#the pauses in between are breaks for them to stifle laughter

[ennard-is-near]

“I know it was an accident” (from the SL secret night) get slept on so hard. I think about that line every day and I’ve never seen anyone else talk about it.

[cumironi]

ONE TOO MANY : GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU

the first time you have an argument with your two boyfriends is because they've been ignoring you for weeks, so you return the favor.

wc. 4,3k | m.list | part. 2

warning. boyfriends! satosugu, angst to fluff (kinda), petnames, light arguments, silent treatment, and idk.

as you sit on the couch, the dim light of the living room casting long shadows across the room, you glance at the clock. it's late—much later than usual for geto and gojo to be coming home. a knot of worry tightens in your chest, but you push it aside. you know their work can be demanding, but you miss them.

the door finally creaks open, and your heart leaps as geto and gojo step inside. but something feels off. their usual smiles are absent, their shoulders slumped with exhaustion. geto barely acknowledges you with a nod, and gojo doesn't even glance your way, heading straight to the kitchen to grab a drink.

“hey...” you begin softly, but your voice trails off as they move around the room like you're not even there. geto drops his bag by the door and heads for the stairs, clearly ready to crash in bed without a word. gojo's usually bright eyes are dull, and when he finally looks at you, it's with a tired expression that makes your heart sink.

“i’m just... really tired,” gojo mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck as he avoids your gaze.

you feel a wave of frustration and hurt rise within you. they’ve had long days before, but they’ve never been so dismissive. you stand up, crossing your arms, trying to figure out what to say, how to break through whatever barrier has suddenly sprung up between you. “baby... what's going on?” you ask, your voice laced with concern.

geto pauses at the base of the stairs, sighing deeply, “just... give us some space, okay? we’ve had a rough day.”

his words hit you harder than they should, and you’re left standing there, feeling more alone than ever as they head off to bed without another word. the room feels colder, emptier, and you’re left wondering if it’s something you did, or if there’s something they’re not telling you.

the next morning you wake up to the smell of coffee and the soft sound of music coming from the kitchen. your stomach does a flip, a hint of excitement mixing with lingering unease. you slide out of bed and pad down the stairs, your heart rate picking up as you near the kitchen.

the sight that greets you is unexpected. geto and gojo stand side by side, their back to you as they putter in the kitchen. gojo's tall form easily dominates the space, his shoulders broader than you remembered. geto's hair is ruffled, still messy from sleep, and it's a stark contrast to his usually composed appearance. they haven't noticed you yet, engrossed in their task as they move around each other in a synchronized dance.

you lean against the doorway, watching them for a moment. gojo's slender fingers skillfully flip pancakes, and geto hums along to the music playing softly in the background, a spatula in his hand as he tends to the bacon.

it's a scene so domestic and natural, yet it feels surreal given their cold demeanor from last night. it's as if they're trying to pretend yesterday never happened, to go back to normalcy. geto suddenly looks up, catching your gaze. his expression turns serious, his dark eyes locking onto yours. gojo continues cooking, his back still to you, but you can almost feel the tension radiating from him.

“you're up,” geto comments, his voice neutral.

you clear your throat, trying to keep your tone light, “yeah, the coffee smell woke me up.”

“coffee's almost done,” gojo says without turning around, his voice lacking its usual playful edge. an awkward silence settles over the room, thick and stifling.

you watch as they continue to cook, each movement precise and calculated. no small talk, no casual touches or laughter like you're used to. gojo plates the pancakes and bacon, setting them on the table, before finally turning to face you. his normally bright eyes are cool and detached.

“breakfast is ready,” he mutters, breaking the silence.

you swallow the lump in your throat, feeling the distance between you growing wider with every passing moment. the breakfast they've prepared looks delicious, but sitting down to eat together feels like an impossible feat given the current atmosphere.

you shift your weight, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten further. the air in the kitchen is charged, and the earlier domestic scene has been shattered. geto turns back to the stove, his shoulders tense as he tends to the food. gojo continues flipping pancakes, his movements more rigid than normal.

“so...” you begin, your voice breaking the silence, “about last night—”

“don't,” geto interrupts, his voice firm. “can we just not do this right now?”

his blunt response hangs in the air, and you're taken aback by his abruptness. you feel your frustration and confusion mounting, but before you can say anything, gojo puts down the spatula, his voice laced with irritation.

“yeah, maybe we should just focus on the food,” he says, avoiding your gaze. the room falls into an awkward silence again, only the sound of cooking filling the air. you can feel the tension building, the unspoken words and emotions hanging heavily between you.

you look at them for a second, just staring without saying a words and they can see how quickly your expression change to cold as clear as the day. you swallow hard, the words you want to say sticking in your throat. instead, you just nod, barely meeting his eyes as you mumble, “okay.” your voice comes out small, almost defeated, as you focus on the floor.

even as you agree to let it go, the hurt gnaws at you. you want to bridge the gap, to reach out to them, but the coldness in their demeanor keeps you at arm’s length. the silence stretches on, and you’re left feeling more alone than ever, standing just a few feet away from the two people you thought you were closest to.

the meal is eaten in a heavy, uncomfortable silence. neither geto nor gojo make an effort to talk like they usually do, their eyes focused on their food. gojo's movements are mechanical, while geto's gaze keeps shifting towards you, his expression a mixture of guilt and determination to keep his distance.

as you finish eating, they quickly rise, busying themselves with cleaning up, still avoiding any meaningful eye contact with you.

as satoru reaches for your plate, you finally speak up, your voice firmer than you expected, “don’t.” he freezes for a moment, his hand hovering over your plate. you can feel his gaze on you, but you don’t look up. “i’ll do it myself,” you add, your tone making it clear that this isn’t up for debate.

geto looks up, his eyes flicking between you and gojo as if silently trying to communicate. gojo seems ready to argue, his jaw clenching, but geto subtly shakes his head, a silent warning. a beat of tense silence passes before gojo reluctantly pulls back his hand, a flash of something that looks like hurt in his eyes. he mumbles something under his breath that you don't quite catch.

pushing down the knot of emotions threatening to choke you, you stand up from the table and walk towards the sink where geto is still standing, his presence a heavy weight in the small space. without looking at him, you ask, your voice edged with coldness, “are you done?”

geto nods, his expression unreadable as he steps back slightly. there’s a moment where you consider softening your tone, but the way they’ve been treating you today and days before hardens your resolve.

“then move,” you say, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade. if they want to treat you like this, then you’re not going to just sit there and take it. you’ve given them space, tried to be patient, but their coldness is more than you can handle right now.

geto hesitates, a flash of something—guilt, perhaps—crossing his face before he steps aside, giving you room to move past him. you take your plate to the sink, the cool metal under your fingers grounding you as you begin to rinse it off, your movements sharp, deliberate.

as you stand there, the sound of running water filling the silence, you can feel their eyes on you, the weight of their unspoken words pressing down on your shoulders. but you don’t turn around. if they want to push you away, you won’t beg them to stay close. not tonight, not anymore.

geto remains where he stands, watching you silently, while gojo leans against the counter, his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on you as well. the minutes pass in a tense silence, the sound of the water and the clinking of dishes the only noise. you can feel their eyes on you, their gazes burning into your skin, but you keep your focus on the task at hand, refusing to break.

geto finally breaks the silence, his voice soft, but with an edge of determination, “can we talk?”

you pause for a moment, letting his request hang in the air. a bitter scoff escapes your lips as you turn off the water, feeling a surge of irony wash over you. you turn to face him, your expression hard as you look between geto and satoru. “oh, now you wanna talk?” you ask, your voice laced with mockery. “when i wanted to talk, you both shut me out. but now that i’m doing the same, suddenly it’s time for a conversation?”

there’s a biting edge to your words, a reflection of the hurt and frustration that’s been building up inside you all weeks. you don’t bother hiding it, letting them feel a fraction of what you’ve been feeling. if they want to push you away, then they’ll have to deal with the consequences.

geto falters, his expression flitting momentarily to gojo, before returning to you, his eyes reflecting a mix of regret and stubbornness. gojo doesn’t say anything, his jaw set, but you can sense the tension radiating from him as well.

“i know,” geto starts, his voice a bit shaky, “i know we’re being unfair. we owe you an explanation. we just…” he trails off, his gaze breaking yours as he glances at gojo again, almost seeking validation. gojo remains silent, his face stoic, but his eyes betray a flicker of internal struggle.

they both shift uncomfortably under your sharp words, gojo’s gaze darting away and geto’s expression darkening. their discomfort only adds fuel to your indignation.

“yeah, it’s funny how that works, isn’t it?” you continue, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “you ignore me for weeks and then suddenly want to talk when i’m finally done playing your little game. well, too bad. i’m done playing along,” you turn the water off and walk away to your shared bedroom.

gojo’s hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist before you can step away. the suddenness of his action catches you off guard, his grip tight but not aggressive. “wait,” he says, his voice low, his eyes searching yours.

geto steps towards you, his expression a mix of guilt and determination, “please.”

the desperation in their voices is unmistakable, and it’s the first sign of vulnerability they’ve shown all weeks. it’s enough to make you hesitate, to feel a flicker of reluctance. but you stood on your grounds— trying to stood on your ground. “i have works to do,” you mumble before push his hand away.

the past few days have been a blur, a mixture of long hours and late nights. you've been coming home later and later, deliberately avoiding going to bed with them, choosing instead to crash on the couch, wrapped in a blanket of silence and exhaustion. it’s not just the late nights—it’s the subtle shift in your routine, the way you’ve distanced yourself, mirroring the coldness they showed you that night. you’re not even sure if they’ve noticed, but it’s become your own form of silent rebellion, a way to protect yourself.

tonight is no different. when you finally walk through the door, it’s nearly one in the morning, your body heavy with fatigue. you’re expecting the house to be dark and quiet, but as you step into the kitchen, the soft light catches your attention. they’re both there, geto and gojo, standing near the stove, the faint smell of food lingering in the air.

gojo looks up first, his expression serious but tinged with something you can’t quite place. geto follows, his gaze steady as he watches you enter. “can we talk?” gojo asks, his voice more gentle than it’s been in days.

you hesitate, your hand tightening around the strap of your bag. “talk about what?” you reply, your voice is neutral, guarded. geto steps closer, concern etched into his features. “we heard you’ve started taking missions again,” he says quietly, the words heavy with implication. “why?”

you feel a flicker of something—anger, maybe, or frustration. they ignored you, pushed you away, and now they want to question your choices? it feels like a cruel twist of fate.

“why not?” you shoot back, dropping your bag onto the counter with a soft thud. “i figured if you two can focus on work and shut me out, then maybe i should do the same. why waste time waiting around?”

gojo's expression hardens at your answer, a shadow passing over his features. geto’s eyes flick between you both, his expression pained. “we’re not shutting you out,” gojo insists, his voice strained, “we’re just..”

“busy,” geto finishes, his gaze dropping to the floor.

the kitchen falls into thick silence, the tension stretching the air between you all. gojo leans against the counter, his arms crossed, while geto stands in the middle, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders tense.

you feel the pressure of their gazes on you, waiting for some reaction, some sign of understanding or forgiveness. but instead, you simply shrug your shoulders, your expression carefully neutral. “okay,” you mutter, the word simple but loaded with a cold indifference that makes their attempts at explanation feel small.

gojo shifts his weight, clearly frustrated by your continued coldness. his jaw clenches. geto tries a different angle, his voice soft. “we've been worried about you being out there alone.”

your eyes flicker back to his, and a flash of irritation passes through them. “alone?” you echo, a bitter edge to your tone. “really? you guys have been MIA for weeks, but now you're worried about me being alone?” the absurdity of the situation hits you, and a mocking laugh bubbles up, escaping in a few harsh chuckles. “you guys are unbelievable,” you say, the laughter carrying a mix of disbelief and hurt.

the laughter seems to take them by surprise, their faces reflecting a mix of guilt and confusion. the mocking tone of your voice stings, cutting through their attempts at reconciliation with a sharp edge.

gojo's jaw tenses, his hand clenching into a fist.

geto winces at the sound of your laughter, his eyes downcast. “i know it looks bad,” he murmurs, his voice almost pitiful.

“looks bad?” you repeat, your voice raises an octave, anger leaking into your words. “that's a nice way to put it. you two have been distant for weeks, acting like i don't even exist. then suddenly you're here, in the kitchen, when you know most nights i get home late.”

you step forward, your eyes narrowing as you gesture towards them. “were you waiting for me?” you ask, your voice quiet but seething with anger. “were you hoping to catch me in a weak moment, when i'm tired and vulnerable, so you could have this little heart-to-heart and feel better about yourselves?”

they both take a step back, looking taken aback by your sudden aggression. gojo's expression is a mix of guilt and defensiveness, while geto's eyes widen at the accusation. you take a deep breath, letting the anger ebb away just enough to speak. “i don't have time for this,” you say, letting out a sigh, “i only came home to get my things because my flight leaves in two hours. i’ve got a mission abroad for a week.”

the reality of your departure hangs in the air, the urgency in your voice making it clear that this conversation will have to wait. you turn, starting to gather your things, feeling the weight of their eyes on you as you move. the distance between you all feels like an insurmountable chasm, but for now, you have to focus on what’s ahead.

geto's eyes widen in surprise, while gojo's face pales. “wait—” they both speak at the same time, their voices filled with a mix of shock and desperation. geto quickly regains his composure, stepping forward, his arm reaching out. “hold on a second,” he says, his voice urgent, “you can't just leave—” gojo cuts in, his expression a mix of guilt and worry. “you’re not seriously going alone, are you?”

you brush off geto's arm, continuing to gather your things. “i don't have a choice,” you reply, your voice firm. “the higher-ups assigned me to the mission. i have to go.” gojo steps in front of you, his eyes meeting yours, a hint of pleading in them. “can we at least talk about this?” he asks, his voice quiet.

you pause, hesitating for a moment before shaking your head. “there’s nothing to talk about. my flight leaves soon, and i have to get ready.”

you can see the hurt in their eyes, the realization of your words sinking in. they hadn’t been there for you, and now they expected you to stay? to wait around for a conversation you didn’t think they even wanted to have?

gojo runs a hand through his hair, his expression frustrated. “what if something happens to you out there?” he says, his voice low and tense. geto steps forward, his eyes on yours, his voice pleading. “you can’t just leave things like this.” the desperation in their voices is a stark contrast to the coldness you’ve been experiencing these past few days. but it’s too little, too late.

your hands pause for a moment, your heart rate increasing at their reactions. you had wanted a reaction, but this intense concern was not what you had expected. you look back at them, your expression carefully nonchalant, despite the flurry of emotions swirling inside you.

“why not?” you asked, your voice betraying none of your inner turmoil. “you two are the ones who have been busy and distant. if you've got your own priorities, then why can't i have mine?”

gojo lets out a frustrated exhale, his hands clenching into fists by his sides. “that's not fair,” he mutters, his voice strained. geto looks torn, his eyes flickering between you and gojo. “just because we've been preoccupied doesn’t mean we don’t care.” the guilt in his voice is evident, mirroring the guilt you’ve been feeling. but you push it aside, trying to maintain the facade of indifference.

you let out a heavy sigh and sit down, looking up at them with a weary expression. “then what's fair, satoru?” you ask, your voice is steady but tinged with frustration. “tell me. i’ve been waiting for you two for days, weeks even. when i don’t wait around and i finally start doing things for myself, that’s not fair?”

the question hangs in the air, the weight of it pressing down on all of you. the silence that follows is thick with unresolved feelings, leaving the three of you standing on the edge of understanding, yet unable to bridge the gap between you.

gojo's gaze drops to the floor, his jaw clenching as if he’s struggling with his own emotions. geto's eyes flit between you both, his expression pained as he takes in your words. there's a moment of heavy silence before gojo finally speaks up, his voice low and laced with something you can’t quite place.

“you're right,” he admits, his eyes lifting to meet yours. “we've been shitty. we’ve been distant, ignoring you, making you feel like we don’t care.” geto nods in agreement, his eyes meeting yours as well. “we messed up,” he adds, his voice soft. “we've been dealing with some things and we shut you out.”

gojo runs a hand through his hair again, his gaze darting away and then back to yours. “we didn't mean to hurt you,” he says, his voice quiet but sincere, “we just... we weren't thinking.” the weight of their words hangs heavily in the air, and you feel a pang of sadness at their regret. “but you did hurt me,” you reply softly, your voice carrying a trace of vulnerability.

they both flinch at your words, their expressions flickering with guilt and remorse. gojo lets out a heavy sigh, his hands clenching into fists.

“we know,” he mutters, his voice almost a whisper. geto steps closer, his eyes filled with a mix of hurt and understanding. “we were idiots,” he says, his voice filled with remorse, “we didn't realize how much we were hurting you until you started spending less time with us.”

you take a deep breath as you stand to leave, the unspoken emotions and unresolved tension still linger between you. “i need to go. ijichi is waiting for me,” you say, the words firm but carrying an undertone of sadness.

you pause at the door, looking back at them. “we can talk when i get home,” you add, offering a faint, weary smile before stepping out. the door closes behind you, leaving them with the weight of your words and the promise of a future conversation.

they both watch you leave, their expressions a mixture of guilt, sorrow and a hint of hope. gojo's shoulders slump as you close the door behind you, while geto lets out a sigh, his eyes still fixed on the empty space where you were just a moment ago.

the apartment feels strangely quiet without you, the weight of the conversation still lingering in the air. they both know they have a lot to make up for, but for now, they wait, anxiously anticipating your return.

a week has passed, and the tension has only built as they waited for your return. when you finally come home, the sight that greets you in the living room is striking. geto and gojo are there, their expressions a mix of exhaustion and desperation. they look worn, their usual composure replaced by a sense of helplessness, as though the time apart has taken a visible toll on them.

they both rise as you enter, their eyes searching your face, a mix of hope and apprehension in their gazes. it’s clear they’ve been counting the days, each passing moment stretching into a painful reminder of their mistakes and your absence.

