitting across from cardboard.”

Your fingers traced a drop of condensation down the side of your water glass. “He had no edge. No bite. No soul. Just… safe. Like he’d read a script on how to date someone like me and followed it word for word.”

Rindou’s lips twitched. Just a little. But he stayed quiet.

“And the worst part?” you said, looking at him now, really looking. “For one second, I thought—maybe this is what I’m supposed to want. Someone easy. Predictable. Someone who won’t ever argue with me or make things complicated.”

You let the silence hang, then said the part that hurt most.

“But I don’t want easy. I don’t want to settle just to say I have someone.”

That’s when Rindou moved.

Not fast, not dramatic — just that slow, smooth kind of motion that makes your pulse skip. He slid out of his side of the booth and into yours, his body close, knee brushing yours under the table.

You turned slightly, but before you could speak—

His hand was on your chin, tilting your face toward him.

“Good,” he murmured, voice low and edged with something darker. “Because I’m not easy. I’m not safe. And I’ve never been the kind of guy who plays by the rules.”

Your breath caught.

And then he kissed you.

It was slow at first — not because he was hesitant, but because he wanted you to feel it. Every inch of it. Every second of tension he’d been storing, every stare that lingered too long, every moment he almost touched you and didn’t.

Then it deepened — fast, rough, possessive. The kind of kiss that said, I’ve thought about this a hundred times, and now that I have you, I’m not holding back.

You melted into him, fingers gripping the front of his hoodie, gasping into his mouth as he shifted closer, his thigh pressing against yours and his arm sliding behind your back.

When he finally pulled away, both of you were breathing hard.

He looked at you like you were the only person who’d ever made sense to him.

“You don’t need someone who fits into a box,” he said, voice gravel-low. “You need someone who’ll burn it down with you.”

You stared at him, stunned and trembling in the best way.

And when you whispered, “Then what are we waiting for?”

He didn’t answer.

He just kissed you again — harder, deeper — like that was the only answer you’d ever need.

The second kiss ended, your breaths tangled between you, and Rindou didn’t even hesitate.

“Come on,” he muttered against your lips, his hand already sliding down your back. “Let’s get out of here.”

You didn’t ask where. You didn’t need to.

The night air outside was thick with summer humidity and leftover rain, the world quiet except for the soft buzz of streetlights and the distant echo of traffic. Rindou’s car was parked down the street, black and sleek, half in shadow.

He opened the passenger door for you like it was muscle memory — not gentlemanly, but instinctive, like keeping you close and protected was just wired into him.

By the time you were both inside, the air felt electric.

He was in the driver’s seat, fingers gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing grounding him, jaw clenched, breath shallow.

You stared straight ahead, lips still swollen from his kiss, heart beating so loud you were sure he could hear it.

Then you turned to him — and the look in his eyes told you everything.

No words.

Just heat. Need. That tightly coiled restraint he was so damn close to losing.

And you wanted him to lose it.

So you moved.

Without a word, you slipped off your seatbelt and climbed into his lap.

He sucked in a sharp breath, his hands instantly grabbing your waist — firm, hot, trembling just slightly.

“You sure?” he muttered, voice like smoke.

You leaned in, your lips brushing his ear.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

That’s all it took.

His mouth crashed into yours again, this time with no restraint. His kiss was rough, all-consuming, tongue sliding against yours with a hunger that left you dizzy. Your hands tangled in his hair, nails scraping gently against his scalp as his hands roamed your back, your thighs, like he couldn’t decide where to touch first.

The windows fogged instantly, the air thick with heat and breath and that soft, desperate sound of lips crashing and parting.

His teeth grazed your bottom lip, tugging it before he murmured, “Been dreaming of this. You. Just like this.”

You gasped when his mouth trailed down your neck, kissing, biting, breathing you in like you were oxygen and he’d been suffocating for years.

Your hips shifted instinctively, grinding against him, and he groaned low — dark, guttural, head falling back against the seat for a second.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “You feel like trouble.”

You smirked against his jaw, kissing along it. “You like trouble.”

He chuckled, one hand sliding up your back and fisting in your hair to pull you into another kiss. “Damn right I do.”

You stayed there, tangled in heat and want, the car your whole world — just lips, breath, skin, and the dangerous promise of what came next.

And when he whispered, “You’re mine now,”

You didn’t argue.

You kissed him harder.

___________________________________________________________________________

Draken (Ken Ryuguji):

The garage light was still on, low and golden, humming faintly like it always did when he was finishing up work late. You let yourself in through the side door, your jacket clutched tightly in one hand and your heels dangling from the other.

Draken looked up from under the hood of a bike, grease on his forearms and a black bandana tied around his head, like something out of a photo you didn’t have the heart to frame yet.

The second he saw your face — tired, frustrated, lips pressed into a thin line — he straightened immediately.

“Hey,” he said softly. “That bad?”

You dropped your shoes on the ground and ran a hand through your hair.

“He talked about himself the entire time,” you muttered, walking past him and flopping onto the old couch tucked against the wall. “Didn’t ask me a single thing. Then called me emotional because I said I didn’t find cheating ‘complicated.’”

You scoffed bitterly, arms crossed. “Like, sorry I’m not morally flexible enough for your gray-area bullsh—”

You didn’t even see him move.

One second you were rambling, venting, trying not to scream into the nearest cushion — the next, Draken was standing right in front of you, tall and solid, a shadow cast over your curled form on the couch.

You blinked up at him. “What—?”

“Get up.”

You frowned. “Excuse me?”

“I said get up,” he repeated, voice low, rough — but not angry. It sounded more like… restraint.

You rose slowly, confused, until you were standing toe to toe with him. He looked down at you, jaw tight, chest rising and falling faster than before.

“You really think you need guys like that?” he asked, voice suddenly softer — but more intense. “Guys who talk at you? Who don’t see you?”

You opened your mouth, but the lump in your throat stopped your words.

Draken stepped forward, so close now you had to tilt your head back to keep eye contact. His hand rose — big, calloused — and brushed a damp strand of hair from your cheek.

“You deserve someone who shuts up and listens. Who fights for you. Who’s scared to lose you. Not some weak-ass punk who treats you like you’re disposable.”

You felt your breath hitch.

And then—

“You know I’ve been in love with you for years, right?”

It was barely a whisper, like he was scared the truth might break the room in half.

Your heart stopped.

And then he leaned in and kissed you.

Hard.

Like he couldn’t take another second of pretending he didn’t want to. His hands cupped your face, big and warm and a little greasy from the bike, but you didn’t care — not when his lips crushed into yours like he was finally claiming what had always been his.

You gasped against his mouth, your hands fisting in the front of his work shirt, and he kissed you again — slower this time, deeper, like he was memorizing how you tasted.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead pressed to yours, his hands still wrapped around your waist.

You stared up at him, dazed. “Draken…”

He gave a soft breath of a laugh, rough and raw. “That’s my line, you know.”

