#Damn spacing copying and pasting >.<< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[sanderssidesplaylist]

(Strongly encouraged to listen to the song before voting! Lyrics are in the video's description, have mercy on me.)

[digitalfishwish]

Kit's Traybake Pancakes (chocolate chip var.)

Heyo! You may have seen my original pancake traybake (cinnamon apple var.) recipe! If you haven’t, come check it out here! If you have, check again, since I’ve made some crucial changes to the cook time/temp/optional prep after much experimentation!

Well, here’s:

Love eating pancakes but hate making them? This traybake pancake recipe may be for you! Making these gives me enough pancake squares for 6 days (5 if you eat two on the day you make them). They reheat well, can either be eaten with or without maple syrup, and are very customizable! I recommend adding something healthy like fruit or yogurt, and protein powder like I do in this recipe, making it a slightly healthier breakfast than just pure carbs.

Full recipe under the cut! (Reader beware, you're in for a... lot of asides and annotations lol)

Full disclosure, the base for this recipe was the mug pancake recipe from Emma’s Goodies, which you can watch here!

I made this mug pancake for years (except with tripled portions because I was using a very big mug) and it was super delicious! However, for just one mug pancake, it was a bit of a production and didn’t feel super worth it. Thusly, I have adapted the recipe to be made in a 13”x9” baking tray, which makes a whole lot of breakfast.

Base Ingredients:

12 tbsp. butter (I use salted, if you don’t have salted butter, add a very small amount of kosher salt to your recipe)

9 tbsp. (1/2 cup+ 1 tbsp) granulated sugar

12 fl.oz. milk (I use skim, use whatever kind you like)

3 cups all-purpose flour

3 tsp. baking powder

Customizable Ingredients:

1 scoop protein powder (I use vanilla flavored whey)

1/4 cup of brown sugar

1 cup (around 5oz) nonfat strawberry Greek yogurt (pick a good quality brand/one you like)

1 cup of semisweet chocolate chips (for the batter)

Small handful of semisweet chocolate chips (to sprinkle on top)

1/2 cup of semisweet chocolate chips, 1 tbsp of butter, ~2 capfuls of milk (for chocolate drizzle)

Base Instructions:

Heat oven to 375°F, take out a 13”x9” nonstick baking pan and spray bottom and sides with cooking spray (yes theoretically I know you don’t need to spray a nonstick pan but better safe than sorry).

Put butter in a bowl and melt it in the microwave. I recommend microwaving for 1m20s.

Put butter in a stand mixer, preferably with the paddle attachment. While you heat the milk in the microwave* (40 seconds, stir milk once it’s done; I use a glass liquid measuring cup for the microwaving), add the granulated sugar to the mixer. Once the milk is heated, add it and use one of the lower settings on your mixer.

(If you have customizable wet ingredients, add them now!)

Add the flour and baking powder, mix again on low setting until it forms a batter (a small amount of lumps is okay from what I’ve heard, you don’t want to overmix).

*You can’t put cold milk into hot butter, it will form little clumps and be gross

Customizable Instructions:

Add the brown sugar (as above, preferably before the flour, with the other wet ingredients. Wait, why is sugar a wet ingredient? see † at the bottom).

Add one scoop of your preferred protein powder, then mix on low setting until it’s mixed in.

Similarly, mix in the strawberry yogurt*. Now, I know what you’re saying: this is a very specific thing to add to the pancakes, but hear me out**: it gives moisture to the recipe (in this version, there’s not as much, cuz there’s no added tea/maple syrup, and there’s an additional dry ingredient), and it adds a subtle fruity flavor (also it makes your living space smell amazing while it’s cooking)! I may experiment with adding actual fresh strawberry to the recipe in the future.

Finally, put the cup of choco chips in and mix gently! My mixer head tends to bump around a little bit during this step so you may want to use that generally ignorable lever that keeps the mixer head secure.

*Unlike the brown sugar, you may want to mix the yogurt in after you add the dry ingredients. If you do it before, it won’t incorporate smoothly and end up in a bunch of gross looking lumps. It doesn’t actually affect anything though and once you add the dry ingredients, everything is fine. It’s more about if you’re a wet before dry purist vs. someone squicked out by lumps.

** It’s also the only thing I had on hand lmao

Chocolate Sauce (for ‘drizzling’) Instructions:

Put 1/2 cup of chocolate chips in the microwave with a tablespoon of butter. Melt for 45 seconds on high (according to the packaging on my choco chip bag). Mix the resulting glorp carefully (it’s hot!) with a rubber spatula then microwave for another 15-20 seconds until most/all of the chips have melted.

Mix again. It will look like a gross dry paste (but trust the process). Once you add in a capful of milk and mix—immediately you will have a glossy beautiful mixture. Then add an additional capful of milk (you may need to add more) to make it thin enough to ‘drizzle’!

Baking Instructions:

Pour batter into greased baking tray and use a spatula and spread it evenly by hand, as this batter is thicker and a little stiffer than my apple version. Optional: Sprinkle the top with that handful of chocolate chips—then if you made the chocolate sauce, take the spatula from before, scoop a little bit of chocolate sauce onto the tip of the spatula, and carefully* flick it over the surface of the batter! Really channel your inner Jackson Pollock! Do as much of this as you want until you have your ideal amount of chocolate drizzle on top (and if you have any left afterward, eat it as a tasty little snack. live deliciously lol).

When the oven reaches temperature (if you preheated it at the beginning, it may have already been at temperature for a while) put the pan in and cook for 35 mins. Know your oven and if it tends to be hotter or colder**, adjust cook time as necessary.

When the timer goes off, test the center in several places with a toothpick. As long as it doesn’t come out goopy, you’re good! (crumbs on the toothpick is fine) I say test in several places because if you accidentally go through a chocolate chip, your toothpick will come out wet and chocolatey, but that doesn’t mean the pancakes aren’t done. If it's not done, cook in intervals of 5 minutes, testing when the timer goes off.

Take pan out and use a butter knife or a pie serving spatula and poke around the edges of the pan to free the pancake traybake from the edges. Let cool for 10 minutes.

Cut into squares. I tend to cut 12 pieces, but you could go smaller or larger depending on how much you intend to eat at once.

*By making this recipe you agree to not hold me liable for any chocolate mess that may result from the flicking process (lol).

** How do I know if my oven runs hot or cold, you may ask? If any recipe you make comes out raw and/or takes longer to cook than the instructions say, your oven is colder! If your food ends up burnt and/or takes less time to cook than the recipe instructions say, your oven is hotter!

Enjoy! I eat two squares at a time and it makes a good breakfast! For storing, put however much of it you can eat in 2-3 days in the fridge. Store the rest in the freezer.

I will note, this version of the recipe doesn't form the same kind of cool thick edges like the apple version.

For any customizing other than what I did, use whatever fruit, spices, syrups, and/or protein powders you want! Just be aware that more fruit in the batter means it may take longer to cook!

If you make them, either the same way I did here or differently, let me know how they came out!

†Yes, all sugars are considered wet ingredients. Yes, it is conceptually weird, but there is a reason: because they need to dissolve in liquid in order to be incorporated properly, you add them in with the wet ingredients. It's like Thompson from Gravity Falls, who's kinda in the friend group but only because he performs a specific social role (poor Thomson tho fr fr)

[absentlyabbie]

seriously, though. i work in higher education, and part of my job is students sending me transcripts. you'd think the ones who have the least idea how to actually do that would be the older ones, and while sure, they definitely struggle with it, i see it most with the younger students. the teens to early 20s crowd.

very, astonishingly often, they don't know how to work with .pdf documents. i get garbage phone screenshots, sometimes inserted into an excel or word file for who knows what reason, but most often it's just a raw .jpg or other image file.

they definitely either don't know how to use a scanner, don't have access to one, or don't even know where they might go for that (staples and other office supply stores sometimes still have these services, but public libraries always have your back, kids.) so when they have a paper transcript and need to send me a copy electronically, it's just terrible photos at bad angles full of thumbs and text-obscuring shadows.

mind bogglingly frequently, i get cell phone photos of computer screens. they don't know how to take a screenshot on a computer. they don't know the function of the Print Screen button on the keyboard. they don't know how to right click a web page, hit "print", and choose "save as PDF" to produce a full and unbroken capture of the entirety of a webpage.

sometimes they'll just copy the text of a transcript and paste it right into the message of an email. that's if they figure out the difference between the body text portion of the email and the subject line, because quite frankly they often don't.

these are people who in most cases have done at least some college work already, but they have absolutely no clue how to utilize the attachment function in an email, and for some reason they don't consider they could google very quickly for instructions or even videos.

i am not taking a shit on gen z/gen alpha here, i'm really not.

what i am is aghast that they've been so massively failed on so many levels. the education system assumed they were "native" to technology and needed to be taught nothing. their parents assumed the same, or assumed the schools would teach them, or don't know how themselves and are too intimidated to figure it out and teach their kids these skills at home.

they spend hours a day on instagram and tiktok and youtube and etc, so they surely know (this is ridiculous to assume!!!) how to draft a formal email and format the text and what part goes where and what all those damn little symbols means, right? SURELY they're already familiar with every file type under the sun and know how to make use of whatever's salient in a pinch, right???

THEY MUST CERTAINLY know, innately, as one knows how to inhale, how to type in business formatting and formal communication style, how to present themselves in a way that gets them taken seriously by formal institutions, how to appear and be competent in basic/standard digital skills. SURELY. Of course. RIGHT!!!!

it's MADDENING, it's insane, and it's frustrating from the receiving end, but even more frustrating knowing they're stumbling blind out there in the digital spaces of grown-up matters, being dismissed, being considered less intelligent, being talked down to, because every adult and system responsible for them just

ASSUMED they should "just know" or "just figure out" these important things no one ever bothered to teach them, or half the time even introduce the concepts of before asking them to do it, on the spot, with high educational or professional stakes.

kids shouldn't have to supplement their own education like this and get sneered and scoffed at if they don't.

[shyoko]

They are caught in an intimate moment. ☆

This writing is my own; no copies, adaptations, or translations are allowed. I hope you like it. (English is not my first language.) 

 Requests are: open

I want to thank you all for all the support you’re giving to the reactions ♡♡♡

☆ Contains adult content. !!

Heeseung☆

You never imagined that baking cookies could turn into such a heated make-out session.

Maybe it was the long wait while the oven did its job, or perhaps it was Heeseung’s lingering touches on your skin—light, teasing, yet electrifying. Whatever the reason, the result was undeniable: you were trapped in his arms, your back pressed against the cool kitchen counter as his lips moved hungrily against yours.

Heeseung lifted you effortlessly, settling you onto the counter as his hands wandered freely over your body. A shaky breath escaped your lips when his fingers found the hem of your shirt, and in the blink of an eye, it was discarded onto the floor. His mouth trailed eagerly down your skin, leaving a burning path in its wake.

But the moment shattered in an instant.

—Oh, for God’s sake! Really? Is there nowhere else in this house?! —Jay’s exasperated voice cut through the air, freezing you in place.

Heeseung tensed immediately, his wide eyes locking onto yours in a mix of shock and panic. In a clumsy rush, he grabbed your shirt and helped you cover yourself, his voice caught between an apology and a weak defense.

—How was I supposed to know you were here?

Jay let out an exaggerated sigh, crossing his arms with pure frustration while you struggled to catch your breath and regain your composure.

Damn cookies.

Jay☆

You had decided to stop by the studio to visit the guys, and there you found Jay completely immersed in his guitar practice, rehearsing for his upcoming covers.

You knocked softly on the door, and after a few seconds, a visibly exhausted Jay opened it. His tired eyes and slightly tousled hair only made him look even more attractive.

—Did you not sleep well? —you asked with a hint of concern.

Jay gave you a small, lazy smile, his deep, husky voice filling the space between you.

—Not really… Think you could help wake me up a little? —his tone was sweet, but there was something undeniably mischievous in his gaze.

And just like that, within minutes, you were straddling his lap, feeling him buried deep inside you. According to him, this helped him relax and focus better—but the truth was, every time he shifted, whether to adjust his position or reach for something on the table, the friction sent waves of pleasure through your body, making it harder and harder to stay still.

The heat pooling inside you became unbearable, and after minutes of this slow, torturous game, you couldn’t take it anymore.

—Jay… stop moving, or I swear I’ll start bouncing on you —you warned, your voice shaky with frustration and desire.

He let out a low chuckle, his fingers tightening around your waist.

—Oh, sweetheart… don’t even try. I need to concentrate.

But if he wanted to play, so would you.

Without hesitation, you began moving against him, challenging him. His breathing turned ragged almost instantly, and though he tried to hold you still, the pleasure was too much—forcing small, breathy moans past his lips, mixing with your own.

Everything was going perfectly… until it all went to hell.

—Hey, Jay, could you help me wi—…?

Jungwon’s voice cut off abruptly. His eyes widened in shock, his entire body freezing at the sight in front of him.

You went completely still, your heart hammering in your chest as Jay tensed beneath you. The silence that followed was so thick it was suffocating.

Jay was the first to react, his voice coming out harsher than he intended.

—Jungwon… get out. Now.

The younger boy blinked rapidly, clearly in disbelief, before turning on his heel and stumbling out of the room as fast as he could.

Jay let out a long, frustrated sigh before lifting you off him effortlessly and settling you onto his chair. Leaning in close, his lips brushed against your ear, his voice dropping to a dangerously low whisper.

—I'll deal with you later… Don’t think for a second that I’ll forget how naughty you’ve been.

And with that, he walked out after Jungwon, as if nothing had happened.

But you both knew this wasn’t over.

Jake☆

What started as a quiet movie night ended with Jake pressing you down onto the mattress, his body hovering over yours as his hands slowly explored every curve of your back.

—Are you going to be good for me, baby? —he whispered against your ear, his deep voice vibrating through your skin—. Are you going to let me make you mine?

His lips trailed down your bare back, leaving warm, open-mouthed kisses as his hands settled firmly on your waist. His touch was slow but sure, and just as he finally filled you completely, the sudden sound of a phone ringing shattered the atmosphere.

Jake let his head fall against your shoulder, letting out a low groan of frustration before reaching for the device. Without pulling away from you, he quickly silenced the call and tossed the phone onto the mattress.

—They couldn’t have picked a worse time… —he muttered with a smirk before refocusing on you.

He pulled you closer, pressing your back against his chest as he resumed his movements. His lips found your neck, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

But then the phone rang again.

Jake tensed for a moment before letting out an annoyed sigh.

—Give me a second… —he murmured irritably.

Still holding onto you, he grabbed the phone and accepted the call. Before speaking, he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered in a teasing tone:

—Be quiet for me, okay, pretty girl?

You nodded quickly, biting your lip to suppress any sound.

—Ni-ki? —he answered, his voice still rough.

He tried to focus on the conversation, but right then, his hips moved involuntarily, and the pleasure that coursed through your body was too much to suppress. A muffled moan escaped your lips before you could stop it, forcing you to slap a hand over your mouth.

Too late.

—What the fuck, Jake?! —Niki’s voice rang out, clearly horrified—. Don’t tell me you’re fucking your girlfriend while talking to me! That’s fucking disgusting, dude!

Jake let out a deep chuckle, still holding you firmly against him.

—I'll call you later —he said casually, hanging up without a second thought.

He tossed the phone aside, his hands immediately returning to you, roaming your body possessively before leaning down to kiss your neck again.

—Now… where were we?

The suggestive tone in his voice and the way his fingers tightened around you made it clear—he had no intention of letting you go anytime soon.

Sunghoon☆

You had made plans to have lunch with Sunghoon, Jake, and Jay at a restaurant near the company after they finished their rehearsal. Everything seemed normal as you walked to the place, joking and chatting about random things.

Once seated, each of you ordered your food, and the conversation flowed naturally while you waited. But then, out of nowhere, you felt a warm hand rest on your knee.

Your body tensed immediately. You turned your head toward Sunghoon, giving him a warning look, but he remained as nonchalant as ever, carrying on with the conversation as if nothing was happening. His fingers started moving slowly, tracing light circles on your skin.

You tried to ignore him, forcing yourself to focus on the conversation, but the heat from his palm was impossible to disregard. And just when you thought he might stop, his hand began creeping higher, sliding up your thigh at an agonizingly slow pace.

A shiver ran down your spine. Your breathing grew heavier as his fingers grazed the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, so dangerously close to your underwear that every little touch made you hold your breath.

Discreetly, you caught his wrist in an attempt to stop him, but Sunghoon only pressed further, his fingers slipping between your legs with excruciating slowness.

The first direct touch had you biting your lips to keep quiet.

His caresses were soft but torturous, teasing you mercilessly as you struggled to keep a straight face in front of the others.

Just then, the food arrived. You sighed in relief, thinking that he would finally stop, but you were wrong. His hand didn’t move away—if anything, his touch became even more persistent.

You felt his fingers toying with the thin fabric of your underwear before effortlessly slipping beneath it.

Your back arched slightly, and on instinct, you gripped his wrist more firmly, silently begging him to stop. But Sunghoon only smirked in satisfaction, clearly enjoying the way your body reacted to him without anyone noticing.

Small, restrained gasps caught in your throat, and when your thighs tried to clamp shut, he simply nudged them apart again, his fingers growing bolder in their exploration.

And then, out of nowhere, a sudden jolt brought everything to a halt.

Sunghoon stiffened instantly, pulling his hand away in an instant. He frowned and looked up to see who had interrupted him.

Jake.

The blond was staring at him, his expression neutral, but his slightly furrowed brows made his disapproval clear. Sunghoon shifted uncomfortably in his seat, cleared his throat, and without saying a word, picked up his chopsticks and started eating as if nothing had happened.

You did the same, though your heart was still pounding, and the heat in your cheeks was impossible to hide.

Jay, completely oblivious to the situation, narrowed his eyes at the two of you.

—What the hell is up with you two? —he asked suspiciously.

No one answered. Sunghoon focused on his food, you avoided eye contact, and Jake smirked slightly, clearly satisfied with his intervention.

Jay let out a sigh, still confused.

Sunoo☆

For Sunoo, getting caught in the act was all part of the plan.

He had spent weeks listening to the guys tease him about how sweet and innocent he was, how unlikely it was for him to be with a girl. At first, he laughed it off, but over time, it started to wear on him. Did they really think he wasn’t capable of making someone feel good?

It was time to prove them wrong. And who better to help him do that than you—his best friend?

No words were needed. Just a single moment of tension, a look filled with intent, and the briefest touch before his lips crashed onto yours in a hungry, heated kiss—like you had both been waiting for this moment all along.

Before you could even process it, you were lying on the couch in the living room, Sunoo hovering over you, his body pressing against yours with the perfect mix of softness and urgency. He knew the guys would be back any minute, but rather than worry, the thought only seemed to excite him more.

His lips trailed down to your neck, leaving warm, open-mouthed kisses as his hands roamed freely.

—God… you’re so perfect —he murmured against your lips, his voice husky with desire.

One of his hands slid up to cup your breast gently, while the other trailed lower, fingertips tracing along your stomach before slipping between your thighs. With practiced ease, he found the hem of your underwear and, without breaking his rhythm, slid it down your legs before stuffing it into the pocket of his pants with a smug smile.

The first touch of his fingers against your bare skin made you arch your back. He moved with such confidence, such precision, that you couldn’t hold back a breathy sigh. Sunoo seemed to revel in your every reaction, his lips grazing your skin, leaving faint marks as he went.

And just as the tension reached its peak…

The door swung open.

The sudden sound snapped both of you out of the moment. Your heads turned simultaneously toward the entrance, where the guys stood frozen in place, eyes wide with shock, their faces a mixture of confusion and disbelief.

The room fell into complete silence.

But Sunoo didn’t even flinch.

With the utmost composure, he stood up without letting go of you and effortlessly scooped you into his arms. Turning to the stunned group, he flashed a radiant smile, clearly enjoying the effect his little stunt had caused.

—Oh wow, guys… didn’t expect you back so soon —he said, his tone laced with amusement—. Don’t worry, we’ll make sure to lock the door this time.

He shot them a playful wink before chuckling softly and carrying you off to his room, leaving them standing in stunned silence in the middle of the living room.

Mission accomplished.

Jungwon☆

The boys were just about to go on stage, each of them finishing up their preparations before the big moment. The backstage was pure chaos—stylists rushing back and forth, crew members making last-minute adjustments, and the deafening sound of the audience filling the air.

Amidst all the commotion, Jungwon suddenly appeared out of nowhere, grabbing your wrist and quickly pulling you into the dressing room. The door clicked shut behind him, and before you could even ask what was going on, his body was already pressing yours against the wall.

—Baby, I need you… —his voice was low and breathless, his eyes burning with desire.

You looked at him in confusion until your gaze dropped down—and suddenly, you understood.

—Wonnie… you have to be on stage in seven minutes —you whispered, trying to ignore the sudden heat pooling in your stomach.

He gave you a half-smirk, his fingers trailing softly down your waist.

—That’s exactly how long I need for you to help me with this —he murmured, leaning in just enough for his lips to brush against yours.

A shiver ran down your spine. You knew you shouldn’t be doing this here—not with so many people outside, not with so little time—but the way his body reacted to yours, the desperation in his eyes, the slight tremble in his breath… you couldn’t resist.

You dropped to your knees, your pulse pounding in your ears as your fingers worked quickly to undo his belt. Jungwon let out a shaky sigh as your hands wrapped around him, his body tensing at the first touch.

His fingers tangled in your hair, guiding your movements with barely restrained need.

—God… just like that… —he groaned softly, biting his lip to keep quiet.

His grip tightened slightly, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Every sound that slipped past his lips sent waves of heat through your body, making you revel in the way he melted under your touch.

But then, the door suddenly swung open, shattering the moment.

—What the hell is going on here?!

Sunghoon’s firm, exasperated voice made you freeze instantly. Jungwon let out a frustrated grunt and quickly pulled away, fumbling to fix his clothes.

Sunghoon stared at the two of you, a mix of disbelief and irritation on his face.

—We’re about to go on stage, get dressed already, idiot —he huffed, crossing his arms.

Jungwon let out a heavy sigh, still trying to steady his breathing. Before leaving, he leaned in close to you, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured with a playful pout:

—Promise me you’ll take care of me later… I want more.

And with one last look filled with silent promises, he followed Sunghoon out, leaving you standing there, heart racing and body still burning, knowing this wasn’t over.

Ni-ki☆

It seemed like Jake had only one mission: to make Niki jealous by shamelessly flirting with you.

He spent the entire afternoon showering you with sweet compliments, winking at you, and cracking jokes that made you laugh—all while Niki watched from a distance, his frown deepening and his jaw tightening more and more.

At first, he tried to ignore it. But when he saw Jake leaning in too close, his arm brushing against yours with far too much confidence, his patience finally snapped.

Without a word, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

—Why the hell are you letting Jake flirt with you like that?! —he blurted out, his voice filled with frustration.

—Niki, oh my God, it’s not even tha—

Your words never made it out. Before you could finish, his lips crashed onto yours with overwhelming urgency.

This wasn’t a soft, playful kiss like usual. It was hungry, possessive, as if he needed to make it clear once and for all that you were his.

His hands roamed your body with desperation, gripping your waist before sliding down to squeeze your hips, pulling you even closer against him. You let out a quiet gasp against his lips, which only seemed to ignite him further.