“hey,” you greet them with a small, tentative smile.

the room is thick with unspoken words and emotions. geto and gojo exchange a glance, their expressions softening slightly at your presence. they both take in your appearance, their eyes roving over you as if checking for any sign of injury from your recent mission. their shoulders relax somewhat, relieved that you're relatively unharmed.

gojo is the first to speak, his voice low and hoarse, as if he hasn't used it much these past few days. “you're back,” he murmurs, his eyes fixed on yours. geto stands behind him, his arms crossed as if holding back his own mixture of relief and anxiety. “how was the mission?” he asks, his voice a soft counterpoint to the tense silence.

you nod, your smile fading slightly as you respond. “the mission went well,” you say, your voice calm but carrying a hint of fatigue. geto uncrosses his arms, his posture relaxing a bit, while gojo’s shoulders seem to ease from their tightness. the tension in the room begins to shift, making way for the conversation and reconciliation that have been waiting for this moment.

you nod in response, your heart feeling the weight of the moment. “yeah, we can talk,” you say, but the words feel inadequate for what you’re really craving. “but could you hug me? i feel like i’m going to lose my mind if i don’t get a hug from you right now.”

gojo doesn't need to be told twice. he immediately steps forward, wrapping his arms around you in a tight grip, pulling you into his chest, his embrace so strong it almost lifts you off the ground. he buries his face in your hair, his breath shaky against your skin. “god, i missed you so much,” he murmurs, the words muffled against you.

geto hesitates for a moment, watching gojo's embrace. the sight of it makes his chest ache, a pang of jealousy mixed with guilt. but then, as if unable to resist, he steps closer, his arms wrapping around you from behind, his front pressed against your back. his embrace is gentler than gojo's, but no less heartfelt. he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

you let out a deep sigh of relief as they wrap their arms around you. the warmth and closeness of their embrace offer a sense of comfort that you've been missing. the tension that’s built up over the past week starts to dissolve, replaced by the soothing reassurance of their presence. in this moment, the words and explanations can wait as you simply allow yourself to be held and to feel that things might start to mend.

they both hold you tight, their arms firm against you. their hold is almost possessive, as if they're afraid you're going to slip away. they don't say anything, their only response a mix of soft breathing and the occasional whispered murmur of your name.

after a few moments, gojo pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you. his blue eyes roam over your face, taking in every detail as if he hadn't seen you in years. his voice is hoarse when he speaks, filled with a mixture of remorse and vulnerability. “can we sit?” you nod, a small but weary smile crossing your face. “yeah, let’s sit,” you agree, feeling the weight of the past week begin to lift just a little as you prepare to talk and hopefully begin to heal together.

they both guide you to the couch, with gojo sitting beside you while geto takes the armchair across from the two of you. as you settle into the cushions, their eyes follow your every move, as if afraid you might disappear again at any moment.

the room is silent for a moment, the only sound coming from the gentle ticking of the clock on the wall. gojo seems a bit unsure where to start, his eyes flickering between you and geto. geto takes the initiative, his eyes staying fixed on you. “we owe you an explanation,” he says, his voice soft but filled with regret. “we understand why you’re angry at us, and we’re sorry.”

gojo fidgets beside you, his gaze dropping briefly to his hands in his lap before he forces himself to look at you again. “we were caught up in some things,” he says, his voice low and almost ashamed. “and we shouldn’t have shut you out like we did.”

geto nods, his eyes never leaving your face. “we were idiots, plain and simple,” he admits, his voice filled with remorse. “we didn’t realize how much we were hurting you until you started distancing yourself from us. seeing you leave, not knowing if you were okay or not, it was one of the worst things we’ve ever experienced.”

you listen quietly, your fingers absently playing with the hem of your skirt. their words, while sincere, do little to erase the hurt you still feel from the past week. the pain lingers, a reminder of the distance and isolation you felt.

they both notice your distant expression, the silence in the room growing heavier. gojo’s hand clenches into a fist by his side, his eyes pained as he watches you fiddle with your skirt. geto’s eyes flicker to gojo for a moment before refocusing on you. he seems to struggle for words, his expression filled with regret. “can you look at us?” he says softly, his voice carrying a hint of pleading.

you slowly lift your gaze, meeting their eyes. the hurt is still there, but you try to convey a sense of willingness to listen and understand. “i’m here,” you say quietly, your voice steady despite the lingering pain. “i’m listening.”

gojo's hand reaches out, almost involuntarily, to take yours, his fingers intertwining with yours, as if seeking some physical connection to ground him. his grip is gentle but firm, a plea for forgiveness and understanding in his touch.

geto's eyes flicker between your faces, his expression taut. “we’ve been careless,” he says, his voice thick with remorse. “we’ve been too lost in other things and we didn’t pay enough attention to you. and that was wrong of us.”

as geto speaks, his remorse is evident in his voice, you take a deep breath. “you’ve been ignoring me for weeks,” you say, your voice steady but tinged with the hurt you've been holding onto. “it wasn’t just about not paying enough attention. it felt like you didn’t care at all, and that really hurt.”

they both flinch at your words, their expressions crumpling with guilt. gojo’s grip on your hand tightens, his eyes dark with remorse, while geto nods slowly, his gaze dropping to the floor before meeting yours again.

“we didn’t mean to make you feel like we didn’t care,” geto says softly, his voice filled with regret. “we were just…” he trails off, struggling to articulate the weight of their actions.

gojo steps in, his voice strained. “we were dealing with some stuff, and we didn’t handle it well. there were ongoing issues with the higher-ups, never-ending missions, and the stress of yuuta and yuji’s executions. the pressure from the school and everything else just piled up, and we let it affect how we treated you.”

the added context helps to explain their actions, but it doesn’t completely erase the pain. the burden of their responsibilities and the way they’ve neglected you come into clearer focus, but the healing process will take time and effort from all sides.

you take a deep breath, your voice steady despite the lingering hurt. “i know you were dealing with a lot,” you say quietly. “i’m dealing with the same stuff—higher-ups, never-ending missions, everything that comes with it. but that doesn’t mean it was okay for you to shut me out.”

you squeeze gojo's hand gently, the firmness of your grip reflecting your resolve. “i understand that you were overwhelmed, but it didn’t excuse how you treated me. i needed you, and instead, i felt abandoned.” the words hang in the air, leaving room for reflection and a path towards healing.

they both hang their heads, their expressions marked by remorse. gojo's grip on your hand tightens, as if begging you to understand. geto’s eyes avoid yours, his guilt palpable. they both know you’re right, their previous justifications sounding hollow now.

gojo sighs heavily, his voice soft but firm. “we know we screwed up,” he says, his eyes meeting yours again. “and we're sorry. we truly are. we shouldn't have let our issues affect how we treated you. you deserve better than what we've given you.”

you take a deep breath, your voice trembling as you begin to speak. “i tried to take fewer missions because i know you both were worried. i wanted to be around more, to show you that I care. but every night... every night, when i’m in bed between you two, you turn your backs on me.”

your tears start to blur your vision, and you struggle to keep your composure. “no matter which side i turn, all i see is your backs. it felt like you were shutting me out, like I was invisible to you. i feel like i have nowhere to go, and feel more alone.”

the emotion in your voice is raw, and the tears that spill down your cheeks only deepen the weight of what you’re expressing. the room fills with the sound of your quiet sobs, adding a poignant layer to the shared moment of vulnerability.

their eyes widen as you continue, their expressions turning pained as you lay bare the depths of your hurt. gojo's grip on your hand turns almost crushing as he listens to your words, his heart clenching as he hears the anguish in your voice.

geto's face is pale, his throat bobbing as he swallows, the sight of your tears a physical manifestation of the pain they've caused. gojo's voice is rough, his eyes fixed on yours. “we didn’t think you felt that way,” he says, his voice hoarse. “we’re sorry. we were idiots.”

gojo’s other hand reaches up, cupping your cheek gently, his thumb wiping away some of your tears. “please don’t cry,” he mumbles, his voice cracking as he watches you cry. geto sits up straighter, his eyes fixed on your tear-stained face. “we’ll fix this,” he promises, his voice filled with resolve.

gojo nods, his eyes soft as they roam over your face. “please, just let us make it up to you,” he says quietly, his hand still holding your cheek.

you take a shuddering breath, your voice wavering but firm. “you know how it was at home before i came to jujutsu high. i was always walking on eggshells every day. i don’t want to feel that way with you two. i love you both so much, and it hurts to feel like i’m just an afterthought.” the weight of your words hangs in the air, a poignant reminder of your vulnerability and the deep emotional connection you share.

you look at them with a mix of sadness and fear, your voice trembling. “and i feel so scared because i’ve started to think that maybe I should leave. i don’t want to, but the way things have been... it makes me wonder if staying is just going to hurt more.” the admission is heavy, your fear of leaving mingling with the pain of feeling disconnected. It’s a vulnerable moment, revealing the depth of your uncertainty and the impact their actions have had on you.

their eyes widen at your words, their expressions changing from guilt to fear. gojo’s hand tightens on your cheek, his eyes turning desperate, while geto’s hands clench into fists in his lap. gojo’s voice is strained, his eyes searching yours. “please don’t talk like that,” he murmurs, his tone pleading. “please don’t even think about leaving.”

geto scoots to the edge of the armchair, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and desperation. “you don’t have to go. we can fix this, just stay.”

they know, from the moment you first got met each other and you told them they were going to go down in history as the world’s biggest idiots instead of swoon over them, that you’re not the type of person to be a pushover. they’ve always admired how you refuse to let anyone disrespect you or treat you as less than you deserve. from the beginning, they understood that once someone starts treating you badly, you’re ready to leave—no matter how much you love them—because your self-respect has always been paramount.

and now, as you stand before them, telling them that if leaving is what it takes to keep yourself at peace, you’ll take that chance and face the consequences, they can feel the weight of that truth. their admiration for your strength has always been part of what they love about you, but now that very strength threatens to take you away from them.

the fear in their eyes deepens, a reflection of the realization that they’ve pushed you to the edge, and they know you won’t hesitate to step away if it means preserving your sense of self-worth.

they sit in stunned silence for a few moments, the weight of your words sinking in. they know you well enough to know that when you say you'll leave, you'll follow through. the thought of losing you, of losing what they have, is too painful to bear.

geto breaks the silence first, his voice soft but filled with an edge of desperation. “you don’t have to leave. we can fix this.” gojo nods frantically, his hand on your cheek holding you more firmly now. “please, don’t talk about leaving,” he murmurs, his eyes pleading.

you take a deep breath, feeling the tension in the room as they hold onto you, their desperation clear. “i did think about leaving,” you admit, your voice is soft but steady. “but it was just for a second because i can’t bear the thought of living without you two. i love you both too much, and that’s why i’m here, willing to talk.”

their grip on you tightens slightly, a mix of relief and guilt washing over their faces. geto’s shoulders relax a little, and gojo’s eyes soften as he hears your words. “i don’t want to lose you,” you continue, “but i need to know that things are going to change. i need to feel like i matter to you as much as you matter to me.”

they both nod slowly, understanding the seriousness of the situation. their hands remain firmly on you, desperate to maintain whatever connection they still have with you.

gojo’s eyes are filled with remorse, his voice soft. “you matter to us,” he says quietly, “so much more than you ever realize. we’ve been idiots. we took you for granted, and we didn’t give you the attention and care you deserve. that ends now.”

geto nods, his expression taut. “we’ll do better,” he says firmly, his voice filled with determination.

they both hold onto you tightly, as if trying to convey the depth of their feelings through touch alone. gojo’s eyes are fixed on yours, his expression filled with remorse. “we’ve been so focused on our own problems that we neglected you,” he mutters, his voice soft. “that won’t happen again. we swear it.”

geto nods in agreement, his hand reaching out to hold your other cheek softly. “we were stupid,” he says bluntly. “we didn’t realize how much we were hurting you until you were almost gone.”

you intertwine your hands with theirs, holding onto them firmly as you look into their eyes. “i’m not going to apologize for how i acted this past week,” you say, your voice calm but resolute. “i was just trying to give you a taste of your own medicine, to make you feel the effects of your actions. but that doesn’t change the fact that i love you both so much.”

they both nod, their eyes dropping to your intertwined hands. they know you're right, that you don't owe them any apologies. they have hurt you, and they know it's up to them to make amends.

gojo speaks first, his voice soft but firm. “we don’t expect you to apologize,” he says, his thumb lightly caressing your cheek. “we deserve what we got. you had every right to react the way you did.”

geto nods in agreement, his hand squeezing yours gently. “we were selfish, careless,” he murmurs. “we’re sorry.” you smile softly at them, feeling the weight of their remorse in the way they hold onto you. “i don’t mind you prioritizing your work,” you say gently, your fingers tightening around theirs. “you’re the strongest jujutsu sorcerers, and people rely on you. it’s your responsibility, and i understand that. i just don’t want you to turn your backs on me again.”

their expressions reflect the truth of your words. they know the demands of their profession, and they know they'll always be expected to prioritize their work. but they also know they messed up by neglecting you in the process.

gojo’s eyes stay fixed on yours, his voice low. “we won’t let that happen again,” he promises, his hand gently squeezing your cheek. “we’re going to find a way to balance our responsibilities and give you the attention you deserve.”

you lean your side against gojo's chest, feeling the warmth and strength of his body. with your hands still intertwined with theirs on your lap, you look up at them, your voice gentle but firm. “please, just talk to me when you’re feeling down or overwhelmed or anything,” you ask, your eyes searching theirs for understanding. “i’m here for you, and i want to help. but i can’t if you shut me out.”

gojo wraps his arm around you as you lean against him, his eyes softening as he listens to your words. geto nods in agreement, his grip on your hand gentle but firm.

gojo’s voice is soft, filled with a hint of guilt. “we know,” he says quietly. “we were wrong to shut you out. we promise we’ll communicate better from now on.” geto’s expression is taut but sincere. “we’ll talk to you when we’re struggling, and we’ll make sure you’re still a priority.”

you smile softly at them, a sense of relief washing over you as you feel the sincerity in their words. “thank you,” you say, your voice filled with gratitude. “thank you for trying to sort things out instead of just letting it be.”

they both look at you, their eyes filled with a mix of guilt and love. gojo’s arm tightens around you, holding you closer to him, while geto's hand gently caresses your hand in his. gojo nods, his expression firm. “you’re too important to us to let things fall apart like this.”

geto's voice is soft but determined. “we’ll do whatever it takes to make it right again.”

they sit with you in a comfortable silence for a few moments, the air filled with a mixture of relief and unspoken emotions. gojo's hold on you remains firm, his broad chest firm and warm against your side, while geto's hand gently intertwines your fingers with his.

finally, gojo speaks, his voice soft. “can you promise us something?”

you hum softly in response, your curiosity piqued by gojo’s gentle tone. you glance up at him, waiting for what he has to say, still feeling the warmth of their touch grounding you.

gojo's eyes meet yours, his gaze unusually serious. “promise us that you won’t shut us out either,” he says quietly. geto nods in agreement, his hand squeezing yours gently. “we want to know when you’re not okay,” he adds, his voice firm but gentle. “we don’t want a repeat of this week. we don’t want you to feel like you have nowhere to go.”

you nod softly, feeling the sincerity in their words. “okay,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath. the promise settles between you all, a silent understanding that things will be different moving forward. the weight of the past week begins to lift, replaced by a sense of renewed connection.

they both nod at your response, a visible relief washed over them. gojo's grip on you tightens again, his arm holding you even closer to him, while geto's hand gently caresses your fingers in his.

they both watch you for a few moments, their gazes filled with a mixture of love and newfound determination. they can feel the shift in the air between you, and finally, gojo speaks again, his voice quiet.

“can we ask you something?”

gojo smiles faintly, the sight of your smile melting away some of the tension in his own face. he glances at geto, who nods slightly, before returning his attention to you. “can we sleep with you tonight?” he asks, his voice soft and sincere. “we miss you.”

you playfully roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “of course,” you say softly, “i miss you too.”

they both exhale a sigh of relief, their expressions relaxing instantly. gojo’s arm squeezes you again, his body pressing against you firmly. geto’s grip on your fingers tightens slightly as his eyes linger on your face.

gojo’s voice is low, the relief clear in every syllable. “thank god,” he mutters, his voice heavy but filled with something soft and sincere.

geto nods slightly, his eyes meeting gojo’s for a moment before he turns his gaze back to you. “we missed holding you,” he says quietly, his voice equally as sincere. you look at geto, noticing the lingering guilt in his eyes. geto’s gaze meets yours, his eyes reflecting the lingering guilt. “come here,” you say softly. when you tell him to come closer, he moves to kneel between your legs, his expression still marked by regret.

as you slip his long hair behind his ear, your touch is gentle and reassuring. “you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself,” you say softly, your voice filled with understanding. “i know you care deeply, and that’s why this hurts. but you’re not alone in this.”

geto's shoulders slump at your words, the weight of his guilt visibly lessening. his eyes stay fixed on yours, the regret in them slowly being replaced by a soft vulnerability.

he leans into your touch, his head tilting slightly involuntarily at the touch of your fingers to his hair. “i know,” he mutters, his voice still heavy with guilt. “i just wish i hadn't let it get this bad.” geto’s voice is soft, the regret and guilt audible in it. “i just… i just can’t forgive myself for causing you pain,” he murmurs, his voice strained.

you give him a reassuring smile, your voice gentle. “i’m not in pain anymore, so you can stop feeling guilty,” you say softly. “we’ve talked things out, and we’re moving forward. it’s okay to let go of that guilt now. we’re okay.”

geto’s eyes search yours, the guilt still visible but diminishing by the second. he nods slowly, his expression taut but hopeful. he speaks softly, his voice still laced slightly with regret. “i know. but i just… it’s hard to shake this feeling, you know? it’s like a knot in my chest that won’t loosen.”

you lean down and gently kiss his chest, then move to his neck and jaw, your touch tender and soothing. each kiss is a silent reassurance, conveying that you're okay now and that you're not mad at him anymore. your actions are meant to comfort and ease the lingering regret he feels, showing him through your touch that things are healing.

his breath hitches at the feel of your lips on his chest, his body tensing for a brief moment before melting into your touch. each press of your lips sends waves of comfort through him, the knot in his chest loosening with every gentle kiss.

he wraps his arms around your back, pulling you closer, his grip tight and unyielding. when your lips reach his jaw, he tilts his head to give you better access, his eyes fluttering shut. you pull away slightly, your hands still resting gently on his shoulders. you look into his eyes with a soft, reassuring gaze. “don’t feel guilty anymore,” you say gently. “we’re okay. let go of that weight you’re carrying. we’re moving forward together.”

his eyes open slowly, meeting yours. the guilt in his eyes has lessened even more, replaced by a deep vulnerability and newfound trust. he nods slowly, his hands gently pulling you even closer to him.

he leans his forehead against yours, his voice soft and sincere. “i’m trying, i promise,” he murmurs. “i’m trying to let it go. it’s just… it’s just hard, sometimes.”