You blinked. “What is?”

“‘He was awful. He didn’t see me.’ I’ve said that about every guy you’ve dated for the last three years.”

A pause.

Then, without even thinking—

“Then don’t let me date the wrong ones anymore.”

He smirked, and you swore it sent heat down your spine.

He kissed you again — slow and firm — before gently walking you back until your knees hit the couch. You fell with a soft laugh, and he followed, hovering over you like the quiet storm he always was.

“Guess I’m gonna have to make up for a lot of lost time,” he murmured, lips brushing your jaw.

You smiled against him.

“Good. I’m not going anywhere.”

Draken’s hands were warm on your waist, steadying you like he still wasn’t sure if you were real — if this was actually happening.

You could feel the way his breath caught every time your fingers traced the edge of his jaw, the way his body tensed when your thighs parted slightly beneath him. He was big, solid, a wall of quiet heat caging you in, but not once did you feel trapped.

You felt wanted.

The kiss deepened fast — no more hesitation, no more holding back.

His lips moved against yours like he was making up for every second he’d stayed silent, every time he’d watched you smile at the wrong guy. Your hands slid under the hem of his shirt, fingertips brushing bare skin, and he groaned softly into your mouth — low, raspy, like you’d knocked the air out of him.

You shifted underneath him, angling your hips just right, and his mouth broke from yours for a heartbeat — his eyes dark and wild and locked on you.

“You keep moving like that,” he said roughly, “and this make-out session’s gonna get real complicated, real fast.”

You grinned, breathless. “You complaining?”

He smirked — crooked and devastating — and leaned in again, kissing you until your lungs burned and your fingers trembled.

The couch creaked beneath you, his knee pressing between your thighs as he held himself above you with one arm, the other hand running up your side, your ribs, tracing the shape of you like he was trying to memorize everything in the dark.

When he kissed down your neck, biting gently before soothing the spot with his tongue, you gasped and tugged him closer.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured against your skin.

“Try me,” you whispered back, eyes fluttering shut.

He kissed you again — deep, bruising, claiming — and then pulled back just enough to look at you. His voice was rough with something more than lust.

“Mine now,” he said. “You get that, right?”

You pulled him down by the collar and kissed him hard.

“I’ve always been yours.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Hanma Shuji:

You were already regretting this date ten minutes in.

He was… fine. Nice enough. Well-dressed. Kept talking about his job in finance like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. You nodded along, smiled politely, sipped your drink — counting the minutes until you could fake a headache and bolt.

And then the bar door opened.

And in walked Hanma Shuji — tall, cocky, every inch of him oozing trouble in that long black coat and lazy grin. He scanned the room like he already owned it, like he was looking for someone.

And his eyes locked on you.

Your heart skipped a beat. You barely had time to process the slow, smug grin that curled on his lips before he was moving toward you with all the calm, deliberate confidence of a man who had no business being there — and didn’t give a damn.

Your date turned slightly, confused. “Uh… do you know that guy?”

Before you could even answer, Hanma was there — towering over the table, one hand casually stuffed in his pocket, the other lifting to brush a knuckle down your cheek like he owned you.

“You ready to go, babe?”

You blinked. “What—Hanma, what are you doing?”

He leaned in closer, his grin never wavering — but his eyes were burning now, dark and focused on you like you were the only one in the room.

“Your date’s not over yet.”

Before you could ask what the hell that meant — he grabbed you.

Not rough, not forceful — just desperate. Like he couldn’t wait one more second.

His hand curled around the back of your neck and he kissed you — right there in front of everyone — a hungry, unrestrained claim. Lips crashing into yours, mouth moving like he’d thought about this every night and finally snapped.

You gasped against him, hands gripping the front of his coat, torn between shock and heat and the dizzying swirl of oh my god, this is happening.

When he finally pulled back, your lips were swollen, your pulse racing, and your date was staring at the both of you with wide eyes and a half-open mouth.

Hanma didn’t even glance at him. His focus was locked on you.

“That guy?” he said, breathless but sharp, his voice low and curling with something jealous and smug. “He’s not even your type. He’s awful just to look at.”

You huffed out a breathless laugh, dazed. “Says the man who just hijacked my date.”

Hanma leaned in again, brushing his mouth over yours with maddening softness this time.

“Says the man who’s been in love with you for years and is done watching you waste time on walking cardboard.”

You stared at him, heat flooding your chest. “And if I say I wasn’t done with the date?”

He smirked against your lips, hand sliding to your hip, tugging you closer.

“Too bad. I’ve already decided we’re leaving.”

He kissed you again — slower this time, deeper — and when you finally broke apart, your date was already standing awkwardly, grabbing his coat.

You didn’t stop him.

Because Hanma’s arm was already around your waist, leading you out of the bar like he’d just pulled off the greatest heist of his life.

And maybe he had.

You.

__________________________________________________________________________

The car ride was silent for exactly twelve seconds.

Twelve seconds of thick tension, of his hand gripping the wheel so hard you could see the veins pop, of your thighs pressed together as the echo of his kiss still tingled on your lips.

You glanced over.

His jaw was clenched. His tongue dragged across his bottom lip like he was trying to stay calm. He didn’t look at you — not yet. Just stared at the road like it had personally insulted him.

“You gonna say something?” you asked softly.

That did it.

He yanked the car into a back alley near the edge of town, tires crunching on gravel, engine still humming low. Then he put it in park, ripped his seatbelt off, and turned toward you — eyes wild with everything he hadn’t said in years.

“Yeah,” he said, voice gravel and fire. “Get in the back.”

You stared. “What—”

“Backseat. Now. Unless you want me climbing over this console.”

You didn’t even think — just unbuckled and slipped into the back, heart pounding, skin already burning before he even touched you.

Hanma was on you in a heartbeat.

He closed the door behind him, and then his hands were on your face, in your hair, his mouth crashing into yours with zero hesitation. The kiss was desperate, tongue tangling with yours, his body already pushing you back into the seat like he wanted to melt into you.

You moaned against his mouth as he climbed between your thighs, one hand sliding down your waist, gripping your hip tight enough to leave a mark. His other hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face to kiss you deeper — wetter — filthier.

“You don’t even know,” he murmured against your lips, voice wrecked, “how long I’ve wanted to do this. Every damn time you went on one of those dates with some loser…”

He kissed down your neck, teeth dragging, making you shiver. “I should’ve done this years ago. Should’ve just dragged you into my lap and made you forget every guy before me.”

You didn’t care anymore. Your fingers were in his hair, pulling him closer, thighs clenching around his hips as you arched into him.

“Then do it now,” you whispered. “Make me forget.”

Hanma groaned — full and low — and kissed you so hard you forgot your name for a second. He pulled you flush into his lap, grinding up into you with slow, aching precision. The entire car rocked with every movement, every desperate shift of your bodies.

Breathless, messy, hot.