—Tell me I’m the only one for you —he murmured breathlessly, his warm breath fanning against your lips.

His hand slipped under your shirt, trailing up your skin until it reached your chest, his grip firm yet teasing.

—Of course, you’re the only one for me, Niki —you whispered without hesitation.

The kiss deepened instantly, growing more desperate, more consuming… until the door swung open.

—Oh, for God’s sake —Sunoo’s voice broke the moment—. I came to check if you were okay after Jake’s little joke, but I see you’re being very well taken care of… so I’ll just leave.

He rolled his eyes with an amused chuckle before shutting the door behind him, leaving both of you breathless and flushed.

Niki let out a frustrated sigh, resting his forehead against your shoulder.

—Great… exactly what I needed.

But when he looked back at you, his eyes told a different story.

This wasn’t over.

[aethercurrent]

The Incident in the last tags was in relation to leer aka eden rewrite.

check-ins required gdocs. which, like, fine, whatever. bothersome since that thing is laggy as SHIT on my end but i'll live.

i thought

now, you see, i'd been having a wretched time. lowest of the lows i'd had in a while. working on leer had been nothing but the little bit of joy i had at the time. it's nice to work on something experimental and seeing it come together after all! then, The Incident. i paste leer into gdocs thinking it'll be fine.

leer, experimental as it is, is in screenplay format. meaning fully edited and formatted, it looks like this.

leer was nearly finished at that point. it had 60k of its 77k words.

all the formatting was gone. uploading the darned thing didn't make the formatting work either, because the universe fucking HATED me that day. so guess which person going through a hysterical breakdown laugh-sobbing as it progressed, was forced to re-align already aligned text. because the mods said it needed at least the base formatting.

and THAT's why i have a blood feud with gdocs

also read leer please

[afroslacks]

So Good Part 1/?

Sugar Daddy! Elijah "Smoke" Moore x Black! Reader

Don't Copy My Work 😐

Elijah “Smoke” Moore has been my main squeeze—AKA sugar daddy—for the past year. I’m a twenty-one-year-old college girl just trying to get some money. When he DM’d me on Instagram wanting some company, I was surprised, but also intrigued.

“Hello, lil mama.”

“Hi, how can I help you?”

“You can help me by allowing me the pleasure of enjoying your company.”

“Mhm, why do you want my company?”

“Because I see a pretty thing, and I want to spoil her.”

“Send a picture of what you look like.”

Once he sent over a picture—mustache and beard combo, head full of waves, a gold chain to match, and drop-dead gorgeous features—I was instantly hooked. My roommate Tracey chimed in, “Damn, he looks good,” causing me to jump in surprise—I hadn’t even noticed her. I whipped my head around. “Girl, make your presence known! I almost punched you. "Tracey scoffed, waving a hand in my face. “Explain who that fine chocolate is on your phone.”I turned back to focus on my screen. “Just some guy who wants my attention." Tracey laughed. “But that isn’t new—all the guys want your attention." I smacked my lips. “Well, this guy wants my company in exchange for spoiling me.”“Oh, so a sugar daddy,” Tracey realized. “Yeah. I’ll let you know what happens,” I promised, trying to get back to my conversation.

My roommate walked away. “Well, I’ll be watching Bad Girls Club. See you later.”

Four months later, it’s been nothing but sugar baby bliss. Smoke has this way of making you feel cherished—he really enjoys taking care of me. He’s quiet and shy, but he’s oh-so-sweet. Just the way I like it. I don’t want a man who does too much—but I want him to do a lot when it comes to us.

In public, Smoke gives off a tough persona, but people don’t know he’s a lover—and I’ll keep that secret. It’s summer vacation, and he’s been taking me around the world and treating me like a princess. We’re currently at the mall, shopping just for fun.

“Where do you want to go shopping first, baby?” he asks, pulling me closer by the waist.

I scrunch up my face while thinking, then spot a Jimmy Choo sign and immediately drag Smoke along. He’s always been good at giving me the space to explore without interfering—treating me like I’m not one.

We walk deeper into the store and spot a mini couch for him to sit on.

“Go take a seat, baby. Get comfortable,” I suggest, softly rubbing his back as he towers over me. His pretty brown eyes never leave mine.

Before he sits, he leans down and plants a kiss on my full lips. He slowly opens his mouth, requesting tongue as we get lost in our kisses. Moments later, I pull away, distracted.

“We’re getting carried away,” I admit, gently pushing back. “I’m sorry, baby,” I say, feeling guilty.

Smoke’s eyes never leave mine as he sits down, biting his lip and smirking a little. “It’s alright, baby. You’ll make it up to me later,” he promises, then pulls out his phone to handle business—work and investments and all that.

I explore the store for an hour before I find four pairs of shoes I want.

“Baby, I’m ready to get out of here.”

Smoke puts his phone away, rises from his seat—his gold chain swinging—and grabs the shoes in one hand and my smaller hand in the other.

“Let’s go, lil mama.”

After we leave Jimmy Choo, we stop by a local jewelry store. Elijah’s been dying to get me some jewelry. As I walk in, I take in the all-white displays filled with gorgeous pieces and bright lights. Smoke never lets go of my hand while carrying the big bag of shoes in the other.

As I walk past one of the displays, I see a white gold diamond tennis bracelet and necklace set, along with a pink ruby set beside it—which makes me stop in my tracks. Elijah chuckles.

“Which one should I get, baby?” I ask, inching closer to the glass, hypnotized by their beauty. “Why not both?” he replies, kissing my forehead. I turn to look at him. “Seriously?” I want them so bad—I just don’t want to get overly excited. “Of course. Only the best for you, lil mama. You seem to forget—it’s my job to spoil you. You’re also getting a set of earrings to match,” Elijah insists. After grabbing a store attendant, we get both sets—and a pair of pink ruby earrings to match. “Sir, your total comes out to be $7,500,” the cashier saysElijah whips out that black card so damn fast. “Thank you for your services, sir.”

On the car ride back to Elijah’s house, he’s driving with one hand on my thigh while I control the radio. When my favorite song—So Good by Big Sean ft. Kash Doll—comes on (I love this song so much btw), I start singing along and lean over to rub my hand on his head.

Last time I let you fuck, it was amazin’ shit

Love a nigga who aint scared to put his face in it

And I still remember every place you licked

So I sucked the soul outchea just think that dick

I’m a nasty bitch, I can take that shit

Pussy tight as long johns, I’ma make that fit

As I continue reciting Kash Doll’s verse, I glance over to see Smoke smiling wide with a little blush on his face. I know my sugar daddy loves being bragged on, so I don’t mind giving props when they’re due. I lean over to kiss his bearded cheek.

When we arrive home, I take my bags upstairs while Elijah gets started on dinner.

“Baby, I’m cooking tonight. I sent the chef home for the weekend—so it’s just me and you,” he tells me as I head up the stairs to put my things in our shared closet.

Two hours later, we’re laid up on the couch watching TV, our stomachs full. I doze off on his chest until I’m gently shaken awake.

“Time to go upstairs and take a shower,” Smoke demands, rubbing my back.

I whine in protest—I just want to sleep.

“Stop whining before I give you something to whine about, girl.”

That shuts me up quick, because I know I won’t be getting any sleep if he follows through.

“Sorry, Papa,” I apologize, leaning up to kiss his full lips.

“It’s okay. Now let’s go—I’ll clean you myself,” he promises.

He walks behind me to make sure I make it up the stairs, then steps ahead to warm up the shower. I sit on the edge of the bed, sleepily undressing. When he comes out and sees me naked, he tells me to hop in—he’ll be there in a minute.

Moments later, he joins me, washing me first with gentle care before taking care of himself.

We hop out and get dressed. I change into one of his shirts and a pair of panties, with my bonnet on. He’s already in bed, shirtless, in pajama pants. I lay down on my side of the bed and notice a few missed calls from my roommate, Tracey.

I lean my head on Smoke’s chest.

“I’m gonna call Tracey real quick before we go to bed.”

He rubs my head and kisses it as he turns on the television.

I FaceTime Tracey.

“Where have you been, girl? I haven’t seen you in person in a week!”

I pan the camera to show Elijah watching TV.

“Wow. I thought we were a sisterhood, but it is not a sisterhood right now,” she playfully cries, being dramatic.

I scoff and roll my eyes. “Don’t start. I’ll be home in a few days.”

“You better remember, girl—we still gotta go out of town for our girls' trip, remember?”

Elijah chimes in, “How long are you girls gonna be gone?” He looks down at me, pulling me closer, like I could even get closer.

“About a week, baby—we talked about this.”

And by talked, I mean I was talking while he was kissing all over me because he missed me so much.

“Mr. Smoke, sir,” Tracey says, grinning, “can she pretty please come with us on our trip? I promise I’ll take good care of her—I swear!”

She’s literally begging on camera.

He chuckles at her antics, then sighs and looks back at me.

“You can go. But don’t make me fuck someone up. You know I’ll come find you and bring you home myself.”

I nod happily. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

I place my hand on his cheek and pull his jaw toward mine so I can peck him on the lips.

“Alright, well—I’ll see you tomorrow, girl. Good night,” Tracey says before hanging up.

A/N: I might make this into a series. idk I just love a good sugar daddy fantasy. Tell me what you think. See you next time.

[aleese1111]

Bruises and Glances was so good!!! Can you do a part two? 🫶

bruises & glances two | geum seong je x fem!reader

summary: Since the night he broke someone’s face for her, Seong-je keeps coming back—closer each time, his quiet gaze carving a space between them neither dares to name. But when she finally slips him her number, the way he looks at her before stepping into the night doesn’t feel like goodbye—it feels like a beginning, or a warning.

warnings: [fluff i think] seong je being a flirt, mild language and smoking .

author's note: your wish is my command. :P requests (pls pls request)

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , one .. two .. ??

after that night, he came more often.

not every night—but enough that it wasn’t coincidence anymore. always with the same two friends, bruised and grinning like nothing hurt. they took their usual table near the window, like they belonged there. like they’d always been there.

she didn’t say anything the first few times. neither did he.

but the air was different. heavier in the pauses. lighter in the smiles.

his friends noticed first.

the way his eyes followed her. the way hers lingered when she thought no one was looking. sometimes he’d say something low, just enough for her to hear as she passed by, and his friends would nudge each other, biting back their laughs. she pretended not to notice. sometimes she didn’t succeed.

she wasn’t sure what they were now. not exactly friends. not strangers either.

something quiet and slow had settled between them, built from stares and shared silences.

tonight was no different.

he was leaned back in his chair, leg stretched out too far like he was daring someone to trip. one hand wrapped around his water glass, fingers still scraped raw from something recent.

she walked up with her notepad, chewing the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling too much.

“same thing?” she asked.

he looked at her like he had all the time in the world.

“unless you’re finally gonna tell me what you eat.”

“you gonna copy me?”

“maybe.”

“that’s lame.”

he tilted his head. “maybe i just wanna know what you like.”

her stomach did a weird thing. she tried to hide it by writing something that didn’t need to be written.

“you’re taking too long,” he said, voice low and amused.

“shut up.”

“make me.”

and then—

“yah!”

her grandma’s voice cracked through the kitchen like a firework.

“you taking their whole life story or their damn order?”

her entire body stiffened. the boys at the table burst out laughing.

she turned a brilliant shade of red, barely meeting his eyes.

“i’ll be right back,” she muttered, spinning on her heel before he could say another word.

he watched her go, the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth refusing to leave.

dinner passed like that—quiet jabs, a little more open each time. he didn’t say much, but what he did say was sharper now. warmer, in his own way. and she—she didn’t pull away from it.

eventually, their plates emptied. glasses full of melting ice. napkins bunched up and stained with chili oil.

“we’ll smoke outside,” one of his friends said, standing and stretching like a cat. “don’t wait up.”

he said it too casually. too knowingly.

seong je didn’t respond, just waved them off.

the bell above the door jingled as they left. outside, the night buzzed low and distant. a scooter passed. someone shouted two blocks down.

she was wiping down the table beside his, fingers moving in quiet, practiced motions. the shop had settled into that soft, late-hour hush. chili paste still hung in the air. oil still bubbled faintly in the kitchen.

he hadn’t moved.

just sat there, arms resting on the edge of the table, watching her with that usual quiet, unreadable look.

“you always here this late?” he asked suddenly.

she glanced up, a little surprised. “usually.”

he nodded like that made sense. like he already knew.

“must get boring,” he added, picking up a toothpick and twirling it between his fingers. “wiping tables. waiting for creeps to walk in.”

she huffed a quiet laugh. “beats getting my nose broken almost everyday.”

his eyes flashed. amused. “true.”

a beat of silence.

he looked toward the window, where smoke curled faintly from where his friends stood, silhouettes under the streetlamp.

then, without looking at her—casually, like he was still thinking aloud:

“so… if i wanted tteokbokki when you’re not working,” he said slowly, “how would i know where to find you?”

she blinked. straightened a little.

“you don’t,” she said, guarded but teasing.

his lips tugged into that small, crooked grin again. “what if i get desperate?”

she raised an eyebrow. “for food?”

he tilted his head, eyes on her now. something deeper in them. “maybe not just food.”

her breath caught.

he held her gaze. still that easy, slow voice. but something in it pressed closer.

“…you could just tell me,” he said.

she hesitated. then stepped closer, grabbed a pen from the counter, and gently slid a napkin across the table.

didn’t say anything as she wrote.

just handed it over, then turned away like it didn’t mean something.

he looked down at the numbers. then folded it once and tucked it into his jacket pocket like it was the only thing worth keeping.

when he finally stood, the bell above the door jingled soft.

but before he stepped out, he looked back again.

not smiling.

not smirking.

just… looking.

and she was already looking back.

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ , one .. two .. ??

[er1nne]

let him speak

summary: it’s just another chaotic shift in the pitt—until carter tries to speak up during a trauma case and gets talked over, again. you weren’t planning to say anything, but watching him get shut down one too many times pushes you past your limit

warnings : none just standard fluff, a bit of cursing nothing crazy though

word count : 1.2k

author's note : watching ER for the first time & I hate how life + everyone treats Carter for the first season or too, as though life hasn't been harsh enough already. he just needs someone to step in for him :( also, the medical terms and prognosis might be wrong, sorry not in medical school. but you're not here for that anyways

(do not copy or plagiarize, original work)

The trauma room is full. Too full, but honestly, what's new.

It’s the kind of full that doesn’t just crowd bodies—it suffocates focus. Every inch of space is taken. Nurses are shoulder to shoulder, interns squeezed between trays and carts, and the air is thick—humid with breath, sweat, and the stench of blood and antiseptic clashing in the fluorescent light.

The monitors are screaming now, not beeping. The pitch spikes, falls, screams again. No one’s silencing them. Gloves snap onto hands that are already damp with adrenaline, wrists slick, hearts pounding. Every voice is raised, not out of panic—but because no one can hear over the storm.

On the center table lies a man in his early forties—barely conscious, drifting in and out. There’s a fresh, angry scar running down his sternum, ribs mottled in bruising so deep it looks like ink. His gown’s been cut away, exposing a chest that’s rising unevenly. Shallow breaths hitch in his throat. The left side of his body barely moves.

A cold sweat glistens across his forehead. His fingers twitch against the sheets. His blood pressure’s free-falling, oxygen saturation dipping below seventy, and no one’s really processing it. They’re just reacting. Fast. Frantic. No rhythm. No hierarchy. Just noise.

You press gauze to the open wound across his ribs, trying to clear the visual field. Benton storms in next—gloves already on, eyes scanning the room like it’s not moving fast enough. “He’s circling the drain,” he says sharply. “I want a central line, chest tubes prepped, and someone get me a damn ultrasound.”

At the crash cart, two interns are fumbling through drawers, knocking saline vials loose, whispering to each other like they’re afraid to be wrong out loud. Chaos in white coats.

And at the foot of the bed—

Carter.

At the foot of the bed, Carter stands stiffly with the chart tucked under his arm, brows furrowed as his eyes scan the vitals again. The patient’s breathing is shallow, asymmetric. Something’s off. He shifts his weight like he’s about to speak.

He sees it. The pattern on the monitor. The bruising. The shallow breathing that doesn’t match the chest rise. Something’s off. Something subtle but important. He doesn’t look lost. He looks like he sees something no one else is looking for. But he hesitates.

“I think we should—” he starts, voice quiet, uncertain but grounded.

Benton cuts across him immediately. “Push another liter. I want that central line started now. Somebody get surgery prepped. He’s crashing.”

Carter takes a breath, tries again. “I think there’s—”

Carter starts to speak—again—and that’s when your head snaps up.

Because you’ve been watching. From the moment the chaos started, you’ve seen how his words keep getting swallowed whole. He’s not guessing. He’s reading the room. The chart. The patient.

“Get an ultrasound in here,” Doug barks, flipping through the chart. “We need to confirm pulmonary collapse before we put in a chest tube.”

Carter frowns. “But I think it might be—”

You’re across from him, inserting a second line. You glance up at the hesitancy in his voice, the way his shoulders hunch just slightly after each interruption. You catch the way he looks at the screen—like he sees something no one else does.

Your voice cuts in—not harsh, just clear. “Let him finish.”

No one hears you. Or maybe they do, but they don’t care.

Doug’s already turned to an intern. “Go ahead and prep bilateral chest tubes. He’s spiraling.”

“Wait—” Carter steps forward. “If we decompress without checking for tamponade—”

“I said move!” Benton snaps to the team, ignoring both of you now. “Pressure’s dropping—he’s circling the drain!”

You raise your voice slightly. “Guys, just hold up—”

Nothing. Not even a glance.

Carter’s jaw is tight now. His voice lowers, meant just for you. “They’re about to decompress the only lung still compensating.”

You watch him for a second. He’s right. You know he’s right. And they’re still talking over him like he’s not even in the damn room.

You try one more time, sharper now. “Would anyone like to listen to the guy who actually read the chart?”

Benton doesn’t even look up. They keep moving.

“Will someone move?” Benton snaps. “He’s crashing.”

And your hands go still at the IV. You stare at the patient. At Carter. Then back at the room full of men playing hero. Your jaw clenches. Because you’re one second away from ending all of this noise yourself.

“Shut up!”

It tears out of your throat—louder, sharper, and more final than anything else that’s been said all shift. It doesn’t rise above the chaos—it ends it.

The room freezes.

The clatter of the crash cart halts. Gloves pause mid-pull. Even the beeping monitors feel like they retreat, dropping to the background as every head slowly turns. Your boots scuff against the tile as you round the foot of the bed. You don’t yell again. You don’t need to. The fire’s already burning. You cut your gaze across the room—past Doug Ross, who raises his brows but wisely says nothing. Past the pair of interns who now look like they want to melt into the floor. And finally, you land on Benton. Cold. Direct. Daring him to shut you down.

“Would one of you self-important geniuses give him a damn chance to speak? He's here to learn, not stand around like a coat hanger.”

Silence. Dense. No one breathes.

Carter looks like someone just physically removed the pressure from his chest. His eyes are wide—surprised, but underneath that, something else: stunned gratitude and disbelief. Like he’s not used to anyone stepping in, let alone someone like you. He didn't even think you noticed him the way everyone around him is acting like he isn't even here.

He doesn’t speak at first. No one does.

You hold Benton’s stare for another beat. Then, without turning away, you tilt your head slightly in Carter’s direction.

Your voice is steady, clipped, controlled. “Proceed, Dr. Carter.”

That formality isn’t lost on anyone in the room.

He swallows, nods once, then takes a step forward, straightening the chart in his hands like it’s suddenly worth holding again. His voice isn’t loud—but it’s clear now. Confident. Present.

“There’s fluid in the pericardial sac,” he says. “If we decompress the chest now, we risk collapsing the only functioning lung. The right side is already gone—we need to confirm tamponade before we open anything. That means ultrasound. That means draining—not cutting.”

Doug frowns, reaching back for the ultrasound probe. “Right, right. Why didn't I think of that.”

He moves the probe across the chest. Adjusts the screen. Then nods, face shifting from skepticism to focus. “That’s not lung shadowing. That’s cardiac. Look at the compression on the left ventricle.”

Benton doesn’t speak. But his jaw flexes tight. He glances at the screen, then gives a curt nod to the nearest nurse. “Prep for pericardiocentesis.”

No argument. Just movement.

The entire room shifts—like someone yanked it out of autopilot and shoved it back into awareness. Everyone pivots. Everything clicks into place. The chaos doesn’t disappear, but for the first time all shift, it aligns.

You step back from the center, letting the team work. Letting Carter lead.

And in the middle of the motion, Carter glances at you.

It’s brief. No dramatics. Just a look—quick and sharp, like he’s trying to say something he’s never had the space to before. He blushes faintly. Not from embarrassment—but something quieter. More personal. He still clutches the chart like it might vanish if he lets go. His voice is soft. Just for you.

“…Thank you, Doctor.”

You meet his eyes. Hold them just a second longer than necessary. Then nod once, like it’s nothing.

And then the work goes on.

[musingsofheaven]

hiii! i would like to request a patrick x reader (reader is afab and patrick and her are together) — maybe the story starts with him losing a match so he’s like really upset, and during a party (late at night) while we talk to friends (including tashi and art maybe) the reader calls him a "friend"

i would like the fic to be angsty with tension (no smut!) maybe only some explicit scenes but mostly angst (and the story ends well obv)

tysm in advance <3

ALMOST SOMETHING.

summary: you're not together. not really. he never said he loved you. you never said you loved him. typical situationship shit. but he stayed the night. and the next. and the one after that. but it's fine. you're not together… you're just friends. right?

pairings: patrick zweig x afab!reader

warnings: 8.7k words. angst. emotional miscommunication. phone snooping / invasion of privacy. emotional hurt/comfort. mutual pining. 

notes: hi anon i don’t know if i manage to bring your req to your liking but i hope you like this! >_< i wrote this with “casual” by chappell roan on loop (because i need reliving this shit to get an inspiration). heavily inspired by my own past relationship (if you’re reading this, no you’re not). also yes, normal people had me in a chokehold again. unfortunately. if you’ve ever do relationship things with someone but still got introduced as “just a friend” like it didn’t kill you inside? yeah. this is your canon event. i’m so sorry. pls enjoy <3

It’s not really new for you to have Patrick here. It’s not weird, not really, when he’s always here or long enough to have his copy of the key to your place. Well, he’s on your couch, just being comfortable and lazy. His legs are open wide like he’s paying for the rent. What’s in your place? A bottle of half-finished Coca-Cola is already sweating on the coffee table beside a plate of leftover carbonara with both of your forks staying there, not even bothered to finish it, well, not yet, at least.

Look at you; you’re walking around your apartment with a sock and messy bun. You don’t even bother if your sock will be dirty from dragging it on the floor. You are even humming to yourself as if pretending not to wonder if he will stay for the night. Well, ask if he can stay or tell you at least, but maybe you’re assuming something, right? But deep inside, you already know the answer to your question. He will stay even if he doesn’t announce it. He will not wait for the invitation when he always invites himself in.

You like how he was acting that day. He was good earlier. Sweet, or maybe just too good. He kissed your shoulder as you mixed the sauce with the past, his arm sneaking underneath your shirt and tightly holding your waist. He even said something sweet about how he likes having you like this. Caring. Good. Sweet. Although he’s also very clingy, you can tell that he’s still clingy right now, like a goddamn baby.

