#been sitting on this ask for two days trying to figure out what to say bc its genuinely hard to explain

[mrsbarnesblog]

˖˚⊹ old habits

➤ summary: you call Rafe out when he acts disrespectfully

➤ w/c: 1.5k.

➤ warnings: themes of toxic masculinity, emotional confrontation

➤ a/n: really wanted to be a part of @zyafics campaign, and I hope that other writers will consider doing it too <3

masterlist

The thing between you and Rafe was still new and fresh—only a few times going out on dates, lingering touches, and way too many moments that were more than just friendly.

Since the first time you had met him, you thought that he had grown to be a better person. He tried to change some of his old habits to become more mature. And you truly saw that, and it was a reason why you even started to catch feelings. But there were still times when he struggled, when some of the traits of that old toxic Rafe were slipping through, either because it was too hard to control things that he had been taught from a young age or because he truly didn’t see himself being in the wrong. 

That day he invited you to the new cafe near the beach on the mainland, saying that it was the best one. For you, Rafe was a gentleman. He picked you up, helped you to get in and out of his truck, complimented your dress and your hair, and let you hold his upper arm when he was leading you to the entrance.

He opened the door for you, and the place was dimly lit with yellow tones and just radiated warmth. It was a little bit too loud with people sitting everywhere, but if the place was good, you didn’t mind that one bit. You looked back at Rafe, sharing a smile, until the young hostess stepped in front of you. 

“I’m so sorry, but as you may see, we’re full right now. You may sit here until one of the tables is free.” With a polite smile, she gestured to the side. “The waiting time will be around fifteen to twenty minutes, if that’s okay with you.” 

You nodded to her words without hesitation. “That’s totally fine.” 

But beside you, Rafe let out a small breath. Not quite a sigh, more like a scoff. He raised an eyebrow and looked the girl up and down with something colder in his expression than you would’ve preferred.

“You’re telling me you can’t fit two people in? It’s not even full in here.” She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, briefly looking at you to figure out how to react. Rafe’s voice wasn’t loud, but you knew how intimidating and cold he might be, especially to people who were not used to it.

“Rafe.” You said his name sharply, tugging his bicep once in hope that he would let it go. 

He glanced at you, then back at the hostess, not getting the problem that you seemed to have. “We’re literally standing here, dressed nicely, just asking for a table. I’m not trying to be a dick. I'm just saying, you could make it work if you actually wanted to.” You didn’t wait for her to respond. You took a step back, slowly removing your hand from his arm.

“I’ll be outside.” You said. No emotion in your voice, hands already folded across your chest. 

You sat at the bench outside, one leg thrown over another, looking at the ocean and debating just simply going back home. Rafe walked out a few minutes later, with hands buried in the pockets of his pants, looking at you like he genuinely could not understand your behavior. 

“Are you seriously mad at me?”

“I’m not mad. I’m disappointed.” You said calmly, not even sparing him a glance. 

“For what? I didn’t even say anything bad. She was the one who couldn’t do her job properly.”

Your head snapped towards him with eyebrows raised in surprise. “No.” You said sharply, taking him aback. “You were being an asshole because you didn’t get what you wanted. She was doing her job, Rafe.” 

His brows knit. “Jesus, I wasn’t an asshole—I was just calling her out.”

“Calling her out for what, Rafe? For not breaking policy? For not giving you special treatment?” He looked away, jaw clenching. His hand reached his head to rub over his buzzed hair in frustration, while you simply looked at him, seeing the conflict that he had. Part of him clearly knew you were being reasonable, that he might’ve stepped over the line, but the rest of him, the louder part, wanted to be right. Wanted to win.

“I’m not dating someone who thinks talking down to people makes him important.” You said firmly, your voice low and calm but hard to let him know how serious that situation was for you. “That’s not cute. That doesn’t make you look cooler or whatever. That’s not something I tolerate.”

Rafe exhaled hard through his nose, briefly throwing his head back in frustration. “You’re making it sound like I screamed at her or something. I was just—I don’t know—frustrated.”

“Yeah, and she was working. Probably scared of losing her job because of kooks who talk down to her every day. Probably already dealing with a bunch of other men who think that they are better than everyone and that other people owe them something.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t do that.”

You stood up, stepping closer with your heels softly clicking against the wood. You squinted your eyes slightly, tilting your head to the side now that you were almost the same height. “Do what?”

“Make me out to be some kind of monster.”

“I’m not.” You shot back. “But if you don’t like how I make you sound by just talking about your actions, maybe ask yourself why instead of getting defensive.”

The silence that followed stretched long between you. You crossed your arms tighter, mostly to keep yourself from softening, because, God, you wanted to. Because part of you knew that he didn’t mean to hurt anyone, but still addressing the problem was important to prove to him that the said problem existed. 

You watched the gears turning behind his eyes, jaw tight, hands buried deep in his pockets. He looked off toward the ocean like maybe the answer was out there, like it could help him to understand how to break the default settings that were engraved in his brain. 

“I didn’t think it was that bad.” Rafe admitted finally, his voice quieter now, and you could hear the edge of hesitation. “I didn’t even notice I was doing it. That I was acting like…” He trailed off, and you knew what he meant. Like Ward.

“That’s the problem, Rafe.” You said softer now, but still steady. “You don’t even notice when you slip. I know that you’re trying to be better. I see it, but I also need you to acknowledge that sometimes you can still be mean, that sometimes you’re in the wrong. Otherwise we won’t work out.”

He looked at you then, as if hurt for a second, because for the part of him, it sounded like a threat or like a challenge that he didn’t want to accept.

“I don’t want to be that guy.” He said after a moment. “I’ve been trying. You know I have.”

“I know. That’s why I’m still standing here and not leaving.” You stepped closer, but you didn’t reach for him.

“But I’m not going to coach you through being a decent person every time you slip. You have to want it for yourself, not just to keep me happy, because I’m telling you right now, Rafe…” You met his eyes, staying your ground. “If that’s the man you choose to be, I will walk away. Even if I don’t want to.”

His throat bobbed in a nervous swallow, his eyes darted away, then back to yours, as if he was trying to measure if you were bluffing. And when a few seconds passed, when you looked at him steadily, waiting for an answer, he turned and walked back toward the café.

You watched him through the front windows when he hesitated near the hostess stand, tugging awkwardly at the expensive watch on his wrist, and then leaned in to speak to the girl. Her face was surprised at first, then softened as he continued to talk, before she nodded a few times, still slightly hesitant, and said something back to him. 

When Rafe returned back to you, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease a little bit, though his jaw clenched when he rubbed the back of his neck and stopped in front of you like he wasn’t sure where to begin.

“I apologized. Told her I was out of line.”

You gave him a small nod. “Thank you.”

He shifted on his feet, nervous. “She said the table will be ready in ten.” You nodded again, waiting for him to continue. “You still wanna eat with me?” He asked, almost hesitant, like a boy who'd just been scolded.

“I do.” His lips stretched in a small smile, eyes glimmering with something like surprise and maybe a bit of shyness that you caught every once in a while. Rafe stepped closer, offering you his hand, and you playfully rolled your eyes, smiling back and interlacing your fingers. “Now I’m about to order the whole damn menu, Cameron. And it better be good.” 

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine being Zayne’s non-mc significant other. Red String of Fate AU

Imagine being born with the ability to see the red strings of fate. The ones that tied people together. Lovers, soulmates, the people meant to find each other.

Imagine some were strong. Some were gentle. Some were ugly and sharp. And you... you could cut them. Not to play with people's lives, but to help. You only ever cut the ones that hurt. Obsession, possession and the pain pretending to be love.

Imagine never once had a string pointed at you. Never. Not once.

but Imagine you tried to love anyway. Quiet, careful tries. But each time, they were already tied to someone else. So you let them go. You always let them go. You told yourself it was enough to help others. That not everyone gets a string. That maybe you weren't meant to belong.

Imagine then came Zayne. He didn't have a string at all. Nothing pulling him toward anyone. Not even the hint of one waiting to appear. Just stillness.

Imagine the way he looks at you was like you weren't anything. Like you weren't broken or forgotten. You didn't fall fast. You didn't rush. You built something slow and steady. And for the first time, you wondered if maybe love didn't need fate. Maybe it just needed someone to stay.

Imagine he knew what you could do. What you could see. So one night while you were sitting beside him, your head on his shoulder, he asked gently.

"If I ever get a string and it's not for you. I want you to cut it." You hesitated. Just for a second. "Alright." And he nodded. He trusted you.

Imagine weeks have passed then months. Still no string. Still just the two of you. Happy in the quiet way. The kind of happy that doesn’t shout or shine. It just lives in the little things. His sleepy voice in the morning. Your laughter when he made tea wrong again it was super sweet like what in world-. His hand finding yours under the table. Yours holding on, always. Until tonight.

Imagine you were visiting him at the hospital. The two of you were heading to a restaurant after his shift when you saw him come out. And there you saw it. A faint glow. Scarlet and soft. Spinning from his ring finger like a whisper, like a promise. And it wasn't pointing at you.

Imagine it heads down the hall. Past the sterilized white walls of the hospital. To Room 212.