Fog steamed up the windows, your back arching off the seat as he mouthed down your throat, hips rocking, teeth biting your shoulder just enough to make you gasp.

“You’re mine now,” he muttered, voice husky against your skin. “You get that?”

You nodded, head tipping back, chest heaving.

“Say it.”

You grabbed his face, lips brushing his.

“I’m yours, Shuji.”

That was it.

He kissed you again — hard enough to bruise — as his hands roamed your body like he had no plans of stopping until the sun came up.

And honestly?

You didn’t want him to.

___________________________________________________________________________

Shinichiro Sano:

The scent of oil, metal, and something warm always lingered in his bike shop — like nostalgia and comfort wrapped into one. The sign outside said closed, but the lights were still on when you showed up, heels in one hand, bag slung over your shoulder.

You pushed the door open, the little bell chiming softly.

From behind the counter, Shinichiro looked up — a rag slung over his shoulder, grease smudged on his cheek, black tee hugging his frame. His eyes lit up for a second at the sight of you… then dimmed a little when he saw your expression.

“Bad night?” he asked gently, setting a wrench down.

You sighed. “Can I just sit here for a second before I burn the memory of that date off the face of the earth?”

He chuckled, voice warm and laced with concern. “That bad?”

You kicked off your shoes and dropped onto the old couch in the corner, groaning as you rubbed your temples. “Worse. He kept calling me babe like we were already married. And then — get this — he tried to explain how motorcycles ‘aren’t practical’ and that I should consider dating someone with a Tesla instead.”

That made Shinichiro pause.

You looked over just in time to see the slow twitch in his jaw, the restrained look of pure disbelief.

“…He said that to you?” he asked, dry.

You nodded, sighing again. “Yes can you believe it? He was such a dick.”

Shinichiro walked out from behind the counter and leaned against the wall across from you, arms crossed.

His gaze was on you now — not soft. Focused. Intense.

“You just keep looking at all the wrong ones.”

You frowned. “Then who’s the right one, Shin? Because so far all I’m finding are emotionally constipated tech bros who think passion is a red flag.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then he pushed off the wall and stepped toward you — slow, deliberate.

“The right one’s been here the whole damn time.”

You blinked. “Wait—what?”

Shinichiro didn’t stop until he was standing right in front of you, close enough that you could see the flecks of brown in his dark eyes, the scar at the corner of his lip twitching slightly.

He swallowed hard. “You think I enjoy hearing about your dates? Sitting here fixing engines while some idiot gets to sit across from you, wasting your time, making you feel small?”

You opened your mouth, stunned, but he kept going — voice low, raw.

“It should’ve been me. It should’ve always been me.”

You barely had time to whisper, “Then why—”

Before you could finish, he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t wild. It was desperate in the softest way — like he’d been holding his breath for years and finally exhaled. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb stroking gently as his lips moved against yours, slow and deep and aching.

You melted into him instantly, grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling him down with you until you were both sitting on the couch — tangled, breathless, starving.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours.

“You’re everything I ever wanted,” he whispered. “I just didn’t think I could have you.”

You smiled, touching his face with both hands, eyes shining.

“You’ve had me this whole time, Shin.”

And this time, you kissed him — slow, intentional, pouring every unspoken thing into it. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his lap as the make-out deepened, your bodies pressing close on that worn leather couch that suddenly felt more like home than anything else ever had.

The shop was quiet, the world forgotten outside those metal doors.

Because tonight? You finally found the right one.

And he wasn’t going to let you go.

The kiss turned hot fast.

You didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly you were both standing — mouths never parting — and Shinichiro’s hands were on your waist, your back, your thighs, gripping you like he didn’t know where to touch first and couldn’t choose. You moaned against his lips when he picked you up effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist like it was second nature.

“Shin…” you breathed, dazed.

“Shhh,” he whispered back, forehead pressing to yours, voice tight with restraint. “Just—just let me have this. I’ve waited so damn long.”

He carried you through the shop — past half-finished bikes, scattered tools, and dusty helmets — deeper into the back, where the lights were dimmer and the only sound was the echo of your shared breath and the thudding of your heart in your chest.

And then he laid you down gently on one of the old worktables — solid, flat, clutter pushed aside in a single sweep of his arm. His hands never left your body, never stopped roaming, like he was trying to commit every curve to memory.

You pulled him down with you, your fingers twisting into his shirt, tugging him close until your mouths met again — this time harder. More urgent. Teeth clashing. Tongues tangled. Years of repressed desire unraveling in a matter of seconds.

He kissed down your jaw, your neck, pausing at your collarbone to leave a mark — a soft bite, followed by a kiss — like he wanted you to remember this tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that.

“You don’t know,” he whispered against your skin, “how many times I watched you walk out that door and wondered if I’d ever get a chance like this.”

Your hands cupped his face, tilting it back to yours.

“You have me now,” you said, voice thick with heat. “What are you gonna do about it?”

He growled low in his throat — the sound wrecked, surprised by how fast he was losing control. “Everything,” he promised.

His mouth crashed into yours again — this time with no more hesitation, no more restraint.

One hand fisted the back of your shirt while the other braced on the table beside your head, holding himself just above you, his hips pressing between your legs, grinding into you with delicious pressure that made your back arch off the cold metal.

The worktable creaked with every movement, your name tumbling from his lips between kisses like a prayer he was only just allowed to say out loud.

You pulled him closer, breathless. “Shin—someone could come in…”

He looked at you, lips red, breathing heavy, eyes blown wide.

“Then let them see who you belong to.”

And just like that, he kissed you again — messier, hotter, slower — as the night deepened around you and the bike shop faded away until it was just you and him and everything you’d both kept buried for far too long.

__________________________________________________________________________

Kazutora Hanemiya:

The moment your trembling fingers dialed Kazutora’s number, your chest felt like it might cave in. Every breath was sharp, every sound around you a threat. You ducked into the public restroom near the station, your heart pounding so loud you were sure it echoed off the cold tiles.

“Kazutora…” your voice was barely a whisper, trembling. “He’s… he’s following me. The guy from my date. I don’t know what to do. I’m in the bathroom. I’m scared.”

You heard his intake of breath through the phone, sharp and quick. His voice came low and steady.

“Where exactly are you? I’m coming.”

Before you could say anything else, the door creaked open.

Your breath hitched. Was it him? Or the other guy?

“(Y/N), it’s me,” Kazutora said, voice calm but with an edge that told you he meant business.

You unlocked your stall and stepped out, your legs weak but steady. Your eyes met his — hoodie pulled low, jaw clenched, fists tight at his sides. The golden flecks in his eyes shimmered with something fierce.

You whispered, “Kazu…”

But he didn’t stop.

His stride took him right past you and out the door — like a storm ready to explode.

You froze, ears straining.

Then came the sound you feared but couldn’t tear your ears away from — the sudden crash of flesh meeting fist, the grunt of someone caught off-guard, the curse muttered through clenched teeth.