He keeps getting closer and putting no space between you; he’s invading your personal space. He’s brushing your shoulders when passing by you; you think he’s just finding excuses to touch you like that’s not even a big deal. His touch is not tense. It’s soft and gentle. It was the kind of night that will leave you aching later. That kind of thing that will have you stay up so late to ask yourself about the nonstop thoughts about “What are we?”

And damn, he’s now on your bed. Moved out from your couch when you are walking around the apartment. As he knew from the start that where he would stay, his legs were stretched and comfortable in your sheets, and his boxers were so low in his hips. It showed the goddamn v line and his happy trail, with the damp curls sticking to the back of his neck. His shirt hangs loosely on his body. The TV is still on but muted. More like just a light effect now. He’s still scrolling on his phone like he’s already bored. Waiting for something. Maybe waiting for you. Yeah.

You are standing by the dresser with your towel hanging off your shoulder, revealing your bare legs and skin still warm from the temperature. “I’m going to shower,” you stated.

His eyes remain against the phone screen, and he doesn’t even look up. “Yeah, alright.”

When you start walking and pass the bed, with your barefoot and socks removed, you’re not rushing to the bathroom. He catches your wrist before you get away and out of reach.

“How about skipping it?” he stated, almost pouting, but his eyes dragged down your legs. “You smell like me.”

“I need to shower before going to bed, Patrick.”

“So?” He rolls his eyes at your words as you feel his thumb drawing circles on your wrist. “You smell good, though.”

You make that face. You always make that face when you hear words that make you cringe or maybe when you want to mask what you’re feeling. You try to pull your wrist away, but he tugs back. But it’s not harsh; it’s gentle and easy. It’s enough to make you stop.

“Stay a sec,” he says and sighs before he leans up to press his lips against your cheek. “Then you can wash me away from your body.”

“You’re not even on me,” you mutter innocently, and you don’t even know how it will sound to him.

He grins and rests his head, pressing another kiss against your shoulder. “Yet.”

That made you roll your eyes and finally get out of his grip. Walk away from him and go towards the bathroom. He doesn’t try to get a hold of you again or chase your wrist. He lets himself get comfortable again in your bed.

“You always take too long,” he adds. “That will give me enough time to go through your stuff.”

You scoff and say, “Touch anything, and I’ll lock you out next time.”

He doesn’t respond, but there’s a grin on his face, and it is loud enough already, even though he’s not saying anything.

You go inside the bathroom and push your foot behind you so it will close, which clicks shut behind you. You didn’t even bother to lock it. Why would you? It’s just Patrick inside your apartment. You get off your clothes before showering and turn the water on. The steam flickers around you; it’s slow and warm. When the water hits your body, you breathe easier. You let the water flow away the day, the feelings, and the nerves that you didn’t even realize it’s knotted in your system until he came to your apartment and became comfortable like he always does. Like he belongs here.

In the shower, you take your time. You always do when he’s here. It’s not because you’re relaxed and want to enjoy the water in your body. Because you’re not. It’s because every second he’s in your apartment, it feels like a test you’re about to take when you’re anxious and not even ready to take it yet. You always think. Just think. Think. Think. Like, will he still be in that goddamn bed that god knows what both of you already did there when you come out from this shower? Will he leave the second he thinks you won’t notice?

He’s not a liar. Not really. Maybe he does white lies over little things. But you don’t think he’s a liar. But you know that he just doesn’t know what the fuck he wants, and that is what scares you the most. Uncertainty.

He hasn’t even said he loves you. Trying to avoid the three words. Not once. Not even when he’s inside of you, but maybe some things can be counted. Like when he brought your comfort drink from the coffee shop near your apartment, he even knows you’re a regular there. He always says it’s on the way to your apartment, even though it’s technically not. Sure, it’s close. But not close close. Maybe it can take 15 minutes to walk from your place. You also remember when he replaced the batteries in your television’s remote without saying a word. When you asked him, he said it’s not working; how can he watch his favorite reality show from your Netflix account? He even uses the terminologies or words you use as if he’s already adapting to them. He quoted back the dumb joke you made last week as if it meant something and was funny to his ears. He doesn’t say he loves you, but sometimes you feel like he does. And that’s something scary about his actions. It never came with words and assurance. You are both together, but not together in the same way.

Your mind is lost in that thought while your fingers start to wrinkle under the water, the mirror is fogging up, and your chest is aching like someone stabbed you with an ice pick and pulled it so your blood is spurting out like a fountain, it’s always like this when you remember this isn’t anything. Not really. Not officially.

You think, maybe this could be love. Perhaps it is already, and you’re the only one who has noticed. Worse, the one who feels like it is love.

While you’re in the shower and overthinking what you and Patrick have, the steam of water hisses behind that door. The hum of your voice, like you’re so relaxed and enjoying it, he hears it. Maybe you didn’t realize that it’s loud. And your phone’s on the nightstand, shining and still open because you set the sleep option to 10 minutes, so it won’t take long to close automatically. So it’s unlocked right now. Just… open.

And it’s not like he meant to.

He’s still on your bed, stretched, shirt little lifted so his abdomen is showing, legs crossed at his ankle like he’s bored as if he’s not going to do something awful. Your phone keeps flashing and showing notifications. Messages. Of course, he saw the previews. It’s your friends being loud. Talking about random shit like memes, emojis, and someone’s ex, he presumes. And.. he doesn’t mean to touch it, to tap it. He doesn’t, he swears! But his thumb is already moving as if it has its own life.

And then he keeps looking at it. Of course, it remains open.

What was the first thing he did first? He opened the photos, and the camera rolled first. It’s safe. Easy. Innocent even if he squints.

Just a bunch of random pictures, mostly. A picture from your dinner. A blurry video you took when you’re out with your friends. One of your dumb mirror selfies, face hidden as if you’re shy, and the shirt that is not yours, it’s his shirt, fuck, of course, that’s his. You look good in it. Too good. Like you meant to send it to him, but you got shy. Like you knew he’d see it. Like maybe you wanted him to.

He scrolls a little. There’s one where you’re out, food around you, and it looks like a gathering or a big event. You’re laughing like your whole mouth is smiling. You look happy. Not the pretend satisfied; no, you look like you enjoyed it. You don’t look like you miss him in it. You don’t look like you’re thinking of him at all.

He swipes back to the messages.

Curiosity kills the cat, no? The group chat keeps showing at the top of the phone screen. Jesus, there are so many messages like it’s one of your weekly catch-ups, full of fucking terminologies you guys only know the meaning of, someone talking shit about a guy who ghosted. It’s just girls being girls. It’s nothing. Yeah, it is. He knows that. Right? He shouldn’t be bothered. Not really.

But still, his thumb drags up. Just a little. To see. He’s not snooping. He’s just checking.

He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for by opening your phone. The voices in his head tell him it’s nothing. Assuring himself that he’s just bored because you are taking long again at the show, that he’s just curious because why your phone keeps having notifications, and he’s just scrolling through your phone while you’re rinsing shampoo from your hair, trusting him not to be a dick.

He tells himself a lot of things.

He must be staring at your phone, catching himself looking at the chat and the search bar. He’s itching from typing his name.

He doesn’t.

Well, he doesn’t, not as of the moment, no.

And then, as if an angel had whispered in his ear, he clicked the phone, and it closed. He placed it back where it was earlier, right where your hand will find it when you return, smelling so good and with soft skin.

He pretends it doesn’t bother him, so he lies back on your bed, eyes on the ceiling, jaw tight like he didn’t just scratch something open inside him. Pretend he wasn’t looking for proof you still want him. That you ever did. That this is something.

You’re damp, and water’s still dripping from your hair when you come out from the shower. The shower is just wrapped around your chest. The man doesn’t have shame and pretend he’s not looking at your body. His gaze dragged slowly over your bare and glistening legs like he had any right to stare at you like that.

“Finally done?” he asks, but you wonder if he’s teasing you because you took too long or if he’s just tired of waiting.

But you don’t answer. You walk over to the dresser, remove your towel from your body, and let it fall on the floor like you don’t care he’s staring at your naked back. You rummage for shorts and a shirt; technically, it’s his shirt. The same one you always steal because it’s just so soft and fits you like a dress. You hear him shift behind you. The sheets rustle. When you glance, he’s propped on one elbow now, watching like TV’s gone out, and you’re the next best thing.

He whistles low under his breath. “Damn. You get prettier every time you shower or what?”

You roll your eyes, but your face feels warm. “You’re annoying.”

“Mm,” he hums, grinning. “And you’re not denying it.”

You pull the shirt over your head before turning off the lights in the bedroom, and the only source of light right now is the television. The next thing you do is to crawl into bed beside him. The light from your phone flickers between you. You’re scrolling through your phone to check the texts, something dumb your friend posted, and you feel him shift closer, his arm sneaking around your waist tightly like muscle memory. He nuzzles into your neck with warm breath and lazy affection like he didn’t snoop earlier. Like he’s the kind of man who deserves to hold you like this.

“You not tired yet?” he mumbles against your shoulder.

You shrug. “A little.”

“Then put that down.”

“In a sec.”

He doesn’t argue. He buries his face into the crook of your neck and presses his lips before closing his eyes like it’s his bed, too. He lives here, too.

Stay up for around 15 minutes or 20. With the phone in hand, attention is focused on checking and replying to messages before your body relaxes slowly. Your head falls to his chest. Your eyes are closing slowly. Your grip on the phone loosens. Eventually, you go soft and still.

You don’t mean to fall asleep like that. It just happens: slow, stupid, quiet. You’re not worried about falling asleep because he’s close to you.

It’s the kind of tiredness that creeps in while you’re still scrolling. It’s something you don’t want when you’re goddamn trying to enjoy your phone time! One minute, you’re flicking through texts, thumb mindlessly tapping through photos your friend sent earlier that day and the next, you’re just… still. Eyes half-lidded. Breathing softly. Your head nuzzled right up against his chest like it’s a habit. Like it’s yours to do.

Patrick doesn’t say anything at first. Just lets you stay there. His hand resting on your arm, thumb tracing nothing in particular, eyes still locked on whatever rerun’s flashing on the screen. No noise since it’s muted. His mind is just... floating with dim light. Soft breath against his ribs. He glances down eventually, eyes catching the phone in your hand, but the screen is shut close now.

You’re out.

And the worst part is… he’s about to do something. Again. Which made his heart clutch in his chest.

Because you look peaceful. Trusting. All curled up on him like you’re not afraid of where this goes. Like you’re not waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He shifts slightly, careful not to wake you, sliding the phone from your hand. The lock screen clicks on. He hesitates, thinking over what he’s about to do.

Then he taps it.

Of course, it’s locked now. Of course.

He stares at the screen like it might give him an excuse not to try.

And then he tries anyway.

Your birthday.

Four digits. The month. The day.

It works.

His thumb lingers for a second like he might change his mind. Maybe he’ll lock it again, roll over, and pretend he didn’t think about it.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he opens it. He scrolls past the lock screen and stares at the photo on the home screen. It’s a photo of you that he took. It’s in the open area. It’s a picnic- your idea. Why? Because he’s bitching about tennis, and you thought it would help him destress. Well, it did.

Notifications are quiet. It stings for some reason. He tells himself it’s nothing.

When he opens the messages, he taps them like muscle memory. He’s unsure what he’s looking for until he does it.

Group chat. Her girls. The one that always lights up when they’re together. It’s full of emoji reactions, drunk selfies, and screenshots. He scrolls a little. It’s fine. Normal shit. A meme she laughed at earlier. A TikTok link that they all can relate to. A picture of someone’s outfit.

He’s about to stop.

And then, he types his own name in the search bar.

It feels gross. Feels low. Feels like some insecure dude who doesn’t trust his girl. But he does it anyway.

And there it is.

A conversation from a few nights ago. Time-stamped around 1:23 a.m. You were in this same bed. Right next to him, and he’s sleeping already that time. Yeah, it was a day ago when you two fucked...

He just read many messages; he didn’t even read from the top, where it all started. His eyes locked to certain words like...

“why is he still staying over?”

“he doesn’t even call you his girl.”

“you’re letting him use you for.”

“babe. come on. you deserve someone who actually wants you.”

“are u settling for something casual when u know it’s not?”

You didn’t say much.

Didn’t argue.

Didn’t defend him.

You just sent a short, cold message saying, “idk, lol.”

That’s it.

That’s what offends him.

Not the shit they said, but that you let them. That you didn’t even try. You shrugged and let them call it what it was and didn’t bother pretending it was something else.

He stares at the screen for a long time. Doesn’t scroll. Doesn’t breathe.

It’s not like he expected a speech. But fuck. Something. Anything. A maybe. A not fair. It’s not like that.

Not a shrug and a laugh like he never mattered.

You shift in your sleep beside him. Head nudging against his chest. The phone was still warm in his hands.

He closes the app, removes it from the recently opened apps list, and locks the phone before placing it on his bedside table.

And for the first time in weeks, he doesn’t feel like he belongs here.

He feels stupid.

But in your part that time, you’re just tired of arguing with your friends. Of course, they don’t like him. She already defends him to them multiple times. It’s just... that night, she’s just tired, maybe. Her mind is full of overthinking shit that she doesn’t bother to listen to their words and just lets it slide by saying she doesn’t know.

Patrick is the first one who wakes up, and the sounds of dishes clinking from the dishes are the ones who snatch you from your slumber. You can feel the faint light from the sun that slips through the curtains, that are not enough to blind the whole room. But the sheets are still warm, the shape of his body still marked against the bed where he was, although it’s empty now. It doesn’t take long to realize that he didn’t wake you. He didn’t shake you to say he’s going to do something. Doesn’t kiss your cheek or your shoulder. That will make your body warm because he always does that. You didn’t wake up to see him lying beside you and staring at you. No soft “I’ll be back,” no “Sleep more.” Just gone.

You roll onto your back, staring back at the ceiling. You look to your side and see your phone there on the nightstand. You think he must have taken it from your hand when you fell asleep. Nothing feels wrong at first. It’s just… quiet.

When you leave the room to go to the kitchen, you see him already dressed for the day. Just pants, a shirt, and sneakers that are still untied. He’s holding the coffee maker and pouring one of your to-go cups like he’s so eager to leave you without saying anything or waking you up. Haor is still damp, probably from a quick shower he took, and he doesn’t even notice you’re standing close to him.

“Hey,” you say while walking close to him and rubbing at your eyes. “Didn’t know you were up.”

“Didn’t want to wake you.” Still no eye contact. What happened to him? He’s acting so cold... or maybe avoiding you. You feel it in your bones.

You lean over the counter and ask him a question, even if you’re unsure, “Did you already eat?”

“Nah. Not hungry.” He caps the coffee and reaches for his tennis bag.

Something’s off. You know that. How? You feel it in the way he doesn’t reach for you. Or get too clingy. He always wants his hands on you. Don’t tease. Doesn’t smile.

“Big day,” you say, trying to sound energetic and smile at him. “You ready?”

He nods. Still not looking at you. “Yeah.”

You step closer, reaching for his arm, just lightly. “Hey. You good?”

Finally, he looks at you just for a second, but he doesn’t swat his arm away from you. That’s good. “Yeah. I’m just focused.”

You smile, trying to believe it. “Well… win for me. Alright?”

His jaw twitches like he might say something else, something real, but he doesn’t. But you noticed the way the movement of his jaw before he leaned in and brushed his lips against your temple.

“I’ll see you later,” he murmurs.

“Mhm, yeah, at the after party,” you said, and then he was out the door.

And you’re just there. Still in the kitchen. Left standing there in his shirt, still sleepy, and wondering why your chest feels heavy.

He’s cold. He’s distant. He’s not like that. Sure, sometimes he might be, but not like that. And you don’t know it yet, but he’s already going to lose the match way long before he steps onto the court.

His first problem? His body appeared in the match alongside him. He’s not in a condition to do it.

The second problem is that no one notices this. Maybe he masks it so much that his coach doesn’t see it, not the staff, not even his friend Art, who’s across the court. Because that’s how he is. Patrick knows how to fake it. He always has. He always will. Head down, shoulders squared, hands twitching around the racket like they know what they’re doing like he’s still locked in. But he’s not. Not even close.

The truth is ugly, small, and stupid. He couldn’t sleep last night.

Not because he’s nervous. Not because he’s having second thoughts to get in the fucking court. Not because of his body. Not because of nerves. Because of what he saw. Because his hand got the itch and he opened it. Without your consent. He chose to snoop. He chose something that would bother him.

You said nothing. Just “idk, lol.” That’s it.

Now, he’s the one crashing out here. He’s staring at the sun like he’s wishing it blinds him. But only blinking again, it’s like it’s your spotlight and not his match. Like he’s walking around as if there’s a heavy baggage on his back that weighs more than it should. Like every breath hurts just enough to notice.

Of course, of course. He fucks up the first serve. Too fast. Too wide. Sloppy.

When will the second one land? It’s shit. It lands but barely. He returned it too late. He has no reaction time and moves slowly, like a snail. His feet drag. His arms tense.

And it spirals from there.

From there, every serve he gives is shitty. Every point feels so fucked by the system. His body drags him throughout the match, seeing if he will break. If he curses out to get a violation. Or smash his racket. He’s sweating too early. Breathing too fast, like he didn’t train the breathing exercise throughout his career. His coach says something from the sidelines, but he doesn’t even manage to hear it. Not really.

His head is somewhere else.

With you, maybe. Or not even with you. With your phone. That screen. That conversation. That group chat.

“why are you doing girlfriend things without the label?”

“you deserve better.”

He keeps hearing it. Over and over. Like it’s echoing inside his fucking skull. As if he’s losing his mind and starts hearing things he shouldn’t hear. Like he’s returning the ball to silence you from his mind.

He messes up again, double-faulting in the second set. He doesn’t even swear. He slumps his shoulders and hangs his head. The racket feels weird in his hand.

He knows he’s losing. And he knows it before the score shows it. He can feel how his body jerks too sharply on the backhand. On the way, the crowd is muttering instead of cheering. On the way, Art glances over at him, looking worried, like he’s never seen this version of Patrick before.

And he barely registers it when it’s all over- the handshake, the camera flashes, the reporters swarming him. He walks through the tunnel like he’s in a daze- a slow, suffocating one.

He doesn’t even bother checking his phone. He doesn’t need to.

Because the thing that’s eating at him isn’t what you said.

It’s what you didn’t say.

And that? That’s the real loss he’s feeling.

The after-party is not fancy, not even close. It’s not one of those after-parties sponsored by foundations or rich people. This one is the usual post-match bullshit or gathering in one place. The music is too loud. The lighting is so dim that you won’t clearly see the faces who are there. Bodies are so close and crammed onto booths, corners, and stairs that everyone doesn’t know where they should be. Someone said this was a casual, low-key, familiar face who would be inside this downtown bar. But now? There are thirty people here. You’re guessing there might be more. Teammates. Coaches. Friends of friends. Tennis people. Everyone knows how this goes.

Win or lose, there’s always a drink after.

You came because you always do. Well, maybe it’s because you are surrounded by tennis people like Patrick, Tashi, and Art. But it’s not about showing up would say something. Because Patrick didn’t text you, and you didn’t text him either, and now it’s like you’re walking on eggshells.

You spot him the second you walk in.

Of course, he’s already here. Jackass. Didn’t even manage to message you and ask if you’ll really come. He’s leaning against the wall near the exit like he’s avoiding people. Yeah, you heard that he lost. Badly. His hair is still damp from the shower, or perhaps from the sweat in this hot place. It’s sticking on his forehead and the back of his neck. He’s casually wearing a black, loose at the shoulders, collarbone half-visible, eyes on anything but you. The drink in his hand was probably not his first drink. You can tell by how he holds it; he is already loose, distracted, and lazy. Not drunk. Just… heavy. Like his hands forgot how to rest.

He hasn’t looked at you.

Not once.

You’re not surprised. You haven’t spoken since the morning. Since you told him, good luck. Since he kissed your forehead out of habit, he did not care. Since he left, the bed was too loud.

You thought maybe he’d text after. He didn’t. You didn’t either.

So now you’re here. And he’s here. And the space between you is full of people who don’t know anything.

Everyone else assumes you’re together. Of course, they do. You showed up to the tournament together. You’ve been seen in his circle. Always having people speculate if you’re his girlfriend, and you’re close enough to whisper, close sufficient to disappear together. That’s what they think this is.

When do they see you? They will smile as if they’re telling you something. Sometimes, they will ask you where he is. Ask you if you can tell him things. Tell you, he looked pissed after the match like maybe you’d know why.

And you don’t say anything. You hold your drink with both hands and nod at all the correct times. You laugh when you’re supposed to. Smile with your mouth but not your eyes. You don’t even know what you’re waiting for.

You catch glimpses of him across the room. Once, his eyes flick your way, but not fully. Not enough to call it a look. Just enough to hurt.

You know he’s mad. You don’t know how deep it went. You don’t know if he’s mad at you, at himself, or at how everything cracked, and neither of you had the guts to pick it up before it got worse.

You wonder if he’s gonna come over.

You wonder if he’s waiting for you to do it first.

Fine. You’ll try. Yeah, you, again.

You walk towards his direction and look at him up and down before you tap your foot against the floor as if you’re impatient and want him to look at you. “Heard about what happened in the match,” you said directly. Beating around the bush. Too comfortable to say that directly.

“Is that why you’re not talking to me?” you ask again. You look at his hand clutching his drink while he’s looking down at it.

“What?” he scoffs before finally meeting your gaze.

“I mean,” hesitated. Your lips closed, and take a deep breath.

“Talk to me?” softer this time. Waiting for him. Gauging him to break, maybe he will if you speak more softly.

But he didn’t. He licks his lips and twitches his jaw slightly, but you don’t catch that because they didn’t really show details. He’s in a bad mood because, yeah, partly because of the match. Most of it? Because of you. Not that you know that.

“Not right now, okay?”

Ah.

Yeah.

Ouch.

You nod before walking away from him, and your shoulders fall as you turn away and find other familiar faces.

You could feel the place being warm and loud but in a distant kind of way. The party is happening, but you’re just... there. There are just muted beats. Bowl of melting ice cream cake on a drinking table. Now you’re talking with Tashi and Art while sitting on this couch you managed to save. And yeah, with another girl, some mutual friend of Tashi, you think. She’s wearing her she’s already slipped off and holding her wine by the rim like she’s never drunk before in her life.

They’re laughing. You are just not sure about what, though. Tennis or not. You haven’t kept track of the topic they’re talking about anymore. You’re tired. You’ve been here too long. Art’s nursing a beer. Tashi has something clear, with ice melting into it too quickly. You don’t know what the person next to her is drinking, only that they keep swirling it too often and talking like they’ve been here longer than they have.

“Do you ever think about quitting?” the stranger asks suddenly, looking at Art, then Tashi. “Like… just walking away? From tennis, I mean.”

Art huffs a dry laugh. “I think about it all the time.”

“Never,” Tashi says, almost at the same time.

They glance at each other.

Art shrugs. “What? I’ve got a bad body. A couple more losses, and I’m one tournament away from teaching pickleball to retirees.”

“You’d hate retirement,” she says, sipping her drink. “You’d be one of those guys who paces the kitchen at 3 a.m. trying to relive a backhand volley.”