Imagine you have seen her before. A patient. Someone Zayne has cared for, carefully, gently. A kind girl with a tired laugh and too many paper cranes tucked under her pillow. You never sensed anything romantic. You never even worried. But the string doesn't lie.

and Imagine its there now. Shimmering. Real. And for the first time in your life, your heart aches not just for someone else but for you.

Imagine, strange enough. Your heart didn't drop. It didn't crash. It just stilled. Like everything inside you went quiet at once. And you stood there staring at the string that wasn't yours.

Imagine the way he saw your face change. He stepped closer. His voice softened. As if he was trying to figure out what's wrong.

"What's wrong?" He asked, holding you gently by the arm. "Nothing." You smile at him. He did not buy it. "Did it happen?" He asked. "Do I have a string?"

Imagine the way you looked at him. The man you loved. The man who had been yours. Not because fate said so, but because he chose you. Every day. Again and again. And you said. "No. Not yet."

Imagine you lied. Because if this was fate choosing for him. If this string led him to happiness. You wouldn't take that from him. You loved him too much.

so Imagine you smiled. Let him pull you into his arms. Let him hold you like nothing had changed. You let him, the way he kiss the crown of your head. You savour it.

Imagine you close your eyes. Then you blink. But you could still see the string. Bright. Alive. Stretching toward someone else. And you didn't say a word.

because Imagine, love isn't always holding on. Sometimes, it's letting go quietly. Even when no one sees the breaking. Just loving someone enough to lie, so they never have to feel the weight of goodbye.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

: karma's a bitch cuz I literally was about to passout at the local market. I'm so embarrassed. Thou shall not set foot on the market for at least a month XD

: also if you know my reference for this one and the last one. I see you're a people of culture;)

[alanisstonedd]

busted | singledad!ony x teacher!reader

an: so cute! i love themmmm. i’ve had this one in the drafts for a while now yall, please enjoy! send me ya nasty asks

cw: fluff, suggestive themes, black!reader, cussing, single dad

you hear a soft knock, blinking up from your laptop a little confused. it’s 1:30 and your kids are in science, currently grading with the little free time you do have today - you certainly were not expecting any meetings.

but when you focus your eyes on the figure at the door, you don’t even know why you didn’t expect that shit. amira’s father is once again standing in your classroom doorway, shoulders broad as hell in a white tee and grey sweats, clutching a little pink jacket in one thick hand. go figure.

you squint, not only at his unplanned appearance at 1:30 on a wednesday, but more so at the jacket “it’s… 85 degrees.” you can already smell the con he came in here tryna fool you with

he shrugs, biting his lip like he don’t even care about the excuse anymore. but he locks eyes with you and steps in slowly like he hasn’t been here a million times already. “mm — yeah, she said she was cold earlier. y’know kids. gotta be on go.”

you fold your arms, smiling despite yourself. he really is relentless — this is like the fourth time he’s been in here this week and you’re only three days in. “they in the art room right now, ony.” you sing-song, standing up and rounding your desk to give him your full attention. i mean he’s already here, smelling like you wanna climb him until your legs are around his head… it would be rude to not give him at least a second of your time.

“oh, word?” he steps farther in, looking around like he’s seeing it for the first time or something. “well… I could just leave it.” he mumbles, licking his lips at you, and it feels like he just turned the heat on in here.

this is precisely why you hate him coming in here like this — because as soon as you see that big ass frame tryna bust out of that white tee, that sweet smile that also somehow says “i’ll man-handle you and wear yo ass out”, and what maybe or may not be a bulge inbetween two huge thighs that you’re unsuccessfully trying to avoid… you fold like a damn chair. your will power is never strong enough to withstand this man and his apparently unyielding desire to see you.

but he doesn’t “just leave it”, of course, the man always has another plan.

instead, he sets it on amira’s desk and plops into the nearest tiny chair. you almost bust out laughing at how ridiculous he looks — this ass big man, all thick thighs and grown-man muscle, folded into a desk built for 7-year-olds.

you lean against your own desk, raising an eyebrow. you can’t help but smile at him grinning up at you like he’s so happy with himself. but he knows you already folded.

“you good, mr. ony?”

“mhmm.” he tilts his head, eyes trailing over your frame. drinking you in. wishing you’d move a little closer so he could reach for those hips. “you look real good today miss ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧. real professional. definitely too fine to be up in this school single…”

you roll your eyes, biting back a grin. “you here to flirt with me or to bring your child’s unnecessary outerwear?”

“it can’t be both? you know i need my miss ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ time…” he says, full grin, unabashedly and very obviously undressing you in his head.

“mhm, you a piece of work ony.” you’re trying to keep it together — you really are. hut this man’s sitting there all big and broad, sweats straining against his big ass legs in that tiny chair, hand stroking his sexy ass beard while he watches you like you’re art — eyes shining like the things he’s imagining doing to you right now have no place in this classroom

“so how’s your day been, miss ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧?” he asks, and all the sudden you’re hot with just those simple words, his voice all low and seductive. “you eat somethin’ today? drink your water? anybody holla at you yet or i’m the first lucky man?”

you tilt your head, snickering. “is that how you talk to every teacher?”. you sass back, fronting like you don’t want his flirting but you can’t deny the fanny flutters you get when he comes in thirsty for you.

he leans forward, tryna reel you in even closer than you already are, resting his arms on the tiny desk like it’s the most natural thing in the world. little does he know, you wanna lock that damn door and show him off-the-clock you.

“nah,” he says, eyes glinting with that mischief that makes your clit throb. he knows he got you — or at least got your attention. “just the one i’m tryna take out for dinner… then dessert… and then breakfast.”

your breath catches, and he immediately sees that shit because he’s been watching you like a hawk since he came in here. watching you every move, your beautiful face and all your expressions like he wants to know every single one you have, jealous of the way your hands get to hold your juicy hips and thighs.

he stands up realllll slow, walking toward you, caging you in — close enough that the desk’s edge is flush against your booty, that the heat from his big frame is making your face hot. making all of you hot. you try to stay calm. professional. but his voice drops to that dangerous whisper.

“y’know how hard it is not to grab yo fine ass and kiss you every time I see you?”

you blink up at him, heat crawling up your neck and down into your pussy. his hands on the desk behind you, boxing you in, his hips dangerously close to your hips.

“ony, this is not—”

his hand slides up your thigh slow like he wants you to feel it, hiking your leg up just slightly against his body. he leans in slow enough to show you he’s not scared, lips barely brushing yours, eyes flicking between your mouth and your eyes like he’s starving. he wants you in his bed already. the holding-back is not for him, but if he keeps this up, he might do something regrettable in this elementary school classroom.

then, suddenly, just as you’re about to lean in and suck his tongue like yall are alone, his hands gripping you up and pressing you against him like he craves to do every damn day —

SLAM.

the classroom door swings open.

you jump against your desk. he steps back lightning fast, not ashamed but… you could loose your job right? ‘course he wants to have you, but ideally without that possibility.

amira skips in like she owns the place, completely oblivious to the little situation happening in there just moments before.

“hi miss ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧! miss smith said i could come get my water bottle!”

she grabs it off her desk, “oh, hi daddy…” and gives you both a sweet little wave before skipping back the way she came in…

but she pauses mid-skip and turns around…she squints at you both like she knows something, then smiles like the devil. she lets out a little “mhm..” before continuing on her way back to science class.

but not before blurting “quit kissin’ on the mouth with the door unlocked!” you hear a sneaky giggle and then she’s skipping right out the door before yall can even speak.

you and ony are still frozen in shock — then BURSTING out laughing. he collapses forward into you, head on your shoulder, muffling a full-body laugh into your shirt while you wheeze with one hand over your heart. she too smart for her age.

you shake your head, smirking. “you ain’t right, mr. ony. almost got our asses busted.”

he grins into your shoulder, like he doesn’t even care. “she really said on the mouth… we wasn’t even…”

© 2025 alanisstonedd. all rights reserved — do not steal, plagiarize, or modify my content.

hope yall liked this! likes, comments, reblogs and all the rest are much appreciated!!

xoxo, lani 💋💋💋

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

THE FLOWER PRANK . . .

you’re sprawled on the couch in your apartment, the late afternoon sun filtering through the blinds, casting lazy stripes across the room. rafe’s next to you, one arm slung over your shoulder, his thumb idly tracing circles on your skin as he scrolls through his phone, half-watching some golf highlights on the tv.

it’s one of those chill days, just the two of you, takeout containers scattered on the coffee table, the vibe easy and comfortable.

but you’ve got a little plan brewing, something you saw on tiktok last week that’s been stuck in your head—a girl pranking her boyfriend by sending herself flowers and signing them from some random dude, just to see how he’d react. you figured it’d be fun to try with rafe, knowing how he gets when he’s even a little jealous.

you’d ordered the flowers a couple days ago, a bouquet of roses, nothing too over-the-top, and signed the card with “-Jake,” some generic name that could belong to anyone. the delivery’s supposed to come any minute, and you’re trying to keep your face neutral, but your heart’s racing, half-excited, half-nervous about how rafe’s gonna take it.

“you good, baby?” rafe asks, glancing over, catching the way you’re fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. his voice is low, that outer banks drawl thick as always, and his blue eyes narrow slightly, like he’s trying to read you.