You covered your mouth with your hands, heart thudding as the fight unfolded just outside the door.

Moments later, Kazutora returned, breath ragged, hair falling over his forehead, knuckles red and swollen.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he said softly, voice a contrast to the rage he’d just unleashed.

On the way back to his place, you kept close, your fingers entwined with his. No words. Just the steady beat of his hand holding yours — grounding you.

Once inside his apartment, the warmth felt suffocating after the cold chaos outside.

You leaned against the door, your breath shaky but steady.

Kazutora stood across from you, eyes fixed on the ground, the bruises on his knuckles visible in the dim light.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, voice thick. “You shouldn’t have had to see that side of me.”

You stepped forward, reaching out to tilt his face up gently.

“Kazutora,” you said softly, “that’s not the side of you I’m scared of.”

He swallowed hard, jaw tightening.

“But you were scared, right? After what I did… after the fight?”

You shook your head, voice firm but kind.

“No. I was scared before you showed up — scared of being alone with him. Scared of what he might do. But the moment you appeared… I felt safe.”

His eyes searched yours, disbelief flashing across his face like a storm breaking.

“You’re not afraid of me?”

You cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly across the bruises.

“No. I’m not. I’m safe with you.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Kazutora’s defenses crumbled. His shoulders sagged, his hands dropping to your waist as if anchoring himself to reality.

You pulled him close, lips meeting in a kiss that was both tentative and fierce — a wordless promise of healing and trust.

His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as if afraid you’d disappear.

When you finally parted, your foreheads rested together, breaths mingling.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, voice raw and steady.

You smiled, tracing the line of his jaw.

“And I’m yours. Always.”

The dim light of Kazutora’s room was soft, almost forgiving. The hum of the city outside was distant, muffled by the closed windows and thick curtains. Here, the chaos of the night seemed to dissolve.

You and Kazutora stood close, still breathless from the adrenaline and the stolen kiss by the door.

His hands were tentative at first, fingers tracing the sides of your face like he was afraid you’d vanish if he didn’t hold you just right.

Your hands slid around his neck, pulling him in deeper. Your lips met again—this time slower, more deliberate, savoring every touch.

Kazutora’s breath hitched when you let your tongue brush his lips, silently asking for entry.

He responded immediately, tongue sliding against yours, warm and searching. The kiss grew urgent, needy, as if he wanted to make up for every second he’d spent holding back.

His hands moved down your back, pulling you flush against him, your body melting into his like you were the missing piece he’d been chasing all this time.

You could feel his heartbeat against your chest — uneven, pounding, desperate.

He broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, “I don’t want you to be scared ever again.”

You smiled softly, your fingers threading through his hair.

“With you, I’m not scared.”

He smiled back, a fragile but real curve of his lips, before capturing your mouth again.

Slowly, carefully, he guided you toward his bed, never breaking contact.

You sank down, Kazutora following, his hands exploring your body with a mix of reverence and hunger.

Every touch was an apology and a promise all at once.

The night stretched on with whispered confessions, trembling hands, and the quiet discovery of each other’s scars — both visible and hidden.

In his arms, you felt safe.

In your warmth, Kazutora found peace.

And as the city slept outside, two broken souls finally began to heal — together.

__________________________________________________________________________

Sanzu Haruchiyo:

You burst through the door, cheeks flushed, words spilling out in a rush.

“It was awful. Absolutely horrible. He wouldn’t stop talking about himself like he was the center of the universe, the food was disgusting, and then—” You paused, exasperated, “—he asked if I was seeing anyone. Like, who does that on a first date?”

Sanzu leaned lazily against the wall, watching you rant with a half-smile tugging at his lips, those sharp eyes glittering with something dark and amused.

“Sounds like you had a real catch,” he murmured, voice low and teasing.

You shot him a glare, about to launch into another tirade, but he stepped closer, closing the space between you with deliberate slowness.

His hand came up to cup your cheek — fingers warm and firm, thumb stroking gently across your skin. Your breath hitched, caught off guard by the sudden intimacy.

“Shut up,” he said, voice thick with quiet command.

You blinked, stunned by the unexpected order.

“What?” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly as his gaze bore into yours.

“You don’t get to complain when you look like that,” he murmured, his breath hot and intoxicating against your cheek.

Before you could protest, his lips crashed onto yours, fierce and demanding.

Your hands flew up to grip his chest, fingers clutching the fabric as his tongue slipped between your lips, exploring, claiming.

Every frustrated word you’d been holding inside dissolved into the heat of his mouth, your body arching into his touch.

He deepened the kiss, one hand sliding down to your waist, pulling you flush against him, the other threading through your hair and tugging gently.

When he finally broke away, chest rising and falling rapidly, his eyes were dark, wild, and glittering with mischief.

“If that date was so terrible,” he whispered huskily, “then don’t bother with anyone else.”

You tried to speak, but he silenced you with another searing kiss — harder this time, like staking a claim.

His hand moved to press you back against the wall, fingers digging into your hip with a possessive grip.

“I’m the only one who gets to see this side of you,” he growled low, lips brushing your ear.

You shivered, heat blooming deep in your core as his breath mingled with yours.

“So, shut up. And look at me.”

His eyes held yours with a fierce intensity, leaving no room for argument.

You swallowed hard, heart pounding as your body responded to his every touch, every whisper.

The rest of the world fell away — the awful date, the frustration, the noise — until there was only you and him, tangled together in the quiet storm of desire

The moment Sanzu’s lips met yours again, it was like a spark ignited a wildfire inside you. His mouth was fierce, hungry—every kiss demanding, claiming. Your hands tangled in his dark hair, pulling him closer as his fingers dug into your waist, holding you like you were the only thing that mattered.

He pressed you back against the wall, the cold surface a sharp contrast to the heat radiating between you. His tongue traced yours, exploring, teasing, while his breath hitched with every deepening movement. Your heart thundered in your chest, caught in the storm of sensation he stirred.

Sanzu’s hands slid beneath your shirt, fingers brushing against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He groaned softly against your lips, the sound vibrating through your whole body. You clung to him tighter, desperate for more, lost in the intensity of his touch.

Breaking the kiss just long enough to whisper against your mouth, his voice was low and rough, “You’re mine.” Then he claimed you again, devouring your lips with an insatiable hunger that left you breathless and trembling.

[honey-pages]

Seconds - Jayce x Reader x Viktor

Description -

One Shot- maybe a series if it is something that people enjoy.

Viktor and Jayce have lightly competitive games at work. You get caught in the middle.

F/M. 18+. Smut. Facials. NSFW.

It was usually competitive but friendly. Viktor and Jayce had no jealousy between them when it came you, everything you had was shared equally between the three of you. They would sometimes play good-spirited games around the lab, competing between themselves as to who would make you coffee in the morning or be the last to close the lab with you. These games often ended with some flirtation - between both you and them, and then between them themselves.