You smile a little. Tashi’s always like this. Blunt, lowkey cruel, but never wrong.

“I’d be a great coach,” Art mutters.

“You’d be insufferable.”

The stranger laughs, leaning toward you. “Do you play too?”

You shake your head. “God, no. I just watch.” You wish. Maybe you know how to play. But more like a hobby, not at a tournament level, like the three. Try to learn to hang out with them more. Or maybe because they keep insisting on teaching you.

“From the box seats, huh?” They gesture the shape and smirk. “You’re dating one of them?” she says, teasing, “who was the guy with you earlier?”

You blink. “What?”

She waves her hand like she’s trying to remember it. “The one with the curls. Brunette Tall. Real serious face.”

“Oh- Jesus. Patrick?” You laugh. Dumbly. Without even looking around. “No… He’s just a friend.”

That’s when it happens.

You don’t think.

You don’t hesitate.

You don’t even realize it.

You don’t think about it. Don’t even mean it. It just comes out. Your dumb, big mouth just let it out. The way anything does when your brain’s on autopilot and you’re still trying to track a conversation that’s three jokes ahead of you.

But Tashi doesn’t laugh.

Art doesn’t smile.

Even the girl who doesn’t even know you goes kind of quiet.

Of course, you feel the shift in the scene. That soft, silent ripple in energy. Tashi’s eyes lift. So does Art. The girls, too. Like something’s moved behind you.

You turn.

And he’s right there.

Patrick. Feet away. Standing still. Drink loose in his hand, eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them. Their shoulders drew in like he was trying to stop himself from shattering right here.

He must’ve walked up behind you. Must have heard it just as a friend, like a punchline.

He doesn’t say anything.

Doesn’t need to.

Patrick hasn’t moved.

Not a step.

Not a sound.

When you finally look at him, he’s already looking at you.

And his face?

His face is nothing. Blank. Flat. That calm, unreadable quiet that says you really fucked this up, and I’m not going to make a scene, and this is precisely what I should’ve expected.

He looks away first before walking away.

Tashi lets a low breath through her nose and puts her glass down without looking at you.

Art frowns. “Damn.”

You feel your heart clench.

You open your mouth. Close it. Try again. “Patrick...”

But he’s already walking off.

Tashi sighs. Eyes looking at you as if she’s saying something, maybe, why are you this stupid? “Hey.”

Art lifts a brow, not unkind. “Might wanna run after that one.”

And you just… stand there.

Still. Ashamed. Like someone throws cold water in your body, and you’re freezing.

Then your legs start moving.

Fast.

Because that wasn’t nothing. That wasn’t a casual comment. That wasn’t the kind of thing you say when the person you love... What love? What the fuck. Okay, maybe the love of your life is standing right there behind you.

That was a lie.

And you don’t even know why you said it.

You wish you could return to that time, and don’t say that at all. Not because it wasn’t true, but because it wasn’t kind. Because you’re being dumb. You’re being insensitive. Because you could’ve said anything else. Could’ve smiled. Could’ve joked. Could’ve said “something like that” or “don’t worry about it” or literally anything that didn’t sound like you were scrubbing him off your name in public.

But you didn’t.

You said, “Just a friend.”

And there were you fucked up.

You catch up to him outside just past the

The exit, half a hallway away, steps echoing off cold tile. He doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t turn. You grab his arm.

“Patrick,” you say, voice shaking.

He stops but doesn’t face you. His jaw is tight, and his body is like a rock; you can feel the tension.

You step in front of him. “Hey. Don’t do that. Don’t just walk away. Please”

He finally looks at you, and his eyes are not fully angry. It’s something worse. Quiet disappointment. That sick, sinking kind. The kind you feel in your teeth. It’s fucking worse than anger. Anger is something you can take. Disappointed is something you will dwell on for months.

“You really said that?” he mutters. “Just a friend?”

You open your mouth, but he keeps going.

“You couldn’t come up with anything else? Not even a maybe? Not even a laugh?” His voice cracks on the edge. “You said it like you meant it.”

You blink, stunned. “I didn’t... It wasn’t like that...”

“No? Then what was it like?” He swat his arm away from your hold. “What the fuck was it, huh? Just a reflex? Some automatic response to erase me in front of everybody else?”

“Why are you acting like I did it to hurt you?”

“Because it fucking hurt,” he snaps, but his voice is not raising. Still thinking you’re in public. “I was standing right there, and you said it like I was no one.”

You exhale hard. “So this is what we’re doing now? Picking apart throwaway comments?”

“That’s the thing,” he says, voice lower now, almost laughing. He shakes his head, as if what an absurd comment you just made has made him do that. “You throw me away all the time.”

That hits. Sharp and cold.

You almost glare at him, nearly too stubborn. “You never asked me to call it anything else.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault?” His laugh is bitter. “Of course.”

“I’m serious,” you spit. “You don’t get to act hurt when you’ve kept this undefined since day one.”

“And you’ve been just fine with it, haven’t you?”

You stare at him. “Don’t.” You bite your cheek and try to calm down a little.

“No, really,” he says, eyes narrowing. “You play this whole casual girl thing so well. Pretend it doesn’t bother you. Pretend you don’t care. You think I don’t notice?”

You cross your arms like you have something to prove. “Oh, I’m sorry. Should I have begged for a label? Would that have made you feel better?”

“I would’ve taken anything,” he says. “Literally anything but that.”

You go quiet.

Then you say, “You’re so fucking quick to make this about you.”

He scoffs. “It was about me.”

“No,” you snap. “This was about you seeing one moment and blowing it up so you don’t have to admit you’re scared. You are terrified of needing someone. Like you always have.”

“Don’t act like you’re not.”

“I’m not the one who left this morning without saying goodbye.”

“I was trying to protect myself.”

“From what?” your voice raising, but not enough to be loud through the loud music. “From being liked? From someone actually giving a shit about you?”

He says it quietly. “I saw your phone.”

You look at him as if he has just betrayed you. “What?”

“I saw what they said about me,” he continues. “Your friends. Calling me a waste of time. Saying I don’t treat you right.”

Your stomach drops. “Patrick...”

“You didn’t say anything.”

“It wasn’t,” You bite the inside of your cheek. “It wasn’t like that.”

“You didn’t defend me.”

“I didn’t think I had to,” you say quickly, but it sounds thin and brittle.

He scoffs under his breath. Looks away. “Of course you didn’t.”

You fold your arms, that sick weight settling in your chest. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like that. Cold. Nonchalant. Like I didn’t care.”

“You didn’t, though,” he says and snickers. “Or not in a way that counted. Not in a way that mattered when it actually fucking hurt.”

“I didn’t know it hurt,” you say, voice cracking. “You never say when things hurt.” Yeah, because that’s how he is. No one will know when he’s hurt.

“Because I don’t want to be fucking pitied,” he mutters. “Because I don’t want to come off like some clingy piece of shit begging for scraps of affection.”

“That’s what you think I’m doing?” you spit. You open your mouth and nod like he’s being a piece of shit, which he is. “I’m the one who has to guess how you feel all the time. You show up, leave, kiss me like I’m yours, and pretend nothing changes.”

He stares at you hard but doesn’t answer.

“You want to know why I didn’t say anything to them?” Your voice is shaking now. “Because I didn’t know where we stood. Because you never told me. Because I’m tired of being the only one who asks for things.”

His jaw clenches.

“I give you everything,” you say. “And you give me just enough to stay.”

“That’s not fair.”

You laugh. “Isn’t it? Then tell me what this is. Say something real for once.”

He’s quiet for a beat too long.

And that hurts worse than anything.

You whisper, “That’s what I thought.”

His eyes flash the pain, maybe anger, definitely fear. “You want real?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.” He breathes hard. “I didn’t ask you to be mine because I thought you’d say no. I wanted more because I figured you’d pull away the second.”

You freeze.

“Every time I felt close to you, I backed off,” he says. “Because I didn’t think I could keep you. You’re all in one second, then guarded the next. I never knew what the fuck to believe.”

Your throat tightens. “You never told me that.”

“And you never asked,” he fires back.

“I asked all the time!” you yell. “I asked with every look, every time I stayed up waiting for you, every time I fucking hoped you’d text me goodnight.”

He exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I didn’t want to need you that much.”

“Well, congratulations,” you snap. “You didn’t act like it.”

“You made me feel like I was temporary.”

“And you made me feel like I was too much.”

Silence.

Painful. Petty. Loud.

Both of you are breathing hard.

Both of you think the other doesn’t get it when, really, neither of you does.

Finally, he shakes his head. “You should’ve defended me.”

“And you should’ve chosen me,” you whisper.

There it is. The deepest wound. The ugliest truth.

“I was in your bed,” he says softly. “And I still didn’t feel like I was yours.”

“I wanted you to be,” you say. “But I couldn’t be the only one who knew it.”

He doesn’t say anything. And that’s the worst part. The silence. The cowardice of it. Because silence is the loudest response.

So you look at him, as if trying to memorize this version of him. The one who almost loved you out loud. The one who nearly shows himself to you.

And he looks back like he wishes he knew how to say sorry without choking on it.

Then he walks past you.

And this time, you don’t stop him.

Because maybe the real pain isn’t that he walked away. You both think the other is the one who let go first.

Because every time you both fuck up, you both blame it on each other’s love. Both of you are scared. Full of misunderstanding. Work so well, but fucking cowards.

While you? You go back to the party, but you don’t even remember leaving after hours.

One second, you watched him walk away; the next, you were outside, keys shaking in your hand, trying to unlock your car without crying.

You don’t cry in the parking lot while opening the car. No. Maybe you did, but not until the door is closed. Not until the engine’s off and you’re parked back outside your apartment, forehead pressed to the steering wheel, breath caught somewhere in your ribs. That kind of ache. That stupid, helpless ache that only comes when someone doesn’t break your heart outright. They just don’t protect it. The type of pain you will beg a psychiatrist to give you painkillers or mood stabilizers just to make you don’t feel anything.

You sit there a while. Lights off. Face hot. Your phone buzzes once, then again. You don’t look. You already know it’s not him. He got too big of an ego to do that. Prideful even.

Upstairs, the apartment feels too quiet. His soda is still in the fridge, his hoodie’s on the chair, and the leftover pasta you didn’t finish is still on the coffee table, forks crossed like they’re waiting for someone to return.

You don’t throw anything.

You don’t scream.

You just… turn on the hallway light. Leave it glowing.

You don’t lock the door.

You never do when it’s him.

Instead, change your clothes, and you crawl into bed in his shirt. Try to scroll. Try to read. Try to not wonder where he is. If he’s thinking about you. If he’s just as sick about it as you are. But every thought echoes the same. You said he didn’t choose you. He thinks you never wanted him. You were both wrong. You were both right.

When you wake up hours later, the light in the hallway is still on.

And the door is still unlocked.

But no one’s come through it.

You can’t sleep. Not when you feel like that. Not when you’re in this shitty state. Not when you close your eyes. You just repeat what happened.

But what you didn’t know is Patrick hasn’t gone home either.

He’s just driving. Driving like he’s just wanting to dry his gas off his car. Driving on a loop through the neighborhood like he’s on some sort of movie who can’t escape the same route he doesn’t recognize, music low, headlights off when he parks. He sat outside your building twice. Lit a cigarette. Didn’t smoke it. Wrote out a text and erased it. Thought about calling. Thought about saying I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t know how to do this without ruining it.

You’re in bed. His shirt is on your skin. No pants. Just in the fabric he left in your drawer and the hallow in your chest that hasn’t gone down since they both implied the, “You ruined it,” and “No, you did.”

The light is still on.

You didn’t bother turning it off when you went under the covers. You didn’t even lock the door. You’re such an easy target for someone who wants to break in.

You don’t know why. But part of you hope he’ll go to your place tonight. Apologize. To fix things. And maybe there’s always part of you that leaves the door unlocked when it’s him so he can access your life.

And when it finally happens, when the front door creaks open soft enough to sound like a dream, you don’t move. Not even when you hear his steps. Not even when he stops at the foot of the bed.

He doesn’t say a word, just quiet.

He just walks around to the other side, he’s unsure compared to his usual cocky self. He doesn’t climb to the bed or even reach for you.

He sinks to the floor beside your bed.

Sits there, back against the wall. Legs bent, arms hanging loose over his knees. Breathing like he ran here. Breathing like he’s still trying to come down from everything.

You stay still.

You don’t ask him what he’s doing. You don’t ask why he’s here.

Because you know.

Because this is how he says sorry.

Not with apologies. Not with speeches. But with silence. With presence.

With staying when it would be easier to leave.

So you let him.

You turn onto your side, eyes fixed on the corner of the room, tears burning but unshed, and whisper, so quiet you’re unsure if it’s for him or yourself.

“I left the door open,” you say.

He doesn’t answer.

But a minute later, his fingers brushed against the edge of the mattress.

Not asking. Not asking permission to touch you.

Just… there. It doesn’t go further.

You stay still, like maybe if you don’t move, this won’t have to become any harder than it already is. But then your hand slides down, hesitant, and your fingertips find his. You didn’t intertwine it with his hand, though.

Neither of you say anything for a while.

The silence is thick. Heavy with everything you screamed earlier. Everything you didn’t.

Then, softly, so softly it barely sounds like him, he says: “I don’t know how to love someone who might not stay.”

You blink up at the ceiling.

He swallows. “I keep waiting for it. For you to get tired. For you to wake up and realize I’m not what you want. That I never was.”

This time, you wrap your hand against his hand and tighten your fingers around his.

“I think about it all the time,” he says, voice cracking a little and lacing with doubt. “Every time you go quiet or pull away or don’t text back right away. I tell myself, ‘There it is. That’s her leaving.’ I’ve lived in that space my whole life. I don’t know how not to.”

You turn your head toward him. His face is barely visible in the dark.

“I don’t say the right things,” he adds. “I shut down. I act like I don’t care before you can prove that I was stupid for caring in the first place.” Because that’s not how he is. He just... he’s never really open with it.

You breathe in, breath shaky. “I don’t want to leave.”

He nods slowly, trying to acknowledge it. But his voice doesn’t believe it. “You said I was just a friend.”

“I didn’t mean it...”

“I know. That’s what hurts.”

You close your eyes. “I say the wrong thing when I panic. I ruin moments that mean something because I fear needing them too much.”

Silence.

“I didn’t defend you to my friends because…” You bite your lip. “Because part of me thought maybe they were right. Not about you. About me. That I wasn’t worth more than ‘almost’ because it’s always like that, always liked but not pursued.”

His breath catches.

“I didn’t think you’d choose me,” you whisper. “So I never asked you to. I’m scared to be the one always asking people, so I just let them give me what they can give.”

For a moment, there’s only breathing between you.

Then his hand moves up, slow, dragging along your wrist. He presses his forehead to the side of the bed.

“I don’t know how to be enough for someone who already thinks I’m not.”

Your voice trembles. “I don’t know how to believe someone will stay just because they say they will.”

He looks up at you, finally. And it’s all there. The pain. The shame. The hope.

“But I want to,” he says. “With you, I want to try.”

You nod. Barely. “Me too.”

He climbs into bed beside you, slow and uncertain. He’s afraid even this might be too much.

You don’t kiss. Don’t even touch. Just lay there, shoulders almost close, hearts close under the same ceiling. The air between you is still tight, with things unsaid but softer now. Worn down to the truth of it.

Then his fingers shift. Brush against yours like a question.

You don’t pull away.

You feel him next to you, breathing in slowly. It hurts. Like it matters. And then, gently, Patrick presses his forehead to your shoulder. Doesn’t say anything. Just rests there for a moment. Warm and quiet and close. His lips graze your skin once. A small kiss. Not in a way; he’s asking for sex. Not trying to heat up the moment. No. Just sorry. A, please. A still here.

You close your eyes.

You don’t say anything.

And then, “Are you staying?” you whisper.

He exhales like it’s the only thing he’s wanted to hear all night. Doesn’t look at you. Just nods slowly.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m staying.”

It’s not fixed. Not even close.

But it’s something.

And for now, that’s enough.

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓© 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

[sunnypopoki]

— MUZZLE : P.7

(Yandere Mafia Husband x Female Reader)

SYNOPSIS: Your husband has been suspicious lately. Going out for days on end, answering suspicious phone calls, being extra clingy when he can... is he cheating on you? Little do you know, it's nothing like that. The world of the mafia is unforgiving.

TW: INSECURE REALISTIC FEMALE READER, FOUL LANGUAGE, MARRIED RELATIONSHIP, YANDERE CONTENT, MATURE THEMES, OVERTHINKING READER, AFAB READER, ETC.

THIS STORY HAS YANDERE CONTENT. THAT MEANS THERE WILL BE MORE MATURE CONTENT. THIS IS IN NO WAY A STORY MEANT TO ROMANTICIZE YANDERES, SO PLEASE DO NOT DO SO EITHER. PLEASE DO NOT COPY THIS STORY. ALL RIGHTS ARE RESERVED TO POPOKI ON WATTPAD, QUOTEV, AND TUMBLR.

P.6 / P.8

Promises were said to be sacred, but after the following days, you gave up on thinking on such a childish claim. You were walking on a tightrope and before you knew it, you finally started to hear it withering below.

Kieran did his best to stay true to his word but in the end, it was nothing more than a fruitless dream said in the heat of the moment. He ended up picking up his phone calls and you ended up sleeping alone. You were losing the energy to care even if your heart throbbed at the thought.

Stepping off the bus, you pulled your bag up your shoulder and sighed. Kieran took the car that morning to work and so you were forced to take the bus to get to college. If he knew, he'd most likely apologize over and over again, and then never let you ride the bus again. He was always finicky about public transport.

You hopped around the puddles left from the early morning rain.

Ever since the breakdown in the car with Kieran, even to go as far as snapping at Danny, you've done a lot of self-reflection. And you mean a lot. While you were going to school for psychiatry to become a therapist, you weren't the best at regulating your own emotions. It was easier to point out other people's issues rather than pointing out your own.

Maybe I do need to look into seeing a therapist, you thought. It would be better than snapping at people.

Because in truth, you felt guilty. Very guilty. Not about everything else that's going on—but because of how you treated Danny. Everyone knows that it's easier to look back on your mistakes after they pass, and now that you were looking back on that lunch, you saw a lot of things that you could have done differently.

Like the fact he actually did care. Sure, you didn't realize it then, but now you could. How he tried to comfort you when you were spacing out, how he asked how you were doing, telling you that he trusted you enough to want you to work with him.

"He probably wouldn't have told me about my dad if he was working for him," you mumbled under your breath. "He wouldn't have even brought him up. If he wanted to manipulate me, there was no reason to bring up my father."

You assumed the worst. You assumed Danny was just like your dad, just because he happened to be a businessman too. How sad, right? You were so stuck in the past that it was hard to appreciate the love you had now.

Danny wasn't a bad man but you were so quick to assume he was even though you hadn't seen him in half a year. You acted just like how your father treated you; cruel, judgmental, selfish. You didn't take into account what Danny felt. Maybe he was just as anxious as you, he always did have social anxiety in school, even with his good grades.

For someone who wants to become a therapist, you were pretty quick to judge an old friend just because they talked about a topic that made you uncomfortable. How would Danny know it made you uncomfortable? It wasn't like he could read your mind. He hadn't seen you in six months and you expected him to still know everything about you?

You bit your lip. Damn it. Why did a throw a tantrum like that? I even yelled at Kieran.

Guilt was like a sword doused with poison. The moment you realized what you did after some self reflection, there was a sharp pain in your chest like a blade plunging into your heart. Then there was the creeping sensation of nausea each time you thought about what you did, getting worse and worse with each day that passed.

You hopped over a pothole on the sidewalk, narrowly avoiding pedestrians walking down the street. "...Should I message Danny and apologize? What if he doesn't want to hear it though?"

It was hard not to run away. It would be easier to pretend it never happened, to act like he was in the wrong, but in truth—both of you said things that weren't nice. Both of you hurt each other. It wasn't black and white and you realized that, but in that moment, you were selfish enough to think that you were the good guy and he was the bad guy.

"If I don't apologize, I'll continue to feel bad... but he might hate me now. What if he hates me? What if he'll hate me either way?"

Oh yeah. You needed a therapist.

Sorting out your brain was like an impossible puzzle. It was hard to see all the pieces when you didn't have a full view of the table, but with a therapist, they could help sort it out. And maybe they could help sort your thoughts about Kieran too. You slowly wrapped your arms around yourself and frowned.

Each time you had a bad thought and you tried to push it away, it came back ten times more forceful. It was hard to stop thinking. Maybe you had OCD... or just extreme anxiety... or some other undiagnosed mental illness?

I don't want to think about this.

But here you were, continuing to think about it.

You looked over when a dog caught your eye. It rolled over in a patch of grass on the side of the road in front of a storefront. Its hair was soaked with damp grass and dirt, speckled with crunched leaves and twigs. It was having the time of its life. Tailing wagging and panting loudly, you smiled softly when it started rolling over again.

You know what? Maybe a pet would help you sort out some of your issues. Going to bed in a cold bed would be impossible with a puppy cuddled up next to you. Taking care of something would help you distract yourself from all your thoughts too. Like an emotional support animal.

What type of dog would Kieran like?

Your jaw clenched up. Danny made you feel bad, but how you acted with Kieran made you feel sick to your stomach. You yelled at him. You yelled at him like your dad used to yell at your mom. Did he get scared? Is he hurt? You didn't know, since you avoided him ever since then.

You weren't a good friend and you weren't a good wife either. You yelled at him just because you were emotional, fuck, there was no reason to raise your voice but you did. So what if Kieran was distracted at that moment? That didn't give you the right to scream at him.

Maybe I'm turning into my dad? The thought made your blood turn cold. What if I picked up some of his traits with how he treated Mom?

Your father was an abuser. Not only towards you, but his wife as well. You were a child she didn't want, but he forced her to have one nonetheless; being a child of rape didn't help the family bond at all. The moment you were born was the moment everything went downhill. Your father wanted a boy but you weren't one, so he blamed and hit your mother for it, taking his frustrations and cruelty on you when he wanted to.

Your mom didn't love you. Over time, even if it was hard, you realized that you didn't blame her.

Imagine how hard it would be to bond with someone knowing that they shared the same blood as the man who abused you.

You stomped down the streets. The world was spinning, your throat closed up. What if you were abusing Kieran and didn't realize it? What if you were neglecting him? There was the possibility you weren't doing everything subconsciously, right? You yelled at him. You doubt him. You sneaked to look at his computer when he wasn't home.

You were the walking, breathing, sighing incarnation of your father.

No, no, no. Don't spiral, (Y/N). You know that you're spiraling so stop it! You mentally scolded yourself, clutching your bag tighter to you. I need to find a therapist, someone who can help me.

The city was blaring and it was hard to hear your own thoughts. Therapists were always hard to find; either it's because they were too expensive, or too booked, or too far away. You personally weren't a big fan of doing therapy through video. You were more of an "in-person" type of person, if that made sense.

Maybe if you were lucky, you'll find—

"Shit!"

You had only a split second to look up and realize someone turned around the corner you were walking past. Only a split second to dodge. But that was impossible, you weren't Superman. Your nose slammed into his chest and your feet stumbled back, barely managing to catch yourself so you didn't fall to the ground.