“shut up, stop it,” you softly murmur. you gently move your hands from his shoulders to his neck, guiding him closer. “come here,” you whisper softly, pulling him towards you until your lips touch his.

he smiles faintly at your soft command, his body willingly moved closer to yours. he doesn’t protest when you gently pull him closer, his eyes closing instinctively as your lips meet his.

the kiss starts slow and hesitant, his body tense against yours as if he’s expecting you to pull away at any second. but gradually, his lips soften, the tension in his body melting away as he surrenders to the tender connection. as geto continues to lean towards you, your back gently presses against gojo’s firm chest. gojo's arms instinctively wrap around you from behind, his presence a comforting anchor as you and geto share a tender kiss. the closeness between all three of you creates a cocoon of warmth and reassurance.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Bringing another girl home || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: Rafe pranking his family by saying he’s bringing another girl home 🫢

Warnings: mentions of drugs, fluff? other than that nothing!!

Word count: 877

A/n: hehehe loved this. does anyone have any dad!rafe requests??? haven’t wrote one in a hot min

MASTERLIST

divider by @h-aewo

“That’s so cruel, Rafe,” you say with a playful edge, delivering a light slap to his shoulder. He bursts into laughter, his wide grin never wavering. “It’ll be funny, you’ve got to admit,” he says, nudging you with a glint of mischief in his eye. You roll your eyes, trying to keep a straight face. “Fine, it would be pretty funny,” you concede, chuckling despite yourself.

Rafe’s plan to prank his family by claiming he’s bringing home a girl—who isn’t you, his girlfriend of four years—sounds completely bonkers. Yet, the thought of how Rafe’s family will react had you intrigued. You lean over to set your glass down, asking, “Are they all home?”

Rafe hums thoughtfully, scrolling through his contacts until he finds Rose’s number. You sit up, facing him as he tries to hide his grin, pressing the call button. After a few rings, Rose answers, “Hello?”

“Hey Rose, what’s up?” Rafe says with a casual tone. “Just got back from picking up Wheezie. Are you guys out on the water yet?” Rose asks. You exchange a nervous glance with Rafe, your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re out here. Y/n’s just taking a nap right now,” Rafe replies smoothly, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. Rose’s tone shifts to one of concern. “She did seem tired today. Have you told her to take it easy with work? I know she’s been working hard for her boss—”

“Yeah, yeah, listen,” Rafe interrupts, “Could you do me a favor and take Y/n’s stuff out of my room?”You slap your hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter. “What?” Rose’s voice is tinged with confusion. “What do you mean—“

“Well, at least the stuff lying around and the pictures,” Rafe continues, muting himself briefly as he suppresses his laughter. Rose’s confusion turns to frustration. “Rafe, what are you talking about? Take Y/n’s things out of your room and get rid of the pictures—what’s going on?”

You hear rustling in the background and a faint voice that you recognize as Wheezie’s. “What happened?” Wheezie’s voice is concerned. “Your brother is acting very strange right now,” Rose responds, her voice growing more exasperated.

“Why on earth would I do that?” Rose’s tone is incredulous. “I’m bringing a girl over,” Rafe says nonchalantly, and you struggle to keep a straight face. There a brief pause on the other line.

“What girl? I hope this girl is Y/n, your girlfriend, Rafe!” Rose speaks up, her voice now angry. You hear Sarah’s voice join the conversation. “What is going on?”

“Your sisters are here. Tell them what you just told me to do,” Rose says, her frustration evident. You and Rafe exchange worried glances, realizing the prank is escalating.

“Uh, I want all of Y/n’s things out of my room and the pictures as well,” Rafe repeats. The silence on the other end is thick with disbelief. You quickly take Rafe’s phone and mute it, both of you breaking into laughter.

“What the hell, Rafe? Who is this girl? Do I know her? Why are you bringing her home? Are you out of your mind?” Sarah’s barrage of questions makes it hard for you to keep a straight face.

“This has to be a joke, right? Y/n’s right beside you, isn’t she?” Wheezie’s voice is tinged with suspicion.“She’s not, she’s asleep,” Rafe replies. You hear a flurry of voices in the background as Rose, Wheezie, and Sarah talk urgently.

Then Wheezie’s voice rises, “Dad! Come here and tell your son he’s an absolute idiot and loser for cheating on Y/n.” Your eyes widen at the mention of Ward. “What?” His voice is loud and filled with anger as he joins the call.

“Rafe, please tell me your sister is just joking and you’re not about to fuck up your life,” Ward’s stern voice cuts through. You grab the phone again, muting it. “This is going too far, Rafe,” you say, worry creeping into your voice. Rafe snatches the phone back, a mischievous grin on his face.

“What do you mean? It’s just getting started,” he says, unmuting the phone. “No, they’re not, Dad. I’m being serious. Can you guys just do this for me? She’ll be over for dinner too,” Rafe continues, as Rose gasps in the background.

“No way in hell am I letting—” Rose begins, but Ward cuts her off. “Son, you better think long and hard about this because you will not be welcomed home, alright? I don’t know what drugs you are on right now and I couldn’t give two shits about it, but you are not bringing another girl over here other than Y/n, you’re girlfriend, for heaven’s sake! Do you understand?” Ward’s voice is stern and unwavering.

You and Rafe are taken aback slightly by the intensity of the reactions on the other end of the line. Realising the prank might have gone too far, you quickly grab the phone.

“Uh—” you cut Rafe off, your voice steadying as you say, “Guys, he’s just kidding! I’m right here beside him!” The relief is palpable as you hear them all collectively sigh on the other end.

After a few more minutes of the Camerons giving you both a hard time about how the joke was way out of line, you finally hang up the phone. Rafe pulls you close, guiding you to lean against his chest. His arms envelop you in a warm, reassuring hug.

“My family just loves you, don’t they?” he says with a smirk, his voice full of playful sarcasm. You look up at him, laughing softly, feeling the warmth of his embrace and the love from his family. Even with all the chaos, you can’t help but feel good knowing they care so much about you.

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

The short adventure's of Bonten's no4: the door

Bonten x f reader

Warnings: slight manga spoilers, suggestive content, 18+

Summary: You're Bonten's first female member, their skilled and deadly no4. So surely you can have one peaceful day off right? Just to unpack your new apartment?

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

The door

A fresh start.

Today is the day, the day you're moving into your new apartment. You even took the day off work to make sure everything goes as smoothly as possible today. Today is going to be perfect. 

Walking around your new apartment, you can't help but admire it. This place really is perfect for you and decorated just how you like it. But the best feature is the door, you spared no expense when getting a new door installed, with this one being the best. It's practically impossible to pick the lock, it's too heavy to be kicked down and even came with a small camera so you can watch when there's movement outside. So basically it's bonten proof. This place really is perfect and you have the whole day to unpack and get yourself settled in.

Meanwhile

All of bonten aside from Mikey and you were forced to attend Koko's latesr financial meeting. It never seemed to end. Everytime they thought Koko was about to finish he'd then start going on and on about something else. They were all sick of it. But just as Koko was about to start ranting (something to do with people leaving the lights on) Sanzu spoke up.

"Hey isn't today the day y/n get's her new apartment?"

And with that it's already decided between them, time to check in on their dear y/n and her new place. After all, seeing you is much more interesting then this meeting.

-

You were just starting to unpack the kitchen boxes when you heard it. Someone trying to open the door...

Sneaking across the apartment as quietly as you can, you grab a bat before heading towards the door and checking the camera. Only to find Sanzu attempting to pick the lock as the other's watched. You drop the bat with a sigh and call out to them.

"Hey what are you guys doing here!?"

They all look startled for a moment, wondering where the voice is coming from and how you knew they were there. Seeing their shocked faces was pretty amusing at least.

"We came to surprise you!"

Of course Ran is the one to answer, grinning at where he thinks the camera is (he's off by a few cm).

"By breaking into my apartment!?"

"Attempted break in, Sanzu isn't done yet!"

Rindou cheerfully calls out. He's about to say something else when Sanzu suddenly curses, saying he can't get the door open and giving it a kick to let his frustrations out. 

They all pause in shock for a moment as you grin from your side of the door. And decide to have some fun with them, sweetly you call out

"You guys could've just knocked or rang the bell"

Sanzu immediately knocks after, impatient to get inside.

"Are you going to let us in now?"

"Nope ♡"

Having the power to mess with them like how they always mess with you really is fun.

Suddenly loud banging is heard against the door as Sanzu repeatedly kicks and hits at it, demanding you let them in. 

"No thanks, I'm busy!"

Ran calls out next, asking what you're busy with and if they can help you with it, trying to sweet talk his way inside. But he's just interrupted by Sanzu again.

"Open this door right now!" If you do it now then we'll go easy on you but the longer you leave us out here the worse it'll be for you! Open up little bunny or the big bad wolves will blow your house down!"

"I'm pretty sure the wolves blow the pigs house down not a bunny's and the answer is no!"

You hear a few of the guy's stifling their laughter at your response. But judging by the amount of banging against your door after that, Sanzu didn't like it so much.

Everything suddenly goes quiet. 

Peering at the camera you see Sanzu shuffling around for something in his pocket as the other's watch with various expressions. Until he pulls out his gun with a triumphant laugh and points it at your door.

He wouldn't! .....would he?

Luckily Kakucho snatches the gun from him before Sanzu makes the whole neighbourhood aware of their presence. Sanzu looks ready to fight him for daring to touch his gun, but then Ran murmurs something you can't hear and they all leave. Finally leaving you to continue on with your unpacking, that door really is great!

*frantic knocking on the door*

Or so you thought, just as you make your way back to the kitchen you're called back to the door again. Sighing, you check the camera's. Immediately spotting Rindou knocking on your door while Takeomi lays on the floor???

Rindou looks at the door frantically and knocks like a crazy person, he seems actually upset?

"Y/n quick! We need your help, it's a medical emergency! Open the door and help us, Takeomi is dying!"

Takeomi lies still on the floor with his eyes closed, you can't tell if he's breathing or not. But you don't see any obvious injuries...

"What's he dying from?"

Rindou looks startled by your question  probably expecting you to just rush out instead of questioning what's actually going on. You roll your eyes at this, of course you didn't get to the position of no4 without questioning things and being cautious first.

"Uhm uhhhh old age?"

You don't even get the chance to reply to that answer because as soon as the words leave Rindou's mouth, Takeomi is off the floor and angrily running at Rindou, cursing him for saying that. Rindou laughs and runs off, making Takeomi chase him and leaving you and your door alone again. 

-

You spend the next 20 minutes making good progress with unpacking the kitchen, until you hear it again. Knocking on your door. This time the knocking is calm and doesn't last for too long, it sounds almost formal.

Checking the camera, this time you see Koko standing outside. Calling his name, you ask him why he's here.

"I came to talk to you about urgent work business"

You quickly remind him it's your day off, but that doesn't seem to matter to Koko. Instead he starts telling you about how urgent the business is and how you have to know about it right away, so you need to open the door. But somethings off about him? He seems kind of sad or like he's not really trying?

"Hey Koko, is something wrong?"

You never expected your question to lead to this, but you end up hearing all about how Koko planned a meeting this morning only for everyone to ditch it and for him to get dragged here.

"Sure I wanted to see you too and the new place and maybe even spend some time alone together but I put a lot of work into preparing for that meeting!"

Koko ends up sitting on the other side of the door to you and venting through the door for awhile until he feels better. Then he calmly get's up, thanks you for your time and says he looks forward to seeing you tomorrow then walks off. Once again leaving you alone.

-

You cheer as you finally finish unpacking the kitchen, it took ages but at least you got to finish it in peace. Now on to the living room, but just as you was about to start, it happens again. The door bell rings, telling you you're no longer alone.

This time as you check the camera you see someone you don't immediately recognise. A really big guy in a jacket covering all of his clothes, as well as a hat hiding his face.

"Uhh who is it?"

"Pizza delivery"

"I didn't order a pizza?"

It's definitely another trick to make you open the door, and judging by that guy's height, it's definitely Mochi out there. He pauses before he answers, probably unsure of how to respond to that.

"It's been ordered for you?? An apology pizza! A bunch of cool looking guys ordered it for you!"

"Why aren't you holding a pizza then?"

He quickly walks off after that.

Your stomach growls in protest, damn them for making you think of pizza now. They could've at least brought a real pizza with them!

Not even 5 minutea pass before there's another knock at the door, maybe they actually did come back with pizza? But this time it isn't Mochi standing at your door but Kakucho. He gives the camera a little wave, waving at the exact right spot. You're about to call out and ask what his plan is to get inside but he speaks first.

"We miss you"

You're pretty surprised by this, so say nothing. 

"That's why we came here today, the hq just isn't the same without you there. We all really miss you and just wanted to see you again."

"But you just saw me yesterday?"

"So? You're one of us, we normally see you so often that even just missing a day makes us feel empty. I know the last time we saw your apartment things got pretty messed up but I think the guys all learnt their lesson from that and it won't happen again... I'd really like to see you too."

Maybe letting them in wouldn't be too bad? You realise you've actually missed them too today, sure they get on your nerves but you never feel lonely with them around and it's clear they really do care about you. It was pretty quiet before they came along...

You're about to open the door when you suddenly hear another voice.

"Heyyyy sweetheart, you gonna let us in now?"

Ran Haitani.

Kakucho looks like he's about to speak up again but instead Ran pats him on the back and whispers something to him, making Kakucho walk off with a sad look. 

Ran then grins again, continuing to look at the wrong part of the door as he speaks.

"Just the two of us now, the others all left. So why not open the door for just me? We can have fun together with just the two of us."

"Just the two of us? Please everyone else is probably around the corner, waiting to barge in as soon as I open the door"

Ran's grin fades for just a second before he smiles at the door again, winking.

"You have such an active imagination sweetheart but nope, it's just me. You really think I want the others around to witness this or the sounds I'm going to pull out of you?"

You gulp. Weakly replying that you have no idea what he means, admitting to it or how it makes you feel is much more embarrassing. 

"Oh? I think you know exactly what I mean sweetheart. How you're going to cry out under me as we try out your new bed together. Just open the door. Unless you want the other's to hear? Maybe we could even invit-"

His phone suddenly rings, cutting him off and saving you from your embarrassment as well as the hot feeling overwhelming you.

"......ah....yes.........I understand............ of course boss"

The person on the other end of the line doesn't talk much, making the call just a short one. As soon as it's over, Ran looks back at the door and sighs.

"Maybe next time huh?"

He then walks off.

You lean against the wall for a moment, trying to forget the words he just said and how they make you feel. Maybe you're done with unpacking the rest of the day? Just relaxing seems like a much better way to spend the rest of your day after all that. You walk back into the living room, looking forward to just watching your favourite show and maybe eating some sna- 

"Hey"

You let out a small shriek as you find Mikey sitting on your sofa and eating your snacks as he looks at you curiously. 

"How did you get in here!?"

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

Bonus:

Mikey just stares as you freak out and look around to try and figure out how he possibly got in here. Once you finally settle down opposite him on the sofa, he offers you a sweet from the bag he stole from your snack supply.

"Nice place here, quiet when the other's go away"

You find yourself nodding, still in shock upon finding your boss somehow in your apartment. 

"You should still invite them all here at some point though, they can help unpack"

You say nothing, not wanting to voice how bad of an idea it would be for all of them to go through your stuff.... again. Mikey just hums. 

"These are good, you should taste one"

You're not sure how Mikey moves that fast, one minute he's sitting across from you and the next he's pressing his lips against yours. 'Helping' you to taste the 'sweets'. 

So much for your alone time.

Thanks for reading!!!! ♡

Previous chapter Masterlist

[httpuckdrop]

ashes – day 122

series masterlist

falling back into a routine with jack was easier than you had expected.

you'd spend the nights at his place, or he would spend them at yours, without feeling like much had changed. if you couldn't fall asleep in each other's arms, then at least you could facetime until sleep took over. and now that you have heard from him every day, you can't fathom how you could have ever ignored him.

it wasn't completely as if nothing had happened; you were a bit more on edge, and your mind had a habit of flickering back to your argument those weeks ago. but instead of letting it consume you, you tried your best to move past it, to accept the fact that it happened, but also understand the fact that it didn't have to mean too much. that you can both grow stronger from it, instead of let it break you down.

it was difficult at first, though. jack's concussion was still present in the room whenever you met with him, despite the fact that he assured you that he was feeling much better. he wasn't allowed to get back on the ice just yet – that's how severe it had been – but he was definitely improving. you knew he still had headaches, even though he tried to tell you that they were completely gone, plus he was a little bit slower and had a harder time multitasking than usual.

this, combined with the fact that he already couldn't cook before his injury, was not exactly a recipe for success for your date tonight.

you were supposed to cook the same dish as the first time he made dinner for you, but this time, he would not allow you to interfere. he had invited you over on the premise that you'd do it together, so how did this make sense? whenever you even came close to the stove, he shooed you away, insisting that he could do it himself.

he definitely couldn't.

when you had sat on his couch for far too long – after eventually being exiled from the kitchen – you began to smell something… that definitely wasn't part of the pasta dish he was making. it smelled burnt, and you no longer could stay away.

but when you made it into the kitchen, jack was moving all over the place, not even noticing your presence. he was trying to handle one pot of spaghetti (currently boiling over) and one pan of bacon (which seemed like it was done frying about five minutes ago) – but you stopped yourself from interfering when you realized that his focus was shared with yet another thing.