“yeah, just comfy,” you say, flashing a quick smile, leaning into him to sell it. he hums, satisfied for now, and goes back to his phone, but you can feel the anticipation bubbling under your skin.

there’s a knock at the door, and you jump up, maybe a little too fast, brushing your hands on your shorts. “i’ll get it,” you say, trying to sound casual, and rafe barely looks up, just nods, still focused on his screen.

you open the door, and there’s the delivery guy, holding a bouquet of red roses, wrapped in cellophane with a little card tucked in. “delivery for you,” he says, handing them over, and you put on your best shocked face, eyes wide, mouth slightly open as you take them.

“oh, wow, uh… thanks,” you say, loud enough for rafe to hear, and you close the door, cradling the flowers like they’re a total surprise. you turn back to the living room, and rafe’s looking up now, brow furrowed, his phone forgotten in his lap.

“who’s that from?” he asks, voice flat, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s already suspicious. he sits up straighter, arm sliding off the back of the couch as he leans forward.

“i… i don’t know,” you say, playing it up, setting the bouquet on the counter and plucking the card from the flowers with a dramatic little frown. you open it, reading aloud, “had a great time last week, can’t stop thinking about you… Jake?” you let your voice go up at the end, like you’re confused, and you glance at rafe, who’s staring at you now, jaw tight, eyes narrowed.

“jake?” he repeats, slow, like he’s testing the name, and he’s already getting that look—lips pressed into a line, one hand gripping his knee a little too hard. “who the fuck is jake?”

you shrug, biting your lip to keep from smiling, keeping your eyes wide and innocent. “i have no idea,” you say, holding the card up like it’s evidence. “this is so weird. i don’t even know any jakes.”

rafe’s not buying it, not completely. he stands, crossing the room in a couple strides, his hands shoving into his pockets like he’s trying to keep them under control. “you don’t know any jakes, but some dude’s sendin’ you flowers?” he says, voice low, that possessive edge creeping in.

he’s close now, towering over you, and you can see the way his jaw ticks, the way his eyes flick between you and the roses like they’re personally offending him.

“rafe, i swear, i don’t know what this is,” you say, doubling down, holding the card out for him to see. “maybe it’s a mistake or… or someone’s just messing with me.” you’re trying so hard to sound convincing, but there’s a tiny quiver in your voice, and you’re not sure if it’s from nerves or the effort of not laughing.

he snatches the card from your hand, scanning it like it’s gonna give him answers, and his frown deepens. “had a great time last week?” he reads, voice dripping with irritation. “what the fuck’s that supposed to mean? you were with me all last week, baby.” he steps closer, eyes locked on yours, searching, and you can feel the jealousy rolling off him, sharp and hot.

“i was!” you say, nodding quickly, laying it on thick. “that’s why this makes no sense. i’ve been with you, rafe. you know that.” you reach out, touching his arm, trying to soothe him, but he’s still tense, like a coiled spring.

“then why’s some fuckin’ guy sendin’ you roses?” he snaps, tossing the card on the counter, his hand raking through his hair, a sure sign he’s pissed. “you got some dude on the side i don’t know about?” it’s half a joke, but the way he’s looking at you says he’s half-serious, too, like he’s waiting for you to slip up.

“rafe, no,” you say, shaking your head, stepping closer, your hands on his chest now, trying to pull him back. “you know i’d never. this is probably just… i don’t know, a weird prank or something.” you’re so close to breaking, the urge to confess bubbling up, but you hold it together, batting your lashes, playing the innocent card.

he exhales, sharp, his hands landing on your hips, pulling you against him, but it’s not gentle—it’s possessive, like he’s reminding himself you’re his. “better be a fuckin’ prank,” he mutters, eyes boring into yours, and you can see the annoyance simmering, the way he’s fighting not to let it take over. “ain’t nobody else gettin’ flowers to my girl, aight? just me.”

you nod, biting your lip, and you can’t help it—you crack a tiny smile, just enough to tip him off. his eyes narrow, and he tilts his head, studying you. “what’s that look?” he asks, voice suspicious, fingers tightening on your hips.

“nothing,” you say, too quick, and he raises a brow, not buying it.

“bullshit,” he says, but there’s a hint of a smirk now, like he’s starting to catch on. “you know somethin’. you pullin’ one over on me, baby?”

you laugh, can’t help it, and it’s enough to give you away. “okay, okay!” you say, throwing your hands up, giggling as you step back. “it’s a prank! i sent them to myself. saw it on tiktok, thought it’d be funny.”

rafe’s face shifts, annoyance melting into something else—half-relief, half-exasperation. “you fuckin’ serious?” he says, but he’s laughing now, shaking his head, stepping closer to crowd you against the counter. “you little shit, gettin’ me all worked up over some fake-ass jake?”

“it was funny!” you defend, still giggling, but he’s got you pinned now, his hands on either side of you, trapping you between him and the counter. his eyes are softer, but there’s still that possessive glint, like he’s not totally over it.

“funny, huh?” he says, leaning in, his lips brushing your ear, voice low. “you know what ain’t funny? makin’ me think some other guy’s got his eyes on my girl.” he kisses your neck, slow, deliberate, and you shiver, your hands gripping his arms.

“sorry,” you say, not sorry at all, and he pulls back, smirking, shaking his head like he doesn’t know what to do with you.

“you’re gonna make it up to me,” he says, half-teasing, half-serious, and you grin, knowing he’s already over it, but he’s not gonna let you off that easy. “no more fake jakes, aight? only flowers you’re gettin’ are from me.”

“deal,” you say, leaning up to kiss him, soft and sweet, and he pulls you closer, like he’s making sure you know exactly who you belong to.

⩇⩇:⩇⩇

𓂅 taglist ― @littlelamy @dollyfiles @drewstarkeyswife0 @icaqttt @urcoolgf @camercns @pointocean @dsfault @rafestoothbrush @huhidontknowstuff @drewssgirl

[dee-writes-anime]

A Sock, a Spoon, and Three Feathers

FEATURING Keigo 'Hawks' Takami x Reader

SUMMARY apparently his idea of “providing for you” is pre-cooked poultry and stealing all the spoons in your apartment.

CONTENT WARNINGS hawks is a bird I fear, fluff, slight angst at the end, but it ends in comfort, a dearly treasured spoon and a store bought rotisserie chicken, new relationship, nesting behavior, heat instincts, mild confusion, gift-giving, affectionate weirdness

AUTHORS NOTE god, someone get me a feral bird man. I fear I am desperate.

You’re not really sure when your apartment stopped looking like your apartment.

Maybe it was the third day in a row you found one of Keigo’s feathers tucked under your pillow. Or the moment you opened your silverware drawer and found it missing every spoon—except for one, singular, bent one—because, apparently, that was the “shiny one” he liked best.

You blink at the spoon now, lying sideways on your desk like it belongs there. You didn’t put it there.

There’s also a sock. Not yours.

“…Keigo?”

Your voice echoes down the hallway. You don’t get an answer right away, but you do hear a rustle from your bedroom, then the faint sound of a box being moved. When you poke your head in, you find him kneeling on the floor, surrounded by what might be your throw blankets, a hoodie you haven’t seen since March, and at least two of your favorite plushies.

And right in the middle of that chaotic pile: Hawks. Smiling. Nestled like a smug bird in a cloud of fleece.

“You’re home early,” he chirps, clearly pleased with himself. “Don’t worry—I cleaned off the table so we can still eat dinner like civilized people.”

You blink.

Then blink again.

“…What are you doing?”

Keigo looks around like the answer should be obvious. “Building a nest.”

There’s no irony in his voice. No teasing smirk. Just that bright-eyed, sunlit warmth that always makes your brain short-circuit a little.

You open your mouth. Then close it. “A… nest.”

“Yep.” He plucks something from beside him—a keychain you thought you lost—and holds it up. “Look! I even added your stuff, so it smells like you. That way I can feel safe.”

You’re silent for a long beat, staring at him.

Keigo tilts his head. “You okay, dove?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah, just… trying to figure out if this is, like, a bird thing or a Keigo thing.”

He laughs, but it’s a little too sharp, a little too strained. You watch his wings fluff up behind him, fidgeting with little shivers of motion.

That’s when it hits you—he’s been acting weird for days now. Clingy, but not in a bad way. Just… hovering. Twitchy. Bringing you little trinkets—some feathers, a shiny ring pop, a cool rock. He even gave you a piece of tinfoil once that was folded into a perfect triangle.

“Is this like… instinct?” you ask gently, stepping closer. “You’ve been doing this since Saturday.”

He hesitates. Then shifts, like he’s bracing for judgment.

“…I think I might be going into heat,” he mutters, voice muffled by the hoodie he pulls over his face. “It’s early this season. Thought I had another week.”

“Oh,” you say.

You’re not sure what the correct response is to my bird boyfriend is nesting in my bedroom because his instincts are telling him I’d be a good mate, but you settle for sitting down next to him in the pile of blankets. One of his feathers sticks to your shirt. You don’t brush it off.

“So, uh,” you say, “does the spoon have special meaning, or was that just your favorite?”

“Shiniest one you had,” Keigo says immediately.

You nod thoughtfully. “Fair.”

He peers at you from the corner of his eye. “You’re not freaked out?”

“I’m confused,” you say honestly. “But not, like, bad confused. Just… bird confused.”

He makes a helpless sound, flopping back dramatically into the pile. “God, you’re perfect.”