The man's hands were full and he struggled to balance himself. Your arm shot out to catch him, or maybe just grab something out of instinct, but it was too late—he crashed. His coffee splattered all over and his sunglasses skidded across the cement.

Realization hit you like a truck.

"Fuck! I'm so sorry!" you fretted, quickly helping the man up from the sidewalk. Cold sweat made your palms damp and your cheeks were burning hot. "I wasn't looking where I was going, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

Just as quickly as he fell, the man hopped back up with ease. He grumbled curses under his breath in another language, fixing his orange and red sweater, while he put his sunglasses back on. Luckily those weren't cracked, they looked expensive. No way would you have been able to pay those off.

You bent down to grab the empty coffee off the ground. Talk about guilt, you felt extremely guilty now. How did you not see him?! You should have been paying attention, not absentmindedly walking down the streets like a doofus! Now look at what you did; knocked down an innocent bystander because of your stupidity!

"I'm so sorry! Uhm, I can—I can buy you a new coffee," you stammered.

He whipped back around. You could barely see the heated glare behind the tinted lenses, his Italian accent harsh. "Bitch, fucking watch—"

He froze when he saw your face. For whatever reason, he looked like he had a scary realization of impending doom right when he saw you. Like the music for Jaws just started playing and he was looking down the mouth of a great white shark. The blood on his face drained to his feet and he licked his chapped lips.

You, on the other hand, took his expression as unbridled anger. He had every right to be angry. You'd also be pissed if someone knocked into you and made you spill your coffee and all your belongings. Especially since he looked all out together nicely, you probably just ruined his cool 'vibes'.

His dreadlocks were pulled into a pretty bun. You noticed the silver charms in his hair, matching the designer watch on his wrist. Even his orange-tinted sunglasses matched his orange and red sweater. He looked like he took an hour to organize his outfit for the day. Thank god the coffee didn't get all over the front of him. You hadn't a clue how much his sweater and pants cost, but based on that watch, you didn't want to look at the price tag.

If only you had a hole that you could jump and hide in forever. "I'm so sorry! Wait, here, let me..."

You turned out your wallet and pulled out twenty dollars. That had to be enough for coffee and a little something extra from the cafe nearby, right? You'd be fine. Ten dollars being left in your wallet was enough to buy a small sandwich on campus for lunch. It was your fault for forgetting your debit card back at home.

"Here, sir! Uhm, please take this. You can get yourself another coffee and something extra from the cafe nearby. I am so sorry."

The man rubbed the back of his neck, not reaching for the money. He didn't even glance at it. "Oh—uhm—It's okay. I don't need it."

"No, please, take it. I won't be able to forgive myself if I just ruined your morning like this," you confessed. "I wasn't watching where I was going, I'm sorry."

He was hesitant. You weren't dumb, you could tell he looked uncomfortable around you. There was the possibility that he was so angry that he was trying to hold it all back, making his movements almost robotically evasive. With muscles like his, he could easily hurt you if he wanted, but instead, he was acting like he'd get seared if he looked at you.

You prayed to god that he didn't explode and scream at you. You didn't think you'd be able to handle that this morning.

"I don't need the money. Ah... it's just—uhm, it's just a mistake. We all make mistakes."

But I'll feel like shit if you don't take it.

His complete 180° attitude was jarring. One moment he was glaring at you and calling you a bitch, now he was saying it was a mistake. Was he just trying to keep face?

You caught a glimpse of something black in the corner of your eye. Turning around, your face drained when you noticed his phone on the ground. His phone was cracked. Your mouth opened in horror and you choked, noticing that it was a newer brand.

How much were those phones? 2,000 dollars? You'd have to sell your soul to get him that type of money.

"Oh my god! I'm so fucking sorry! I didn't realize I broke your phone!"

He blinked. "Huh?"

Looking down to where you were staring, he finally noticed that his phone was on the ground, the screen destroyed. It stared back at him with cracked glass and a chipped case. It was just a small tumble! Why did it look like it went through the Himalayas?!

There was a long pause. The man cleared his throat, rubbed his face, bent down, and grabbed his phone. He tapped at the screen but it didn't come on. Again, it didn't turn on. And again, nothing. He didn't look as angry as you thought he'd be, but that didn't smooth your nerves.

"...uh, It's okay. I can—"

"It's not okay! I'll—I'll pay for it. Uhm, I don't have the money with me now, but uhhhh..." you pulled out a notebook from your bag and tore a piece of paper, "please email me here, since your phone is decimated. Fuck, I am so sorry. I'll pay you back I swear. Promise."

He didn't take the note or say anything. He stood there awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, muttering something under his breath. He looked fed up. Oh no. You screwed up big time. You made him fall, lose his coffee, and crack his super duper expensive phone.

"...do—do you not have an email? I can uh, I can give you my phone number if you have another phone to reach me," you asked, clutching the paper tight in your hands. "I—I don't have the money now but I swear I'll get it! How much was it? 1,500? 2,000?"

The man cleared his throat. There was another long pause before he hesitantly glanced at me. "I'm not upset. I just have a question. Are you... uh, (Y/N)?"

If there was a magic word to put all your defenses up in a heartbeat, it would be your name. It wasn't like a lot of people knew it. You didn't flaunt it on social media and you weren't famous, you didn't have a lot of friends either, so it wasn't like it was normal for a random person to know your name on the street. Your muscles wound up. Maybe this man worked for your father? It wouldn't have surprised you if he sent someone to stalk you.

You glanced around. There were no suspicious fancy cars on the street, or suspicious people that looked like they were watching you.

Repaying the phone didn't seem to matter all that much anymore.

"...yes? How do you know my name?"

He bit his lip and glanced around as if he was scared some monster would come out of the shadows and attack him. He looked more paranoid than you did. "Uh... sorry for randomly asking that. However, I'm a friend of your husband, Kieran."

Your eyebrows furrowed. You've never heard of him or even seen this guy before. Maybe he was a client of Kieran's? A writer or journalist? A fellow editor? If you had to put it nicely, the man in front of you didn't look like he had the patience to sit down and edit written work. With bulky muscles like that, you'd expect him to be a wrestler or full-time bodybuilder.

The man cleared his throat and pushed back the money you gave him, along with the torn paper. "As Kieran's friend, I can't take his wife's money. I can buy some coffee and a new phone easily." 

Seriously? Easily?

"But if you don't mind, I'd like to talk to you about something," he straightened his back up and there was a spark of confidence in his eyes, along with some determination as if he made up his mind about something. "Could you sit with me at the coffee shop now? I have concerns about Kieran."

This was weird. This entire ordeal was so weird that it almost didn't feel real. Let's put it into perspective; you bump into a man and he calls you a bitch, then changes and starts saying you made a mistake, asks for your name, claims to be your husband's friend, and then asks to talk to you over coffee? So yeah, weird.

You were about to say no, but then stopped yourself when you remembered you were in his debt. You just broke his phone and made him spill his coffee, the least you could do was pay for his coffee while he talked to you about something.

Even if it was weird, it wasn't like you were going somewhere where it was just you and him alone. He couldn't possibly kidnap you inside a coffee shop next to a busy street in the city. You examined him head to toe. He didn't look like he had any weapons, and if he was a friend of Kieran's, you doubted he'd harm you.

Your college class could wait. Luckily your professor was kind enough to know you weren't the type to ditch class willy-nilly.

"Okay, but I'll pay for your coffee. It's the least I can do," you stuck your hand out for a polite shake, "what's your name?"

The man took your hand. "Mathew."

"Nice to meet you then."

It was awkward, so you didn't say a thing as he started to blabber and lead you to the coffee shop that was close by. You didn't know what to say. Should you compliment his clothes? Ask how he knew Kieran? He'd most likely elaborate over coffee.

You had so many questions you wanted to ask him. Just why was he wanting to talk to you was the big question. It wasn't like you were a super genius and you didn't know a lot about Kieran's schedule, so he could ask about that. You doubted this man knew anything at all about you except your name.

The walk to the coffee shop was a long one. Well, it was realistically only two minutes of walking, but the mental time there was forever. The man blabbered about random things to pass the awkward wall there; the time, the weather, the news. He didn't mention anything about the most recent murder case which you were grateful for. You already had so many things on your mind, you didn't want to think about that.

The door to the coffee shop chimed when the both of you walked in. A young waitress perked up from where she slumped against the counter and quickly rushed to give us a booth.

Finally, things are moving along.

Mathew slipped inside his seat. Unlike the restaurant you ate at with Danny and Kieran, this place was cozy and right up your alley. The smell of coffee beans filled the room and the rays from outside poured through the window, warming up the table. He ordered a black coffee and you ordered an iced caramel latte. You didn't even like lattes all that much, but it was the best thing on the menu.

Mathew smiled. "This coffee shop is very cozy, don't you think?"

"It is."

"It's perfect for a date. Have you taken Kieran here before?"

"No, I have not."

He didn't seem bothered by your robotic responses. It was like he already knew how you'd react to him. He didn't push for any more questions, instead, he waited for you to ask the question you've been dying to ask ever since he told you he was Kieran's friend.

"...So, Mathew, how come has Kieran never told me about you before?"

Mathew tapped his fingers against the table. He had horrible posture, leaning back with a nonchalant air surrounding him. He didn't seem angry or nervous anymore. Maybe it was just possible that he had mood swings. That made more sense than whatever weird explanation you could come up with inside your head.

"I helped raise him, I met the kid back in Russia," he stated and your eyes widened. So he's a very old friend of Kieran's.

"Wait. So you know his family? His parents as well?"

"Yes. Mr and Mrs Morosov helped me back before when I lived in Italy. I became a close friend to them and grew up with Kieran, even though me and him aren't close in age at all."

You squinted. "But you look his age?"

Mathew blinked. His lips curled into a charming smile, his eyes crinkling around the edges when he laughed. "Oh really? It's always flattering to hear a pretty woman compliment my youthful appearance. Thank you, but I'm twenty-nine."

Your cheeks warmed up. He really did look young, as if he drank from the fountain of youth itself. His face was incredibly smooth (more so than yours) and you wouldn't be surprised if he suddenly told you he was an actor forced to play younger roles in movies. It was always heartwarming to see someone smile so genuinely. It was a good thing that he took that comment as a compliment, you didn't want him calling you a bitch again.

"I think that's why he hasn't told you about me," he confessed and shrugged his shoulders. "We aren't close in age, our interests are different, and he's a married man. I'm too much of a partygoer for him to hang out with me."

That made sense. Kieran has never been a party man of any sort, especially not when he was younger. Sure, he was reckless and a troublemaker, but his trouble wasn't extroverted. He'd much rather sing to himself in the shower than go to karaoke and drink with buddies. He was a risk taker who avoided risks that meant talking to others.

"I see... and I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I'll be blunt, why do you want to talk to me?" You asked, crossing your hands on the table. For some reason, you felt anxious.

Mathew's slowly smile fell. He cleared his throat and fixed up his posture. "Well, it's about Kieran.”

"Oh."

This could be one of many things. Mathew could be here to snitch on Kieran about all the things he has been up to behind your back. He could tell you about a secret mistress, he could tell you about being in a gang, he could tell you about any secret that you didn't know of.

The dread you've felt this entire time trampled over you. Was it finally time? Were you finally going to get all the answers you wanted? Did you even want to hear it now? Bile rose in your throat.

"I need for you to talk to Kieran about something. He's been acting weird lately, and he trusts you more than me, so—" Mathew cut himself off when he saw your blanched-out expression. His lips pursed into a thin line. "Spit it out. You're thinking about something already."

Perceptive people always unnerved you. Swallowing down your thoughts, you wondered if he was trustworthy enough to share your worries with.

The waitress came back with the drinks. A mug was pushed in front of Mathew and he took a greedy gulp, while you nervously played with the rim of your cup. You watched the ice tilt in the coffee.

"Well?" he raised an eyebrow, "If you're thinking about Kieran, we might have the same concerns."

That was true. This man was a friend of Kieran's, and you trusted that without a doubt. He even knew his parents. Maybe this was the leap of faith that you were waiting for. Even if you were nervous, you had to be at least a little brave. It wasn't like you were speaking to Kieran right now.

"...you promise you won't share any of this with Kieran?" you asked.

"Swear on my heart."

"Okay, good," you ignored the trembles in your fingers and quickly took a sip of your coffee. It wasn't that good. "Uhm, well... my concerns are—uh how do I say this?"

Mathew deadpanned as he took a huge swig of his drink. "Bluntly. Always works for me."

I hesitated. "Well then, okay, uhm—I think he might be cheating on me with someone named Sam."

He coughed. "What?"

It was like magic. The moment the words left your lips, you were spilling out your guts to him. Laying out every worry, every secret, every insecurity for him to see. Screw a therapist, now a stranger could see all the puzzle pieces on the table. You couldn't stop yourself.

"I know! I saw on his computer that he was talking to someone called Sam. Like, it could be a boy, but it could also be a woman. I know, it's bad and a shitty thing to do as a wife, I feel bad for snooping but he kept being weird and so—"

Mathew raised his hand and you buffered, but before you could blabber some more, he said, "Slow down. What are you saying?"

"I—uh.. well, I think Kieran is cheating on me with someone named Sam, and I feel bad because I snooped through his laptop—"

"You don't have to feel bad. I'd do the same if my partner or spouse was acting weird and not sharing things."

Your jaw dropped. "...you would?"

Mathew wasn't as judgmental or disgusted as you thought you would. He looked normal, like you didn't do anything wrong. He shrugged.

"Yeah? It's normal. I mean, it's not like you're suspecting him without evidence," he shrugged. "Have you asked him about it? Bluntly? You know, communication is key, or whatever the fuck therapists say."

He was right. Communication was key, that was how so many healthy relationships prospered, but in this situation—communication was scary. You didn't want to think about all the times when not communicating led to toxic situations. You running from the store out of spite, you yelling at Kieran, and you avoiding him. God, there were so many things.

You swallowed the bile in the back of your throat. You felt like vomiting. Why did you have to think about this right now? All you wanted to do was go to your lecture peacefully and come home.

"I'll take your silence as a no. Why haven't you?"

His words felt like a slap. "...I mean... like, what if he... is?"

Mathew was silent for a bit. He stared at you, examining your expression, doing his best to read what you were thinking. Finally, he let out a long sigh and motioned at you. "Then he is. It's shitty, it's fucked up, and he's a douchebag."

Damn, he wasn't lying about being blunt. You held back your excuses. You weren't sure why you immediately wanted to make defenses for yourself and Kieran. If Kieran was cheating then yeah, he was a douchebag, so there was no reason to form up a defense for him. So why did you want to?

"Well..."

"Listen to me, kid. Whether you ask him or not, nothing is going to change unless you confront him about it. If he's cheating, and I'm saying if, then he's gonna cheat whether or not you ask him. That's how cheaters are. Wouldn't you want to know either way?"

"I..." you were at a loss for words.

You didn't like the fact that he was right. He was staring at the most obvious things, but they felt so new and fresh compared to what you normally thought. Like he was shoving a cold drink in front of you and forcing you to chug it down, it was numbing to the brain.

Mathew rubbed his face and waved his hand around, trying to get his point through your thick skull. "I don't think he is, if you're going to ask for my opinion on the matter. It's just, that he has had some... issues lately. To put it lightly."

You frowned. Concern shoved the negative thoughts out of the way.

"Issues? Is he in danger? Or trouble?"

He shook his head. "Family issues. Papa Morosov has been gunning for his ass."

That didn't explain the constant disappearances from the house in the middle of the night. Especially for those long multiple-day trips he always took. But maybe it explained the cuts and busted knuckles? You hadn't a clue. Mr. Morosov wasn't in the States, was he? Mrs. Morosov would most likely want to see you if he was since the two of them always traveled together no matter what.

But you were confused. Mr. Morosov was a kind man, so why was he gunning after Kieran? And what for?

You didn't know much about Kieran's family life. He didn't talk about his experiences in Russia all that much, or London, and you now had a gut feeling it was because of his parents. You just prayed they weren't using him. They didn't seem like the type, but now the thought was there, and that meant it would go away.

"I see..." you drawled, looking down at your hands. Your nails picked together. This day started weirdly and you weren't sure what to feel about it.

There was some closure knowing that Mathew didn't think Kieran was cheating on you. If it was about his father like Mathew mentioned, would that make you feel better? You wanted Kieran to feel better, to pay attention to you, and to be happy. If his father was getting in the way of that, what would you be able to do to keep him safe? What would you be able to do to keep him sheltered from all that?

You couldn't make decisions for Kieran. That was impossible.

But, but, if he was truly getting targeted by his father for things out of his control, you'd have to do something. Use your influence as his wife to help him in some way. Then there was the other option of him cheating on you... you'd rather think about the other.

"Can I give you a piece of raw unfiltered advice?" Mathew blurted.

You looked up. "Go ahead."

"Avoidance isn't a cure to hard situations. Whether or not you're there, it's happening. The world doesn't stop just because someone pretends it is," he pointed at you and you felt your body run with chills. "It's time for you to stop avoiding, (Y/N). Time doesn't stop for you and Kieran just because you want to stay in a time when things were easier."

Your body locked up. He stared deep into your eyes, harsh and unsettling, but you supposed the truth always looked like that no matter what form it took.

A small bell went off in your head. So that was what you were trying to do. You were trying to stay in the past when things were easier, when you were a kid. You did it with Danny too. You compared Danny to his past self, but how many times have you compared Kieran to his past self as well?

"You just need to realize that relationships don't stay the same. You aren't teenagers anymore, you're adults, you're married, you have your own house. Understand?"

"...yes," you nodded slowly, ignoring the burn in your eyes. "Thank you. But let's say I do confront Kieran about... everything. I don't know—where should I—well, what I'm trying to say is, how should I talk to him?"

Mathew looked at you like you had three heads. "Just talk? Don't beat around the bush for his feelings."

You scratched at your head. "Well, I know that, but I mean—how should I bring up with him? Without hurting his—"

"What did I just say?" Mathew huffed, crossing his arms over his broad chest. You flinched. "He's been neglecting your marriage, leaving at night, and you're worried about him being hurt about the consequences of his actions? If he gets his feelings hurt, then boo-hoo. He's a grown man neglecting his wife, he can fucking handle it."

Your lips zipped shut. "But—"

"Ask him, 'Are you cheating on me?' That's it. Five little words that form a little sentence."

It was easy when he put it like that, but each time you tried to say those 'five little words' in the past, you always clamped up. Every. Single. Time. You were starting to believe that you couldn't say that at all, maybe you were cursed and you weren't allowed to say that sentence at all.

Mathew watched your expression and his lips quirked into a goofy smile. "You rambled to me after you bumped into me, you can ramble to him. Just don't break his phone."

Your face turned hot. "I'm still so sorry—"

"Geez woman. It was a joke," he snorted and stretched his arms behind him on the booth, his smile growing. His orange sunglasses lowered on his nose and you watched his dark eyes spark with mischief. "I'd suggest joking with him when you confront him. He won't be able to lie when he hears how uptight you are."

You gaped. Did he just call me uptight?!

"Well excuse me! I'm just responsible."

"Oh? You are?" he grinned, "responsible enough to walk in a straight line without bumping into someone?"

He was quick-witted. He shot out comebacks without thinking, teasing you without a care in the world. He reminded you a lot of Kieran in that sense, only Kieran was a lot softer when it came down to teasing you. Mathew was a lump of coal, Kieran was a lump of charcoal; similar but not the same at all.

"Oh shush! I said I was sorry," I crossed my arms. "Plus you called me a bitch at first so I have every right to be uptight."

"Well, you are one."

"What?!"

He burst out laughing. His head flew back and he cackled like a madman, slapping his leg under the table. People in the coffee shop glanced at him, but he seemed to ignore all the attention, wheezing between words. "I'm kidding! My god kid, your face was glorious. Swore a fly almost flew into your mouth with how fast that jaw dropped."

Your face was burning. People always said that older brothers teased their sisters like this, and it honestly felt like it. It made sense. He was like an older brother to Kieran in a way, and now he was meeting someone who was technically like his sister-in-law. Your lips twitched up into a smile.

"Shut it. People are staring at you, I hope you know," you rolled your eyes.

"Let them. They all want me anyway."

You snorted. Mathew finished the rest of his coffee and glanced at his clock, smiling ear to ear. There was a sense of smugness around him.

"Ah. It seems I have to go. I don't want my boss beating the shit out of me for being late," he snorted. It looked like he actually believed his boss would beat the shit out of him. "Don't worry about the money, kid. I'll handle it. I'll pay for your coffee as well."

"Oh no, I can pay for my own stuff!"

"Nope!" he popped the 'p' and slid out of his booth, jumped on the balls of his feet, and rolled his shoulders back. "Now what do you say to people after they make you feel better after a depressive episode?"

So that was his goal for teasing you. It worked, you didn't feel as glum and beaten down as before. There was this sense of relief hanging over your head; with all your worries laid out, and some advice that helped you realize your own thought processes, and his abusive teasing, you felt a little better.

Not perfect; but lighter.

"I—thank you," you smiled softly. "Truly. You've helped a lot."

Mathew snickered. He said nothing before waving nonchalantly and skipping away as if talking to you made his day ten times better. How did we get from him calling you a bitch to him skipping away with a smile? It was like he came out of an old cartoon and he was the trouble-maker coyote.

You looked down at your cup. The ice was melted and the table was still warm. You failed to realize that Mathew never had a chance to share what he originally wanted to talk about. Your smile slowly fell and you took a deep breath, steadying your thoughts.

Maybe you'd talk to Kieran later.

Just maybe.

Check out my new story, DEAD & DONE!! It’s a yandere reverse harem x female reader. If you like this story, you might like this other one. It also has organized crime, gangs, and shady stuff.

Links: Wattpad, Quotev, Buy Me A Coffee, Discord Server.

I’ve thought about opening writing commissions; what do yall think? Tell me in the comments.

[lemonlover1110]

𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝

Toji Fushiguro

[Chapter 15] His Baby Girl Pt. 1

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Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

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Toji tries to get adjusted to the fact that you’re seeing Shiu. It isn’t just a plot to get back at him but no, you’re actually seeing Shiu. You’ve started to see the man romantically, and Toji can’t do anything else but sit back and watch it happen. He’s more focused on something else, his daughter.

The daughter that he told you to abort when he found out that you weren’t getting back together. He’s not sure if this was the right decision, but what he knows is that he’s excited about her presence. Nesting isn’t something that only pregnant women do, or at least Toji is getting everything set up for his baby girl.

“Megumi, did I not tell you to start using a coaster?” Toji nearly yells. Stuff he’s never worried about, and he’s sure he won’t care in a few weeks. He needs the place to be pristine, even though his daughter isn’t going to stay in the apartment. 

“You know that she’s not here?” Megumi responds, taking his glass from the table and finishing the drink in one swift gulp. Megumi won’t bring up that the baby isn’t going to be staying here yet… He doesn’t want to add salt to the wound.

“She’ll be here at any moment.” Toji says, a phrase that makes his stomach churn. Any day now he expects the call from you that you’ve gone into labor, and he knows he will start freaking out as if he hasn’t gone through this before. It’s almost been fifteen years– No, Megumi’s birthday just passed, it’s been fifteen years. 