"sorry, mom," he groaned into the phone he was balancing between his shoulder and ear. "i'm a bit distracted- trying to cook some dinner."

he grabbed a spatula and flipped some of the bacon onto a plate. yup, definitely burnt.

"ha ha, the whole my son can't cook deal is getting boring. i can cook if i want to." a pause. "well, maybe i want to because i want to do a nice thing for a girl. is that too much to ask?"

your breath hitched in your throat.

"yes, we're back together again. kind of, i guess." he was talking to his mother about you? so casually? "she's good, i'm good, we're good. can i call you back later? yes, my head is okay- no, i'm going back to practice on monday. yes, i'll be careful. i love you but i have to focus on cooking, okay? okay, bye."

he let out a loud groan the second he hung up the phone, clearly dissatisfied with the chaos in front of him. it wasn't until your stifled laughter met his ears that he turned around and acknowledged your presence. "dinner coming along nicely?" you asked, feeling guilty when you spotted the disappointed and frankly shameful look in his eyes.

"i'm sorry," he mumbled as he turned the stove off, hand reaching out for your side when you stepped closer. "i really thought i would do better this time…"

"it's alright," you hummed, one hand reaching for the back of his neck. "you can't be the best at everything. it's sweet of you to leave something for the rest of us."

your lips met in a sweet kiss, one you never wanted to part from. one that made you question how you could ever go weeks without feeling his lips against yours. one that made your heart swell in a clearly uncomfortable, yet warming way.

"i'll order some pizza?" you asked, to which he pouted ever so cutely yet nodded.

every second you spent with him, you were forced to remind yourself of how you couldn't allow yourself to fall too deep.

and yet, with everything he did, he made you want it so badly.

[mysunshinetemptress]

In The Moonlight

Leah Williamson x singer!reader warnings: None except shitty writing, fluff

A grin stretched across your face, wide enough to rival the jet lag currently waging war in your head. Two world tours back to back had been a whirlwind, exhilarating and exhausting in equal measure, Social media detox was the doctor's orders, a chance to reconnect with the real world however it was about to get a small pause with the absurdity of the TikTok trend.

Here you were, the hottest pop star on the planet, about to participate in a goofy social media challenge inspired by a goofy song from a sitcom.

You had stumbled upon a hilarious trend, people were reenacting the iconic scene from Modern Family where Dylan serenades Haley with his...interestingly phrased song, "In the Moonlight (Do Me)," and passing it off as their own in front of their family and friends. Laughter bubbled up in your chest as you watched one particularly enthusiastic boy singing the suggestive lyrics much to his parent's disgust and surprise.

"Right," you declared, voice thick with amusement, as you spoke into the phone"I'm breaking my social media blackout for this because I can't help but take part in this trend."

With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you grabbed your phone heading to the living room where Leah and a few of your family and friends have gathered for the barbecue. "hey guys can I have your attention for a quick second, please..I know I'm supposed to be on a break but, I can't get this new song out of my head and I need your opinion on it, I actually think it might work for a single."

A collective groan went up from the assembled group. They knew your "work" mode well, and it usually involved long nights in the studio, not impromptu living room performances. But Leah, ever the supportive girlfriend, flashed a smile.

"Alright, Elvis," she said, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Hit us with this 'new song.'"

Taking a dramatic breath, you check the tuning of your guitar, "It's eh, well you all know who it's about, the same person as all my other songs..it's called In the Moonlight"

The first strum of your guitar sent a hush over the room. They expected the usual pop magic, the infectious energy that had propelled you to superstardom. Instead, your voice crooned out the opening lines of Dylan's "song" with a hilariously exaggerated earnestness.

"The stars are falling from the sky, and you're the reason why. The moon is shining on your face, and I think it's found its place."

Laughter erupted as you finished the first verse, shattering the stunned silence. Your face turned crimson, but you held your pose, trying to maintain a serious expression as you began the chorus.

"Cause maybe, baby, I just want to do you, do you, do you want to do me, do me, underneath the moonlight, moonlight."

Your friends began to laugh silently as Leah's parents and your parents looked on horrified.

"And now we're hiding in my car, I let you see my scars, escape the dark for just one night, your heart makes me explode with light."

Leah snorted, trying to stifle a laugh. Your family exchanged bewildered glances.

"Baby, maybe, Maybe I will steal you, steal you just so I can feel you, feel you, maybe that will heal you, heal you on the inside."

The last note of your "song" died down, replaced by the deafening sound of crickets...or at least, it felt that way. Your family and friends stared at you, mouths agape, the only sound a choked cough from Leah's dad.

The tension broke as Leah doubled over, tears streaming down her face. "Oh my god," she gasped between laughs, "that was amazing! You had them fooled for a good minute there!"

Slowly, the rest of the room caught on. Laughter erupted, first in hesitant chuckles, then in full-blown roars. Even Leah's parents faces still flushed with surprise, couldn't help but crack a smile.

Your parents, still trying to process the experience, shot you a look that mingled amusement with a hint of disapproval. "Honey," your mom began cautiously, "that wasn't exactly...subtle, was it?"

You grinned sheepishly. "Maybe not," you admitted. "But you gotta admit, the reactions were priceless!"

Leah walked over, shaking her head and trying to hide a smile. "You're a menace," she said, giving you a playful shove.

You posted the video a short while later breaking the internet once again. The next morning, your phone was buzzing with notifications. Fans everywhere were recreating your video. You were trending again only this time not because of your tour.

Leah smiled hugging you from behind the next morning "You know I love you and all the wonderful songs you write about me, us, our relationship, but please promise me you will never write anything like that."

Leah smiled hugging you from behind the next morning "You know I love you and all the wonderful songs you write about me, us, and our relationship, but please promise me you will never write anything like that." You laughed turning in her arms "I love you too much to write a song just about your body and my wants for it, no I'll write about you, your soul and sometimes when I feel extra fruity then I'll write about your body and my wants for it no my needs for it."

Leah pulled you in closer kissing you softly "And I'll be your number one listener."

[myboybreakscoffins]

Two Tickets Far From Here 

maniac (february 9) @black-brothers-microfic — regulus & sirius black microfic — mentions of child abuse, side effects of the cruciatus curse, hurt/confort, regulus's pov  — word count: 770

"Two tickets to..." Sirius paused, glancing nervously at the route chart before looking at the half-asleep girl behind the glass. "Actually, I have no idea. We need to get to Godric's Hollow—what train should we take?"

“Is that in the West Country?” the girl asked, barely stifling a yawn.

“I... guess so?”

Regulus stood in stunned silence, watching his brother make a fool of himself without an ounce of shame. Even worse, he was starting to doubt his own sanity.

Sirius was a total maniac—Regulus had known that for a long time. But maybe he had underestimated the reach of his own bloodline, because surely, he had to be losing his mind too. How else could he explain the fact that they had just sprinted through London in the dead of night, covered in half-healed wounds, with nothing but the clothes they were wearing, heading toward a destination they didn’t even know how to reach?

It was a well-known fact that prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus Curse could cause lasting damage to the mind. So, yes, that had to be it. Brain damage. Because there was absolutely no way Regulus Black would ever willingly engage in something this reckless, foolish, and downright suicidal.

"Look, Reggie." Sirius limped toward him, holding up two tickets between his fingers. He was clearly in pain, his exhaustion evident in the way he moved. "She said there's a train leaving in a few minutes that we can take..."

"And then what?"

"Then we board another train to—"

“No.” Regulus cut him off. “I mean... the potions will stop working in less than an hour. We won’t even be able to move.” It was only a matter of time before the pain overtook them again. The fact that Regulus had even managed to scrounge up a few potions back at Grimmauld Place was a miracle—just enough to momentarily dull the pain, poorly patch up Sirius’s broken body, and, against all odds, get them out of there alive. “Neither of us will be in any condition to drag the other one along.”

"James will come pick us up," Sirius assured him, lowering himself onto the bench beside his younger brother.

“But how will he know where to find us?” Regulus asked, confused. Potter had no idea where they were. If he did, he would’ve already been here, dragging Sirius off to safety.

With a mischievous grin, Sirius pulled a small mirror from his pocket and handed it to Regulus. “We’ll tell him,” he said simply. “As soon as he wakes up, we’ll use this to let him know where we are, and he’ll come get us.”

Regulus stared at his own dumbfounded expression reflected in the mirror. His brother had lost his last remaining brain cell. They were about to board a train to Merlin-knows-where, half their bones still broken, unable to use magic without alerting their parents to their location, and this—this—was his brother’s grand plan?

Sirius burst out laughing. It was obvious he was in pain, but not enough to stop him from being entertained by whatever expression was on Regulus’s face.

Regulus felt a cold sweat break out across his skin. Doubt clawed at the edges of his mind. Maybe this had been a mistake. “Maybe we shouldn’t have—”

Sirius’s laughter died in an instant. He grabbed Regulus by the shoulders and turned him to face him. The sudden movement sent sharp pain tearing through both their bodies, but neither of them flinched.

“Don’t,” Sirius said, voice deadly serious. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it.”

For a second, Regulus swore he was looking at a reflection of himself. His throat tightened. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, overwhelmed by the terror, the uncertainty, the adrenaline still surging through his veins.

“We did what we had to do,” Sirius continued. “If we’d stayed, one of us would’ve bled out on the carpet sooner or later. And you know it.”

Regulus swallowed hard. Sirius’s fingers brushed gently against his cheek, a silent reassurance. They both knew they were on the verge of breaking down. They had survived their home once again, but they weren’t far enough. Not yet. Not safe.

“We’ll figure this out together, Reggie,” Sirius whispered. “I promise.”

And somehow, despite the fear, despite the doubt, Regulus believed him.

Sirius exhaled heavily and stood, heading toward the platform. “C'mon, the train’s already here.”

Regulus didn’t move. “Sirius?”

“What, baby brother?” Sirius called back.

“That train is going in the opposite direction.”

Sirius paused, then shrugged. “Fuck it. That sounds like a Prongs problem. We just need a private car to sleep in.”

[gravehags]

destroying all (and make them want it again)

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)

Rating: EXPLICIT, MDNI

Tags: copia holding reader hostage for marathon fucking, copia being our favorite little sex freak, office sex, blowjobs, terzo being terzo, reader becoming more satanic every day :)

Words: 2,848

Summary: You'd think after almost three days of being held hostage by your perverted lover, you'd have tired of his touch. You'd think.