The post-it note game was perhaps the most memorable. Little notes were left around for you to find, flattering you and showering you with complements. You would sometimes find them with flowers or chocolates, Jayce’s handwriting was larger, rounder, Viktor’s was smaller, elegantly scrawled.

Viktor sometimes created little desk robots for your workspace, ones that carried away little balls of paper that you discarded. When Jayce caught on, he began to give them improvements, each with carved signatures with his name on. This was obviously met with hilarity from Viktor who began to write back notes declaring the robots to be patented and therefore his intellectual property. The next time all three of you were together, when Jayce was inside you, he made sure to explain to Viktor that it was you that was his property.

The next day on your lunch break, you sat with Viktor while Jayce carried on working. You had around fifteen minutes before you were due to get back to work. He sat you on the floor between his knees in the study room. He looked so tall sat over you, one hand trained on your chin, tilting your head back to give him a better target to aim for. You waited patiently, the two of you giggling about what Jayce’s response will be.

“Don’t move, (Y/N), I’m almost ready. I’m going to cover you.” He moans, giving himself the final strokes that push him over the edge, shooting hot streams over you. You open your mouth for him.

“You look so good like that, painted with me.” He uses his fingers to scoop back out the cum that fell into your mouth, wiping it over your face. “We need as much as we can on your pretty face for Jayce to see.”

When you went back into the lab, you walked up to Jayce who sat in his chair, focused.

“Hey (Y/N)!” He called as he felt your hands on his shoulder, he spun to talk to you.

He slowly took in the sight of you, covered in Viktor. There was silence, then laughter.

“What did V do to you?” He asked, not able to control his amusement.

He took your hand and guided you forward, he lowered you onto the floor, sitting you between his legs just as Viktor did.

“Did he do this?” He asked, pulling himself free and beginning to pump himself with his fist. He hovers over your face.

“Something like that” You reply, your face feeling completely wet. You smile up at Jayce.

“I am going to send you right back to him.” He promises, getting faster and faster, streamlining his pleasure to finish with speed. He spills over you, grunting as he does so. “Now tell Viktor to take his thirds, since I made such good use of his seconds.”

When you returned to Viktor, he was genuinely open mouthed at the sight of you, your face completely covered. He stood to circle around and examine you. He stiffened a little at the thought of what Jayce has just done to you. If he hadn’t emptied all that was inside of him, he may have been tempted to fuck you in a way in which he could see the collaboration of both of their work. He was speechless. He had no response to give, you had already exhausted him. All he could do was hold his hands up and accept temporary defeat. He made a mental note to come back harder - partner versus partner.

[faestunna]

what are your headcanons for Jack? domestic fluff and/or smut if you're comfy with that :)

❝ boyfriend!jack o’connell ❞

WARNINGS: some silly domestic fluff, smut (18+) under the cut

A/N: you know, i initially was against writing for jack but…thinking of boyfriend! jack has me tweaking. as always, this was written with fem!reader in mind! i made the layout a little different since its my first jack x reader piece. i hope you enjoy!

masterlist | taglist

likes, reblogs, and comments are always and greatly appreciated!

boyfriend!jack is home from filming, but he’s jet lagged and exhausted, so he’s got more than four alarms set in the morning—none of which wake him up. “jack!” you whisper hoarsely at six am. he grumbles awake and turns them off with his eyes closed before putting an arm around you, “sorry, love.”

boyfriend!jack understands that sometimes women take a little longer to get ready. he’s not the one to complain or bug you about time because he know that doesn’t change anything—he literally learns how to do your hair while you finish your makeup. learns tips and tricks from stylists and MUA’s on his sets too. he’ll learn to braid, too, and show you: “look at the one, eh? i think i’m gettin’ better.” he is slowly but surely

boyfriend!jack picks up your prescriptions from the pharmacy for you. gives your name and birthdate, and eventually, the pharmacologist knows to recognize him now. he’ll come back home and joke they’re on a first name basis.

boyfriend!jack who does the laundry as long as you do the dishes. he cannot stand the thought of putting his hand into various pots and bowls of mysterious water. sometimes you splash him with it because the shrieks he makes are hilarious. “i swear to god, babe,” he says every time now. “you better not!”

boyfriend!jack agrees to make a private, secret insta account just for you. “no point, love, you know i try to stay off that stuff,” is how he’ll make it seem at first. give or take a few weeks, he’s sending you reel and after reel while he’s literally a room away. and about ten seconds after, he asks, “oi, babe, did you see the one i just sent you?”

boyfriend!jack likes to hit it from the back. he doesn’t call himself a tits or arse man, he loves every part of you…but no, jack just likes having you bent over with your face pressed into the bed while he pounds into you. “christ, i can feel that pretty cunt grippin’ me.” one hand settled on your lower back to bring you to him with every thrust.

boyfriend!jack goes deeper than any other man has before. it’s especially in doggy, but, really, go in any position and the tip of his cock will be leaving little kisses at your cervix. in missionary, he especially love to put his hand just above your mound and press, so he can feel himself rutting into you. “that’s it. look how deep i am, baby, i can almost see it.”

boyfriend!jack asks to give you head. “you don’t have to do anything, love” he says as he spreads your legs and licks one bold stripe through your folds. when he hasn’t shaved, the scruff on his jaw and chin adds a perfect sensation. “so good, sweetheart. tastes so good.” and he gets dirty with it. uses his entire face—yes, his nose too—to push you over the edge.

boyfriend!jack actually just likes admiring you. every part of you, but he loves to just have your legs spread apart, pussy gleaming with slick and heat. “she’s so pretty” he says lowly, lips hovering over you so you can feel his breath hit your folds. “all pink and swollen and waiting for me.”

boyfriend!jack isn’t afraid to use toys. there i said it. and he won’t have anything crazy mainly because he doesn’t understand it but, at the very least, there’s a bullet vibe or a wand or a rose toy because he likes making you feel good. he’ll have you completely wrapped in his arms, holding you down while you writhe and squirm as he pulls a fifth orgasm from you. “that’s it, now, love,” he covers your mouth with one hand and pins the toy to your clit with the other. “all over my hand, there you go. that’s my girl.”

© faestunna 2025.

[leafostuff]

Clean [Ft. StayC's Sieun]

Author's note: yeah i am BFH-ing again, that comeback she looks so hot adjjekekdkwhru,

I wonder how many BFH does it take for me to release my long fics, anyways have fun reading this quickie for my now ult bias

=================================

"How much time do we have?"

"20 minutes, this car wash is slow as shit, but they give results" you answer, looking around the restroom to confirm that you are indeed the only ones inside.

"good" a quick response, meanwhile her hands expertly rid you of your belt, jeans and boxers, leaving you naked from the waist down. "My ass will make you cum in two".

"In the ass today? Daring today are we?" a quick chuckle meanwhile sieun turns around, letting your cock find its favorite spot between her butt-cheeks as she lazily grinds her clothed hips onto you.