“You do know she’s not going to stay with us?” Megumi replies, and Toji chuckles. He forgot to break the news to the teenager.

“She’s staying for the first two or three months.” Toji announces, which takes Megumi by surprise. He wasn’t informed of that detail. “Just while handling motherhood and whatnot… Newborns aren’t easy.”

“Uncle Shiu wasn’t available?” Megumi asks, which earns a glare from Toji. Uncle Shiu, a name that Megumi has never used up until he found out that you were seeing the man. “I mean… I’m sure he has more space and since they’re–”

“Shiu is not your uncle, don’t call him that.” Toji scolds his son, though he knows it goes in one ear and out the other. It’s Megumi’s way of getting back at his father for… Everything. “I convinced her to stay with us since I want to spend time with my daughter. They’re staying in my bedroom.”

“What about Kali’s nursery?” Megumi questions, considering that there’s a whole room for the baby. It does make sense that you’d stay with the baby, it’s just surprising that Toji is willing to give up his room.

“I’m sleeping on the floor of the nursery.” Toji answers, and Megumi can’t help but laugh. It feels so unlike his father, but he has to give the man some credit. Toji’s changed for the better

“Can your body handle that?” Megumi is fighting back a smirk, and Toji really shouldn’t, he’s the adult in the room, but he sticks out his middle finger at his son. Megumi chuckles before putting his hands up defensively, “Hey, I’m just saying, you’re forty in a couple of days.”

“I will teach the new kid respect, since you clearly don’t know what that means.” Toji rolls his eyes, and Megumi copies the action. 

“Okay, old man. Whatever you say.”

Toji’s phone begins to ring a little past midnight, and he groggily picks it up. Who in the world would call at this forsaken hour? He doesn’t check who it is, he’s about to curse out whoever it is, but then he hears you in pain. His eyes shoot wide, and he tries to kick off the blanket off him.

“It’s time?” He asks, knowing damn well that it is. You’re not calling him this late for no reason. Toji is waiting for an actual response that isn’t you moaning in pain, and while he waits, he begins to get dressed.

“Come pick me up.” Is all you say, and he won’t question you further right now. He thought that the agreement was that you'd meet up at the hospital since you were staying with Shiu for a while; Shiu would be the one to drive you, but something happened.

“Your place of Shiu’s?” Toji makes sure to get the place right before heading over there. He furrows his brows when he hears your place, but he won’t question it either. Right now it’s not the time to start an interrogation. You might curse him to death if he takes one minute longer. “I’ll be there in ten.”

“Ten?!” You sound absolutely mortified. Toji bites down his tongue before deciding.

“Five. I’ll make it five minutes.”

Toji picks you up, and all the questions that he had in mind are gone. You’re cursing him out for even breathing, he can’t even think of questioning you. With every contraction you throw in a new insult, something that he didn’t know you had in your body.

“Stupid motherfucker, stop breathing.” “You are literally so pathetic, how did I get pregnant by you?” “Just drop me off here, I’m so embarrassed to be seen near you.” And what did he do? Just breathe a little weird while you were having a contraction– Well, and knock you up but that’s besides the point.

You’re more calm once you’re in the hospital though, and you’re a total angel after you get the epidural. Toji chuckles at the sight of you scrolling through your phone, a completely different person compared to the woman that he picked up just a few hours ago.

“You can go back home and sleep, I’ll call you when it’s officially time.” You tell Toji, who’s mindlessly staring at you. You don’t care to look away from your phone, guessing Toji is indifferent to this whole situation. Toji never really cared to keep by your side when you were sick as his wife, you doubt he’d want to stay here for hours on end in this situation.

“Where’s Shiu?” Toji asks, ignoring your statement. You’re definitely more calm now, if you start an argument Toji knows that you won’t start hitting him. You stare at Toji, wondering if he’s up to something… He gave up after he found out that you and Shiu had a thing, so you doubt he has something up his sleeve. “I just thought you were staying with him–”

“Business trip. He wanted to stay because he knew I was due soon but I convinced him to go, it was only going to be the weekend.” You sigh, putting your hand over your bump. “Kali was just too excited.”

“Hell, I’d be excited too if Shiu left me the fuck alone.” Toji responds, rolling his eyes at the thought of Shiu. His best friend. “Did he come up with that name too? Kali?”

“He– Well, he brought it up and it stuck around. It’s cute.” You admit, and Toji sighs. Yeah, that man has named his daughter as well. It’s a cute name, and he doubts he really has a say anymore. “I mean, if you don’t like it you can still change it.”

“Do I really have a say in this?” Toji asks, and you nod your head, an inquisitive look coming to your face.

“Why wouldn’t you? You’re her father.” You respond, and Toji bites down his lip. It’s hard to remember when there’s the perfect man right next to you, about to become his daughter’s stepfather. Maybe he shouldn’t compare himself to Shiu so much, like that he’d be more at peace.

“With Shiu becoming your boyfriend and all.” He says, and you roll your eyes. He’s given up but he’s still jealous of Shiu. Who could blame him? “I like the name Kali. It’s cute. I already got some clothes with her name.”

“If this is about the clothes you can always buy new ones.” You remind him, though he shakes his head. He likes the name. “Alright, you can go home now.”

“I’m not leaving you alone.” Toji answers, pulling out his phone to send a message to his old friend. As much as Toji doesn’t like the man anymore, he knows you want Shiu to be here. “Did you call him?”

“I don’t want to bother him.” You shake your head, putting all your attention on your phone again. You don’t want to have this conversation with Toji of all people.

“I don’t think it’ll bother him.” He’s looking through his contacts to find Shiu. Just a quick message, and Shiu will be on his way over.

“Just leave it alone, Toji.” You sigh. You see that he’s typing something in his phone, and you can see right through him, “Toji! Leave it alone.”

“He’s going to want to be here. Or at the very least know.” Toji argues, and you furrow your brows. “I’m trying to help you–”

“What do you know about relationships, Toji? Do I need to remind you that we got divorced because you were such a shitty husband?” You slightly raise your voice, and Toji bites his tongue. “You need to stay out of this, leave Shiu alone on his business trip. I don’t want to worry him.”

“I thought the epidural was supposed to help.” He mutters, and you glare at him. 

“Aren’t you going to leave?” You ask him, and he shakes his head. Toji gets comfortable on his seat before saying,

“I’m going to wait for my daughter right here.”

[demensrage]

c for creampie fantasy ⚊ •. with toji fushiguro

summary: between drinks and fun with your best friend in your apartment, the truths come to light. he is willing to help you with each of your fantasies, you just have to be a good girl for him.

cw: bestfriend!toji, unprotected, praise kink, nipple play, overstimulation, mating press, big dick!toji, fingering, oral (f receiving), mutual masturbation, 69 position, hickeys.

wordcount: 8.6k

note: english is not my firts lenguage so please forgive me for the grammatical errors I may commit

© demensrage 2024. do not plagiarize, copy, repost, feed to ai, or translate my works to any other platforms.

The doorbell to your apartment rang insistently; you sighed in stress, all you wanted was a moment of peace. To eat something delicious, take a relaxing bath, and stroll around your house naked.

But whoever was interrupting at that moment had other plans. It wasn’t enough for them to just press the doorbell; they also started banging on the door insistently.

“Wait a damn moment!” you exclaimed angrily. You took off your apron, wrinkling it in your hands before throwing it on the kitchen counter.

But the doorbell kept ringing, and the knocking was starting to pound in your head. Tired, you opened the door, and there he was, with that sly smile, still pressing the doorbell.

“Finally, you have the decency to open the door for me, darling.” Toji didn’t wait for you to invite him in; no, he had self-proclaimed himself the second owner of your house. He walked in, leaving you standing there, mouth agape.

You looked at the wall clock in your living room and said, “What the hell are you doing at my place at 9 PM?” You closed the door, which made a loud thud. You didn’t even wait for a response from him; after all, he wasn’t planning to give one.

He left the two boxes of sake on the coffee table in the living room, settling them on the huge L-shaped furniture. He was utterly shameless, having taken over your space while insisting on having a copy of the key to your apartment.

“Stop looking at me with that pretty face of yours and sit with me,” he said, looking at you, studying the outfit you were wearing.

You had known Toji for several years through a mutual friend. Since then, as you got to know him better, you realized that no matter what clothes you wore, he would always manage to make a lewd comment about how you looked.You were certainly used to that, so you didn’t even care about how much clothing you had on. But that night was different; you were barely wearing enough fabric—shorts that barely covered your backside and a loose, short top that only hid your breasts.

He couldn’t judge you; you were at home on a Saturday night, and the last thing you expected was visitors. Much less his presence.

“This is supposed to be my night,” you complained as you walked toward the kitchen. “You can’t just take over my life for existing.” Toji seemed amused by your response; his deep, hearty laugh filled the space you lived in. “Because I can, that’s why I’m doing it,” he replied.

You could hear his footsteps approaching the kitchen, and when you turned around, he was leaning against the counter.

You were unaware of the mixed feelings he had for you. You had always seen him as someone very open about things, which included his midnight conquests. Toji didn’t commit; you repeated that constantly—not for yourself, but for the women who sought your advice as the closest female to him.

But there he was with you, as he had been for the past four months,waking you up with a good morning text. Goodnight texts before sleeping, unexpected outings, and visits. As unexpected as tonight.

His strong arms wrapped around your shoulders, resting his chin on your head. Toji was big—in every sense of the word. You admired his physique; he didn’t work out much, but somehow he had achieved that wall of muscles.

“That smells delicious; did you really think you were going to eat that all by yourself?” His husky voice caressed every part of your system, making heat rise up your neck and settle in your now-blushing cheeks. “Uhm, did your tongue get eaten or something?” he asked when he saw that you weren’t responding.

Shamelessly, he brought the bottle of sake to your lips so you could take a sip. Obediently, you did, savoring the sweetness of the drink and feeling it refresh your system.

“Since you’re here, I have no choice but to share with you,” you said resignedly, slipping out of his arms to continue with your work.

If anyone saw you both like that, they would say you were a couple, that you had been together for years. That’s not true; Toji was a sweet talker, or so you thought. Even though you had been friends for years, you didn’t know all his facets.

On his part, he had found fascination in holding your body in his arms; you were soft in comparison to him. Everything about you was a counterpart to himself, and he loved that.

Yes, he loved, because Toji loved many things about you: your sarcasm, your intellect, your kindness, your breasts, and your smile. He realized that at the least expected moment when you were at a friend’s house, who had invited you both for dinner. You looked beautiful in that pastel pink dress that hugged your body perfectly; he was unable to take his eyes off you.

At that moment, he wasn’t even looking at a friend; he was looking at you as if you were something much more than that. He knew it when his friend pointed out that he looked like a lovesick idiot when he was staring at you.

Now, after four months since that incident, he feels like a true lovesick idiot. One who is lovesick and confused, because even though you give him obvious signals, you keep unconsciously dodging them.

“The best night of all will be this one. Alcohol, food, and a lovely little kitty just for me.” You only laughed at his comment; he always had you all to himself. After all, among the entire group of friends, you two spent the most time together.

You were already on your fifth bottle of sake and felt like you couldn’t stop laughing. The TV was on; Toji had put on that comedy show he loved to watch in his free time. But as a bad drinker, you weren’t measuring the constant intake you were having. Your body was hot; you didn’t know if it was because of the alcohol in your system—though the percentage was lower than regular sake—or if it was due to the caresses of your companion.

Your legs rested on his lap; at this point, you didn’t care about anything—literally, anything. The way he kneaded the flesh of your thighs and then alternated with soft touches made you slide more onto his lap, and he showed no resistance in holding you.

"You’ll be my downfall, kitty," he murmured as if you wouldn’t be able to hear him, but you did, and now you were curious about why he said that. You leaned forward a bit, your body more relaxed than you thought due to the warmth of the drink and Toji’s attentions. Your half-closed eyes looked at him, trying to focus your mind through the alcohol haze enveloping you.

"Why do you say that?" you asked, your voice somewhat softer and more hesitant than usual. Toji looked up, his dark eyes meeting yours for a moment before a lopsided smile crept onto his face. His fingers continued tracing slow, deliberate circles on your skin, as if he never wanted to stop.

"Because you drive me crazy," he replied in that deep, raspy voice that sent shivers down your spine. "Look at you… How do you expect me to control myself when you’re like this, all for me?"

His words ignited something in you. You didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the intensity of his gaze, but you felt a growing desire to know how far his words and actions would go.

“I don’t plan to be another one of your fleeting conquests,” you denied, setting the sake bottle aside. “That would ruin our friendship.”

You were oblivious to what he felt for you. Toji had stopped treating you like a friend a long time ago, but you kept insisting that you were just best friends and nothing more. He slid his hands a little further up your thighs, massaging and caressing.

Leaning in enough to brush your nose with his, he whispered, “No, not at all. That would strengthen our friendship; it would go to a more… deep level.” His warm breath caressed your face, and for a second, you wondered if it tasted the same as what you were drinking. You slightly shook your head to clear the lewd thoughts from your mind.

“You always want to go deeper with every woman you meet,” you said, looking him in the eyes, pulling your face a little away from his. They were too close for your sanity, for how quickly your mind was wandering.

Toji let out a low, rumbling laugh, his hands never leaving your thighs, deliberately stroking your skin as if he were tracing every inch of your body in his memory. "Not with everyone," he replied, his voice laden with a tone you hadn’t heard before. "You’re not just any woman, kitty."

His words made you frown slightly. There was something different in his tone, something that sparked a mix of unease and curiosity in you. You didn’t know if it was the alcohol, the situation, or just Toji, but your heart raced, your thoughts clouding with the closeness of his body and the heat of his hands.

“We’re friends, Toji,” you insisted, though your voice didn’t sound as firm as you wanted. “I don’t want to ruin that for something that might mean nothing tomorrow.”

His eyes sparkled with something you couldn’t quite identify, as if he were debating something internally. He leaned in a little closer, his nose brushing against yours once more while his hands tightened softly on your thighs. “That’s what you don’t understand… This does mean something. You mean something. And I won’t let you keep thinking otherwise.”

The silence between you was so thick you could almost cut it. You were caught between what you knew was safe—the friendship you had built with Toji—and the uncertainty he presented with every touch and every word. You knew that if you took one more step, there would be no turning back.

“It’s just the alcohol talking for you.” You preferred to deny it, to deny what you didn’t see at first but that he had confessed to you at that moment. But even so, you didn’t yield; you remained still by his side, the edge of your backside brushing against the soft fabric of his sweatpants.

You ran both hands through your hair, pushing aside the rebellious strands that had fallen over your face. You had consumed every part of him with that simple act. His eyes devoured you, savoring every part of you until they once again stopped at the breasts he longed to have in his mouth.

A strip of surrounding skin was exposed for his delight; he could feel himself getting hard in his pants, all because of you. "It's not the alcohol, babe. I've been wanting you for way too long, long before this bottle." His hoarse voice was laden with a raw sincerity that made you shiver, while his intense gaze continued to explore every corner of your body, especially that skin you had unwittingly left exposed.

You swallowed, trying to maintain your composure. You knew your words weren’t stopping him, but you also didn’t want to admit how each touch and each of his words was melting your will. You felt trapped in the tension that was growing between you, as if the air in the room were heavier, laden with unconfessed desires.

He didn’t move much, but you could feel him against you, his erection pressing lightly against the edge of your rear. It was impossible to ignore. "You don’t have to keep denying it," Toji murmured, his lips barely brushing the edge of your ear, sending a chill down your body. "You know as well as I do that this isn't just a whim. I'm not a man of whims... not with you."

Your hands remained tangled in your hair, trying to find some kind of distraction while Toji's words penetrated you, eroding the barrier you had built. You played with your hands, searching for the right words. “You know I'm not open to anything right now,” you murmured, turning your face to look at him, his gaze holding yours. “Uhm, I have to…”

His hands slid a little higher up your thighs, firm but not aggressive, as if he were testing you, gauging your reaction. You bit your lip, your mind trying to organize itself amid the chaos he had unleashed within you. You knew Toji had always been direct, but this moment was different. The intensity in his eyes, the firmness of his touch, the way his words seemed so definitive... it all made you feel an internal vertigo you couldn't ignore.

"You have to... what?" Toji asked softly, leaning in until his lips almost brushed against yours but didn't touch. He was waiting for a sign from you, a confirmation, though every fiber of his being seemed on the verge of losing patience.

“I’m a hard person to please, uhm, you know that.” You lied, trying to form an excuse at all costs.

Toji raised an eyebrow, his smile twisting into a gesture of pure disbelief, almost amused. "Hard to please?" he repeated, his tone low and teasing. "Don’t lie, kitty. You know I can make you feel things you haven’t even dared to imagine." His hand slid higher up your thigh, almost daring you to keep denying it.

You felt a knot form in your stomach, a mix of nerves and anticipation. You were playing a dangerous game with someone who knew your limits too well but also how to push you beyond them. The air around you felt denser, almost suffocating, as if it were waiting for you to make the decision that you both knew you would come to, sooner or later.

"It's not about what you think you are," Toji continued, leaning in closer until his lips barely grazed the edge of your ear, the warmth of his breath making you shiver. "It's about what you need... And I can give you everything you desire. You just have to be a good girl for me."

The very idea of Toji, of having him to yourself, of letting go, made you feel a heat between your legs that you couldn’t ignore. You bit your lip, trying to suppress what was happening to you, but the wetness in your panties betrayed you.

Toji noticed, of course he did. His gaze dropped to your bitten lips, and then his eyes roamed your body with a hunger that made your skin burn even more. "Ah, I see..." he murmured, his voice rich with a low, dark tone that made you tremble. "You don’t have to say anything. Your body has already told me everything."

You bit your lip harder, trying to hold back, but Toji wasn't going to let you escape so easily. "You don’t need to search for more excuses. I know you feel it, that you want it... Just admit it, kitty," he whispered, his face getting closer and closer to yours.

His fingers slid up your thigh, stopping dangerously close to the edge of your panties, his touch sending an electric current throughout your body.

"Tell me what you want; I won't judge you. I know the idiots you date don’t fuck you right. Damn, a cute little slut like you should be fucked until there's nothing left to give," he whispered in your ear, settling you on his lap, your thighs on either side of his hips.

"Don’t play the good girl and be a naughty for me."

His words, raw and straightforward, made you shudder. The heat built up inside you, and while you tried to cling to the idea that you needed to stand firm, the way he looked at you made everything crumble. The way his voice resonated in your mind, making you envision a scenario where you existed solely to please him, unleashed every fantasy you had tried to hide.

Your body responded to him, to the desire that was beginning to grow uncontrollably. It was an internal struggle: on one side, the resistance of reason, and on the other, the primal urge to surrender to what he offered you. You felt trapped between desire and fear, and Toji knew it.

"Tell me. What would you like to do with me?" As his index finger glided over your exposed abdomen until it touched the edge of the piece of fabric you had as a top, he gently lifted it, revealing your breasts, firm and round. Toji was sure they fit perfectly in his hands, and the way his eyes darkened as he looked at you made you feel even more exposed.

"Come on, kitty, I need to hear your voice. Tell me what you desire," he insisted, his gaze fixed on you, as if every word that came from your lips were the only permission he needed to proceed. There was a mix of urgency and patience in his voice, a palpable tension in the air.

You bit your lip, struggling between the need to fulfill his desire and the fear of what that meant. The way he touched you, the warmth of his hand, and the desire emanating from him made you question everything you had believed about yourself. You knew he was willing to take you to a place you had never been before, but only if you dared to take the first step.

"Don't play games," he whispered, pressing a little more, his fingers barely touching the skin of your breasts. "I need you to be honest with me. Tell me what you really want." His voice had a tone of authority that made you feel trapped in his game, and the desire he had ignited in you seemed to flare even more.

And you had dreamed of it. Several nights you had closed your eyes and imagined Toji between your legs, turning you into a mess, immersing you in the pleasure you craved so much. You had seen yourself, lost in the whirlwind of his caresses, filling yourself with him until you felt him spill out of you, as if you couldn't contain it.

The intensity of those dreams had left you with a mix of longing and frustration. You woke up with heat coursing through your body and the feeling of emptiness between your legs, wishing those nocturnal visions would become reality. Now, in this situation, so close to him, that desire was more alive than ever, pushing you to cross the line you had been trying to maintain.

The idea of being completely vulnerable before him, of letting him take you to the brink of ecstasy, was starting to seem more and more tempting. "I want you to fill me," you managed to murmur, feeling how shame and desire intertwined in your chest.

Toji smiled, satisfied, as if he knew he had won. "That's all I needed to hear," he said, his gaze fixed on you, before smashing his mouth against yours in a disorganized, wet kiss. Toji leaned closer, his eyes filled with desire. His tongue claimed your mouth, exploring every corner, while you could only gasp against his lips, letting pleasure overwhelm you. You felt his fingers move firmly, pinching and rolling your nipples, pulling them with an intensity that made you arch your back.

The kiss grew more passionate, more ravenous, and every brush of his hands intensified the fire within you. His body pressed against yours, and in that instant, the world around you faded away. There was nothing else but him, the taste of his mouth, and the sensation of his hands, making you lose yourself in a spiral of pleasure.

"That's it, kitten," he murmured between kisses, his voice filled with an undeniable desire. "Let go." His hands continued to play with your body, and every movement made it feel more real, more intense.

Toji left your mouth, leaving a trail of desire on your lips as he began planting wet, short kisses along your jawline, quickly descending towards your neck. His lips were demanding, as if each kiss claimed your skin as his own. When he reached your neck, he began sucking with force, leaving hickeys that marked your skin, evidencing his possessiveness.

"You’re so delicious," he murmured against your skin, while his hands moved with determination, exploring your breasts with a firmness that made you shiver. His touch was possessive, overwhelming, and each tug of his fingers on your nipples sent electricity coursing through your body.

With a swift motion, he pulled your top, leaving you exposed before him. "Look how you react," he said, watching you with a satisfied smile as his lips devoured your nipples, alternating between sucking and biting, not caring about how you might feel. The hickeys were raw, marked by the intensity of his desire, as if each one was a promise of what he was willing to do to you.

“Tell me,” he ordered, his dark eyes fixed on you, filled with hunger. “Do you like it?” The tone of his voice was dominant, and there was a certainty in his gaze that made you feel as if you were completely at his mercy. The line between pleasure and pain blurred, and all you could do was let yourself be swept away by the intensity of his control, wishing it wouldn't stop.

You nodded immediately, tangling your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and pulling him toward you, pressing him against your breasts. “Suck them, please,” you whispered, feeling the mix of desire and urgency flowing between you.

Toji smiled, pleased, before pressing his lips in a possessive gesture against your skin. The pleading in your voice ignited him even more. His mouth closed around one of your nipples, sucking hard, while his eyes remained fixed on you, watching every reaction.

“I like it like this,” he murmured between kisses, leaving fiery marks that would tell the story of his possession. His tongue played with the tip of your nipple, swirling and teasing, while his hands seized your hips, holding you exactly where he wanted.

Each pull of his mouth and each flick of his tongue made you gasp, and the pressure in your abdomen intensified. Toji was making sure you understood who was in charge, and every moment of pleasure he gave you was a reminder that he had claimed you.