a/n: i for one would really benefit from being locked up in bed with copia for days like i really think i deserve that

~~~

By the time Copia allows you to stumble out of his quarters two days after your fateful visit you are delightfully, deliciously sore.

You had no idea he’d be so…voracious. Your mild-mannered awkward Cardinal had you bent over and spread on every surface in his apartment, multiple times, drawing words out of you that you never dreamed of saying. He wasn’t a cruel kidnapper either - sporadically he would leave the apartment and return to you bearing sustenance from the dining hall. Your favorite was lounging nude on his mussed sheets while he dutifully and adoringly fed you plump purple grapes, kissing you in between bites. The thought stirs your heart as you open your apartment door and stumble inside to your bedroom to collapse face down on the duvet. You groan as you hike one leg up, the beautiful ache of being thoroughly used emanating from your core and into your muscles. You’re about to throw yourself in the shower when your phone vibrates.

Miss you already bellezza mia xx

You sigh.

Miss you more <3

I could…come over?

You laugh out loud, shaking your head.

You dog! You’re relentless. I haven’t showered in days, I feel filthy.

I could help you feel filthier ;)

Copia! Not that I’m opposed to the idea but my girl needs a break, per favore. You’ve worn her out.

Mi dispiace amore, she’s just so plump and willing and perfect for me, I can’t help myself.

Speaking of your girl, she’s stirring to attention at the thought of where this conversation is going and your fingers hover over the screen, tempted, before shaking your head.

You’re welcome to come over but no funny business. Might show my face in the dining hall to prove I’m still alive if you’re interested in meeting me there.

There’s a pause and your phone vibrates.

I’ll meet you at dinner and see if I can’t persuade her. Ti amo <3

Love you

When the two of you meet up a couple hours later at your usual table in the dining hall you garner more than a few curious looks. Rather than taking his typical spot across from you, instead he elects to sit next to you. You’re midway through a forkful of vegetarian lasagna when you feel the slide of leather clad fingers along your thigh. When you slowly turn your head, Copia’s shit-eating grin pans into view and you drop your fork, unamused.

“Really? In front of my lasagna?”

He gives you a creepy nod, still holding his smile and the sight has you bringing a fist to your mouth to stifle your laughter. Reaching down you grab one of his fingers and bend it back slightly as a warning.

“Ah, my amore would never hurt–ah!”

He cradles his hand to his chest and gives you a pout unbefitting a man of his distinguished age and position.

“Told you,” you say, shoving a bite of lasagna into your mouth then pointing at him with your fork, “no funny business.”

“Oh she’s cruel,” he laments, shaking his head, “La mia crudele, bella padrona. She would watch me wither away, never to feel her touch–”

“Oh come on, Copia, you held me hostage in your bed for almost three days! This is the first real meal I’ve had in literal days please let me–”

“She does not care for me,” he says, somehow managing to give you the most unsettling puppy-dog eyes ever. “She tells me she hates me and she wants me dead.”

“Oh for the love of fuck you cannot be serious,” your cheek rests on your propped up fist, watching this ridiculous display. “I just want to enjoy my lasagna unmolested,” you lower your voice as a sibling walks past, giving the two of you a disgusted once-over, “so naturally that means I hate you. Unholy fuck, if I had known pussy was going to turn you into this I never would have–”

“What kind of fuck?” Copia asks innocently, mustache twitching.

“I–hmm. You must be rubbing off on me.”

“Is that an invitation?” he asks, filthy leer returning to his face.

You roll your eyes but can’t smother the smile.

“I’m leaving, Copia,” you announce, standing up. “If you would like to accompany me to bed - for sleep - then you know where to find me. Unbelievable.”

You stomp off and you can feel his eyes on the sway of your ass the entire way out of the room. He does join you, not long after that, the picture of a perfect gentleman as he strokes your hair and places soft kisses to the top of your head. You can’t lie though - a part of you is disappointed he didn’t continue his dirty old man routine but, you think as your eyes drift closed, you really did need to give your poor cunt a break.

The next morning you awaken to an empty space beside you and you’re not surprised. Copia had to wake up early for morning prayer and you’ve been lucky to have had him by your side for as long as you did. You feel his absence acutely - how could you not after days with him? - and it leaves you with a lingering sense of melancholy as you get ready for the day and leave your quarters. The first few hours of your work day passes without incident - typing emails, ordering archival supplies, meeting briefly with Sister Imperator (with whom you can barely make eye contact after shirking your duties to get repeatedly and thoroughly railed by her Cardinal), and continuing on your quest to catalog the Ministry’s extensive art collection. When lunchtime rolls around that unpleasant sadness sits heavy in your belly. Part of you feels ridiculous letting yourself be so affected by well, love, but hey it’s your first time at this, right? Gotta cut yourself some slack. Your heart aches for him but also…other parts of you. You thought for sure after the marathon he just put you through you’d be satisfied for a while but if anything it’s made you even more hungry. When you look up at the clock and realize it’s lunchtime, a low heat begins to simmer in your belly and between your legs. You hesitate before standing up and heading to the door with a grin on your face.

When you approach Copia’s office door and knock softly, you’re met with a muffled “entrare!” and open it to sidle inside. He’s on his old landline with someone he clearly would rather not be speaking to judging from his exaggerated eye-rolls and dismissive hand gestures. You quietly walk up to his desk and try not to laugh as you listen to him desperately try to end the conversation.

“Uh-huh. Yes. Yep. Uh, you too. Okay, goodbye. Good–what? Yes that will be taken care of, of course. Buh-bye. Bye.” Copia slams the receiver down and turns to fix you with a tired stare.

“Long day?” you ask, rounding the desk to lean against it.

“Stressful day, all of a sudden the fundraiser gala is my problem when it should be Terzo’s problem, but where is Terzo? Nowhere to be found, naturalmente. And Saltaria–wh-what are you doing?”

You’re halfway through sinking to your knees next to him when you blink up at him innocently.

“Helping with the stress.”

His jaw falls open and he swallows thickly, eyes on the way you inch up your flowy skirt to expose your spread thighs to his gaze. You place your hands on his knees and he jumps comically.

“Cardinale, you were very thorough in your ah, teachings these past few days however there are some areas we never touched upon.”

“O-oh?”

“Mmm mmhmm,” you confirm, grabbing the end of his black cassock and inching it up his legs. When you reach past his knees and can go no further he lifts himself off the chair and hastily draws the garment to his hips. You smile at the tent in his trousers and your tongue darts out to wet your lips.

“Missed you this morning,” you murmur, hand coming up to cup the curve of his cock. “Been wanting you so badly all day.”

“T-thought you were eh, sick of my advances?”

You give him a gentle squeeze and smile, resting your cheek on his knee.

“That was yesterday,” you say, finger drawing patterns on his bulge, “And while she might be tired, I certainly am not.”

His gloved hands grip the armrests of his desk chair as you lean forward to slowly unzip his trousers. When you take him out, hard and leaking, he sighs.

“You don’t know how many times I came into this office wanting to do this exact thing,” you confess, hand wrapping around him, “How all you had to do was say the word and I’d be on my knees or bent over that desk.”

He sucks in a breath.

“I-Is that so, amore? So all those times we were in here working, you–”

“--Were thinking about you fucking me raw? Mmhmm.”

Copia lets out a sigh and his head falls against the back of his chair.

“But let’s not think about the past, hmm? All I want to think about right now is you teaching me how you like to fuck my mouth. Okay?”

His hips buck into your touch and he lets out a whine before nodding. Slowly, keeping your eyes on his, you bring your lips to the red, swollen head of him and place a chaste kiss. Pre dampens your lips and you slowly dart your tongue out to taste the salt of him. He exhales shakily and encouraged, you lower yourself once more to drag the tip of your tongue along his slit. His low whimper makes you grin and gently you slide your lips over the head, flattening your tongue underneath him. You want to drag this out as long as possible, delighting in the feel of his heated flesh in your mouth so you suckle at it and moan around him when his gloved hand flies to the back of your head.

“D-dolcezza,” he breathes, burying his fingers in your hair to cup your skull, “Are you s-sure you’ve never done this before?”

You slip him out of your mouth and give him a grin.

“I’m flattered,” you murmur, using your thumb to rub against the vein going down the length of him, “But no. Just watched a lot of porn, honestly.”

He chuffs out a laugh and his head tips back to thunk against the back of his chair.

“Tell me what you want, my love,” you say, “Tell me what you like. Guide me.”

His eyes slip closed and a lazy grin curls his lips.

“Amore you could bite it off and I’d say thank you,” he groans as you lower your lips to suck at the head once more, “But–ah–I want to see what y-your instinct tells you, si?”

When you laugh around him the vibrations make his hips twitch against your mouth, and you take that as permission. Slowly, you slide your lips past the head and down the shaft and you can feel yourself dripping at the way he stretches your mouth. You’re about half way down the length of him and you can feel him petting your hair.

“Bene, amore mio,” he chokes out, “Molto bene. C-can you, eh, take more?”

You’re not sure but you’re willing to try, so you nod as best you can.

“Breathe through your nose, amata,” he sighs and you can feel drool threatening to spill from your lips and tears prick your eyes as you near the base of him. When the head of him prods your throat you swallow around him and the action causes his hips to spasm. Panicked, you jerk backwards - not sliding all the way off but just enough to where you can catch your breath - and you hear him murmuring praise above you.

“Cazzo, so good for me, taking me all the way into that pretty mouth. You’re doing so well for me, bellezza mia.”

His words of encouragement make your clit throb and push you to once again slide your lips down the length of him, dragging your tongue along the underside. This time, when his hips buck into your mouth you’re ready for him, allowing the head to bump the back of your throat as you nose the brown curls between his legs. Gently, the hand in your hair pulls you off him and pushes you back down, and you realize he’s showing you what he likes. 

“Ah, ragazza intelligente mia,” he groans, and you can feel his eyes on you as you begin to bob your head, “My beautiful girl always knows–ah!--what I like. Always–cazzo–so p-perfect for me. J-Just like that. Just like that, amore. J–augh–”

You’ve picked up your pace, the wet sounds between the two of you pornographic as you hollow your cheeks and suck. The hand unoccupied with gripping his cock, slides under your skirt where you find yourself soaked.

“That’s it,” Copia grunts, “Touch yourself, amata mia. L-Let those sweet fingers–hnngh–rub that pretty little clit.”

You do as he asks, moaning sloppily around his cock as you flex your hips into your hand. His grip on your hair tightens as he begins directing the movements of your head once more, fucking up into your throat and making you gag around him.

“Close,” he pants, “So close, a-amore. C-can I cum down your throat? Me lo permetterai? Please, please, please.”

As best you can, you look up at him and make eye contact. You imagine what he must see between his knees - you with your mouth stuffed full of him, mascara running down your cheeks, and your fingers frantically rubbing at your clit under your skirt - and the thought alone makes you cum, moaning around him and your hips bucking. You nod frantically as you continue chasing your own high and with one, two, three thrusts of his hips Copia empties himself in your throat. The way he holds you steady as his cock twitches in your mouth has you clenching around nothing, desperate for more of him. When he removes his hand from the back of your head to cup your cheek as he pants wildly, you slowly slide off of him and rest your cheek on his trembling knee. You’re only half aware of the way he tucks himself back into his trousers and gently eases you up by the shoulders to sit in his lap. You brush your thumb along his cheekbone and lean in for a slow, deep kiss. He hums contentedly into your mouth and you pull away with a cheeky grin.

“Like the taste of yourself, amore? Filthy thing.”

He tilts his head back and laughs at your echoing of his words said only days ago during your first time together. You lean in and brush noses with him, moving to kiss him once more when the door flies open to reveal Terzo.

“I am here to discuss the gala fra–oh.”

The Papa’s eyes flick between the two of you and the smeared paints on both your lips.

“Ah, a little afternoon delight for my topolini, huh? Tell me was it on the desk? A classic, I–”

“Fuck off, Terzo,” you say.

His face falls.

“No, you don’t mean that bella. You–”

“She said fuck off, Terzo Emeritus. Now.”

Terzo schools his face into an expression of outrage but you can tell he’s trying desperately not to smile.

“Very well, just don’t come crying to me when Imperator asks why your work isn’t done, huh?”

“You mean your work, sì?” Copia says, giving him a look. Terzo lets out a nervous laugh.

“Ah, yes. Well. Perhaps I’ll just take this–” Terzo says, grabbing a thick manila folder labeled GALA “--and get back to ah, fucking off. Ciao ciao, topolini.”

With a flourish, he’s gone.

“Really should have locked that door,” you muse quietly, “Anyone could have come in.”

“Anyone did come in, amore,” Copia laughs, “But not only did you eh, soothe my worries, you inadvertently got Terzo to do his fucking job. Promise me you’ll come see me at lunch more often, sì?”

“Not just for the blowjobs?” you ask innocently, flicking the jeweled grucifix on his chest.

“Next time it’s your turn,” he says, gloved hand inching your floral skirt up your thigh.

“Hmm well last I checked,” you say, looking at your watch, “It’s only half past noon. Plenty of time for you to eat.”

He grins at you.

“You know Terzo was right,” he says, urging you to stand and hop up on the worksurface in front of him.

“Oh?”

“We have under utilized my desk.”

Your smile splits your face as you spread your legs for him to settle between.

“Good thing I wore a skirt then, hmm?”

He’s already hooking a finger on the gusset of your soaked underwear, pulling it to the side.

“Thank Satan for small mercies.”

“Ave Sathanas,” you sigh as you lie back and let him work his devilry.

[mlm-ficcollection]

Jasper Hale X Male! Reader (part. 2)

(I'm only a little bit ashamed that I forgot to post the second chapter on here. Anyways, enjoy!)

(Part. 1)

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

The newborn lay in bed, glaring up at the unassuming and undeserving roof, and wondering how someone had just managed to come out for him. 

After the incident, (y/n) stormed off into his room to cool off a bit (before he murdered Edward. Which he would be justified in doing thank you very much). 

Coming out was, or had been, important to him. It was supposed to be a heartfelt moment of acceptance and love, a chance at something he'd never gotten before. And he knew that the others weren't blind to that fact either. He'd seen the look in Carlisle's eyes. The doctor certainly wasn't stupid. He knew he had his suspicions. 

But this was not how coming out was supposed to go. He wished he had a rock or something just so he could chuck it at something (someone). 

A soft knock came from the door, interrupting his seething. (Y/n) growled in frustration, turning over in the bed and facing away from the door. 

"Fuck off Edward! Apology not accepted, go fuck yourself." 

A small pause came from the other side of the door, sounding vaguely like someone stifling their laughter.

"... Well, what if it's not Edward?"

(Y/n)'s eyes shot open and he sat up with a start, recognizing the southern drawl on the other side of the door as definitely not Edwards. He slowly laid down again,

"Come in Jasper."

The door opened and closed, and the man approached the bed. (Y/n) did not avert his gaze from the roof. He felt no need to. The sheets of the bed shifted a bit as Jasper laid down next to him, staring at the roof as well.

For some reason, it didn't feel awkward. It just felt... safe, and calm. 

"What're we lookin' at?"

Jasper asked, blinking at the empty grey roof. The newborn hadn’t the heart to tell him he was just glaring at the roof and imagining chucking rocks at his brother.

"It's new to me, this whole vampire sight. I can literally see the tiny insects on the roof." (Y/n) answered, not technically lying.

"... I'm not sure I like it. I lived in blissful ignorance of how I was surrounded by bugs before."

Jasper let out a huff of a laugh, and then they fell into a comfortable silence once more. There was tension brewing under the surface though, as if Jasper was waiting to say something that he didn’t quite know how to phrase. That wouldn’t surprise him. The man wasn’t exactly a star at navigating social interactions, mostly opting to stand back and observe. 

Brooding, (y/n) had called it once, to which Jasper had responded with the most unamused of looks, making him throw his head back in laughter. 

"You know it's okay right? To be gay, I mean."

Jasper stated, breaking the silence, but not the gaze on the roof. The poor roof had been subject to their scrutinising gazes for quite a while now.

(Y/n) didn't know how to respond. He couldn’t exactly argue. He knew it was technically not wrong - but some part of him still believed it was. His whole life he had been told he was wrong, a sin, a disgrace. 

"... Is it?"

He mumbled, more so to himself than as an actual question. Life lessons were not always so easily unlearned. Then again, he had been taught vampires weren’t real too, and that had been unlearned pretty quickly.

Jasper frowned. (Y/n) wondered if he had upset him, as the silence between them stretched on.

"... I'm gay too, y'know. Sorta. I don’t really know all the… Words. Labels. Alice, uh, tried explainin’ but it ain’t sticking." He motioned noncommittally with his hand,

“I like women and men.”

Bi, (y/n) thought to himself, while also reeling from the weight of the words Jasper had just spoken. (Made sense though, that he had a hard time with the labels. From what he knew, Jasper was from a time you were either gay or not. Preferably not.)

…

Bi. Jasper was Bi. Jasper liked men and women.

“Wasn’ easy to come to that conclusion. Confederate Texas wasn’t the most open a’ places, believe it or not.” (y/n) snorted. Jasper smirked at the reaction, but continued. “I had to… Unlearn a lot of stuff, I’m sure you can imagine. Alice helped a lot. Anyway, it’s not wrong.”

They fell back into silence again after that. They tended to do that. Neither of them minded it.

(Y/n) couldn’t just… Unlearn everything on the spot. 

But with time he’d get there. 

“Thank you, Jasper.”

He responded eventually, looking over at the blond. He nodded at him.

“It means a lot.”

And Jasper simply nodded in response, returning the newborn's gaze before averting his eyes, back at the roof.

They both laid there, watching the roof. Or maybe just thinking. It didn’t matter.

Eventually, Jasper stood up to leave, nodding goodbye to the newborn once in the doorway. The newborn held up its hand, tipping a pretend cowboy hat at him, eyes twinkling mischievously. Jasper rolled his eyes. The fond smirk on his face was still there when he closed the door.

…

Jasper was bi. A tingle of hope spread through (y/n)s body, shooting through him like adrenaline.

————

Time passed, and… Nothing happened. 

A couple of longing looks, a couple of too many lingering touches at training, but still, nothing. Let it be known that neither of the two men had a reputation for being fantastic at communication. It was likely that neither of the men wanted to assume the other one liked them back for fear of being wrong, of accidentally pushing the other away, of ruining what they had. 

It was disgustingly adorable and horrendously frustrating to watch.

“I don’t get it.”

Alice declared, standing by one of their very large windows and peering out. In the woods, Jasper and (y/n) were training once more. Jasper brushed a hand against the newborn's shoulder, and Alice had to turn away from the window to stop herself from throwing a rock at them. 

“How can they be this oblivious! I don't understand!”

“They are both afraid of making a mistake,” Edward stated from his place on the couch, distantly gazing into the trees. He seemed to be listening to them, more so than watching them. “Each wallowing in their own personal pit of self-doubt.”

“Yes, but it’s so obvious!”

Alice dramatically gestured with her hands - and it was obvious that this was killing her, not being able to just… Tell them that they were both wrong, that the feelings were requited. To not be able to help them. 

“We have to let them take their time.”

Alice spun around, and there was Carlisle, coming down the stairs slowly. His gaze was set on the two men in the woods as well, before he looked over at Alice, his eyes gentle, and kind, and understanding.

“They have to realise it on their own. We can’t force their hands on this.”

He was right, of course. And Alice, if anyone, knew they’d get there eventually.

But holy shit could they take their time.

[polkadotaspinall]

Fantasizing

tagir ulanbekov x reader!

Warnings: tagir fantasizing about reader

Summary: tagir has a (not so) small crush on reader who’s new to the gym and keeps fantasizing about her during practice