You reach over and pluck the feather off your sleeve. It’s a brilliant red and soft at the edges. You hold it up.

“This one’s mine now,” you say, tucking it into your hair like a headband.

Keigo freezes. His eyes go wide.

“…You’re killing me,” he whispers.

You grin. “Better make room in your nest then.”

He beams.

You wake up to the sound of wings flapping.

Not like—outside, bird-in-a-tree flapping. No. You’re talking full-blown helicopter-grade flapping right in your living room, paired with the unmistakable sound of your front door clicking shut.

You groggily sit up, blinking against the sunlight. Your nest—sorry, bed—still smells like Keigo. Not surprising, considering he’d spent the night wrapped around you like a living space heater. The blanket pile he started building last night has only grown, and you’re 90% sure he rearranged your throw pillows in the shape of a heart before you fell asleep.

There’s another rustle.

Then a thud.

Then—

“Babe!” Keigo’s voice, muffled. “Do you like rotisserie chicken?!”

You squint and shuffle out into the hallway. “…What?”

Keigo rounds the corner with three grocery bags, feathers ruffled and windswept like he flew full-speed across the city and dive-bombed the store. His hair is a mess, shirt slightly askew, one glove missing, and his expression so absurdly proud that your heart does a traitorous little flip.

“I brought food,” he says, holding out a warm, fragrant box with both hands like an offering to a queen. “Protein. Omega-3s. Bird-safe. Mate-safe.”

“Mate-safe?” you echo, because you cannot let that one slide.

Keigo hesitates. “…I said that out loud, huh.”

He does this thing where he laughs and coughs at the same time, like maybe he can distract you from the fact that his eyes are laser-focused on your face for any trace of disapproval.

You take the chicken.

You also take a moment to process that this man—this pro hero—is trying to prove his suitability as a mate with grocery store poultry.

“…You’re doing the bird thing again,” you murmur, trying not to smile.

“I know,” he says, completely unashamed now. “My heat’s in full swing. I’m lucky I can still think straight.”

You raise a brow. “Can you?”

Keigo shrugs. “Define straight.”

You throw a piece of bread at him. He dodges it effortlessly, like the bastard bird he is.

Usually, Keigo’s presence is… everywhere. Not in an overbearing way, just—felt. Like a breeze under your skin. Like laughter waiting in your throat.

But today?

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that makes your spine prick.

You pause mid-bite of your sandwich and glance down the hallway. The nest—the mess of blankets, stolen socks, and whatever he’s dragged in this week—is undisturbed. There’s no feather trail on the floor. No spoon migration. No commentary from the windowsill about pigeons “loitering” on the fire escape.

Just silence.

“…Keigo?” you call softly.

No answer.

You set your food down and move toward the bedroom, heart ticking up just a notch. The air feels heavy—like a storm waiting to break.

You find him in the corner, half-curled into the nest. His wings are drawn tight against his back, shivering faintly. His head’s tucked into the crook of his elbow like he’s trying to hide from something.

Your chest aches instantly.

“Hey,” you whisper, crouching beside him. “There you are.”

He doesn’t look up. His voice is quiet. Muffled.

“I’m sorry.”

You blink. “For what?”

He exhales shakily. “For being weird. For… hoarding your socks. For the chicken. For making your house smell like me. I just—my instincts are screaming and I can’t shut them up today and everything’s too loud—”

“Keigo.”

You reach out and gently touch his wing.

He stiffens for just a second—but then melts.

Collapses, really. Feathers slumping, breath hitching. He leans into your touch like it’s the first thing that’s made sense all day.

“I just wanted to be good,” he whispers. “Like—like a good mate. Someone who deserves to have you around. But now it just feels like I’m being too much. I’m not thinking clearly and it’s all heat and feathers and I—”

You shift closer, hands running slowly through the soft curve of his wings. “Hey. Breathe.”

He does. Because he listens to you. Always has.

“I like your feathers,” you murmur. “And your ridiculous spoon. And the stupid sparkly rock you left on my pillow.”

Keigo groans quietly. “That was a gift. From the heart.”

“I know. That’s why I kept it.”

He lifts his head just enough to glance at you, eyes glassy and golden, pupils blown wide with exhaustion and heat and instinct. You brush a bit of hair from his face.

“You don’t need to impress me, Keigo,” you say gently. “You already have me. Nest and all.”

He blinks.

Then suddenly, he’s curling into you. All warmth and feathers and barely-restrained shivers. He tucks his face into your shoulder and lets out a noise halfway between a sigh and a sob.

“I love you,” he mumbles, voice cracking, “like—a lot.”

You smile and kiss the top of his head. “I know.”

You settle there for a while—him buried in your side, wings twitching with aftershocks, your hand stroking gently through his hair. You hum something soft and tuneless, the way you do when he’s too deep in his own head.

Eventually, his breathing slows. His wings loosen. He starts mumbling nonsense again.

“…gonna build you a bigger nest,” he mumbles into your shirt.

“Oh yeah?” you ask, amused.

“Mmhm. For our future chicks.”

You pause.

“Keigo, we’re not even a month into dating.”

“I’m planning ahead,” he huffs, voice thick with sleep.

You laugh, long and soft. “You’re out of your mind.”

“I’m in heat,” he mumbles, pressing closer. “Let me bird in peace.”

You let him. Because the truth is, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than right here—with your weird, soft, instinct-driven bird of a boyfriend curled up like the world only makes sense when you’re touching.

And honestly?

Maybe it does.

[spikek1tty]

Uptight

Masterlist

cw: smut, masturbation, fingering, perv!bucky(?), somno(?), oral (f!rec), not proofread

a/n: watched Thunderbolts for Lewis Pullman n ended up needing fuck ass sebastian stan😒I CANT NOT STOP THINKING ABOUT HIM. the second he appeared on screen the theater flooded istg they had to shut that shit down cause of me🙂‍↔️so heres a very short and shitty fic🤍

my first bucky fic(im scared)☹️

You stumble out of the bar you and your friends had inhabited for the night. The glimmering city lights blinding you.

Hazily, you hurry down the sidewalk looking behind you every couple of seconds, You spot the black car you called twenty minutes ago and rush to it.

Throwing yourself in shutting the door as fast as possible dreading the thought of seeing him following close behind.

But as the car speeds away from the bar you allow yourself to relax.

The whole two weeks he has been assigned to you, you'd been trying to sneak away. He's been the most committed bodyguard you've had, you'll give him that.

You never were sure what kind of danger you were in to have needed a person assigned to you. 

You understood the business your father was in was risky but you were fed up with having to deal with a constant form of authority following you around.

His stature always ruined the mood of any room you walked in, often your friends begging you to make him leave.

But yet again, you've outsmarted another one of your bodyguards.

You scoff, they had called this one the best of the best.

The Winter Soldier.

✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮

"HEY!" you jump as you hear snapping in your ear. You sit up wiping the drool from your bottom lip. "We've arrived." the peeved driver says.

"Right.. thanks." you say jumping out of the car, sighing as you walk into your building.

The elevator ride is quiet, lacking the awkward silence that usually fills the small space when accompanied with the soldier.

You had to admit though, you did like the arm. Something about it drove you crazy. Maybe it was the shine, maybe it was the red star, and that hair.

You bite the inside of your cheek shaking whatever thoughts you were having of that man out of your head.

The ding of the elevator arriving at your floor urges you to walk.

As soon as you unlock the door and throw it closed you head towards your room. The dress you wore quickly discarded on the floor by the foot of your bed along with your heels.

You sigh, collapsing face first onto the mattress, you were finally alone for the first time in two weeks.

Then it hits you, you roll on your back.

You were alone.. for the first time.. in two weeks.

Your fingers skimmed over the fabric between your thighs.

You have neglected every urge you've had for fourteen days.

And with one more look around the empty room you push the fabric to the side.

Your breath hitches when you plunge your fingers into your pussy, quickly finding your clit.

Moans shamelessly spill from your mouth as your fingers move faster against your center.

Your back arches into your touch, you sit up, slowly pulling your hand away from your throbbing cunt, licking your taste off your own fingers.

"Oh fuck!" you yelp as you see the figure in the corner of your room. You hards rushing up to cover your bare body.

You huff seeing the familiar frame.

"When did you get here?" you ask. The soldier stands and walks towards you, not answering your question.

Not like you expected him to.

You roll your eyes and smirk "Wanna help?" you laugh at the stone faced soldier.

He grabs your arms pulling them away from your body. His eyes quickly examine you, searching for any injuries.

You huff. He could never just leave you alone.

"So uptight." you whisper mockingly as you pull away from him and make your way to the bathroom, him following close behind.

✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮

Your hair laid sprawled out along the pillow. He reaches out grabbing a strand.

He had sat and watched you shower earlier that night.

His mission was to protect you.. no matter the cost. 

For how long, he wasn't sure.

But he would not have you out of his sight anytime soon after the stunt you pulled.

He didn't mind you though.

Yes, you were annoying, terribly annoying, but how could you not be?

With your parents never present, giving you everything and anything you wanted just so you'll keep quiet and out of their way.

You were never cruel. Better than the handlers he had before.

Anytime you touched him it was gentle and you never looked at his arm with disgust, fear, or malice.

He'd never understood that part of you. 

He frowned. Maybe you were too trusting, he'd hope not.

That'll just be another thing to protect you from.