"yeah, daddy didnt fill me up in weeks because of his stupid exams, so i thought he could fill a new hole today for fun~" she casually says, as if you are in your shared bedroom and not fucking your girlfriend in a public restroom.

However instead of shame, its excitement that flows through both of your bodies so you can only smile when her hands go into the hem of her panties, slowly lowering them to reveal her bare ass to you while she looks at you with fire in her eyes, the type that without words screams at you 'fuck me rough'.

"I can't wait for you to split my ass open with that huge co-nghh" she cant finish her sentence before you push into her ass, leaving her moaning your name

"god you are so dirty when you are cockdrunk, aren't you?"

"its been so long... without daddy's cock, need it so ba-oh fuck" the first f-bomb is dropped rather quickly as she bites her lips, trying her best to quiet herself, but it doesn't help that you start moving your hips in synchronization to hers.

"And you would definitely get it" you respond, a devilsh smug on your face seeing sieun now closing her eyes, chasing the high of your pleasure, "you said your ass will make cum in two minutes, 30 seconds already passed and i'm not cumming yet".

"Maybe if daddy would bend me over, i could make him fill me already"

This little bitch.

Its a futile attempt to match her brattiness, but before you are able to get your hands on her back she detached her ass from your length, letting you feel a bit of a cold breeze

"not here though..." She says, her eyes turn away from you to now look at one of the stools, it tells you everything you need to know about how bad she wants it.

So without anything said Sieun takes your hand, guiding you into one of the stools, as you both get inside your hands fumble their way into locking yourself meanwhile your girlfriend doesn't waste a second with her hands going on each side of the toilet while her ass up in front of you.

"Im waiting~" Sieun taunts, looking behind to see your cock already twitching while she wiggles her ass dangerously close to your tip, like a matador calling its bull to charge, she cant wait any longer.

So you give in to her, pushing your length deep into her asshole, releasing a deep groan from the pleasure of how tight she feels.

"FUCK", "YES", "DADDY", "MORE" and other colourful pleads come from her lungs, with each pump she gets louder and louder, she doesn't care that someone would hear her screaming.

Meanwhile your pace gets messier, rougher, it doesn't ruin the experience though since the stool is filled with moans of pleasure, sounds of bodies slapping against each other, each piston of your length into Sieun casues shivers throughout your body until eventually you cant stop yourself from the feeling.

The feeling of her.

"Cum daddy"

This is the last words she needs to speak before all of the load you kept inside shoots toward her, the lower back, the peaks of her cheeks, the valley that's between them, the tight ass hole, all of it painted white and in reaction Sieun can only sigh in approval.

She is right about making you cum quickly, it doesn't take long for you to feel completely empty as after the last sprout of the white liquid you finally let your cock rest.

"Thats... How a girl should start her day, everyday" she says with a youthful laugh, quickly standing up from her previous posting she doesn't even look half-tired from the pounding you gave her.

"It sure is a start" you respond, it takes a couple of pants but eventually you also catch your breath,

"We're not finished yet, daddy" she says, catching you already unlocking the door, looking outside to see if someone was outside. You take a look back: Sieun's already on fours again, Ass raised once again, still messy from your cum.

"i hate being dirty, maybe you should call a cleaning service"

================================

Stream "I WANT IT" by StayC yall

[ccarisi]

sleepyhead

summary: Your stepdad finds you fast asleep after a stressful day of work. warnings: age gap, stepcest, smut, somno, dubcon/noncon, virginity loss, unprotected piv, creampie, brief oral, daddy kink duh, kid/kiddo, sonny has zero morals 2.3k words

a/n: ever since i got this ask i couldn't stop Thinking. rushed this in one day so i hope its decent enough happy fathers day sonny <33 only proofread this once so you get what you get dt: @johnnydubcek do you forgive me for going on vacation

—

Sonny wasn’t sure if it was possible to have a day worse than this. If dealing with Buchanan as opposing counsel wasn’t bad enough, Liv was on his case from start to finish. If she brought him a weak he can’t win that wasn’t his fault. It was one thing after another and the only thing on his mind was going home, cracking open a beer, and watching whatever game was on that night.

And you, of course.

If he’s being honest you were the main thing on his mind. Coming home to your smiling face was the only thing that got him through the day sometimes, knowing that at the end of the dark tunnel that was his workday you were always there waiting for him. He figures he would have gone insane a long time ago if it weren’t for you.

On my way home now. Have you ate? I can make us dinner.

Sonny shoots you a text as he makes his way out of the courthouse, heading in the direction of the apartment. Your mom was working late tonight and he wants to make the most of every second he has alone with you. He knows how much you love his cooking, you’ll pick eating at home with him over a fancy restaurant everytime.

You there? I can make your favorite.

You always reply as soon as you get his texts, but those three little typing dots never pop up. Staring down at his screen Sonny tries again.

Is your phone off? Be home soon. Love you.

It wasn’t like you to ignore his texts and Sonny’s spiralling is in full force before he has the chance to stop it. He always did jump to the worst conclusions, but in his line of work who could blame him? Realistically, you were either away from your phone or it was dead.

Sonny finds himself rushing home, he knows he won’t relax until he sees you. It was hard to think rationally when it came to you, call it fatherly love and then some.

Almost dropping his keys in the process Sonny quickly makes his way through the door, half haphazardly dropping his briefcase off to the side. He calls out your name to no answer and his heart gets caught in his throat. He thought he was being ridiculous thinking something had happened to you, was he actually right?

Sonny treads down the hallway towards your room, peeking his head through your half ajar door only to discover you fast asleep. You were always a heavy sleeper.

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as his eyes fall over your sleeping form, curled up into yourself in one of his old worn shirts. Sometimes he swore that you had more of his shirts in your dresser than his own.

You were here, you were safe.

Sonny quietly makes his way into your room, shedding his jacket before neatly folding it and placing it off to the side. The bed dips as he sits on the edge and he freezes for a moment, hoping he didn’t wake you from such a peaceful and heavy sleep. You’ve been picking up more shifts at work lately, something about wanting to have your own money and not rely on him. Too bad he’ll always spoil you rotten.

Brushing some hair out of your face Sonny admires how peaceful you look fast asleep. Wrapped up in your blanket with flushed cheeks, your soft plump parted lips, and the way you’re clutching that same stuffed animal he bought you ten or so years ago.

He couldn’t name a more precious sight even if he tried.

“What am I gonna do with you, huh baby?” Sonny murmurs under his breath as he pets your hair. No matter how old you get you’ll always be his baby, he’ll make sure of that. “Think you’ve been workin’ too hard, poor thing.” He leans in and leaves a chaste kiss on your forehead.

Your skin was warm and soft against his lips, causing heavy desire to flow through Sonny’s veins like a river. It’s been such a long day and well, you’ve been working hard too after all. Don’t you deserve some loving?