“ привет tagir? Earth to tagir?” Islam says as he waves his hand in front of tagir’s face who seems to be spaced out you stifle back a giggle as Islam tilts his head with confusion he looks back at you “ what’s wrong with this guy?” He says looking at you in disbelief you shrug your shoulders, you didn’t know tagir well he was honestly very quiet and shy. you’ve been in the gym for a few weeks now but he always seems to space out during training you weren’t sure why- but apparently it didn’t start happening till recently which has annoyed Islam and khabib but mostly Islam who was his partner for a majority of training. “ oh sorry Islam” tagir says breaking out of his trance he looked sheepish and his ears got pink and so did his face “ что заставляет тебя мечтать, хм?” [Translation: what's making you daydream hm?] Islam asks annoyed you weren’t sure what they were saying , you knew enough Russian to get by but not enough to understand he turns more red and waves Islam off “ nothing don’t worry.” Islam tilts his head and tagir gets back to training Islam looks back at you as you begin to stretch and you again shrug at him

[tagirs pov]

It was hard to focus since she came around , Islam noticed it first maybe it was the way I stammered when she first introduced herself “ привет” she said and smiled at me I was sitting on a mat drenched in sweat I was wiping my forehead when she spoke I was in awe at her, she was beautiful. “O-oh привет” I said as I scrambled to get up quickly. I offered my hand for her to shake she smiled and shook it, her hands were soft “ I’m y/n nice to meet you, sorry I don’t speak much Russian” she said sheepishly I found her to be cute “no worries, I’m tagir nice to meet you” I stared at her for a second soaking in her features, her eyes were cute the silence between us lasted a bit too long Islam stepped in “let’s introduce you to everyone else” he said guiding her to the other trainees he looked back at me with a weird look on his face. Islam and I stay in the gym longer than most of the other trainees “ what was that about ?” He asked as I layed out on the mat still sweaty but more tired than earlier “ hm?” I mustered through my exhaustion “ the way you looked at her , you like no?” Islam asked as he sipped his water I forced myself to sit up “no I don’t “ I said Islam grinned “правда? ты не будешь против, если я тогда с ней поговорю?” [translation: really? you wouldn't mind if i talked to her then?] i paused a second too long for his liking he clapped his hands and laughed “ you do like her” he was laughing too much i scoffed and stood up “ i don’t you can talk to her” I said annoyed as i headed toward the shower.

Since then all she’s done is train with Islam and khabib, I’ve felt weird since I’ve met her,distracted much more than usual, it didn’t help she stretched a lot, my mind going to places I’m ashamed to admit. Seeing her mere flexibility was more than enough to take my concentration. Her second day in the gym the trainers were asking if she was flexible I overheard her telling them she was, I look over just to peak Islam does the same and we see her drop into a split I couldn’t help my reaction was my jaw dropped “ pick your jaw up brother before she sees” Islam teased as he tapped my chin I rolled my eyes “ it’s impressive that’s all” I replied before hitting the bag again “sure” Islam said holding back his laughter. She tried talking to me that day “ tagir right?” I hear as I’m sitting down on the mat sipping my water I look up “ hi yes” I say I felt shy she sat down next to me “ how long have you been training with him?” She’s looking at Islam “ for a long time” I say I feel a little jealous the way she’s admiring Islam, that should be me. “ that’s nice” she said as she looked over at me I felt my face heat up I nodded “ would you ever want to train together tagir? It’s okay if not” she said with a smile “ we can” I said my mouth felt dry all of a sudden I took a swig of my water and she smiled “ cool! Here’s my number if you want to let me know when” she said as she took out her phone to show me her number I quickly scrambled to get my phone and put it in “ okay I got it” I said as I saved her number “ perfect” she said before getting up and waving bye as she walked back to train I watch her walk away enjoying the view “ what was that all about?” Islam asks teasingly “ nothing just training”I tried to play it cool but he smirked at me.

That day I needed a cold shower, practice was hard when I kept fantasizing about her how soft her hands are and how gentle she is. Doesn’t help she’s sweet and helpful. She also has an amazing body I kept imagining her soft hands holding onto my biceps or other places.. I shake my head to remove the thoughts as the cold water streams down my face . “ what am I gonna do” I think to myself.

[author’s note !: might make a pt.2! Lmk what you guys think :D]

[onechicagolife]

ALWAYS | JAY HALSTEAD

Detective Jay Halstead is a senior member of the Intelligence Unit, where he is partnered with Detective Hailey Upton after his former partner and girlfriend transferred to the FBI and moved to New York. Still adjusting to the loss of his former flame, all the while dealing with emotional scars from his time in the Rangers, his world is once again turned upside down when a case brings up an odd connection to a woman from his past. want to be tagged? link in bio <3

Epilogue

Mia lay on her childhood bed, restless and tangled in sheets that smelled faintly of the lavender laundry detergent her mother always used. The room is bathed in shadows, the soft glow of a streetlamp outside casting faint patterns on the walls. It feels strange being in her old room, but there is some comfort in the familiarity of it. Her mind races, replaying fragments of the last few days, but when she closes her eyes, it settles on one image: the look in Daniel Reid’s eyes as he strangled her. Her mind plays it over and over again, unwilling to let her rest.

Mia huffs and rolls onto her back, pressing a palm to her chest as if that could calm her racing heart. She takes a slow breath, but her lungs still feel too tight, and she can practically feel the memories crawling under her skin. It has been this way since the hospital: long, sleepless nights filled with images she can’t escape.

Reaching for the phone on her nightstand, her thumb hovers over her contacts. She hesitates, debating whether she has the energy to speak. Finally, she taps the screen.

It rings twice before a groggy voice answers, "Halstead.” Jay rubs the sleep from his eyes, confusion stirring when no one responds. He pulls the phone away to check the caller ID. His breath hitches before he brings it back to his ear, “Mia?”

Mia’s eye fall shut in relief at the sound of his voice. “Hey,” she finally says, voice just above a whisper. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have woken you up. Go back to sleep.”

He settles back against the pillow, his voice losing some of its foggy edge. “No, it’s okay. What’s up?”

She swallows, her throat tight, “I just… can’t sleep. I keep thinking about…” Her voice trails off, and the silence speaks for her.

Pausing, Jay tries to stop his own memories from surfacing and clears his throat. “I’m here,” he prods gently. “Talk to me.”

“It’s like,” Mia exhales shakily, pressing the heel of her palm against her closed eyes, “I’m back in that cabin.” Her voice is raw, pained as she nearly breaks. “I close my eyes, and I see him. I see what he did… to Lindsey, to Kyla… Because of me.”

A heavy sigh escapes his lips. “Mia,” Jay begins, his tone gentle but insistent, “what you went through... it’s unimaginable. But none of it was your fault. I know that doesn’t mean much right now, but I need you to hear me. It wasn’t your fault.”

She tightens her grip on the phone and closes her eyes to stop the tears. The conviction in his voice softens the sharp edges of her fear, if only by a fraction. “I know,” she says quietly, letting the words linger. A part of her does know—logically—but it doesn’t stop the guilt from gnawing at her.

The silence between them is heavy yet reassuring, his quiet presence helping in a way she can’t really explain. Like it always used to. After a few moments, Jay breaks it, his tone lighter, “Hey, remember that time we pranked Will into thinking that ER got canceled?”

Mia lets out an unexpected snort as the memory washes over her. “We? I was just an innocent bystander,” she giggles. “God, he was so mad at you.”

“Well, yeah, because I made him cry in front of a girl,” Jay chuckles, “even if it was just you. Still embarrassing.”

She smiles, a warmth seeping into her chest as they reminisce over the many times she’d been caught in the middle of the Halstead brothers’ antics. The small, welcome distraction makes the air feel a little less stifling. Eventually the laughter fades, replaced by a hesitant curiosity. “Jay,” she murmurs, “do you ever think about what would’ve happened if you never enlisted?”

He goes quiet for several long seconds, and she imagines him rubbing a hand over his face, trying to gather the right words. “I don’t regret joining the military,” he finally says, voice low. “But yeah, I do. I think about how I hurt you. About what you said that day—that I was trying to fix something broken in me. You were right.”

Mia shuts her eyes, a twinge of shame tugging at her heart. “I was so angry,” she admits. “When I found out I was pregnant, I—I was terrified. But I knew in my bones that no matter how scared I was, you’d be the best father to our daughter.”

A strangled breath escapes past his lips, tears burning at the corners of his eyes. “Daughter?” he echoes, his voice cracking.

“I’m not sure,” she clarifies softly, blinking back her own tears, “I just always pictured her as a girl.”

He nods to himself, a small, sad smile pulling at his lips for a second at the image it conjures. “I didn’t know,” he manages, choking back the emotion that threatens to drown him. “I didn’t know about the baby or realize how much I was hurting you. I got so wrapped up in what I thought I needed—what I owed myself—that I never stopped to think about what you needed. And if I had known about her…”

"Jay, I know,” she furrows her brows, trying to convey her understanding with the softness of her tone.

He runs a hand down his face, his voice thick with regret. “I’m so sorry. For all of it. If I could go back and do things differently, I would. I meant what I said. I chose wrong.”

Mia sniffles, tears dripping onto the soft, faded pillow beneath her head. The quiet over the line stretches, brimming with what she can’t bring herself to say yet.

I forgive you.

I want you.

I love you.

“Jay,” she whispers instead.

He swallows audibly, his next words raw. “Honestly, I think a part of my heart has always been yours. No matter what’s happened or how much time has passed. I think about that day at the airport all the time—about the promise I made. And I should’ve fought for you. With everything I had, I should’ve fought for you.”

She inhales unevenly, trying to piece her composure back together. Finally, she breathes again, “I should’ve fought, too.”

The words hang in the air, leaving them both lost in what could’ve been. When Jay speaks again, his tone is carefully measured, “It’s late. You should try to get some sleep.”

She nods even though he can’t see her. “Thank you,” she mumbles. “For always answering.”

He pauses a moment, and she can hear the smile in his voice. “Get some rest, okay?”

“Goodnight, Jay,” she says softly.

“Goodnight.”

As Mia hangs up, the shadows in the room seem less daunting, the quiet less suffocating. Rolling onto her side, she closes her eyes, the ghost of Jay’s voice lingering in her mind. For the first time in weeks, she feels like maybe, just maybe, she can find her way back to herself through the darkness.

Mia hesitates outside the door, her heart thudding so loudly that each beat seems to echo in her ears. She swallows hard, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear with trembling fingers as she fights the overwhelming urge to just leave a note and run. She hasn’t seen or spoken to Austin since the hospital, having asked for some time to herself. Truthfully, she hasn’t known what to say to him—she still doesn’t. She wishes she could keep delaying the inevitable, but she knows that wouldn’t be fair—to him or to herself.

Summoning her courage, she raises her fist and knocks. Within seconds, the door swings open. Austin’s face brightens with a warm smile, and she feels a pang of guilt twist in her stomach. “Hi,” he says lightly, stepping aside. “Come on in.”

Mia manages a small nod and crosses the threshold into the hotel suite. She folds her arms tightly over her chest and moves near the window, as though distance alone can shield her from what she’s here to do. Behind her, she hears the door click shut. His footsteps pad toward the minibar, and his voice drifts across the room—something about contractors, remodels, timelines. She barely registers the words, her own thoughts a frantic hum in her mind. You can do this.

���…He thinks they can have everything done in a few months,” Austin explains. “I know you’ve been wanting to redo the kitchen anyway.”

She finally hears him and closes her eyes, inhaling a steadying breath. “I’m not going back to that house,” Mia bites out harsher than she intended, cutting through his words. How can he think they could just go back to normal—like the last few months never happened when it takes everything in her to forget, just for a moment?

He pauses, clearly taken aback. “Okay,” he responds slowly, tone laced with caution. “That’s fine. I can have the realtor give us some insight on what updates will sell best, and then maybe we can—”

“Austin.” Her voice is firmer this time, and she turns to face him, pulling a small object from her pocket. She stares at it silently, rolling it between her fingers as she takes a few steps forward. She places her engagement ring on the coffee table, the metallic clink jarringly loud in the quiet room.

His features shift, his tentative smile fading completely. He sets down the glass he’s holding, the faintest tremor visible in his hand. “What are you doing?” Austin asks, tone almost disbelieving.

She swallows against the knot in her throat. “I meant what I said before,” she says quietly. “This isn’t working anymore.”

His eyes flick from her face to the ring, then back. “Look, I know you’ve been through a lot,” he offers quickly, stepping closer. “If you need time, if you need space, that’s fine. I’ll give you whatever you need.”

She shakes her head, tongue poking out to wet her lips, “It’s not about that.”

“Then what is it about?” his voice rises slightly, something flickering in his eyes. “Is it about Jay?”

Her stomach clenches, but she tries to keep her composure. “Austin—” she begins.

His frustrated voice cuts her off, “Did something happen I don’t know about?” He runs a hand through his hair, eyes flaring with a mixture of hurt and anger. “Just tell me.”

Mia takes a deep breath, knowing that she can’t dodge the truth any longer. “I slept with him,” she says, her voice uncertain as she waits for a reaction.

The room is silent, the color draining from his face. “What?” Austin visibly recoils, a sharp edge to his tone. “When?”

“When you were in Portland,” she admits as she forces herself to meet his eyes. “Before… everything.”

His jaw tightens, and he takes a step back, as if the distance might lessen the blow. “So, what? That’s why you wanted to take a break? So you could have sex with your ex-boyfriend and not feel guilty about it?”

“No! No, that’s not—” Mia protests, but he interrupts her.

“Don’t,” he snaps, raising a hand to cut her off. “You told me there was nothing going on, Mia. And like an idiot, I believed you.”

She flinches slightly. She feels guilty for hurting him but at the same time, she doesn’t regret it. “I know it sounds cliché,” she tries to find the right words to explain, “but it just… happened. You deserve the truth. And, yes, Jay coming back into my life played a part in me wanting a break, but it’s not the only reason.”

“Then what is the reason?” he demands, exasperation bleeding into his tone. When she doesn’t respond, his anger wavers, replaced by a desperate plea. “Mia, I love you. You've been through a lot, so if you need me to give you some grace right now, I will. I’ll do whatever it takes—therapy, time apart, I don’t care. If forgiving you for this means I get to keep you, I’ll do it.” He swallows hard, “Just tell me what I have to do.”

Her eyes fill with tears, but she knows she is doing the right thing. “There’s nothing you can do.”

Austin stares at her, heartbreak etched into every line of his face. “Are you still in love with him?” he asks in a voice that trembles under the weight of the realization that he already knows the answer.

Her throat tightens, and she is unable to meet his eyes as her own catch on the diamond reflecting under the light. “You’re a good man, Austin,” Mia avoids the question, voice quiet yet somehow deafening in the silence. “You deserve someone who can be all in, who can truly love you the way you deserve. I wanted to be that person for you—I tried to be that person. But… I’m not.”

He follows her gaze to the ring before searching her face for something—a sign, a glimmer of hope—but finds nothing. “I’m so sorry,” she adds unsteadily. “I never meant to hurt you.”

His shoulders sag, the fight leaving his body. Austin exhales, the sound hollow and resigned. “Goodbye, Mia,” he finally says softly, a pained finality to his tone.

She feels a tear slip down her cheek, and she quickly swipes it away. “Goodbye,” she whispers.

Mia steps past him, the door looming ahead like a final threshold. The hallway is cold and silent as she emerges, the door closing behind her with a heavy thud. Guilt tangles with a strange sense of relief, leaving her legs unsteady. There’s an ache inside her chest where her future with Austin used to be, but she also senses something else blossoming: the faintest spark of freedom. Because that future was never real. It was an escape. For the first time in a long time, she feels like she can finally breathe.

O’Hare International was a whirlwind of hurried footsteps, rolling suitcases, and muffled announcements echoing from overhead speakers. Mia stood near the security checkpoint, her fingers twisting with each other nervously. She swallowed against the tightness in her throat, feeling the sting of unshed tears. Her stomach churned, her heart aching in ways she couldn’t quite describe. It felt familiar, though—something she had only ever experienced once before. When she was thirteen and realized that her father wasn’t coming home.

A few yards away, Jay stood beside his older brother, his duffel slung over his shoulder and his new uniform freshly pressed. His hair was buzzed shorter than she was used to, and it made him look older, more serious. As if that should somehow make him more prepared to be sent off to his possible death. But his eyes—those deep, familiar eyes she’d fallen in love with before she even realized—still held the same softness, even as they searched her face with a mix of guilt and longing.

Will squeezed his shoulder in farewell when he noticed Mia and shot her a small, reassuring smile, before giving them some space.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Jay mumbled as he stepped closer. His voice was careful, like he was afraid one wrong word might send her running.

Mia crossed her arms over her chest defensively, fighting a shiver that had nothing to do with the cool blasts of airport air conditioning. “Neither did I,” she answered, her tone edged with bitterness and hurt. It had only been a week since she found out about his enlistment—but the short time without him already felt like a lifetime.

His posture stiffened, shame written clearly across his face, “Mia—”

“You lied to me,” she cut him off harshly, her voice wavering despite the determined anger on her face. “For weeks. You let me plan our future—a future you had no intention of sharing.” She couldn’t stop the tears that began to gather in her eyes and blinked furiously to keep them at bay.

“I know,” he swallowed hard, every word heavy with regret. “I messed up. I thought maybe you’d try to talk me out of it, and I was… I was scared of losing you.” His voice cracked, and that small vulnerability only made her heart clench harder.

She exhaled a shaky breath. “Of course I would have tried to talk you out of it!” her words came out sharp, but beneath the anger was an overwhelming sadness. “You don’t just get to decide something this huge without telling me. We were supposed to do things together. You shut me out instead.”

Jay bowed his head under the weight of her words. “I know,” he repeated quietly. “And now I’m losing you anyway.”

He lifted his gaze to hers, and in that single look, she saw the regret, the longing, the fear. Another announcement came over the speakers, but the words drifted into the background. All she could focus on was Jay—the slight quiver in his breath, the desperate set of his jaw. Her eyes softened slightly, tears stinging as she blinked them back.

Suddenly, he dropped his duffel and closed the distance between them, cupping her face in his hands with surprising gentleness. Mia stiffened at first, but his thumbs brushed away the tears that she fought so hard against, and her anger splintered into grief.

“I can’t,” he started, voice breaking, “I can’t do this if you’re not with me. Please.”

Everything around them momentarily faded, and there was only Jay’s earnest gaze and the warmth of his hands on her skin. She wanted to fight it—wanted to hold onto the anger because it was easier than facing the heartbreak—but she couldn’t. She inhaled a shaky breath and wrapped her arms around his waist, clinging to him desperately as if it would somehow keep him from leaving her.

“I forgive you,” she whispered against his chest, her tears dampening the fabric of his uniform. “I hate that you’re doing this, but I forgive you. We’ll… figure it out.”

Jay lowered his head, pressing a tender kiss to the top of her hair. His breath stuttered, and she realized he was fighting back tears of his own. “I love you so damn much,” he managed, voice thick with emotion.

Her hold tightened. “I love you too,” she mumbled.

Overhead, the final boarding call for his flight crackled through. She felt that sting of reality slice through her chest, an ache that warned her time was almost up. She looked up at him, tears shimmering in her eyes as she framed his face with both hands. “Will you come back to me?” Mia asked, the words trembling on her lips, fragile but full of hope.

“Always,” he answered without the slightest pause, his gaze steady and resolute, as if his promise alone could protect them both from whatever lies ahead. Then Jay leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss that tasted of both a goodbye and a vow.

Jay sits on the edge of his couch, the remote resting idly in his hand as the Blackhawks highlights replay for the third time. The volume is low, the commentator’s voices blending into a murmur that only emphasizes the otherwise quiet apartment. His phone lies face down on the coffee table, s if hiding it might banish the temptation to call her—or at least stop him from staring at the screen, willing it to light up. For the past week, Mia has called every single night when she can’t manage to silence the memories that haunt her. They’ve talked about everything and nothing, staying on the line for as long as it takes for her breathing to even out.