Earlier that night, down at the bar he was afraid you were taken. Afraid he failed his mission, failed you.

But as he walked through the unlocked door of your apartment hearing your whimpers, he expected to see you hurt, instead he just saw you.

You with your legs spread, your two fingers working at your clit.

He watched, dazed unsure of what to do. He soundlessly walked to the chair at the corner of the room.

He hid his amused face, trying to keep his eyes from widening at your actions and disguised his own movements as trying to get comfortable even if you had no idea he was in the room with you.

His hands gripped the armrests of the seat as he observed.

He panicked when your noises grew louder and you body shook relentlessly.

The soldier can't help but pull on the thin fabric of your tank top, freeing you of the constraint of it.

He stares, unable to tear his eyes off you.

Fingers trailing up your torso to your chest. His fingers pulling at your soft, puffy nipples.

His tugging only lets up once he's content at how quickly they've hardened.

His calloused fingers lingering longer than his cold, silver ones.

The black shorts you wore were calling to him. A soft hum emerges from his throat.

His hand massages you over the fabric. The cold fingers of his left hand pressing onto your clit.

The soldier lowers himself on you, as if it was what his training had been for.

His face hovered right before your pussy.

Slowly, his hands slide your thighs over his shoulders, nibbling on them as he does.

He shivers at the feel of your bare skin on him in this manner.

He drags his nose down your slit, hand gripping your thigh as he soaks up your scent.

He grunts as he involuntarily thrusts his hips into the mattress.

With a swift movement he pushes the fabric keeping him out of you to the side.

His fingers spread you and he takes in your anatomy, taking in every crease and dip of yours. Pressing his thumb onto you bundle of nerves.

This was his mission.

He stares up at you as a whimper slips through your lips.

His tongue quickly replaces his finger as he laps at your pussy. His nose budding against your clip making you shiver.

The entranced soldier watches, paralyzed by your scent and taste, as your breath catches in your throat as his tongue circles continuously on your clit.

His hands immediately retreat when you stir, your hips bucking into his touch.

He pulls your clothing back into place then scurries back to his chair.

He huffs looking at you, your slick glossing his chin and his nose.

What were you doing to him? You were poison.

The soldier has no recollection of experience yet is ready and eager to please.

✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮

[random-mha-one-shots]

bakugou x gn reader

Celebrating bakugou's birthday HIS way

It was April 19th, the day before Katsuki's birthday. For the past week, you had been planning the celebration. Kirishima even offered to help you throw a party, but you decided against it. Katsuki didn't seem like a birthday person, and he definitely wasn't a party person. So, instead, you set up something a little more private for just the two of you to do.

That day, after school, you and Katsuki hung out in your room. Both of you were sitting on the bed, watching TV while he had an arm wrapped around you. "You know what tomorrow is?" You said in a teasing tone.

Katsuki rolled his eyes and responded, "Yeah, I know what tomorrow is. You better not make a big deal out of it."

"Too late, we've already got plans."

"Cancel 'em. Whatever they are."

"What? No, I'm not canceling."

His grip around you tightened a little. "Then you're going alone, because I'm staying in my room."

"Come on, don't be boring… Trust me, it'll be fun." Katsuki didn't respond; he turned his attention back to the TV. You sat up a bit to face him better. "I'm serious, I'll drag you out of here if I have to." Still no response from him, but it was better than being shut down completely. "You gotta be ready by 9 tomorrow."

"In the morning?" He huffed.

"Yes. In the morning."

Katsuki grunted, "And you're not even gonna tell me where you're trying to take me?"

"No, that would ruin the surprise, stupid."

"Figures…" He was mostly quiet for the rest of the night, occasionally prodding you for hints on what the hell you planned to do with him tomorrow. Of course, you gave him nothing. Eventually, it got late, and Katsuki headed back to his room.

You said a quick, "Goodnight, love you," as he left. To which he bluntly responded, "Yeah, love you…"

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

The next morning, you woke up much earlier than usual to get ready. By 9 AM, you found yourself dressed and standing outside Katsuki's door. You knocked on the door, "You awake yet?"

"Gimme a minute." He walked over and unlocked the door for you. You smiled and said, "Happy Birthday, baby."

"Yeah, thanks…" He seemed very unenthusiastic. When you got inside, you sat down on the edge of his bed and watched as he finished getting ready. "Wear something comfortable… and flexible."

Katsuki was about to ask why the hell he needed to wear something flexible, but he honestly didn't care as long as he was comfortable. Once he got dressed, he picked up his phone and his keys. "I'm ready. Now, where the hell are you taking me?"

"You'll see when we get there…" You led him out of the dorms and outside to the lot. You got in your car with Katsuki, started the engine, and drove off together. He still seemed kind of tired, his head was resting against the window. He looked oddly calm, it was kind of nice…

After about 20 minutes of driving through the city, you parked in front of a tall building. "What is this place supposed to be?" Katsuki asked. This definitely wasn't what he was expecting. "If you ask me one more time, I'm gonna smack you. Just wait."

He grinned, "I'd like to see you try." He held onto your hand and followed you into the building. Once you were inside, you went up to the front desk and spoke to the dude behind the counter. Katsuki listened as you gave him your name, trying to get any information about what you had planned here. He heard you say something about a reservation, but that was it.

You thanked the receptionist and headed for the elevator, still holding onto Katsuki's hand. This whole thing had been a pain in the ass to plan, but it would all be absolutely worth it once you got upstairs. The elevator went up and reached its floor. You got off and walked down the hall, keeping an eye out for room numbers. Eventually you stopped in front of a large door.

Katsuki stood there, confused, as you looked at the door, "You gonna open it?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll open it…"

You opened the door and held it so Katsuki could step inside ahead of you. When both of you were inside, you watched as he took in his surroundings. The room was huge. One wall was made up entirely of windows that showed an incredible view of the city. Another wall had a huge display case full of all kinds of weapons. The floors were covered in mats and various obstacles. Katsuki opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

"This place is a training facility. A lot of pro heroes come here. But for the next 2 hours, you and I have this room to ourselves."

"You're kidding…"

"Dead serious. We can do some quirk training, strength training, mess around with whatever kinds of stuff they have in the case, we could spar… We can do pretty much anything in here."

He walked over to the display case to examine some of the weapons and smiled. "You better believe we're sparring."

"I was kind of hoping you'd say that…" You smiled back and stood next to him in front of the case. Katsuki picked up a spear-looking weapon and turned to face you. He took a fighting stance and waited for you to do the same. You more than happily met his stance and, before you knew it, the two of you were fighting.

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

You and Katsuki seemed to forget about time; sparring, switching out weapons, and sparring some more. Neither of you were the romantic type, but sparring like this felt like its own kind of dance, something that only the two of you could share. By the end of your reserved time, the two of you were laying on the ground next to each other, out of breath.

Katsuki sat up to face you and said, "That was fucking insane…"

Between heavy breaths, you responded, "Yeah… I think I'm gonna pass out." You sat up to face him and smiled. "Happy Birthday."

Katsuki reached over and put his arm around your waist, his touch was much softer than it was just a few minutes ago. "Yeah, best birthday ever." You moved a little closer and leaned your head on his shoulder. "How'd you even get this place?"

You smiled. "I had to pull some strings…"

He smiled back. "What kind of strings, idiot?"

"Don't worry about it. Just cmere." You cupped his cheek and pulled him a little closer. Katsuki leaned in too and closed the distance, pressing his lips to yours.

[white-wolf-buckaroo]

Where the Flowers Don't Grow - Chapter 19

Word Count: 10.8k ooopsss

Warnings: grab your tissues shit's getting emotional.

Notes: no notes, just me in tears because I love these three too damn much

Fic Masterlist

“You’ve been keeping the bandages clean?” the older woman asked gently, peeling the gauze back with practiced hands.

Faith nodded. “Joel’s been doing it.”

“And the meds? Any nausea? Dizziness?”

“A bit. First day. I’ve cut back.”

The doctor hummed. “Still hurting?”

“Only when I sleep funny,” she said, which was a lie. It still hurt like a bitch most of the time — just less than it used to, but still a lot. She didn’t want to sit there much longer so, she didn’t tell the full truth.

It had been four days since they’d gotten to Jackson. Three days since Ellie had last talked to her or Joel. Two days since Joel had started to keep to himself more, and one day since Faith had started to grow a bit desperate with everything. But most of all, she was just… sad.

She’d snuck out the house alone to come to the clinic for her checkup on her shoulder, a bit earlier in the morning than the appointment was scheduled for, but she’d blame that on her not being used to have timed appointments. The doctor was already there and she also didn’t say anything to Faith about being there sooner than she’d expected her, so everything was alright.

The doctor didn’t push her, sticking to examining the wound quietly, checking the stitches, rotating Faith’s arm a little. “It’s healing clean. Won’t leave an ugly scar. That’s good. You’ve been looking after it.”

Joel has, she wanted to say, but didn’t.

Instead, she focused on the thin slice of morning light creeping through the blinds, painting pale stripes across the cabinet.

“Anything else I should know?” the doctor asked.

Faith shook her head. “No. I’m good.”

Another lie. But the woman just nodded and started repacking the medical kit.

Faith pulled her jacket back on slowly. It still tugged over her shoulder.