Your hands began to explore eagerly, traveling over his covered chest until they slipped between the folds of his shirt, searching for the warmth of his skin. As you brushed against his muscles, you felt the firmness and hardness of his abdomen, sculpted to perfection. Every line and curve of his torso was a work of art, and the desire to see and feel every inch of him intensified.

You needed more. To see the body you had secretly admired for so long. The mere thought made you burn inside, and now, with Toji latched onto your breasts, sucking and claiming every part of you, you couldn’t help but feel completely hooked.

His body was exquisite, and it entrapped you just as much as he did you. As you caressed him, every contraction of his muscles beneath your fingers only fueled your need. Your mind was filled with images of him above you, filling you in ways you had only dreamed of, and now you had him here, his dominance palpable in every movement.

His hands cupped your ass firmly, pushing you against his hard cock, and the gesture didn’t let your surprise go unnoticed. Toji was big, too big. You could feel his size even through the clothes, pressing against you, and the moisture in your panties was undeniable, soaking the fabric that separated you from him.

The friction of his body against yours heightened every sensation, making you aware of what was to come. Every movement he made, every squeeze on your hips, was a reminder that he knew exactly what he was doing.

Toji effortlessly lifted you off his lap, settling into the armchair while you remained completely open for him. He knelt between your legs, keeping them apart with that strength and dominance that left you breathless. His large hands slowly traveled up your inner thighs, rising with caresses that seemed to ignite your skin.

When his thumb finally reached your pussy, still covered by fabric, he began to massage your clitoris with firm, controlled movements. The friction, even through the cloth, made you shudder, and each of his caresses seemed to mock the barrier that still separated you from him.

“Look how I have you,” he whispered, his tone filled with twisted flattery. “You’re perfect, getting wet just for me. I haven’t even touched you properly and you’re already soaked, little cat. This is what you needed, right? Someone to fuck you like you deserve.”

You nodded at each of his words as your hips pressed against his thumb, chasing a release he was willing to give you, to see you tremble with pleasure until you could no longer bear it.

His finger slowly left your pussy, leaving you with a sense of emptiness, only to grab the edge of your pants and panties, sliding them down in one swift motion. In an instant, he left you completely exposed to him, vulnerable under his intense and dominant gaze. A searing heat coursed through your body, and the urge to close your legs overwhelmed you, wanting to hide from the way he devoured you with his eyes.

But he wouldn’t allow it.

His broad shoulders blocked your escape, firm and confident, preventing any attempts to pull away. Toji pressed his large hands against your thighs, forcing you to stay open, displaying you as he wanted, with no possible resistance. “Don’t hide from me, precious,” he growled in a low voice thick with desire. “You’re going to let me see all of you... you’re going to let me devour you like the good girl you are.”

His fingers slowly glided over your pussy, expertly parting your folds while his eyes feasted on every detail. He watched in fascination as your skin glistened, wet and slippery under his touch. Toji’s intense gaze was fixed on you, as if he were etching every second of your vulnerability, of how soaked you were just for him, into his memory.

“Look how you drip,” he murmured, his words laden with lust.

His fingers traveled to your hole, collecting your juices with a torturous slowness, as if he wanted to prolong your agony. Then, with the same calmness, he spread the moisture all over your pussy, smearing your own fluids in every corner, making you feel even more exposed. “You’re perfect… so ready for me. Do you know how much I love seeing you like this?”

He didn’t need to spit on your pussy to lubricate you, not with you. You were so incredibly wet that his middle finger slipped in effortlessly, gliding into your depths, causing a muffled moan to escape you. The feeling of his finger inside you was intense, but not enough.

“Toji... three, please,” you whispered with a trembling voice, your cheeks burning with embarrassment, but desire dominated you. One wasn’t enough; you needed more, and he knew it.

“Three, huh? What an ambitious little slut.” Toji smirked, clearly pleased with your request. Without hesitation, he added two more fingers, sliding them in with the same ease as the first, feeling how your walls adjusted to his size as your hips arched, seeking more friction, more depth. “You’re going to beg me for more before I’m done with you. I promise you that.”

His fingers felt incredibly good inside you, making it impossible not to clench around them, wishing he would never stop. The lewd sound of your wetness filled the air, each movement resonating like a symphony of desire and pleasure.

But Toji didn’t stop there. He knew you needed more. His fingers deepened their rhythm, moving with a perfect blend of rawness and delicacy, just as his tongue joined the party. It slipped between your folds, enveloping your hard bud with insatiable voracity. “You’re so sweet,” he murmured against your skin before beginning to suck and lick your clitoris, playing with it as if it were his favorite toy.

Toji nibbled gently, alternating between sucking and teasing, making you tremble under his dominance. Every touch, every movement of his tongue pushed you closer to the edge, filling your entire being with a pleasure so raw and intense that it was impossible to maintain control.

You mewled in pleasure, one of your hands tangled in his hair, pushing him against your pussy, as you rolled your hips against his mouth in desperation. His fingers curled inside you, searching for that sweet spot that would bring you to the edge of ecstasy, making you delirious with pleasure. “Ah, ah!” Your cries filled the space, echoing in the room and encouraging him to continue, to take you even further.

Toji reveled in your response, increasing the intensity of his movements. His tongue moved fast and agile, dancing over your clit as his fingers penetrated you, finding the perfect rhythm that made your entire body tremble. “Fucking sweet, she has a delicious pussy sweetness,” he whispered between licks, his voice heavy with desire and lust. You felt completely at his mercy, becoming more lost in the sensation, wanting more than he could give you.

Before you could process the moment, Toji pulled away from you, bringing two of his glistening fingers up to your lips. “Open that pretty little mouth for me,” he commanded, his voice deep and commanding, making it clear that there was no room for resistance.

Without hesitation, you opened your mouth, feeling your full lips envelop his fingers, tasting your own desire on his skin. Toji watched, fascinated by the sight you offered. The sheen of your saliva on his fingers made him want to fuck your mouth, a desire that intensified with every second.

As he continued to devour your pussy, his pace became more frantic, and his gaze was fixed on you. “That’s it, kitten, feel how I want you,” he said, pushing his fingers deeper into your mouth, filling it with his essence as his tongue continued to lick at your clit.

He left one last kiss on your pussy, a soft caress that made you shudder before he stood up, admiring the scene before him. You looked so fucking hot; your flushed cheeks and bright eyes of desire gave you away. You were completely open for him, pussy glistening with your wetness, while your tits and neck were marked by bites and hickeys, traces of his hunger.

Toji took a moment to enjoy the sight, knowing that he had driven you to the edge of madness and that he wanted you like never before. “You look perfect like this,” he murmured, a sly smile revealing his satisfaction. He moved closer, letting his hands roam over your body, feeling the warmth of your skin and the softness of your curves as he gave you one last look full of promise. “It’s time for us to play some more, kitten.”

That hint of mischief in his eyes was unmistakable as he dropped his pants and boxers to the floor, revealing his fat cock, a sight that made you hold your breath. You hadn’t been wrong to think he was big; he was more than you had imagined.

Precum glistened on his bubblegum pink tip, and his heavy, full balls were ready for you, as if they knew they were meant to satisfy your darkest desires. The skin of his cock, the same milky hue as his abdomen, was an exquisite sight, and you couldn’t help but lick your lips at the sight, an instinctive response that betrayed your growing need.

“Like what you see, sweetness?” he asked, his voice deep and teasing, as he took a step closer, daring you to give in to temptation. Toji grabbed your hips, lowering you against his mouth, giving a playful lick. “Fuck the view is even better from here.” and without a second thought, he forced your hips to crush his mouth, opening it to devour you.

You mewled in pleasure once more, resting your hands on his abdomen. You were so turned on, you hadn't cum once and yet the feeling of pleasure was so good you wanted to stop time to feel it forever.

You rocked your hips with him, but Toji tightened his grip, immobilizing you as he plunged his tongue into your dripping hole. You wrapped your fingers around it, feeling like your hands weren't enough to cover it completely. Toji's growl ripped through your nerve endings, causing a shiver to run through your body.

Meanwhile, his hands slid down to your ass, spreading your ass cheeks to continue enjoying you. The combination of his mouth and his attention was driving you to the edge of madness, every caress and every lick making you want more.

You felt desire run through your body, an intense burning that wouldn't leave you. His words, soft but firm, confirmed what you longed for. "Do it, let me feel that pretty mouth of yours on my cock," he murmured, as two of his fingers slid inside you, intensifying the pleasure that was already consuming you.

Your lips curved into a mischievous smile as you moved closer to him, feeling the electricity in the air. With one hand, you stroked the length of his p0ll4, enjoying the soft, warm texture between your fingers. His muscles tensed, a soft growl escaping his lips as you enveloped him with your mouth, wetting every inch of his skin with your tongue.

“Fuck, that feels amazing,” Toji whispered, his raspy voice filled with desire. You gave in to lust, making slow movements at first, enjoying every moan that escaped his mouth. His breath grew heavier, each sigh turning you on more.

Your head bobbed up and down, taking more of him into your mouth.

His fingers tangled in your hair, gently guiding you as your lips worked at his base. “That’s it, baby. Keep going,” he said, his voice filled with need. You felt his cock grow harder in your mouth, the pressure of his desire making you want more.

You struggled to keep up, matching the pleasure of his cock with your tongue, teasing the tip of his member, causing his body to shiver. But when his mouth returned to your pussy you moaned around him.

As your lips slid along his length, you began to play with his balls, stroking them with your fingers and massaging gently, feeling the tension build in his abdomen. The mix of pleasure you shared was almost palpable, and it filled you with desire to know you were bringing him to the edge. His balls were ready to empty, and you knew you wanted to feel him completely, flooding you with him.

“That’s it, sweetness,” Toji said, his voice a whisper laden with need. “Don’t stop.” His words were like fuel to your fire, and you pushed yourself to make him feel as good as possible, intent on leaving him completely satisfied.

Toji’s tongue began to move faster against you, forcing you to let him moan. The sounds coming out of your mouth mixed with the rhythm of his tongue, a symphony of pleasure and need. Each lick was a wave of sensations that coursed through your body, driving you to the edge.

“Ah, Toji!” you gasped, unable to hold back your moans as your hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more of his touch. The way his tongue teased your clit made you lose control, and your hands gripped his thighs, pushing your pussy closer, wanting to feel every part of him.

With each flick of his tongue, your moans became louder, filling the space with the echo of your pleasure. Desire and need intertwined in a crescendo, bringing you ever closer to the edge.

“Toji, don’t stop,” you begged, feeling the tension building inside you, preparing to erupt in a wave of pleasure.

You flicked your tongue out to lick the tip that was squirting his precum, eyes closed and wet from the overstimulation, you closed your lips against the head of his cock and sucked hard. Hearing him growl as he pushed his hips into your face. One last lick was enough to make you come undone in his mouth. You bit your lips hard before crying out in pleasure.

Toji softly asked you to get off of him, and so you did, feeling the need and anticipation coursing through you. You were more than ready to be fucked. He settled himself on top of you, and you felt his tip press against your hole, dripping with desire.

He claimed your lips again, the kiss fierce and demanding, as his hands slid down to hold your knees, pulling your legs tight to your chest. “Keep your legs up for me,” he ordered, his voice a soft whisper laden with authority.

You let yourself go, obeying without hesitation. The feeling of vulnerability turned you on, and your eyes met his, filled with desire and determination. Toji positioned himself, and you could feel the heat of his body against yours, the tension palpable in the air.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice a low growl that made you shiver. You nodded, knowing what was coming next would be the culmination of all that anticipation, the connection you so craved.

With a teasing movement, he let the tip enter your hole, and that alone was enough to make you roll your eyes and rethink whether his entire thickness would fit. “It’s not going in, you’re big,” you whispered, your gaze fixed on that spot that joined you. “You’ll get used to it; if I have to fuck you every day to get you to do it, I will.”

He went in a little further, just a little further, then back out. He was teasing you, enjoying the desperate look on your face, the way your pussy was throbbing to be filled by him.

“Please, Toji,” you begged, like a desperate, lustful whore for his cock. “Don’t leave me like this, I need more.”

His lips curved into a teasing smile as he reveled in your desperation. “So you like being treated this way, huh?” he muttered, as he thrust again, this time a little deeper.

Your body reacted instantly, a moan escaping your lips at the feeling of that warm, dirty pressure. “Give me more,” you insisted, feeling your desire grow, the need for his thickness filling every corner of your being.

“I just want you to get used to it,” he said in a deep voice, almost a growl, as he pressed a little harder, making your body arch, wanting to take him in completely. The way he laughed at you only fueled the lust burning inside you.

“That’s it, hold on,” he ordered, taking your legs firmly and holding them up. He moved slowly at first, enjoying the ride, milking out every inch of pleasure before pulling back and thrusting back in. “This is how it’s done.”

“What a greedy cunt,” Toji said, his deep voice filled with mockery as he watched your cunt swallow him, clenching around him as if it didn’t want to let him go. The way your body wanted him turned him on even more.

“I’m sorry, I know I can take it. I don’t need to get used to it, Toji, please,” you whimpered in pleasure, your eyes shining with the tears that threatened to fall, every movement of his sending waves of satisfaction through you.

Toji smirked mischievously, feeling your body react to his thickness. “So you’re ready for what’s next?” he said, picking up the pace, driving deeper into you with each thrust. “Let me hear those moans, baby.”

His hips moved hard, thrusting deeper and deeper, as his hand settled on your hip, holding you firmly in place. Each thrust was a reminder of who was in charge, and you welcomed it, giving yourself over to the intensity of each moment.

You cried out in pleasure, each thrust of Toji sending electric shocks through your body. You were so full, so drunk with pleasure, that the outside world faded away with each stroke. His thickness filled every corner of you, and every movement had you writhing and moaning, unable to contain the cries of satisfaction that escaped your lips.

“Toji, more… give me more!” you pleaded, the words spilling out of your mouth like a mantra. Your body arched against his, wanting to feel him even deeper, wanting to lose yourself in the madness of this moment.

“You like it, baby?” he murmured, a teasing smirk on his face as he quickened his pace, making the sound of his skin slapping against yours echo through the air. Each thrust was a shock of pleasure, making you feel more and more eager, more desirous.

Toji wouldn’t stop, and you knew he would enjoy every moment of your surrender, every moan that escaped your mouth. You were completely at his mercy, and you loved it.

One of his hands traveled to your tit, squeezing it firmly as his fingers rolled around your nipple, pulling on it in a precise motion that made you arch your back. The overstimulation made you moan even more, each touch of his fingers stoking the fire inside you. Your tits swayed with each thrust, his slaps against your body echoing in the room, resonating with the sound of sloshing that filled the air. You could feel his balls slapping against your ass with each movement, adding an extra sensation that made you lose your sanity.

“Toji… yes! Don’t stop,” you cried out, feeling the pleasure building up in your abdomen. You were caught in a storm of sensations, unable to think of anything but him, his body against yours, and the desire that consumed you. The pace intensified, and with each thrust, he made sure to take you further, to a point where there was no turning back.

The curve of his cock was so perfect that each thrust hit your sweet spot, sending waves of pleasure through your body. Toji growled in pleasure, his expression a mix of concentration and delight as he watched you, enjoying how your body responded to every movement.

“You’re a fucking dream,” he muttered under his breath, his eyes locked on you as he increased the pace making you feel every inch of his thickness. The sound of his skin slapping against yours mixed with your moans.

“You’re so tight, so perfect,” Toji said, his voice low and heavy with desire. His gaze intensified as he focused on you, enjoying the show you put on. “I'm going to make you forget about everything else.”

Moans escaped your lips, each one louder than the last as he dug deeper, searching for that spot that would make you lose control. The pressure in your abdomen built, and you knew you were close to exploding.

“Toji, don’t stop,” you begged, feeling the combination of his thickness and steady pace drive you to the edge. “I can’t… I can’t take it anymore.”

With a teasing smile, he looked into your eyes. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m here to make you feel good,” he said as his hips slammed into you harder, each thrust a direct hit to your pleasure.

You clung to his back, dragging him towards you as you bit his neck to silence your cries of pleasure. Each thrust from Toji was like a jolt of electricity running through your body, and the need to hold back those moans became more and more difficult. His skin was hot under your lips, and the mix of his sweat and yours created an intoxicating sensation.

“Toji,” you gasped through your teeth, feeling the pressure build up inside you. Every time his hips slammed into yours, the friction drove you closer to the edge of insanity. His hands were firmly gripped onto your hips, guiding you to move to the rhythm he set.

“You like it like this?” he asked in a playful tone, his breath hot on your ear. “Because I can make it harder.” His voice was a whisper filled with defiance and lust, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way he made you feel: completely his.

You nodded, unable to form words as you looked up at him, eyes filled with desire. “Yes, please…” you pleaded, feeling the tension inside you begin to boil over.

He complied, increasing the speed and depth of his thrusts, each stroke echoing in the air as your bodies came together. The combination of his pace and the way he looked at you, full of confidence, sent you over the edge of euphoria.

“This is just the beginning,” he murmured as he thrust into you harder, the sound of his skin clashing with yours filling the room. “Get ready for what’s next.”

The words excited him as much as they did you, and your body reacted instantly, feeling like you were about to fall into an abyss of pleasure.

His hand slid between you, searching for that spot that would make you lose control. With an expert move, his fingers found your clit, applying perfect pressure that made your body shudder. You clung to his back tighter, feeling each brush of his fingers add to the intensity of his penetration.

“See?” “I can make you feel so much better,” he said, a teasing smile revealing his satisfaction at watching you lose yourself in the mix of pleasure. His fingers worked in circles, as his cock continued to hit that sweet spot inside you, taking you beyond any limits you had ever known.

Your moans became louder, unable to be suppressed as he made you experience waves of pleasure. “Toji, I can’t… I’m close,” you managed to say, the pressure building up, taking you to the edge of ecstasy.

“That’s what I want, baby,” he murmured, increasing the speed of his fingers as his hips continued their intense dance. “I want you to melt for me.”

You felt like a whirlwind of sensations, and each thrust along with his caresses made you lose track of time. The room was filled with whispers, moans, and the sound of skin colliding, creating a symphony of pleasure that only he could orchestrate.

With every movement of his hand, the pressure inside you grew, and you knew you were close to exploding. “Yes… please…” you begged, feeling the need consume you.

“I’m going to cream you so good,” he said, his voice deep and confident, as his hand and cock worked together to bring you to the top. “Fuck, I want to see my cum dripping out of that pretty pussy of yours.” And when you finally came, the climax washed over you like a wave, leaving you breathless as the pleasure engulfed you completely.

You felt Toji tense up on you, his breathing becoming faster, almost like a warning of what was to come. Each thrust was more intense, and that spark of pent-up desire that had grown between you was about to burst. His hands gripped your hips tightly, making sure there was no escape as he lost himself in the pleasure.

“I’m going to…” he murmured, his voice husky and full of desire. “I’m going to fill you up.” His eyes shone with a mix of lust and satisfaction, as if every movement brought him closer to the edge of that abyss of pleasure. Your heartbeat echoed in your ears as he gave himself over completely, the muscles in his body tensing as you felt his cock grow even harder inside you.

With one last deep thrust, Toji let out a growl, a primal sound that filled the room. The world around you faded away as he reached his climax, filling you with his seed, letting his desire flow inside you, mixing with your own ecstasy. You could feel it staining your rubbery walls, the warmth of his cum inside you,

You clung to his body, feeling every wave of pleasure wash over him, every spasm sending waves of satisfaction across his skin. His eyes closed for a moment, letting out a heavy exhale, as if releasing all the tension built up inside him.

Toji leaned forward, his eyes locked on you, watching every little movement. He wanted to see it, he wanted to witness how everything he had given you flowed out of you, that moment when his desire mixed with yours. The look on his face was a mix of possessiveness and satisfaction, almost as if he was enjoying the show you were putting on for him.

“I want to see,” he murmured, his voice low and heavy with desire. With one hand, he took your chin, forcing you to keep your gaze on his eyes, while his other hand slid between your bodies.

Feeling vulnerable and exposed, a wave of pleasure and excitement ran through your body as you watched his liquid slowly slide out, dripping from your pussy, leaving a visible trail connecting it to you.

“That’s right, baby,” he said in a teasing tone, enjoying the sight. “Watch it slip away. You’re so greedy, swallowing everything I have for you.”

An involuntary moan escaped your lips as the feeling of his cum dripping down your body caused you a mix of shame and arousal. The sight of his body still shaking in pleasure, the glistening drops sliding down your skin, and the way he looked at you, it was all a heady combination that kept you in a state of pure ecstasy.

Toji smirked, his eyes fixed on you as he scooped up some of his cum with two fingers, making sure not a drop was wasted. The way he looked at you made you feel like you were the center of his universe, and the mix of shame and desire sent a shiver through your body.

“Save it for me,” he said in an orderly tone, as his fingers slowly slid down your body, right where you wanted him most.

He looked at you with an expression that made it clear he knew exactly what he was doing. With one precise movement, he brought his fingers to your pussy, carefully inserting them while maintaining eye contact. The combination of his scent and the touch of his fingers made you moan, forcing you to feel every inch of his presence.

“Ready to go?” he asked, his voice low and full of mischief, knowing exactly the effect he had on you.

With a slight movement, he withdrew his fingers, leaving a void that made you moan for more. The air between you was thick with tension, and you couldn’t help it: desire took over you, wanting him to fill you again, wanting every inch of him.

“Yes, please,” you replied, your voice cracking, feeling your body preparing to receive him again. You clung to his torso, your legs shaking in anticipation, as he settled himself better on top of you.

Toji leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours as his lips curved into a provocative smile. “Then get ready, because this only gets better.”

Without further warning, he guided his cock into you, pressing the tip against your pussy. With a firm motion, he began to enter you slowly, enjoying the way your body received him, eagerly absorbing him.

“Ah, that’s it,” he murmured, feeling your body take him in as he began to pump in a controlled but intense rhythm. Each thrust was like a wave of pleasure that spilled over between you, driving you closer to madness.

The sensations intensified, the sound of your bodies colliding, filling the room as your moans and his grunts blended together, creating a symphony of shared desire.

“You’re perfect,” Toji said, increasing the pace. “I can’t get enough of you.”