You’ve talked about this before, there’s been sessions between you that ended up a little too hot and heavy. It’s not that you didn’t want to do that with him, you did. But would you be able to face your mom everyday knowing the truth? There was that part of you that was scared to go all the way, too. You knew he was…well endowed. The thought made you nervous.

You met in the middle, you let Sonny go down on you and you promised that you’d go all the way when he finally leaves your mom. Whenever that is.

Maybe Sonny was appealing to his darker nature when he peels your blanket off to reveal the rest of your limp body. You’ll forgive him, he wasn’t worried about that.

As gently and slowly as he can he maneuvers you to lay on your back, sushing you when you mumble incoherently in your sleep. With a deep breath Sonny moves your underwear to the side and slides two fingers through your folds. He just needs to feel you, that’s all. Maybe watch you get off and he’ll feel better.

There you go. Sonny fights back a groan when he feels your growing wetness, body responding to his touches even in your deep slumber. His fingers move to your clit next, rubbing your sensitive bud in small firm circles. His eyes stay glued to your face, watching for every reaction he can pull out of you. You looked so sweet and innocent as you subconsciously let out a hum in pleasure.

He should stop here, but he won’t. He knows that much about himself. Slow and steady as not to wake you, Sonny slips your underwear down to your ankles and tosses them to the side. He waits for a reaction that never comes while you remain fast asleep.

He used to joke that you could sleep through anything. It was a real war to get you to wake up for school in the morning, all the kicking and screaming. He would hear your multiple alarms going off from down the hall and without fail he had to wake you himself every time.

Gently spreading your legs Sonny inhales sharply as he sees your pussy slick with need. He’s just giving you what you want, isn't he? The tip of his finger circles your leaking hole and it’s just so inviting. Without thinking twice Sonny slips a finger inside of you, letting out a strangled groan at the way your pussy grips his finger. His eyes move from the sight of his finger inside you up to your face, no indication that you’re aware of anything that’s happening.

Sonny slowly pumps his finger in and out of you, admiring the way that his finger glistens from your arousal. He slips the finger inside of his mouth and moans from the sweet taste you left behind. That was enough to throw the last bit of rational thinking he had left out the window completely.

Sonny carefully positions himself between your thighs, lips ghosting over your little aching pussy. Leaning down he presses his nose against you, inhaling deeply. “Oh christ, baby.”

Without a second thought Sonny licks a broad stripe through your folds, eyes falling shut from the taste. His hands find your hips as he softly kneads the warm soft flesh there. You’re so sweet, inside and out.

His lips find your clit as he sucks softly and you let out a whine as your toes curl. Sonny has his way with you, licking and sucking away as you remain in your peaceful slumber. You were his favorite taste, and he would spend hours between your thighs if you let him.

Sonny feels the strain on his back from his position, not being able to maneuver both of you comfortably. God, he was getting old. One of these days he’ll get you a new bed, this was the same twin sized frame he built you too long ago to count.

Sitting up with a grunt he rolls out his neck and stretches his back. He could leave you be, go finish himself off in his room and be done with this whole thing.

His hands move on their own as he lowers his zipper and fishes himself out. Before he knows it his hand is wrapped around his heavy cock as he gives himself a few pumps. He can’t help it when it comes to you. But how could he? His sweet little baby.

Just over the outside, he tells himself. That’s not technically going against your wishes, so no harm done. Sonny slides his cock through your wet cunt, coating himself in the slick he left behind. He watches the way his cock slides through your slippery folds and the way your slick sticks to his shaft. You were just so fucking tempting.

Maybe just the tip, that doesn’t count. It’s hard to resist when your tight little hole was close enough for him to slip into without a moment’s notice.

And that’s exactly what he does.

With a strained groan Sonny notches the blunt head of his cock inside of you and stills, stopping himself from pushing inside you any further. Just the tip. He pulls out only to find himself naturally pushing in more. You were so tight and wet around him and he was barely inside you, the sheer thought of what it’ll feel like to bury himself to a hilt inside you has him feral.

If this was wrong then why did your pussy stretch around him so naturally? Your body works to accommodate his length as he slowly sinks deeper and deeper inside of you. “Oh fuck, kiddo. That’s it, take Daddy’s cock.” Sonny sighs as his hips meet yours.

Sonny moves as slowly as he can manage, careful not to wake you if he can help it. It borders on painful to be this slow, there’s nothing more he wants than to pound into you mercilessly as you hold onto him for dear life.

Your pussy pulses and squeezes around him as he slowly pumps his cock in and out. “Doin’ s’good sweetie, jus’ lie there and take it.” Sonny’s body gently rocks against yours and you slowly find yourself coming to.

The first thing you notice is the dull pain between your thighs from the stretch of your stepdad’s cock inside you.

The second thing you notice is the wet sounds in the air of his hips meeting yours.

The third thing you notice is Sonny himself.

“Dad…?” You mumble as you try to sit up, movements groggy and slow from sleep. “Shh, sweetie. ‘S okay, jus’ go back to sleep.” Sonny tells you gently as he lays you back down on the bed, his larger body crushing yours.

Sonny can feel his inhibitions leaving now that you’re awake, no longer worried about possibly waking you. Now that you’re awake he could focus on your pleasure, eager to hear every moan and whimper he can pull out of you. “Wh– what are you–?” Your question is cut off by a particularly deep thrust that leaves you breathless.

“‘M not done, honey. Jus’ a little bit more, okay?” Sonny grunts as his thighs slap against yours, your pussy gushing around him unknowingly to you. Your sharp gasp fills the room as the tip of his cock hits your cervix, filling you in a way that was indescribable.

“Dad– S–slow down–” you plead with him, still not having adjusted to his size since waking up. “Oh I know, honey. Daddy’s sorry, sweetheart.” Sonny apologies as he continues using your poor abused cunt.

Two fingers rub firm circles over your sensitive swollen clit as you bury your face into his neck. “Oh there you go. Feels good huh, baby?” Sonny coos as you nod against him. Your pussy clenches around him as he grins, there was nothing he loved more than making his baby cum.

Your body shakes against him as he pulls your orgasm out of you, steady fingers never leaving your clit as he fucks you through it. Your walls clamp down around him and Sonny lets out a deep guttural groan from the way you soak his cock. “Fuck, that’s it baby. Cum all over Daddy’s cock. Such a perfect fuckin’ angel–”

Sonny pounds into you faster and harder than expected as he chases his own release. Sweat rolls down his back as you drool against his shoulder while you lie there and take it, just like he told you to. “Oh fuck, that’s good. So fuckin’ good.” He moans as his cock punches your cervix repeatedly.

Without warning Sonny’s back bows as he cums hard and deep inside you. “Fuck– take it baby– take all of it–” he growls in your ear as he fills you with his hot and sticky cum. You’re too out of it to realize he’s not wearing a condom.

“Fuck baby, ya really milked me dry, huh?” Sonny chuckles against your neck as he lazily fucks his cum inside of you. You wince from the feeling as you come down from your high, reality settling back in. “I thought I said…” you whine, not sure if you’re talking about the fact that he came inside you or that you had sex with him in the first place.