He glances at his watch. 12:00 AM. The city seems to have wound down—as much as Chicago can—but he’s still wide awake, leg bouncing restlessly. The last time he sat like this, unable to stop worrying about her, she had been handing herself over to a serial killer. The thought still makes his stomach twist. Maybe she was finally able to fall asleep early, which he knows she desperately needs. Maybe she doesn’t need him tonight, which hurts and reassures him at the same time.

A sudden knock at the door jolts Jay to his feet, heart thumping against his ribs as he approaches the door cautiously to peer through the peephole. He can’t fight the smile from tugging at his lips as he unlocks and pulls open the door, and everything slows.

Mia stands under the dim hallway light, cheeks pink from the cool night air and dark hair a windblown mess. Her green eyes shine with a mixture of vulnerability and determination, and that look alone sends a tremor through his chest. He hadn’t realized just how badly he needed to see her until this very second, having thought about it every day since the hospital.

“Mia,” he breathes, relief and surprise tangling in his voice.

“Hi,” she replies softly, offering a small, unsure smile. He steps back, wordlessly inviting her inside. “I wasn’t sure if you’d still be awake,” she says, pausing near the couch. Her gaze flicks toward the TV, still playing the sports channel.

Jay shuts the door, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was… waiting for your call,” he confesses with a quiet laugh and sheepish shrug.

She bites her lip, fighting back a smile. “I was lying in bed, staring at my phone,” she trails off and turns to face him, her soft expression catching the light, “but I needed to see you.”

His pulse quickens at her words. He takes a step closer, searching her face trying to gauge where this conversation will lead. Arching a brow, his mouth quirks slightly, “Want to sit down?”

She nods, rounding the couch and settling onto the cushion. He follows suit, leaving a small space between them. Mia shifts to face him, drawing in a shaky breath before tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m just,” her shoulders deflate, her weariness palpable, “so tired.”

He doesn’t move, afraid to shatter the moment. But he has to ask, and he clears his throat gently, “Of what?”

Mia inhales through her nose and lifts her head, glancing around the apartment as she tries to find the right words. Her eyes trail up to the ceiling, and she rubs her lips together before meeting his gaze. “For the last week,” she continues, voice trembling, “you’ve been the only thing keeping me grounded. For the last few weeks, actually. Even when I…was with someone else, when everything around me was crashing down, the only person I wanted was you.”

His chest constricts from the weight of her confession. He aches to reach out, to hold her, but he resists the urge. A wave of familiarity crashes over him, remembering that night in the safehouse when everything between them shifted. Back to the way it used to be.

“You saved me,” her voice catches as the backs of her eyes sting, but she blinks back the tears and lets out a watery laugh. “Not just from… You saved me from myself. That day you walked into my office. And it terrified me.”

“Mia,” he starts but cuts himself off when she lifts a hand, nodding for her to continue.

“I’ve been scared, Jay,” she confesses, leaning forward. “Scared of letting you in again because you broke my heart. Twice.” Her voice wavers, and she notices the flash of regret in his eyes. She pushes on, though her throat feels tight. “And I let you, because I wanted so badly to be with you. But you weren’t ready, and I realize that now.”

Her voice cracks and Jay can’t help himself anymore. He shuffles closer, reaching out to grab one of her hands in his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m not the same person I was ten years ago,” he promises.

Lips curving into a sad but hopeful smile, she nods and squeezes his hand back. “Yeah, I’m starting to realize that.” Mia glances down at their entwined hands, eyes focusing on his thumb as it traces over her knuckles. After a few moments, she lifts her chin and inhales deeply, “I don’t want to be scared anymore.”

His throat constricts, heart beating rapidly against his chest, “What are you saying?”

She bites her lower lip, searching his eyes. “I’m saying that I’m in love with you,” she admits, lifting a weight off her shoulders that she has felt for over a decade. “And I don’t care if that means risking getting hurt again, because it’s worth it. You’re worth it.”

It’s all he can do not to pull her into his arms right then. In one fluid motion, Jay closes the space between them, gently cupping her face in his hands. His fingertips brush against the smooth skin of her cheek, swiping away a strand of hair. “Mia,” he says, voice a desperate plea, “I’ve loved you since I was sixteen. Probably earlier. That never stopped, no matter how many mistakes I made, no matter what I tried to tell myself. And I promise you, I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure I never hurt you again. Not if I can help it.”

A tear slips down her cheek, and she lets out a trembling laugh. “I believe you,” she whispers, her fingers clutching his shirt as though he might disappear again if she lets go.

“Do you?” he asks, voice laced with uncertainty and hope.

“I do,” she repeats, a light shining in her eyes he hasn’t seen in what feels like a lifetime.

He leans in slowly, touching his lips to hers in a featherlight kiss, almost like a question. Mia answers by pressing closer, her breath hitching as she finally gives in. The intensity builds, every unspoken apology and promise as he licks across the seam of her lips. Her free hand curls into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer still, as if she can anchor herself in this moment. She parts her mouth, letting him deepen the kiss and sighing into his embrace.

When they finally pull apart, Jay rests his forehead against hers. A hand threads through her hair, brushing it back over her shoulder before resting firmly against her neck. “I still can’t believe you came back to me,” he whispers in awe.

Her eyes shine with tears, and she doesn’t even try to fight the grin taking over her face. “Always,” she murmurs, echoing the promise he once made and renewing it all at once.

A relieved laugh escapes him, and Jay presses a lingering kiss to the crown of her hair. “Good,” he breathes against her skin, “because I’m not letting you go this time. Not for anything.”

Mia nods, hand coming to land atop his still cradling her face, her touch warm and reassuring. “Neither am I,” she promises.

They stay like that—wrapped in each other’s arms under the soft glow of the table lamp—letting the echoes of past fears and regrets slip away. Instead, a quiet sense of hope blooms between them. It is overwhelming but after how long it took them to find their way back to each other, there’s a lightness to it. That after everything they’ve been through, everything they’ve fought for, this would finally be it. That whatever happens next, they could face.

Together.

Always.

Forever.

prev . . .

well... thank you all so much for coming on this journey with me!! i've been writing for years but original characters was something new and i'm glad you all seemed to love mia as much as i do 🥹

it's bittersweet but i'm mayyyybe close to stringing together an actual plot for a sequel? 

stay tuned 😘

[nerdpearls]

hey!! so i've been cooking up an au with my dearest friend and my twin, and i think it's time i do a bit of an info dump if anyone cares

in short, this is a life series + object show au!! we've decided it's going to be a double life au

info dump below!!

there's actually three of us working on this au, but unfortunately, i'm the only one who possesses a tumblr acc. for future reference, we are:

silly vanilly: the object show nerd of the group!! she'll be writing from the object's perspective.

clodu [me!]: the life series freak! i'll be writing from the perspective of the life series members

malt: the in-between! she knows a bit about both, and therefore will be writing from both povs

now for the actual info dump. while we don't quite have a plot figured out, we do have all the pairings + plus some intro writing!! malt and i have also done some doodling for the fun of it

[note that for this au, four people/objects are linked. for example, scar, grian, x and four are all linked together [well, there is one exception]]

official pairings:

scar & grian + x & 4

bigb & ren + ! & 8

etho & joel + 0 & 9

pearl & scott + 1 & 5

tango & jimmy + 6 & 7

martyn & cleo + 10 & 15

bdubs & impulse + 14 & 24

mumbo & gem + 2 & 3

skizz & lizzie + clock & 24 (yeah again)

some chaos, we know. i'll pause right here for a doodle break and then i'll give you a small excerpt from each of us

doodles by me :]

art by malt!

okay okay!! now for a bit of writing. starting with silly vanilly!

X’s eyes flutter open, his vision slightly blurry from who knows what. He proceeds to sit up, relieved to see his friends. However, it wasn't just four and two, it was everyone. That never happens, especially on some random day. He looked around a bit, half startled to see everything twice his size. Nobody else seemed to notice though, they were too busy arguing with each other, blaming on whose fault it was that they ended up here. Of course, everyone was looking at one, she had been traumatizing Two, so why not all of them? X decided he didn't exactly want to join in on another argument, and he didn't really care, so he decided to wander off away from the crowd. Mindlessly strolling across the new terrain, he stops at a shadow. Thinking it's some shade from a tree, he looks up, only to find a very large ‘thing’ towering over him.

-- oo, fun. malt excerpt next!

“No, It’s ok Four. The Human thing is nice!” X stretched his arm over to the human. “Pat. Pat.” He said as he patted the human’s head. Grian looked at them both dumbfounded. So, the blue one’s name was Four, and the yellow one’s name was X. The strange part was that even though the beings seemed to be from another universe entirely, he could understand them. X was extremely cute, and Four seemed like pure chaos. Grian instantly found a liking to them.

-- meeting the freaks! last excerpt time, by yours truly

“It’s okay Four!! I think it’s nice!!” This time, Grian couldn’t stifle his laughter. For some reason, X’s voice cracked him up. He could practically hear the innocence in it’s voice, and it reminded him of Scar. Speaking of Scar, he was still unconscious, lying in the circle of their friends. The only other person awake was Scott, who was regarding a creature that resembled the number five with a bemused expression.

-- wowzers.. that's it for the time being!! i'll probably post about this au every month or so, and once our first chapter is completed we will probably be putting this up on au. hope you enjoy!!

[sehunniepotwrites]

RISK IT ALL | L.HC (teaser)

read the full fic here!

SYNOPSIS. In theory, playing a card game called Risk It or Drink It during your holiday kickback sounded fun. In reality, it was your group’s wild plot scheme for you and your close friend, Donghyuck, to finally get yourselves together in more ways than one. 

PAIRING. Lee Donghyuck x fem!Reader GENRE. Friends-to-Lovers!AU, Holiday!AU, Christmas!AU, Party!AU, comedy, smut (minors dni!) WORD COUNT. (teaser) 673, full fic estimate ~7k

WARNINGS. original character (Ari), language (crude sexual jokes, talks about sex positions, and profanities), alcohol and food consumption, adult drinking games with dares, explicit content (fingering, oral/sixty-nine, nipple play, praise, penetrative, missionary, etc.), nicknames (princess),  will add more once they come up! PLAYLIST. Up to You - PRETTYMUCH feat. NCT Dream

DISCLAIMER. This is work of fiction. I do not own the people/characters or concepts I have written about. You cannot translate or copy my work. © sehunniepotwrites, 2023

The moment you pulled the card, Donghyuck shifted his head to read the card with you. His body began to shake with laughter as the rest of your crew rushed you to reveal the dare. God, you were not drunk enough for this. He grabbed the paper out of your fingers and took the liberties of saying the dare, “Hold a piece of food in your mouth and have the person on your right,” he paused, grazing his soft fingers on your bare knee, “that’s me, princess—”

“Yes, I know my rights from lefts, Hyuck,” you interrupted him.

“—and have them take it from you.”

“I’m picking the piece of food you use and don’t you dare complain!” Ari yelled before anyone else could claim the job. Everyone watched as she stifled through a plate of French fries. Her playful grin expanded across her pretty face when she found the perfect fry—a thin, crispy piece that was around an inch long. The group exploded with excitement as she held it up. 

“That,” you pointed to the fry in your friend’s hand, “cannot be legal. That has to be against the rules!”

Jaemin pretended to examine the fry his girlfriend was holding. “Hmm, looks fine to me.”

“You’re a menace, Jaem,” you hissed at him.

Jaemin came right back, “Just doing what has to be done to take us out of our misery.”

With everything already set, you resigned to your friend’s wishes and begrudgingly accepted the dare. Ari handed you the tiny piece of food and you sighed dramatically before placing it between your teeth. It barely extended past your top and bottom lip. You shot Donghyuck a widened look, telling him to hurry. If you were to prolong this dare any longer, you were afraid of the fry breaking in your hold before he’d get to it. 

You stood still as Donghyuck approached with a smug look. It disappeared as soon as his eyes dropped to the french fry you held, lingering at the sight of your parted mouth. When he looked back up at you, there was a sort of look in the brown irises you were so attracted to. Hunger. Anticipation. 

“Lean in,” someone shouted but you couldn’t. 

Swallowing back your nervousness, his two warm hands touched your face, both molding to your cheeks. Shutting your eyes as he grew closer, the last thing you saw was his handsome face tilting to get a better angle. Donghyuck’s actions were lightning quick and sudden, making your heart beat skyrocket towards the moon. His breath tickled your skin and then, his lips brushed ever so gently against yours. It didn’t last too long; after all, his goal was to retrieve the french fry. You did your best to focus on that, remembering not to bite down to break the crunchy strip of food–the task at hand was hard but not impossible.

Then, there was a slight pressure, the plushness of his lips pushing into you as Donghyuck bit, tugging the food out of your mouth. 

Still frozen in your spot, you sensed Donghyuck pulling back. You exhaled through your nostrils and slowly opened your eyes. Your best friend was right in front of you, wearing a smirk as he chewed on the fry. He licked around his mouth, gathering the tiny dusts of salt before humming. “Salty,” was all he said while everyone surrounding  you laughed at his antics.

Ignoring the hammering of your heart as he continued to stare at your lips, you cleared your throat. As much as you tried to shove all feelings of attraction aside, Donghyuck kept his sultry gaze fixated on you. You watched as it dipped back down to your lips again, his fingers coming up to brush away the little specks of salt that stuck your mouth. Everything was too much for you–the warmth of his touch, the intensity of his stare, the looks the others were giving you–it was time to direct everyone’s attention elsewhere.

 “Next dare,” you called out, facing away from Donghyuck.

AUTHOR'S NOTE. Hi all! I'm back with a (shorter) one-shot! This Haechan brainrot has been sitting in my drafts since September. I was inspired by a hilarious but somewhat crude drinking game I played with my friends a while back. It's been a minute since I've written something with a lot of tension/smut but please let me know what you think. I've been obsessing over Haechan crying over Mark in the latest youtube contents that were released, so if you see some familiar lines, no you didn't <3

TAGLIST. @nctsworld @johtenrecs @emmybyeakitty @sokkigarden @hyuckworld @baekhyuns-lipchain @yutaholic-main @moonctzeny @suhrocs @smileysuh

tagging my usual friends <3 let me know if you would like to be added!

© sehunniepotwrites, 2023

[switch19d]

Possessive Tendencies

In a room full of sharks, Mo Guanshan makes one thing clear. He Tian isn't up for negotiation. corporate au fic, short one-shot. nsfw

The ballroom of the Grand Victoria Hotel glittered like a gilded cage, its vaulted ceilings dripping with crystal chandeliers that scattered light across the sea of bespoke suits and champagne flutes. Diplomats and Fortune 500 sharks circled one another with practiced smiles, their laughter a symphony of hollow currency—all sharp edges and softer agendas. But none of them mattered. Not when He Tian held court at the center of it all, leaning against the marble pillar with a tumbler of bourbon in hand, his laughter a low, velvet rumble that drew eyes like moths to a pyre.

Guan Shan watched from the shadow of the bar, his own glass of mineral water sweating in his grip. Of course. He’d warned him. Keep your fucking head down. No theatrics. No trouble. But He Tian had never met a spotlight he wouldn’t devour. Now, a Swiss investor hung on his every word, her manicured nails brushing his forearm, while an Italian tech magnate leaned in close, murmuring something that made He Tian’s smirk sharpen.

Unbelievable.

Guan Shan’s jaw tightened as he set his glass down. Time to collect what was his.

He Tian’s voice carried over the din, smooth and dangerous. “—counteroffer of fifteen percent equity, but only if you’re willing to bleed for it.” The Swiss woman laughed, too bright, too eager, her gaze lingering on the open collar of his shirt.

Guan Shan closed the distance in six strides, his oxfords silent against the Persian rug. He didn’t bother with preamble.

His hand landed on He Tian’s ass, fingers digging into the muscle beneath the tailored wool with a possessiveness that left fingerprints.

The room didn’t freeze. Didn’t gasp. But the air shifted—a ripple of raised brows, stifled coughs, the Italian’s glass pausing halfway to his lips.

He Tian’s sentence faltered. Just once. Just enough.

“Apologies,” Guan Shan said, tone flat as he squeezed harder, thumb brushing the inner curve in a silent threat. “My partner’s prone to wandering. Occupational hazard.”

The Swiss woman blinked. “Partner?”

He Tian recovered faster, his chuckle a warm blade. “In every sense of the word.” He leaned back into Guan Shan’s touch, unrepentant. “Mo Guan Shan. Ruthless negotiator. Terrible drinker. Excellent grip.”

Guan Shan’s glare could’ve iced the bourbon in He Tian’s glass. “We’re leaving.”

“Leaving?” He Tian swirled his drink, feigning innocence. “But Signore Ricci was just explaining how badly he wants my algorithm.”

“And I’m explaining how badly I’ll break your legs if you make me repeat myself.”

The Italian cleared his throat. “Perhaps we’ll… reconvene after the keynote?”

“Doubt it.” Guan Shan steered He Tian toward the nearest exit, hand still anchored to his ass, fingers flexing in warning with every step.

———

The hallway outside was a crypt compared to the ballroom’s fever, its walls lined with oil portraits of dead tycoons smirking down at them. He Tian waited until the door swung shut before shoving Guan Shan against a pillar, his composure cracking to reveal the feral grin beneath. “Jealous, xiānsheng?”

Guan Shan grabbed his tie, yanking him close. “You were showboating.”

“Networking.”

“Flirting.”

“Schmoozing.” He Tian’s knee slid between Guan Shan’s thighs. “Same thing you did with that French banker last week.”

“I hate the French.”

“You let him touch your cufflinks.”

“He was drunk.”

“And you’re jealous.” He Tian nipped his jaw. “Admit it.”

Guan Shan spun them, reversing their positions with a snarl. “You’re a liability. Prance around like a peacock, and someone’s gonna pluck you.”

“Pluck me?” He Tian’s laugh was a dark thrill. “You just groped me in front of NATO’s investment wing. Who’s the liability now?”

Guan Shan’s palm slid higher, beneath He Tian’s jacket, fingers splaying over the small of his back. “They’ll remember who you belong to. That’s the point.”

“Belong?” He Tian arched into the touch, voice dropping to a purr. “Careful. You’ll make me blush.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re hard.” He Tian rocked his hips forward, confirming it. “All that… claiming. Really got you going, huh?”

Guan Shan’s grip turned punishing. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

———

The kiss was a collision—liquor and spite and the lingering sugar of petit fours. Guan Shan bit He Tian’s lip, tasting blood and victory as he backed him into a shadowed alcove, shielded by velvet drapes. He Tian’s hands were everywhere, tearing at Guan Shan’s belt, shoving his shirt open, mouth trailing down his throat like he meant to brand him.

“Here?” Guan Shan hissed, even as he palmed He Tian through his slacks. “You’ve got no self-control.”

“Says the man who marked me like a fucking cave painting.” He Tian unbuckled his own belt, teeth grazing Guan Shan’s earlobe. “They’re probably still out there placing bets on whether you’ll drag me to the bathroom or the balcony.”

“Balcony’s closed.”

He Tian’s laugh was cut short as Guan Shan spun him to face the wall, hands braced against the gilded trim. “Fuck—!”

Guan Shan kicked his legs wider, the drapery swallowing their rasping breaths. “Should’ve stayed quiet.”

“Should’ve—” He Tian’s words dissolved into a groan as Guan Shan yanked his slacks down, fingers slick with the hotel-provided lotion from his pocket. “Christ—you just carry that around?”

“You’re predictable.” Guan Shan worked him open fast, ruthless, his free hand muffling He Tian’s curses. “Knew you’d need it.”

“Arrogant—ah!—bastard—”

Guan Shan silenced him with a thrust, sheathing himself in one motion. The sound He Tian made was half-snarl, half-sob, his forehead knocking against the wallpaper. “Slow—!”

“You had your spotlight.” Guan Shan set a brutal pace, the alcove trembling with each snap of his hips. “Now take your punishment.”

———

It was over quickly—too much adrenaline, too much spite. He Tian came first, teeth sunk into his own forearm to stifle his cries, body bowing backward as Guan Shan gripped his hips hard enough to bruise. Guan Shan followed, burying his face in He Tian’s shoulder to muffle his groan, the world narrowing to heat and pulse and the acid-sweet tang of triumph.