[gam3r-girli3]

The day Arthur proposed to you had the been the happiest day of his life - because, out of some sheer miracle, you'd said yes

He swore his heart had never felt so full and warm and whole

In that moment - when he slid his mother's ring onto your finger and stood, big hands grabbing your waist and pulling you into him so he can lean down to capture your lips with his - he knows he's finally found his happy ever after

Until it falls apart

It's his fault, of course it is. He was stupid, he fumbled the amazing relationship he had when, once again, his old mentor called and he, like a fool, came running

You'd often voiced your disapproval of Dutch many times since getting together with Arthur, but he'd shrugged it off

"That's just how he is", "You know Dutch, always gotta plan up his sleeve", "I know, darlin', but I owe him everythin,"

Now, he'd lost you because he, once again, chose Dutch over you

The months after the split were some of the hardest months he'd ever experienced

There was a constant ache in his chest that never seemed to leave, a pain that haunted him morning, noon and night

He couldn't bare to touch your side of the bed, still unmade from the day you'd left

He usually just slept on the couch, passed out after a bottle of whiskey

In your angry rush to leave, you'd left some things behind you; a toothbrush, a few hair ties lying around, and an old t-shirt belonging to Arthur that you'd stolen and claimed as your 'sleep shirt'

Sometimes he'd take it and bring it to his nose, deeply inhaling your scent and missing you even more than he already did

It's no secret that Arthur is loyal to those he loves beyond reason, and he's incredibly sentimental

Those few items you'd left behind get put into a box that he keeps sacredly, occasionally looking through it on days he finds himself reminiscing about the past

There's a framed photo on his nightstand collecting dust of the two of you; his friend Charles had snapped it one time at a barbecue hosted by Abigail and John

In it, you two had been embracing, stealing a moment for yourselves, his head leaning down to rest against your forehead, noses brushing against each other, eyes closed as you bask in each other's presence

It was a beautiful picture, and you'd been so grateful to Charles for capturing it and emailing you a copy to print and frame

There's days when it seems like you're haunting Arthur no matter where he goes or what he does

He'll be in town, walking down the street when he sees a woman with hair almost exactly like yours, remembering how soft it felt under his fingers

He'll be in the kitchen, making food when he hears one of your favourite songs on the radio, remembering how you used to sing along to it

He'll be scrolling on social media and an advertisement will pop up of your favourite perfume, remembering how the scent still lingered in your shared living space for days after you left

Regret and loneliness are constant companions in Arthur's heart as he tries to continue on living as normally as he can, going to work, coming home, running when Dutch says he needs his help

It's a solid year later before Arthur's path crosses with yours once again

The sight of you, so real and alive and right in front of him, is enough to take the breath from his lungs

You were always beautiful to him, the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, but now? There was something damn near ethereal about you

The conversation is short and sweet, polite and a little awkward

Somehow, by some stroke of good luck on his end, you end up having coffee with him, which turns into a few hours of catching up and talking like old times

Which leads to texting each other frequently, sending memes and jokes back and forth

And then, to you showing up at his door one night, regretful and wondering if you'd made a mistake by calling things off

Arthur's all too eager to have you come back to him, but he reigns it in, knowing he can't make you do anything; this has to be your choice

Arthur Morgan has never been the religious type but in that moment he sends out a prayer to whatever divine entity will listen that you'll forgive him and come back to him

requested ♡ hope you enjoy anon!

[ pics in collage do not belong to me - all were found on pinterest ]

[sodavizz]

can i req daisuke x reader who is daisuke reskinned ... like they are the same person different bodies . god got lazy so he copy and pasted daisuke kinda . fluff preferred , gn or fem reader pls ^_^

Hope this suits ur tastes T^T

p.2

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Great minds think alike!

--

Paring: Daisuke x GN! Reader

Warnings: My headcanons again!!

Wc: 100+ somethin

--

You and Daisuke are literally two sides of the same coin. Everything he gets excited about, you’re right there with him, equally hyped. It’s not even a conscious thing; your energy just matches up perfectly,

Your personalities sync so well that when one of you starts a sentence, the other finishes it. You’ll often find yourselves speaking in perfect harmony, whether it’s making a joke, finishing a crew member’s thoughts, or simply solving a problem. It’s like a perfect partnership, and everyone around you is both amazed and a little bewildered by how easily you two work together. (Example bc I'm silly :3 ; "Skibidi-" You say. "Toilet!" He says happily.)

Since you two practically share the same brain, you of course have the same odd tastes, amount of braincells, and youngin' typa humor, which Swansea would like to call it. Like you guys would be in the corner, just giggling to one another as you draw the most ugliest portraits of each Tulpar member and he'd just be giving the most meanest, most impeccable side glance to you guys and would probably huff to himself; "Damn kids these days..."

Since you two are essentially the same person in different bodies, there’s no real need for personal space when it comes to sharing experiences. You’ll often find yourselves standing way too close to each other, excitedly chatting, and you don’t mind in the slightest though!

Conversations with Daisuke are always an adventure, but with you? It’s a comedy show. You’ve both got that same quirky sense of humor, so you end up riffing off each other all day long. One minute you’re telling a story about a malfunctioning piece of equipment, and the next minute, you’re cracking jokes and turning the whole thing into a hilarious reenactment. No one can keep a straight face around the two of you—it’s a full-on comedy duo in motion.

Neither of you is exactly known for being graceful. In fact, between the two of you, there's a lot of tripping over things, knocking over cups, and running into doorframes. But you both laugh it off, usually with a look that says, "Well, of course we did that—what did we expect?" When one of you trips, the other usually comes to the rescue, offering a hand with a smile, like it's all part of the fun.

On days when the space shuttle feels particularly small or the work is extra exhausting, you’ll both end up curled up on the couch together, just taking a break before heading off to do their job. It’s not anything special—just you two, cozy, talking about nothing and everything at the same time. Daisuke might ramble about a new idea for a ship upgrade, but you both always end up in fits of giggles, tired but happy, content in the quiet companionship.

[ll7esxs]

✦ 𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: Keegan is in love with a friend but won't admit it/pt2 and Pt1 ✦ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫(𝐬): Keegan russ ✦ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: X f!reader ✦ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 / 𝐓𝐨𝐧𝐞: angst / hurt-comfort ✦ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: emotional tension, unresolved feelings, guilt, attempted reconciliation

𖦹 ⟡ summary: Keegan turned you down, things haven’t been the same. He feels it too—the weight of what he said, or didn’t say, hanging in the air between you. Regret creeps in behind his silence. He knows he screwed up. And now, maybe… just maybe, he’s ready to step forward. But as someone finally brave enough to say what he really feels. Tags for who asked for pt2: @amanezca @the-real-queen-of-hell @lucingk @blacpiink @suha5842 @keeganrussmybeloved @shanatypewriter Thank you all for support🥹<3

════════════════════════════════════════════

You’re military. You’ve had bullets fly past your ear, seen teammates bleed out, been stranded in hostile zones. A rejection? An almost? You tell yourself it’s nothing. You’ve survived worse.

So you act normal. Professional. You show up, do the job, talk just like your usual times. But deep down, your stomach knots every time he enters the room.

You don’t look at him. Not really. When Keegan talks, your eyes stay on your gear, on the floor, on anyone else. You nod, respond, but never meet his gaze.

Keegan notices. Not at first — he’s used to your discipline. But over time, it clicks. You’re too quiet during downtime. Too sharp when giving status reports. You smile less. You avoid shared tasks. You vanish when the room empties.

He doesn’t say anything. Keegan’s not the type to corner someone over feelings. But now he watches more. You don’t notice, but he clocks every little shift — the tightened jaw, the way your hands shake after a mission, the way your voice catches on “copy that.”

He keeps his distance. Because he told you he couldn’t give you more. And now he’s seeing the weight of that land on you like a goddamn IED he didn't disarm.

In his head: “Yeah. way to go, motherfucker…” — muttered to himself, when he’s alone in the gear room, running a hand over his face. Not out of guilt alone — but because he misses you too. Quietly. Constantly. But he still believes pulling away was the right thing.

But damn, he misses everything — the natural back-and-forth you used to have, even though he’s not much of a talker. The way it felt right just being in the same room with you. He hates that something as stupid as “never admit” exists in the world.

He thought maybe walking in like normal, talking like usual, would bring things back. Like muscle memory. But you’re stubborn. Got dignity stitched into your bones. You keep doing the same quiet, cold thing — and he knows it’s not because you’re petty. It’s because you meant what you said, and he didn’t do enough with it.

He’s not clingy. Never has been. But he hates this space between you. Still, Keegan’s got his own brand of pride — not the loud kind, just the kind that won’t let him soften up just to fix something he broke.

After a long op, campfire low, gear half-off, most of the team already asleep. You’re seated alone, quietly stripping your rifle, cleaning without really thinking — it’s muscle memory by now.

Keegan approaches, silent steps. Drops a canteen beside you without a word.

You don’t look up.

He lingers. Then, after a beat “What I said... wasn’t what I meant.”

Still, you don’t meet his eyes. Just murmur as you work “You must be exhausted again and desperate like the last night.”

That sigh of his — short, sharp. Like it hit. I actually hate her, he thinks. But it’s not hate. It’s frustration. Guilt. Regret. He crouches a bit closer, voice lower now, tighter “You just didn’t handle it right. That’s all.” You finally pause — just a second — but don’t turn to him, just looking “Alright then.” That’s all you give. Not a fight. Not forgiveness.

He doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t push. Just straightens up and walks off, quiet, into the dark.

And even though nothing got fixed, the air’s heavier now — like something just got cracked open… but never poured out.

════════════════════════════════════════════

Keegan hates it. He hates the work piling up, hates how hollow his chest feels — like something inside him cracked the day things between you went cold.

He can’t stop thinking he broke the chemistry that once made you both click.

Two, three months in, the silence isn’t just awkward; it’s heavy. Thick like fog in the room every time you’re near.

You act like it’s nothing — more “I don’t care” than usual, keeping him at arm’s length, treating him like any other teammate.

But to Keegan, it feels worse — like he’s some rookie nobody wants around, and you’re silently holding a grudge.

Early on, you reroute your reports through Merrick or Hesh — bypassing him without a word. Keegan doesn’t react.

A month passes. You start sliding mission data back onto his desk again — no conversation, just the cold exchange of files.

He never mentions it. But slowly, he starts placing your reports face-up, not face-down.

At one point, you swipe through the tablet, frowning—something’s off. You mutter under your breath, puzzled. Without a word, Keegan taps the right command on your screen and slides it back to you.

You return from a solo recon mission. Passing you in the hallway, Keegan mutters quietly, “All clear?”

You nod once “Always is.”

He nods back and keeps walking.

Or a moment with you start calling him ‘Russ’ again. Not “Keegan.” Not silence. Just… “Russ.”

During a mission “Russ, left window.”

He glances up, nods, shoots—no comment.

Keegan’s patience wears thin, and his bitter remarks start slipping out like a rough edge to his usual silence. One morning, you grab a coffee, take a slow sip — he eyes you, dry as ever: “Bitter, huh?”

You don’t even flinch. Just turn your head, opening your mouth like you’re about to say something, then pause — a smirk playing on your lips. “Yeah, well Russ, I prefer it that way. You should’ve known.”

Later, as you pass him in the hall, you throw the word back at him, casual but sharp: “Russ?”

He turns, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “Yeah?”

You raise your hands with a sly smile, eyes glinting, “Just checking if we’re still like we used to be… just how you wanted it.”

His smirk is reluctant, but there — the barest crack in his armor with a confused look.

Before a mission, you find an extra set of reinforced gloves tucked into your pack, a better sidearm holster clipped on, and a small, custom comms jammer hidden carefully among your gear. No note, no “here, I got you.” Just those silent gifts, like quiet markers of someone watching out for you. When you glance around, Keegan’s already gone, his presence felt but unseen.

During a tense recon op, faint footsteps echo behind you. You don’t look back, but you sense him—moving silently just beyond your sight, eyes sharp for threats you might miss. When danger finally erupts, it’s his shadow that strikes first, neutralizing the threat before it ever reaches you. No words, no fanfare—just a steady shield you didn’t ask for but can’t ignore.

Back at base, Keegan slides mission briefings your way with extra intel buried inside—details most would overlook. He never meets your eyes when he hands it over, no words exchanged, just a quick nod or a flick of the wrist. His trust isn’t loud; it’s woven in the small moments where he knows you’ll do right by it.

When higher-ups question your calls or second-guess your decisions, Keegan steps in, quiet but firm. He deflects doubts, redirects scrutiny like a ghost in the machine—no fuss, no drama. Just a silent shield making sure you don’t have to stand alone.

You notice. You can’t not notice. And somehow, that makes it harder to keep the distance you tried so hard to build.

You steal a quiet moment alone, turning over everything he’s been doing — the silent support, the hidden gestures. Deep down, you know exactly who Keegan is: a stubborn, tough guy who’d rather lose a limb than admit what he’s feeling. Yeah, a total loser when it comes to owning up to his heart.

The thought crosses your mind to just say it — to confront him, lay it all bare. But no. Life’s too busy, missions too relentless, and besides, you’re still holding on to that stubborn edge yourself. He never said sorry, and you can’t quite forgive that silence.

Yet lately, you catch the subtle signs. His eyes, once sharp and defiant, now narrow with a weary heaviness. It’s not just fatigue—he’s been running on something deeper, something weighing him down. And maybe, just maybe, you’re the only one who’s noticed.

════════════════════════════════════════════

The room was dim, shadows folding into corners like secrets. Night had settled outside, but inside, the quiet buzz of tension was louder. You stepped in, surprised to find Keegan Russ sitting there, idly flicking his knife left and right, eyes fixed on the blade like it held all the answers.

“You keep slipping extra gear into my pack,” you said, voice catching him off guard.

His eyes flicked up, sharp and cold. “Welcome to not bleeding out out there,” he muttered, sliding the knife back into his pocket.

Without another word, he stood and started toward the door. But you caught his arm, firm, refusing to let him pass. He froze, staring at the door like it was the only escape, then finally met your gaze. A slow, weary smile tugged at his lips—Here we go again.

“You don’t have to pretend it’s just about the mission,” you said, finally meeting his eyes.

Keegan’s jaw clenched tight. He looked away, then back at you, his gaze sharp as ever. “You’re in your own world, huh?”

“Honesty, Keegan... I need honesty,” you pressed, your voice steady, tired. Like you’d run out of patience for half-truths.

He studied you, brow furrowing in confusion. You held your ground, serious—like you were done playing games.

“Honesty doesn’t change the fact that I’m responsible for your safety,” he said simply, eyes moving over you like weighing something heavy.

“Is it, Keegan? Because from what I see—the positioning, the intel, the quiet backup—it’s more than protocol.”

His eyes narrowed, not with anger, but with that sharp scrutiny that always cut deeper than words.

“I do what has to be done. No more. No less.” You stepped closer, the air between you tightening as you nudged him gently, shifting him so he was fully facing you. His icy blue eyes caught yours—sharp, clear, and somehow disarming all at once. You couldn’t help but feel a flicker of weakness there, right in that moment, knowing Keegan was dropping the walls just a little.

“It’s not about what you do,” you said softly, voice low but firm. “It’s why you do it. You don’t have to keep it locked away.”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his gaze swept the room, restless, before settling back on you—steady, searching.

“You think I’m soft for doing this? For stepping in when you don’t ask for it?” His voice was rougher than usual, like he was wrestling with the admission.

“No,” you said, looking him straight in the eye. “I think you’re real. And that scares you.”

“Scared doesn’t get the job done,” he replied, but there was a flicker — just a brief crack — in his usually unbreakable armor.

For a moment, Keegan’s mask slipped, revealing something raw and unspoken beneath. Then he pulled back, voice cool, professional again.

You smiled, quiet and knowing. “But it makes you human...”

Keegan’s sharp eyebrows drew down, eyes narrowing with that don’t like what you’re doing glare — but beneath it, something deeper was cracking. Deep inside, he was losing the war with himself, the fight to keep everything locked tight. And now, with your hand pressed gently to his chest, it was clear: this time, he’d lost.

You broke the silence again, voice low and steady. “You protect me in ways you don’t admit. Not because you have to, but because you want to.”

His gaze flickered, a subtle tightening around the eyes betraying the truth he tried to hide. “And I’m done pretending I don’t notice. And I know damn well you’re done too.”

The words hung between you — calm, honest. No pressure. No demands. Just truth.

Keegan stared, long and still. His breath was steady, but something inside shifted — a crack in the armor he’d worn for so long. His eyes widened just a bit, like this was the first time he’d ever let it all out.

For a moment, no words came. His jaw clenched; his usual mask faltered under the weight of years spent controlling and holding back. Then he made a choice — no more hiding.

Without a word, he stepped closer. His hand slid to the small of your back, steadying himself. You were already close, but he needed this — a tether to reality, to keep from losing control. His face was bare of pretense, clear and honest for once.

His eyes searched yours, silently asking permission.

Your heart didn’t race; it found a steady calm in the quiet truth of the moment.

Then, slow and deliberate, he leaned in. Every second stretched out like it mattered — like the world could wait.

His lips met yours firmly but gently, testing the strength of this new reality.

The kiss deepened, restraint melting away with every breath. It was long, unhurried, raw — no grand gestures, just two soldiers finally dropping their shields in the only way they knew how.

His hands found your hips, grounding himself in your presence. You didn’t pull away — you matched his calm, letting the silence between you speak louder than words ever could.

When they finally broke apart, Keegan rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed for a moment like the world had softened just for you. Your heart skipped—Is that really Keegan Russ? So fierce, so guarded, and now... so damn soft. You felt yourself falling, and you knew he was losing control too.

He opened his eyes slowly, voice low and a little rough. “You’re not gonna rumble about what happened?”

You smiled, breath steady. “Let’s just say… I’ll maybe let it pass.”

A small, genuine smile curved his lips, sleepy eyes full of something tender. “Better keep those words.”

You returned the smile, closing your eyes as he leaned in again for another lips-touching. Your hands found his jaw, steady and sure, and his grip tightened—rougher now, but desperate, needing to hold on just as much as you did.

[marvelavengerspovs1]

Chapter 1- Malign

Pairing: Bucky x F!reader

Warnings: Lots and lots of angst (sorry but not sorry), very toxic behaviours from both Bucky and Reader, 18+ MDNI

Length: 1.2k

Summary: You and Bucky are going through a rough patch. Is it something worth fixing?

A/N: Ok, so this has been an idea that I’ve been playing with for a few days so I decided to try it out. This is completely different from what I normally do. I plan to make this a mini-series, about 3-5 parts. I’d like to think this is Bucky after trying to acclimate back into a more “normal” life because let’s be honest, he’s a man with PTSD and lost a good chunk of his life. I was listening to The Black Dog and The Prophecy while writing this so it’s more angsty than I imagined.

I do not give consent for my work to be translated, copied, or sold!

You wake up cold, noticing an absence beside you. Part of you wants to stay in bed, not wanting to look for him. But the other part, the part that chooses to ignore the past few months, wants to. After about thirty seconds of debating, the latter wins.

You get out of bed and leave your bedroom. You find Bucky in the living room nursing a bottle of whiskey and Asgardian liquor, blankly staring at the wall. You let out a frustrated sigh and he looks up at you.

“Hey,” You say softly, trying to hide your true emotions.

He rolls his eyes and puts the bottle down on the coffee table. “What do you want?

You frown. “Never mind.”

Bucky rolls his eyes again. “Why are you giving me this ‘never mind’ bullshit?”

“You clearly don’t want to be bothered right now, so I’m going back to bed.”

You turn around and start to walk back to your shared bedroom. “Doll, wait.”

You pause and he gets up from the couch, moving in front of you. You both sit in silence before you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Yes?”

“Why do you think you’re bothering me?”

You let out a scoff and shake your head. “I don’t know, maybe because you rolled your eyes and asked me, ‘what do you want’?”

Bucky lets out a frustrated groan. “You’re taking it the wrong way.”

“How am I supposed to take it, Bucky? Because to me, it sounds like you’re already pissed at me.”

Bucky looks down at you with a grumpy expression. “I’m already pissed at other stuff, it’s not you.”

“Well I’m still going to bed, I don’t want to be around you when you’re like this.”

“Why are you like this?” He mutters and rolls his eyes once more.

“Why do I have to be like this? That’s really funny coming from you.” 

“You always take things the wrong way.”

“You wanted space, I’m giving you space.” You finally decided to walk around him.

“I never said I wanted space!” He calls after you before deciding to follow you to your bedroom.

“Well you clearly are not in the mood to be around me so I’m removing myself from the situation.” You feel your throat tighten.

The past few months have been like this. It started off with small arguments like leaving a dish in the sink for a while, to making everything a fight. You don’t know what’s changed between the two of you. You both were like a well oiled machine, you both knowing what the other needed. But recently, you both were out of sync.

“Why do you always do this? Don’t walk away while we’re talking.” Bucky grabs your arm.

His grip is firm but not hard enough to hurt you. You jump and turn around, your eyes watering so much that a tear slips out.

“Let go.” Bucky immediately drops your arm.

“Why are you crying?” He asks gently.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because my boyfriend is in one of his moods?” You wipe your tears.

“This is so you,” Bucky lets out a scoff. “I told you it’s not about you. Not everything is about you.”

You feel a searing heat in your chest. “If that’s how you feel.”

You turn around and close the door, locking it behind you. Bucky stares at the door for a minute with his eyes widened. He pounds on the door.

He calls your name. “Open the door.”

You pull out a bag. “No.”

He calls your name again. “Open the damn door!”

“I’m not staying in the same room as you.” You pack some clothes and continue to wipe your tears.

“Just open the door!” You finally listen to him.

“You have two options, you either find somewhere else to sleep or I leave.”

“You can’t kick me out of our apartment.” He furrows his eyebrows.

You bring the bag over your shoulder. “Fine, I’m leaving then.”

Bucky’s eyes widen, noticing the bag finally. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I don’t know, maybe with Wanda or Natasha.”

Bucky steps in front of you. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to stay here, in our room.” You raise an eyebrow at him. “Then where are you going?”

“Why do I have to go somewhere? I didn’t do anything.”

“If you can’t see this clearly, then I can’t sleep under the same roof as you. Whether you like it or not, I’m not staying here tonight.”

“Please, don’t go Doll.” Bucky pleads as a last attempt.

“I can’t be in the same room as you right now.” You walk around him.

“Why are you being so damn difficult? You don’t need to run to Wanda or Natasha.”

“We can talk about this tomorrow. Once you’re not drunk.” You leave the room and head down the hall to the front door.

Bucky follows you out, going back to his spot on the couch. He takes a swig of the whiskey.

“Go, see if I care.” He scowls.

You falter in your steps for a moment. “Go to bed Bucky.”

You walk out of the front door, feeling Bucky’s glare. Bucky stares at the door for a moment before throwing the empty whiskey glass at the wall.

You hear the crash and turn to open the door. You stand there for a moment, your hand on the door knob debating on going back inside. You know Bucky, this isn’t who he is. But you can’t go back in. You turn around and make your way to Natasha’s.

Natasha’s apartment isn’t far from your apartment that you share with Bucky. You get there within 5 minutes and knock on her door.

Natasha opens the door, her eyebrows pulled together. “What are you doing here?”

You let yourself cry. “Can I stay here tonight?”

Natasha opens the door wider, ushering you in. “Of course, Babe.”

A few minutes later, you’re crying on the couch with a hot cup of cocoa. “I just don’t know where it all went wrong. It felt as if everything was going well, and now all we do is fight. I didn’t even want to look for him when I woke up.”

Natasha rubs your arm soothingly. “I understand. Bucky has a lot of baggage.”

“I don’t care about that.”

And it’s true. You know his past, his current nightmares, how he became who he is. It didn’t bother you because Bucky seemed to be improving.

“It feels like he’s going backwards. And…” You take a deep breath. “I don’t know if I want to stay around for that.”

Natasha nods her head. “No one would blame you if you wanted to take some time for yourself. Whether it’s a short break or a permanent one. But before you decide, maybe you need to sleep on it too.”

You nod. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

Natasha takes the almost empty mug from your hands and places it on her coffee table. “You know you can stay here as long as you want, right?”

You nod again. “Yes, thank you Nat. Really, for everything.”

Natasha hugs you. “No need to thank me. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

You follow Natasha to the guest room. You get into bed, thinking about everything. Do you want to break up with Bucky?

Temporarily?

Permanently?