Sonny presses a chaste kiss against your lips before unceremoniously sliding out of you, his cum spilling out onto the sheets. He’ll do you a favor and wash your sheets for you, he’s not that cruel. Tucking himself back in Sonny gently pats your thigh.

“Alright, up. Ya slept through dinner.”

[formulafanfics13]

I am amazed how fast you come up with a plot, hands down :)

Sooo another idea for Lewis :)

The reader is 28 again, and Lewis broke up with her because he did not want her to be a target for the Media. After a while tey meet again and the love is still there and even the whole grid wants them to be together :)

okay- last one for the night because i’ve been awake for 19 hours and im still a bit ill🫠 but i promise the rest of the requests will be out the minute i wake up (most are written they just need editing!)✨ (also im trying this off my phone so please lmk if it works and is normal)🫶🏼

We Want Mom & Dad Back Together - LH44

masterlist

Summary: Eight months after their heartbreaking split in Monaco, she returns to the F1 paddock for the first time — quiet, sharp, and still wearing her Mercedes badge. The grid is stunned, the group chats explode, and Lewis is wrecked the second he sees her. The drivers scheme to get them to speak again: fake dinners, trap setups, emotional drive-bys. Finally, at Silverstone, they confront each other. Lewis apologises, she tells him the truth of her pain, and the walls finally come down. Quiet confessions follow. When the next race arrives, they show up together — not with drama, but peace. They’ve made it through. Stronger. Whole. And the grid celebrates like their parents just got remarried.

warnings: none

They hadn't spoken in eight months. Not really. Not since that night on the balcony in Monaco, the wind hot and heavy against her skin, Lewis standing a few feet away, jaw locked, eyes dim. He'd said it softly. Gently. Like he thought kindness could make it hurt less.

"I can't keep doing this to you."

"It's too much."

"They're making you a target, and I-"

She hadn't let him finish. Just nodded. Walked away. Packed in silence. Left the hotel room that still smelled like him and didn't look back.

She never gave the media a soundbite. Never told the world how she'd cried herself breathless in a taxi back to London. How she'd disappeared from every red carpet, every paddock, every interview circuit. They called her elusive. Elegant. Some even said cold.

They didn't know she was grieving.

Because love didn't leave your bones just because someone walked away.

And Lewis? He'd kept going. As if he hadn't broken her and himself in the same breath. As if the press hadn't spent months pulling her apart. Her age. Her body. Her race. Her silence. As if that hadn't been the reason he left in the first place. Because he couldn't take watching them carve her open for loving him.

So he walked. And the paddock fell quiet.

Now it was Barcelona. Race week. Her first paddock appearance in nearly a year. No one expected it.

She hadn't warned anyone. Just stepped through the paddock gates with her team badge clipped to her waist again, dark sunglasses on, linen trousers, sleeveless top, and not one word to the media.

The grid froze. Every mechanic, every driver, every staff member turned to look.

Because she was back. And they knew what that meant.

It didn't take long for the group chats to light up.

[Gridlock GC🔥]

Oscar: SHE'S HERE???

Charles: someone hold lewis back

George: fuck. she looks GOOD.

Yuki: mum is home

Pierre: i am putting them in a room together if it kills me

Carlos: LET'S GET OUR PARENTS BACK TOGETHER

Max: wait are we doing this

Lando: oh we're doing this.

Lewis saw her in the paddock tunnel near the hospitality suites.

She was laughing at something Charles had said, head tilted, shoulders relaxed, but her eyes weren't smiling. Not really.

He didn't move at first. Just stood frozen by the espresso machine, watching her from thirty feet away like she was a painting in a museum he didn't think he'd ever see again.

She didn't notice him. George did. Walked right past him. Slapped the back of his head. "Go say hi."

Lewis shook his head. "She doesn't want to see me."

"Bullshit," George muttered. "She wants to punch you in the face. That's not the same thing."

Max walked by next. "We're putting you both in the media pen at the same time. Don't make it weird."

"What?"

Max didn't stop walking.

"Max-"

Too late. And just like that, it began. The grid plotted.

Pierre started texting her fake dinner invites that just so happened to be at the same place Lewis was. Oscar lied and said Mercedes needed her input on something in hospitality, then left her alone in Lewis's driver's room.

Carlos walked up to Lewis during FP3 and said, with zero context, "You broke her heart. Fix it." Even Fernando pulled her aside in the pitlane and murmured, "You should speak to him."

They could not stand it. Watching them hover on opposite sides of a room. Watching Lewis steal glances when he thought no one saw. Watching her check her watch instead of looking at him.

They weren't just exes. They were grief in two bodies. And it was unbearable.

The confrontation happened at Silverstone. Their home turf.

He hadn't been able to stop looking at her all weekend. How soft she looked in the morning light. How she still said hi to every intern. How she wore Mercedes gear like it still meant something.

And then, during a red flag delay, she ended up in the back of the Mercedes garage, alone, sipping a coffee, ignoring her phone.

He walked in. Paused. She looked up. The silence stretched. “Hey," he said eventually.

"Hey," she replied. Voice calm. Guarded.

He sat a few feet away. Rested his elbows on his knees. Looked at her like he hadn't breathed since Monaco. “You look good," he said.

She smiled, tired. "You always say that."

"It's always true."

She didn't answer.

He exhaled. "I'm sorry."

She looked at him.

"I thought I was doing the right thing," he continued. "I thought walking away would protect you. That if I made it clean, made it public, they'd stop aiming at you."

"They didn't," she said softly. "They just said I wasn't good enough to keep you."

He swallowed.

"I didn't need protecting, Lewis. I needed you."

"I know."

Silence. She looked down at her coffee. "I didn't stop loving you."

His heart cracked. “I never did either."

Another pause.

"Then why-"

"Because I thought I had to be perfect," he said, voice rough. "To deserve you. And when I saw what they were doing to you, I thought I was the reason."

"You weren't."

"I know that now."

Her hands trembled slightly around the cup.

"I still have your sweatshirt," she whispered. "The one from Baku."

He smiled. "I still wear your necklace."

Her breath caught.

"I miss you," he said.

"I'm here."

He reached out. Let his fingers brush hers. "So am I."

When the next race rolled around, they arrived together.

Nothing dramatic. No hand-holding. No paparazzi pose.

Just a soft smile. A shared car. Two matching black paddock passes. And the whole grid exploded.

[Gridlock GC🔥]

Yuki: LET'S GOOOOOO

George: DAD CAME HOME

Oscar: she's back

Pierre: do we get visitation rights

Lando: i'm crying in the mclaren motorhome

Charles: best. day. ever.

They were back. But not like before. Stronger. Softer. Survived.And the world couldn't touch them now. Because love didn't break under pressure. Not really. It just took time. And a very feral group chat.