“I’d tell you to take it easy,” the doctor said, “but I have a feeling you won’t.”

Faith offered a tired smile. “You’d be right.”

The woman gave a small shrug. “You’re young. You’ll bounce back. Keep taking the meds, and come back in by the end of the week. Still — if it gets worse again, come back sooner.”

“I will.”

Faith stepped outside before the doctor could say anything else. The air was cool, the early sun just starting to burn off the fog that hugged the edges of the houses. She was halfway down the steps before she sawJoel, leaning against a post, arms folded.

Well, shit.

She slowed her steps, adjusting her jacket over her good shoulder. “Hey,” she said, trying for casual. “What are you doing here?”

Joel’s brows lifted, not amused. “You think I wasn’t gonna notice you sneaking off?”

“I didn’t sneak,” she muttered, hopping down the last step. “I had an appointment, so I came in early. No big deal.”

He gave her a look. “Faith.”

She sighed. “What? I figured… Maybe you might wanna stick to keeping to yourself. Like you’ve been doing for the past few days, anyways.”

His jaw tensed slightly. “That ain’t fair,” he stood, arms akimbo for a few seconds, until he sighed too. Teenagers still weren’t his strongest suit. “I still worry about you, alright?” he added, in a softer tone.

“I know,” she said, regretting her small outburst. “I just… I didn’t think you’d wanna come. That’s all.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just looked at her, and for a second she hated how easy it was to feel like a little kid under his gaze. Not because he was angry. But because he cared. Her eyes drifted to the bag in his hand, if only to break the tension.

“What’s that?”

He held it up sighing. “Got us some breakfast. Brought it from the hall. Figured we could eat at home.”

It was still new to have somewhere to refer to as ‘home’. Even weirder considering it was Joel’s, Faith’s and Ellie’s too.

Faith’s stomach gave an embarrassing little growl at the mention of food she hoped he hadn’t heard. “You didn’t have to.”

Joel shook his head. “I wanted to.”

They walked in silence for a bit, the streets waking up slowly around them, most folks only just starting their morning routines. When they reached the house, Joel pushed the door open for her, and she toed off her boots before paddling to the kitchen and settling at the breakfast table. He set the bag down, pulled out a couple of wrapped plates, and handed one to her without saying anything. It smelled like eggs and something fried. Her stomach approved.

Faith waited until she’d taken a bite before asking, “Did you see Ellie? She was still sleeping when I left.”

Joel nodded, sitting across from her. “She was already out when I got back. Slipped out after you, I guess. I’ll have to consider putting up locks if you two keep up with the sneaking habit.”

Faith tried not to show her disappointment at Ellie having already left, but she scoffed at the ‘sneaking’ comment. Joel must’ve seen something in her face anyway, because he added, “Tommy promised to keep an eye on her while she’s around town.”

She stabbed at a piece of potato with her fork. “She won’t like it. Say something like, that she’s not a baby.”

“No, she ain’t.” Joel’s tone was calm, but something in it made her glance up.

“I get why she doesn’t wanna see us,” Faith said quietly. “But… this sucks, y’know?”

Joel didn’t answer that, and neither of them had to say the obvious sentiment both of them were feeling: it hurt.

“What did the doctor say?” he asked after a while, nodding toward her shoulder.

Faith shrugged, trying to keep it light. “It’s fine. Healing clean, won’t leave an ugly scar. I’m good.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed just a bit, like he wasn’t buying it. “What did she say about the meds? Still the same dosage?”

“Um, yeah, I guess.” She took another bite of her breakfast, chewing extra long on her bacon. She hadn’t tried it until a few days ago, and man, it was good.

Joel muttered under his breath, “Maybe I’ll swing by the clinic later myself… got some questions about the healing. And I’ll ask about the meds, too.”

Faith rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything. She knew he was only saying that because he cared. A little part of her felt worse for not waiting for him to come with her.

They ate quietly for a moment, the clinking of forks the only sound.

Joel finally spoke again, voice low and serious. “You know… I’ve been thinking about it, and I, uh… I think we have to talk about what happened back at the hospital in Salt Lake.”

Faith stiffened but kept chewing.

“I’m sorry,” he said, eyes meeting hers. “For draggin’ you into it. That whole mess. I should’ve let you somewhere safe and gotten to Ellie alone. You shouldn’t have be dealing’ with the aftermath of it.”

Faith swallowed, shaking her head. “I’m not a kid, Joel. I can handle it.”

He shook his head, his lips forming a small, sad smile. “But you are a kid, Faith. Maybe you aren’t a teenager like they used to be twenty years ago – I know you were born into this shithole of an apocalypse and that you’ve already seen too much cruelty – but… You’re also still just sixteen. It’s not fair, and… I’m sorry for making it worse.”

For the past two days, Joel hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the hospital. It played behind his eyes when he tried to sleep, when he stood under the spray of the shower, when he passed other people in the street. And Faith—her boots thudding behind him, her screaming when she was hit—was at the centre of it all. He’d done terrible things for Ellie’s sake, but Faith? She hadn’t owed him or that kid anything. And yet she’d stayed. She’d followed him straight into hell. That guilt sat heavy on his chest, heavier than it had any right to.

Faith looked away, the weight of it settling between them. She couldn’t say it didn’t haunt her—the chaos, the fear, the people they killed... The gunshot wound on her shoulder was enough of a reminder of it. And she thought it was sweet of Joel to still want her to be a ‘normal’ sixteen year old, whatever that normalcy looked like nowadays.

But what had happened at the hospital? She’d done what she had to. She didn’t like it, but she didn’t regret it.

“I chose to follow you,” she said, finally. “I knew you’d lead the way, and I covered you. I couldn’t… I couldn’t let you get up there and get shot. I thought I was already going to lose Ellie, so I… I couldn’t risk losing you too, okay?” she swallowed hard, looking down at her hands. “You didn’t drag me into anything. I chose it. I wanted to save Ellie, too. And that’s it.”

Faith couldn't do much, but she could at least take that burden off Joel.

After a while he nodded, accepting it. Neither of them said another word as they finished their breakfast in shared, silent understanding.

(…)

Ellie pressed her forehead against Shimmer’s warm neck, breathing in the mix of hay, sweat, and the earthy scent of horse.

The stables were quiet this early—just the soft clop of shifting hooves, the rustle of hay, the distant call of a bird outside... Shimmer let out a low, contented snort, her breath stirring the loose hairs at Ellie’s temple. She hadn’t meant to come here again this soon, but the world felt slower here. Gentler. Less full of eyes and questions. That’s why she came back to visit Shimmer every day since Maria first brought her back.

A boot scraped near the entrance. Ellie stiffened, not pulling away, but not moving either.

“Mornin’,” Tommy’s voice came low, casual.

She didn’t turn around. “Hey.”

He didn’t say anything else, just moved past her toward the far stalls with a shovel over one shoulder. The metal clanked softly as he set it down. A moment later, the rhythm of mucking out began—dull thuds and scrapes, straw shifting. She knew Tommy was keeping an eye on her, he’d ‘casually’ dropped by wherever she went around town the past few days. He didn’t push her to talk about anything, though, so she just ignored him and minded her own business as he focused on his.

Ellie stroked Shimmer’s nose, grateful for the silence.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk. She just didn’t know how. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

The worst part wasn’t what Joel did, or said, or rather not said.

It was that she didn’t know what she would’ve done differently.

She reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a small apple she’d swiped from the kitchen earlier, then held it flat in her palm. Shimmer took it gently, lips brushing her skin, and Ellie gave a faint smile, barely there.

A voice broke the quiet behind her, smooth and a little smug.

“You know she’s already had breakfast, right? She’s just using you for snacks at this point.”

Ellie flinched and turned fast, hand instinctively twitching toward where a weapon would be, if she were carrying one. But it was just a girl. Maybe her age—hard to tell—with long, chocolate-brown hair falling loose messily down her back, skin tanned from actual sun exposure – not apocalypse grime – and sharp brown eyes that were studying Ellie like she was the one out of place.

The girl leaned casually on a shovel, standing just outside the stall, boots muddy, sleeves rolled up. Not a threat. Not unless sarcasm counted as a weapon.

Ellie straightened, instantly annoyed at herself for being startled. “She likes apples.”

The girl raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, and I like pie. Doesn’t mean strangers should start handing me baked goods just because I look bored.”

Ellie squinted. “Are you… comparing yourself to a horse?”

“No,” the girl said, deadpan. “I’m just saying I’m also food motivated.”

Ellie blinked. That had come out of nowhere. The corner of her mouth might’ve twitched. “Uh-huh.”

There was a pause, then the girl stepped into the stall without asking and started shoveling the nearby straw like she belonged there. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to cramp your weird emotional bonding session with the horse. Just doing my actual job.”

Ellie watched her for a beat. “Is sarcasm your job too, or just the shoveling?”

“Depends on the day.”

She worked efficiently, not meeting Ellie’s eyes now. Like she wasn’t trying to impress, focusing on what she had to do, which somehow made it more impressive.

“So,” the girl said after a while, “you’re the one everyone’s talking about.”

Ellie tensed. “Yeah?”

“Yep. New girl. Kinda famous, actually. The whispers are almost louder than the chickens.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Great.”

“What’d you do, anyway? Steal someone’s last Twinkie?”