They slumped against the wall afterward, He Tian’s laughter a shaky thing. “You realize… we’ll be front-page news tomorrow.”

Guan Shan straightened his tie, fingers steady despite the sweat at his temples. “Rumors die.”

“Not when the CFO of Liang International gets bent over a wall.”

“You’ll spin it.” Guan Shan handed him a handkerchief. “Tell them I threatened your shares.”

He Tian’s grin was pure sin. “Or that I let you.”

Guan Shan paused, studying him—the rumpled hair, the smeared mouth, the bite marks peeking above his collar. “You did, didn’t you?”

He Tian leaned in, breath hot against his ear. “I always get what I want.”

Guan Shan shoved him toward the exit. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re mine.” He Tian caught his wrist, thumb brushing the racing pulse beneath. “Now buy me a drink. I’m parched.”

———

The ballroom door swung open. A hundred eyes snapped to them—to He Tian’s disheveled elegance, to Guan Shan’s iron composure, to the shared flush neither could fully hide.

Guan Shan’s hand found He Tian’s ass again, lighter now, a reminder.

He Tian raised his glass to the crowd, a toast and a challenge.

Game on.

[estellan0vella]

Love In Print│Bang Chan

Chapter Twenty Three: Being Human Fucking Sucks SS: 5 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 2.2K Content Warnings:

Previous Next Masterlist

Ayame steps into the office early the next day, her heels echoing sharply against the polished floors. The usual hum of the office is absent this early, leaving only the faint buzz of the overhead lights and the soft thud of her bag as she sets it down. Her gaze lands immediately on the small, unmarked box sitting squarely in the middle of her desk.

Frowning, she carefully inspects it, her fingers grazing the edges. It's plain, no markings or notes to identify the sender. She tugs at the tape, peeling it back slowly, and lifts the lid. Her breath catches when she sees what's inside. A tiny red collectable car. One of Chan's. The same type she'd teased him about during her snooping at his penthouse.

Her lips press together, her emotions swirling somewhere between confusion, amusement, and something softer she doesn't dare name. She picks up the car, its smooth metal cool against her fingertips, and sets it on her desk, angling it toward her monitor like a new desk companion. "Subtle, Bang Chan," she mutters, shaking her head. A small smile escapes before she can stop it.

Reaching into her bag, she pulls out a small box of her own, one she'd brought on impulse that morning. Inside is a tiny Smurf figurine. One of the many duplicates she kept around. She takes it over to Chan's desk, placing it dead centre, and leans back to admire her handiwork.

"Your move, Care Bear," she whispers, her smirk growing.

As she turns to head back to her desk, faint voices from Haechul's office catch her attention. She slows her steps, her ears straining to pick up the words. Haechul's voice, booming and unmistakable, carries easily through the slightly ajar door.

"It's a dangerous time for men these days, Chan," Haechul says, his tone dripping with condescension. "If we don't stick together, then pixie twigs like Lim are going to be running the world on lipstick and feelings. I can tell you, I didn't start this company to have my balls crushed by some idiot in a push-up bra. Do you hear me?"

Ayame's stomach twists violently. Her nails dig into the palms of her hands as she steps closer to the door, her breath caught in her throat.

"Loud and clear," comes Chan's voice. It's calm, smooth, and utterly unreadable.

Haechul's laughter is low and self-satisfied. "I have a vision for this company, and I'm counting on you to make it happen. Do you have a strategy? A plan?"

"I do," Chan replies evenly. "It's already underway."

"Good," Haechul says, clearly pleased. "I told you she'd back off if you let her think she had a chance with you. Glad you took my advice."

Ayame freezes, her body going cold. Her head swims as the words hit her like a slap across the face. Her mind races, replaying every interaction, every touch, every word between them. It all crashes into her like a wave, dragging her under.

"Let me know if you need anything to help you cinch this thing," Haechul adds, his voice dismissive, as though sealing a deal.

Chan's response is clipped, his tone unbothered. "I don't need any help beating her."

Ayame stumbles back, her heel catching on the corner of a nearby plant stand. She catches herself just in time, her hand shaking as she steadies the wobbling pot. Her breath comes in short, sharp bursts as she clamps a hand over her mouth, stifling the nausea clawing its way up her throat.

She doesn't wait to hear more. She walks briskly to her desk, grabs her bag with trembling hands, and heads for the door. Each click of her heels against the floor echoes like a drumbeat in her ears. She doesn't look back, doesn't pause. The only thing she knows is that she needs to get out of there before the weight of the betrayal crushes her completely.

Minho looks up from his laptop when Ayame bursts into his office like a storm breaking through a calm sky. His usual cheeky smirk vanishes, replaced by immediate concern when he sees the redness around her eyes, the way her chest rises and falls like she's trying to catch her breath, and how tightly she's clutching her bag, as if it's the only thing keeping her grounded.

"Maknae?" he says softly, rising from his chair. His voice is uncharacteristically serious. "What happened? Who do I need to kill?"

Ayame tries to speak, but her voice cracks, and she shakes her head violently, fresh tears spilling over. She scrubs at her face with the sleeve of her blazer, but it's no use. Her hands are trembling, and her breaths come in sharp, uneven gasps.

Minho doesn't hesitate. He moves around his desk in two quick strides and places his hands gently on her shoulders. "Hey. Breathe. Just breathe, okay? Slow down, Ayame."

"I—" Her voice falters, and she chokes on the words. "I can't—"

Minho cuts her off, his tone firm but gentle. "You don't have to talk right now. Come on, let's get out of here. You need coffee—or vodka. Or both."

Ayame nods quickly, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip to keep from breaking down entirely. Minho grabs his coat from the back of his chair and slings it over his shoulder. Without a word, he guides her out of the office, his hand steady and warm against her back as they move down the hallway.

"Where are we going?" she mumbles, her voice barely audible over the pounding in her ears.

"Somewhere quiet," Minho replies. His tone is calm, but there's a dangerous edge lurking beneath it, the kind that promises retribution for whoever hurt her. "I don't care if it's a coffee shop or a fucking church. You need space to breathe."

Minho and Ayame sit tucked away in the back corner of the coffee shop, far from the bustling counter and the cheerful murmur of other patrons. The rich aroma of roasted beans fills the air, but it does little to soothe the tension radiating between them. Ayame stares at her untouched latte, her fingers absently picking at the paper sleeve, while Minho studies her intently, his dark eyes searching her face for answers.

"What happened?" Minho asks, his voice softer than she's used to. There's no teasing edge, no smirk, just genuine concern.

Ayame hesitates, swallowing hard as she gathers her thoughts. Finally, she takes a deep breath and starts recounting everything she overheard in Haechul's office. Her voice wavers at times, and her hands tremble as she describes the sneering tone Haechul used, the vile words he spat about her, and, worst of all, Chan's calm agreement.

By the time she's finished, Minho's jaw is tight, his knuckles white from gripping his mug like it's the only thing stopping him from flipping the table. He sets it down with a sharp clink that makes Ayame flinch.

"What the actual fuck?" he says, his voice low but vibrating with fury. "That slimy, misogynistic piece of shit. I mean, I knew Haechul was bad, but this? And Chan, what the fuck is wrong with him? Pretending to care about you just to get ahead? That's beyond fucked."

Ayame shrugs, her lips pressed tightly together as she stares down at her drink. "I feel stupid, oppa," she says quietly. "I mean, flirting is one thing, but pretending to have feelings? That's a whole other level. I let myself believe-" Her voice cracks, and she stops, biting her lip hard enough to hurt.

Minho leans forward, yanking a napkin from the dispenser and gently dabbing at her cheek. "Hey, don't you fucking dare," he says, his tone soft but firm. "Don't you let him make you feel stupid. You are not stupid, Ayame. You're human."

She sniffs, snatching the napkin from his hand. "Yeah, well, being human fucking sucks right now."

"I'm not arguing with that," Minho says. "But you didn't get played because you're dumb. You got played because you have a goddamn heart, which is a hell of a lot more than I can say for him or Haechul."

Ayame takes a shaky sip of her latte, her hands still trembling slightly. "I let my guard down. He's such a good actor, oppa. It was all just a fucking game to him."

Minho exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Fear not, my sweet maknae. You're going to walk into that boardroom, nail that interview, and take that job right out from under his smug, lying ass. Then you're going to make him watch as you crush it every single fucking day until he regrets the day he ever tried to play you."

Ayame's lips twitch into a small, bitter smile. "And what about Haechul?"

Minho leans back, crossing his arms. "Oh, don't worry about him. I'll handle Haechul. I'm thinking of a well-timed HR investigation into his extracurricular activities, maybe a few anonymous tips about workplace harassment. Let's see how long he keeps that slimy grin on his face."

Ayame chuckles weakly, wiping at her eyes. "And Chan?"

Minho grins darkly. "Justice demands that Chan lives a long, lonely life sucking on Haechul's nasty, small dick. It's poetic, really."

Ayame chuckles weakly, taking a tentative sip of her latte. Just as she sets the cup down, the bell over the door chimes, and a familiar figure steps into the café. Ayame freezes, her heart skipping a beat as Chan spots her and walks over.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, her tone colder than ice.

"I was looking for you," Chan says cautiously, his hands shoved into his pockets. "Thought I'd join you for a coffee."

Ayame stares at him, her eyes hard. "I don't like you enough to get coffee with you."

Minho arches an eyebrow, looking between them as Chan's face falters. For a split second, there's something vulnerable in his expression, but he quickly masks it. "My mistake," he says quietly before turning on his heel and leaving the café.

Minho smirks as he watches Chan walk away. "I taught you well, my sweet Aya."

Ayame smiles weakly, the pain still etched in her features. "I've got to go back to work soon."

Minho reaches across the table, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Well, now you won't fall for his shit again."

"Not making that mistake twice," Ayame says firmly, draining the rest of her latte before standing. Despite her resolve, her heart feels heavy as she gathers her things and heads back to the office.

The office is a minefield of tension that afternoon. Ayame sits at her desk, glaring at her laptop screen, her fingers flying over the keyboard. She finally looks up and calls across to Chan, who is engrossed in his paperwork.

"Do we have confirmation on that blog running Stripping Time?" she asks, her tone clipped.

Chan doesn't look up. "CC'd you on the email," he says dismissively, jotting something down with his pen.

Ayame narrows her eyes, turning back to her screen. "Well, the email isn't in my inbox that I am literally looking at right now on my laptop, you sociopath."

Chan exhales sharply, finally glancing her way. "Then you're either blind or lying. As usual."

Her jaw tightens, and she slams her laptop shut. "I don't lie."

"You lie all the time," Chan retorts, his voice calm but cutting. "You just don't see it as lying because you're telling people what they want to hear."

Ayame scoffs, crossing her arms. "Name one time I've done that."

Chan leans back in his chair, his dark eyes locking onto hers. "You told me you were in this too. That you were in us."

The words hit her like a slap. For a moment, she can only gape at him. Then her anger boils over. "Holy shit, you are actually going to play this game the whole way through, aren't you?" she laughs, standing up. "That's what I don't get! Throw me off my game, fine. Flirt with me, mess with my head, whatever. But you- You're—"

"Not nice?" Chan finishes dryly.

"I thought you were, somewhere under the layers of psychological damage," Ayame spits. "But it turns out you'll just do whatever it takes to win and make your daddy proud. You know what? I'm so glad I puked all over you because I am this close to doing it again!" She holds her fingers inches apart, trembling with fury.

Chan pushes back from his desk, rising to meet her glare. "What is wrong with you?!"

"I heard you with Haechul," Ayame says, her voice dangerously low.

Chan falters, the mask slipping for a fraction of a second. "And?"

Ayame's lips curl into a bitter smile. "I think if he found out you'd slept with me, he'd throw a fucking parade in your honour."

"That's not what-" Chan starts, but the door swings open, and Haechul strides in like he owns the place.

"Chan," Haechul barks. "I'm gonna need those projections on my desk by Friday."

Chan straightens, his voice clipped. "I don't have time. Ayame can do it."

Haechul smirks, his eyes flicking to Ayame. "Lim, care to grow some hair on your balls and step up?"

Ayame's breath catches, but she quickly recovers, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You know, Haechul, I would love to, but I doubt an idiot in a push-up bra would be much help to you."

Haechul shrugs carelessly. "Fine. Chan, projections. My desk. Friday."

He turns and walks out, leaving a tense silence in his wake. Ayame grabs her coat and bag, her movements sharp and deliberate. She strides over to Chan's desk, her expression blazing with defiance.

"There is no way in hell I'm letting you and Haechul destroy this place," she says firmly. Her voice is low, but every word is sharp as a knife.

Before Chan can respond, she spins on her heel and storms out of the office, leaving him standing there, stunned and silent.

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[c-e-d-dreamer]

A/N: Nesta has had many metamorphosises within the series, but one of my favorites is her relationship with her sister and how that has changed, especially Feyre. And when Noah dropped Stick Season and I heard Orange Juice, I just knew that it was Nesta and Feyre's song. This is short but hopefully sweet. Hope everyone enjoys! cc:@nestaarcheronweek

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The streets of Velaris are strangely quiet this time of evening, most of the residents either wrapped up in their homes or holed up in one of the local taverns for the night. The street lamps and building windows all flicker with golden fae lights, only adding to the ambiance. The first snow of the season falls in soft swirls, catching in Nesta’s hair and eyelashes and further adding to the quiet peace. Even her footfalls don’t make a sound against the snow dusted cobblestones as she walks.

The wrought iron fence that surrounds the River House comes into view, ivy twisting around the metal and up the stone of the home. Just the sight has Nesta’s heart pressing up into her throat, memories breaking free from their cage in the back of her mind and threatening to overwhelm her again. Her skin crawls at being back here again, standing in this place again.

For a moment, the snow melts away around her. For a moment, it’s green grass and flowers. For a moment, raucous laughter floats through open windows and billowing curtains. For a moment, it’s six months ago.

Shaking her head against the cloud of memories, Nesta unfolds the piece of parchment in her hands again, reading the slanting, looping script of her youngest sister.

Come over, please? The party’s gone slower

With a soft sigh, Nesta folds the parchment again, slipping it back inside the pocket of her dress. She swallows down the emotions welling in her chest and pushes through the front gate, following the footpath up the steps and to the front door.

She barely has to knock once before the door is pulled open, Feyre standing on the other side. She’s dressed comfortably with a soft looking sweater and leggings, golden brown hair the same shade as Nesta’s own tumbling down along her shoulders and spine. Though the sleeves hang long, Nesta can still spy paint flecks stuck to the skin of her fingers, can still spy the short nails that are indicative of the habit that still clings to her youngest sister from when they were girls.

“Nesta,” Feyre breathes, offering a small, friendly smile. “I’m so glad you could visit.”

Feyre steps back, gesturing with her arm for Nesta to step inside. Already, Nesta’s eyes start to flit around, noting everything that’s changed. Everything that hasn’t. Her eyes linger on the portraits in golden frames lining the large staircase, lining the hall that leads to the large living room beyond.

“There’s orange juice in the kitchen,” Feyre continues, drawing Nesta’s attention back to her and leading her down a different hall. “We bought it for Nyx, but it’s yours if you want it. I know you got sober.”

“Six months,” Nesta offers, following Feyre into the large kitchen. “On the dot.”

Feyre’s steps pause, and she turns to smile over her shoulder. “That’s great, Nesta.”

She continues deeper into the kitchen and toward the ice box, pulling the door open. Her hands hesitate, and while her back is turned, Nesta recognizes the way Feyre’s fingers curl and twitch, the way her shoulders stiffen. It’s clear that her sister is frowning at whatever she sees, more likely what she doesn’t see.

“Just tea is fine.”

“Right,” Feyre breathes, letting the door fall shut again. “Tea.”

Feyre turns her attention to the cabinets, rummaging to get the kettle full and placed over the flame. The clink of dishes, the shuffle of tea leaves, it all fills the space between them, breaking up the underlying tension threatening to bubble up and stifle them both. With a soft sigh through her nose, Nesta lets her gaze drift back toward the kitchen doorway. Toward the faces and voices she hasn’t encountered since she moved away from the city. They float down the hall and into the kitchen like ghosts on the breeze.

The whole city is like a ghost town, roots and branches twisting like limbs reaching toward her. Shadows creeping out from every corner and alleyway. Nesta feels as much as a stranger in Velaris now as she did six months ago. As much a stranger as she felt in her skin. As much a stranger as she felt in this family.

And if she closes her eyes, Nesta can still see that hillside she passed when she arrived. She can see the white stone, glistening as brightly as the snow that swirled around it. Can see the monument that rises like a beacon, like a ghost all its own.

“I saw father’s grave earlier,” Nesta comments, her voice quiet.

Feyre nearly drops the teacups in her hands, but steadies herself and she sets them down on the counter in front of Nesta. “Elain had the monument built. She tends to the flowers around it every week.”

Nesta hums, taking a sip of her tea. It burns almost as much as the anger flaring through her veins. Almost. No matter the time that’s passed, it still fills her like a raging sea, still scorches like those silver flames she’s tried to swallow down. There’s no escaping it some days. No way to stop it from pulling her and drowning her through her silent screams.

“You know,” Feyre begins, sliding the tip of her finger along the rim of her teacup. “I feel like I’ve been waiting for you to come home for so long.”

“Velaris isn’t my home,” Nesta reminds her, dropping her gaze to the swirling liquid of her tea so she won’t see the expression she’s sure will take over her youngest sister’s face. “Besides, we both know I’m third in the lineup to your lord and savior of a High Lord.”

“That’s not fair, Nesta.”

“It doesn’t matter anyways.”

Feyre sighs, a sound that Nesta knows well, one that tells her that her sister clearly disagrees but is swallowing down her argument. “I didn’t think to ask you where you ended up after you left… or why you left in the first place.”

She says the last part quietly, her voice trailing off, and guilt roils through Nesta’s gut and cloys up her throat. But she refuses to let its roots twist around her ribs, refuses to let it settle. Because she still remembers how it felt six months ago. She still remembers every cut, every bruise, every open wound that festered beneath her skin. Every ache that weighed down her soul. She still remembers the way her heart felt changed until it was little more than an unwelcome intruder in her chest.

“After the war… after the Cauldron, really, everything changed,” Nesta explains, finally raising her gaze back to Feyre’s.

“I know that everything was difficult for you…”

“No, you don’t understand. The world had changed. My life had changed. My heart and my very soul had changed, and yet you hadn’t changed at all.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t you find it strange that after everything that happened, you just went ahead and carried on? You came back here and celebrated as if nothing had happened. Everything had changed irrecoverably for me, and for you, it was just another day.”

“Nesta–”

“Did you know that the last time I drank, I was right here in front of your house? That I passed out right there in your lawn?”

Feyre’s entire face shifts with the admission, pain spilling through her blue eyes. “You–I didn’t know.”

“Gods, I must look like crow to you now compared to everything you have. Just pulling you down.”

Nesta pushes her half finished tea away from her, moving to step back and head toward the door, but fingers curl around her forearm, holding her in place. Feyre’s expression is pleading, but there’s understanding flickering beneath it as well. It’s the sort of look only a sister can give. One who shared the teeth and the claws. One who can recognize and see through any mask or bullshit.

A mirror in the truest sense.

“It wasn’t your fault, what happened to father,” Feyre tells her quietly.

Emotions clog up Nesta’s throat until she fears she won’t be able to breathe. But she doesn’t dare break away from Feyre’s eyes, doesn’t dare pull away from her sister’s grip.

“You didn’t put those bones in the ground.”

—

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