Ellie crossed her arms. “Something like that.”

The girl threw a quick glance over her shoulder. “Relax. I don’t care. People here get bored easy. You’re just the new shiny thing to gossip about. Happens every time someone fresh shows up.”

Ellie leaned back against the stall wall, arms folded. “You always this talkative?”

The girl shrugged. “Not really. But you looked like you needed it.”

That shut Ellie up for a second.

Shimmer nudged her elbow, clearly bored of the people-talk, and Ellie absentmindedly reached to scratch behind her ear.

“So,” the girl went on, still casually working, “how long you been travellin’ before reaching Jackson?”

“Since Boston,” Ellie said.

The girl’s eyebrows lifted. “Boston? Damn. That’s a long ride.”

Ellie smirked. “Few months. We got a car for a while, but then we didn’t, so it had to be walking. A lot of walking. Like, destroy-your-feet kind of walking.”

“Sounds awful.”

“Yeah. It was.”

Another pause. Then:

“I’m guessing you didn’t come all this way just to hang out with livestock.”

Ellie shrugged. “You ever meet a horse that judges you?”

“Only once,” the girl said. “But he and I worked things out. Bribed him with some carrots.”

That definitely got a real smile out of Ellie. She looked away before the girl could see.

They kept talking. Not about anything big—horses, Jackson being weirdly normal, the food, the weather... Nothing serious, really, just casual conversations that flowed easily without having to be forced. The girl cracked jokes every few minutes like she couldn’t help herself, and Ellie found herself staying longer than she meant to. Her shoulders slowly dropped from around her ears, and she caught herself thinking that this was… nice.

After a while, the girl paused to wipe sweat from her brow, leaning the shovel against the stall wall. She gave Ellie a once-over, not unkind, then raised an eyebrow.

“You got something living in your stomach, or was that just you?”

Ellie blinked, confused—until her stomach gave another soft, guilty growl.

She exhaled through her nose, deadpan. Betrayal. That’s what that was.

The girl smirked. “Damn. Guess that answers my question.”

She crouched next to her bag, pulled out a small cloth bundle, and casually unwrapped it. Inside were two bagels, slightly smushed but still whole. She grabbed one and tossed it underhand without looking.

Ellie caught it on reflex. “Wait—what? You serious?”

The girl was already tying the cloth back up. “Nah. Just tossing bread at strangers for fun.”

Ellie looked at the bagel in her hand. It was soft and warm from being carried close to the body. She hesitated. “You don’t have to—”

“It’s extra,” the girl interrupted. “I always bring two. One for me, one for future me, in case present-me screws up and forgets or future me is still hungry.”

Then she grabbed the shovel again and turned to leave the stall. “Don’t choke on it.”

Ellie watched her go, something sparking under her ribs she didn’t know what to do with.

“I’m Ellie,” she said, just loud enough to carry.

The girl paused, one hand on the stall door, then glanced back over her shoulder. Her smirk was still there, but it softened just a little.

“I know.”

Ellie waited. “… And you?” she raised one eyebrow. “I don’t know much about living in a society like Jackson, but I think you’re supposed to tell me your name now too after telling you mine.”

The girl’s smirk widened, her teeth showing as she laughed under her breath.

“Sounds fair,” she said. “I’m Dina.”

And then she walked off to the next stall, whistling low under her breath.

Ellie stared after her for a beat, then looked down at the bagel, smiling to herself.

She didn’t go near the food hall on her way back.

The bagel Dina had given her had been an amazing breakfast, especially for what she was used to. She didn’t need anything else to eat, so she just… avoided it. Didn’t go near the food hall, because she knew that Joel might be there, and even Faith, too. Ellie would only find there kindness that might come in the form of hot food and forced small talk and someone reaching out with a soft voice that would make her want to either scream or cry or both.

So instead, she wandered. Took the long way around the rows of houses, past the school building with its swing set, past the gardens someone had replanted with early carrots and beans. Past the fence line, just far enough to see the edges of the river trail.

She didn’t know what the hell she was doing. Avoiding people, mostly. Faith. Joel.

Especially Joel.

Ellie took a slow breath and walked on.

By the time she made it back to the house, the sun had risen higher. Mid-morning light spilled over the porch steps, some flowers in the front garden already reaching out to the sun themselves awakened under its rays. The wood creaked faintly under her steps as she made her way up.

The door opened just as Ellie reached the top step.

Joel stepped out, letting the door ease closed behind him. He paused when he saw her—like he hadn’t expected to find her there, though maybe a part of him always hoped he would. For a few seconds, neither of them said anything.

Then Joel gave a small nod. “Hey.”

She gave him a noncommittal nod in return, not quite looking at him.

“You, uh…” He shifted the tote higher on his shoulder. “You get some air?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” He paused. His hand twitched at his side like he didn’t know what to do with it. He cleared his throat lightly. “I was just headin’ over to Tommy and Maria’s. Faith’s over there. Maria’s got a bunch of clothes she set aside—stuff for you two to choose from to have a proper wardrobe. Told Faith to come have a look,” a pause. He looked at her again, then down at his boots, then back up. “So I’m goin’ over there now,” he continued, slower this time. “Gonna carry back whatever she picks out. Probably grab some things for myself too.”

Ellie nodded once, stiff. She didn’t move to go around him, didn’t move to engage.

Joel hesitated, rocking back slightly on his heels.

“If you want,” he said carefully, voice even, “you could come too. Help pick out somethin’ for yourself. There’s a lot to go through, and Faith might be guessin’ sizes if you don’t show.”

Ellie didn’t answer.

He tried again. “It’s not a big deal. Just clothes. Might be nice to—”

“No,” Ellie said, her voice short but not sharp.

Joel’s mouth twitched like he was about to ask again, or offer a compromise, or say something light to soften the refusal. But instead, he just closed his mouth and nodded, looking down again.

She stepped past him toward the door.

He turned, almost instinctively. “Ellie—”

She stopped with her hand on the doorknob, spine tense.

He tried again. “I just… I wanted to check in. See how you’re—”

“Don’t.” She turned halfway toward him, eyes meeting his for the first time. They were tired. Guarded. “Don’t do that.”

Joel’s brows knit. “Do what?”

“Act like it’s normal.” Her voice caught a little. “Like you can just ask how I’m doing and I’ll smile and tell you everything’s fine. Like we’re just… back to that.”

He took a slow breath. “I’m not expectin’ that. I just—”

“I need time,” Ellie said, the words tumbling out before he could finish. It was a truth she needed him to understand.  “Okay? I’m still trying to make sense of everything. Of what happened. Of what you did. Of what I’m supposed to feel now. I don’t even know what I’m mad at half the time, Joel. And I’m not ready to have some big talk about it. Or any talk at all. I’m not ready to be around you for more than… this.” She gestured vaguely between them. “And even this is pushing it. I just need time”

Joel didn’t look angry. Didn’t push. Didn’t argue. His expression was unreadable for a moment—then it cracked, just barely. A flicker of guilt. Of loss. The kind that sat in his chest like a rusted anchor. His hands slipped into the pockets of his jacket, his shoulders squaring like he’d been bracing for this exact conversation, even if he’d hoped it might go a different way. But he swallowed it back down, forced himself to nod.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “I hear you.”

Ellie stared at him for another second, then turned back toward the door.

He stepped down onto the porch, boots crunching lightly in the grass. Just before he reached the last step, he glanced back.

“I’ll tell Faith to bring somethin’ back for you. If there’s anything you don’t like, we’ll sort it out.”

Ellie didn’t reply.

He gave her one more look—soft, uncertain, aching in a way he couldn’t say out loud—then turned and started down the path toward Tommy and Maria’s house.

Ellie waited until he was out of sight before she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The house was still. Sunlight drifted in through the living room curtains, painting pale stripes on the floor.  She didn’t bother taking off her jacket. Just climbed the stairs quickly, as if Joel was still behind her, each step heavier than the last, and shut herself into her room as fast as she could.

She didn’t know why the silence felt so much louder here, now that she was alone again. That’s what she wanted, wasn’t it?

Then why… why did she feel so bad?

Her jacket came off in a clumsy shrug. She let it fall to the floor, kicked her shoes off without untying them. Pacing didn’t help, but she did it anyway—back and forth across the space, her thoughts following her in circles that never landed anywhere useful.

Maybe it wasn’t even what Joel said.

Maybe it was the way he’d looked at her. Like he still wanted to be her Joel. Like he still was, somewhere in there.

And she… She didn’t know what she wanted him to be.

She dropped onto the edge of the bed and stared at her hands. They were dirty from the stable—bits of hay, the faint smell of horse clinging to her sleeves—and she hated how familiar that felt. How normal it was. Like things hadn’t split apart just a few days ago. Like the world hadn’t flipped, cracked, rearranged itself into something she couldn’t quite navigate.

And Faith. She hadn’t even seen her this morning.

Ellie exhaled sharply and rubbed at her face, palms dragging over her eyes.

She was tired of being angry. Tired of feeling betrayed. Tired of pretending the storm in her chest made sense when it didn’t. She laid back, arms sprawled out, staring up at the ceiling like it might have answers.

It didn’t.

Nothing did.

A sound floated faintly through the window—laughter, maybe, from down the street. The soft creak of a cart wheel. Life going on. People moving forward.

Ellie closed her eyes.

And let the silence stretch.

(…)

A week after their arrival to Jackson, things hadn’t changed much.

Not really.

Tommy and Maria had helped them out to settle. They gave the three of them clothes to fill out their closets—warmer stuff for the colder days, lighter stuff for the summer ahead, all of it well-kept, things that actually fit. They brought over odds and ends for the house too: bedding, kitchen basics, even a few things that could make the place feel more like home, if such a thing still existed for any of them.

Joel had started putting together a small workstation in the corner of his room—nothing fancy, just a sturdy table and a few tools. It gave his hands something to do in the evenings. One night, he’d surprised Faith with a carved dog figure he’d made out of spare wood. It was rough around the edges, a bit uneven, but he’d sanded it down enough to make it soft to the touch. She’d smiled when he gave it to her, dropping it by her room as he came to say goodnight. Told him she loved it. Kept it on her nightstand like it was made of gold.

Maria had stopped by early one morning with a dusty old Walkman and a music player she’d found in storage and a handful of tapes she thought Ellie might like. Mostly pop-rock—most of it from the eighties and early to mid-nineties. She hadn’t asked Ellie if she liked music, really, but she figured she might want to listen to something while she was alone in her room… which was most of the time. She just handed it over with a shrug, like she understood without needing to say much.

Faith got her own pile of treasures: sketchpads, coloured pencils, a small set of watercolours that Maria had apparently traded someone for. She’d taken to copying the illustrations in her mother’s botanical journal, each plant carefully shaded and labelled in the margins. The pages were starting to pile up on her desk like little pieces of a world long gone, connecting with her Mom through her paintings.

But through all of it—through the meals, and the errands, and the quiet evenings when the lamps glowed warm in the house and someone always passed the salt without asking—Ellie said very little.

She hadn’t yelled. Hadn’t exploded or argued. Just… gone quiet.

She slipped in and out of rooms like a shadow, barely touching anything. She ate in silence, offered little more than one-word answers when spoken to. Her eyes barely landed on Joel or Faith for more than a second before she looked away again, like it stung.

Most mornings, she left the house before either of them were up and walked to the stables to visit Shimmer. She’d come back around midday, head down, arms crossed, and disappear into her room before they could ask how she was.

It wasn’t distance. Not really. It was an armour. And she wore it like a second skin.

One morning Faith woke up to a note from Joel on her nightstand saying that he was out with Tommy helping him out in a town workshop where they did repairs for furniture, tools, anything people would hand in really – which was perfect for their contractor skillset –, and that he’d left her some breakfast ready in the microwave to heat up.

He’d done that on purpose, for sure. He knew she still didn’t get along too well with the microwave. It fucking amused him.

Ellie was out already too, Faith could tell because instead of being shut, the door to her room left slightly open, which could only mean she wasn’t in there.

So she had breakfast, not rushing it, minding her shoulder like the doctor had told her to yet again on her last checkup, and then headed up to take a warm shower, which was a luxury she’d quickly grown to love.

She undressed slowly, careful of the still-healing skin at her shoulder. She peeled off her pants last. That was when the image struck her.

Just a flicker at first—like a misfired neuron—but enough to make her flinch. The fabric bunching down her thighs, that vulnerable space between being clothed and not, it unlocked something she’d buried with effort every day since that day.

David.

In that room, that office. That fucking look in his eyes.

She gripped the edge of the sink for a moment, steadying herself, her pants still half-off, breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t real. Not now. She knew that. She was in a real bathroom, with a clean tile floor and a working shower and a door that locked.

But memory didn’t give a shit about facts.

It crept in anyway. Uninvited. She could feel his hands again—could smell him, even though she knew that was impossible. He was dead. Ellie had killed him. Still, her stomach twisted violently.

Faith pushed the pants off and stepped into the shower without thinking, yanked the water on hot, as hot as it would go. The heat slammed into her skin, almost too much, but she didn’t back away. Didn’t flinch. Just turned her face into it like it could scour everything away.

She grabbed the soap, lathered it into her hands, and scrubbed. Her arms. Her chest. Her thighs.

Again.

And again.

Three times over, until her skin bloomed red, until the steam choked her lungs and her fingers ached from how tightly she held the bar of soap.

She didn’t cry. She’d told herself there wasn’t time for it. That if she let herself start, she might never stop, and she wanted to be okay, to forget it, and not waste more time of her life thinking about him.

But here, alone, in the heat and pressure of the shower, something inside her cracked. Not into sobs, not into tears—just silence.

Like a hollow space that used to be her.

She turned the water off with a sharp motion, stepped out, and dried off fast, like she couldn’t stand being bare any longer. Her bathrobe was soft. Clean. It helped. She let it hug her tightly and rubbed the towel through her hair, rough and quick, like she was trying to shake something loose from her skull.

She made the mistake of looking up.

The mirror had fogged, mostly. But not completely. Her reflection looked back at her through the haze. Paler than usual. Eyes shadowed. And her hair.

Wet, curling at the ends. Tangled. Long enough to grab.

Long enough that he had grabbed it.

Dragged her back when she tried to crawl.

She stopped drying it. Just stared.

She hadn’t cut it in forever. It’d grown wild, unkempt during months on the road. Ellie had sometimes teased her about it, said she looked like she belonged in a forest—which, for a long time, she had. But now, every time she caught it in the corner of her eye or felt it tug at her back beneath a coat or shirt, she remembered him. Remembered his fingers twisted in it, yanking her head back, the sound of her own breath choking.

Her stomach turned again.

No.

No more.

She dropped the towel.

Walked out of the bathroom while her legs were still dripping, water trailing behind her.

She knew there were scissors in the kitchen drawer. They were sharp. She’d used them once to trim a thread off the hem of one of the new shirts Maria had given her.

Now, she gripped them like they were a weapon, not to harm, but to cut her way to freedom.

She stood in front of her bedroom mirror this time, the scissors in one hand, her still-damp hair clinging to her shoulders and back.

Then, she took the first piece and held the scissors up.

She wanted to cut him from her.

But her hand shook. Not a little. A lot. She gripped a lock of hair near her temple, raised the scissors—held them poised—and froze.

Where do I start?

The thought came in a flood of others, crashing into her like waves on jagged rocks. What if I mess it up? What if it looks stupid? What if this changes nothing? What if I still feel him?

Her breath hitched. Her chest was tight. She dropped the hair, tried again, this time grabbing a chunk near the back. But her fingers trembled, the blades of the scissors barely fitting around the strands before she stopped again.

She couldn’t breathe.

Her knees buckled slightly, and she dropped to sit on the edge of her bed, scissors thrown to the side, palms over her face. She took shallow breaths, her robe damp and clinging to her skin, her wet hair dripping down her back.

She wanted to scream. Rip it all out by the roots. She wanted to be free of it—of him—so badly it burned.

But her body had locked up.

She squeezed her eyes shut, heart pounding against her ribs, and tried to ground herself. Her fingers dug into the comforter beneath her. She pressed her heels into the wooden floor. The world felt tilted, like she was underwater again, drowning in memories.

And then—

A flash.

A moment. Not a violent one. Not a haunting one.

Ellie, rolling her eyes that day at Tommy and Maria’s house, sitting in a chair with a towel around her shoulders while Maria trimmed the ends of her hair, neat and practiced. Maria had mentioned she liked doing hair probably because it was a mom thing.

Then Maria had looked at Faith, asked if she wanted hers done too.

Faith had hesitated. Said no. Because her mom was the one who used to cut it. Because no one had after her mom had died, unless she did it herself with whatever she could find.

But Maria hadn’t pushed. She’d just smiled and accepted it.

Faith stood again before she knew she was moving. She left the scissors forgotten on her bed, pulled on a pair of jeans—still stiff from the closet shelf, her fingers were trembling as she buttoned the jeans, but she kept going—and a loose short-sleeved shirt. She stepped into her new shoes without even putting on socks, tied the laces. Shrugged on a jacket, even though she didn’t really need it, and left.

By the time she’d walked down the street, her hair had dried in stringy, uneven waves. Her hands were shoved deep into her pockets to keep from fidgeting. Her chest was still tight, as if she was afraid she might crumble if she let herself breathe too deeply.

Faith walked up the porch, and she hesitated for just a moment—just one heartbeat—then knocked.

A pause. A long one. She heard steps approaching after a beat, and then the door opened slowly.

Maria blinked at her, wrapped in a soft cardigan over a maternity dress, her hair tied up messily, a tea mug in one hand. Her grown belly seemed even more prominent in that dress — She looked tired. Not upset.

“Oh,” Maria said, surprised. “Faith. Hey. Everything okay?”

Faith nodded quickly. Then shook her head. Then nodded again, blinking fast.

Maria waited. Faith took a breath.

“You, uh…” Her voice caught. She swallowed and tried again. “You once said you could cut hair.”

Maria glanced at her damp hair. Then at her face.

Faith dropped her gaze. “Is that… offer still up?”

There was no need to explain. Whatever Faith’s reasons were, Maria didn’t push her to tell her. She’d been filed in by Tommy on what Joel had told him about what had happened on their journey ever since they’d left Jackson in December, and if all Faith was asking to feel better was a haircut, Maria would do her best to help.

She stepped aside and held the door open wider, smiling softly. “Come on in.”

(…)

The sun was barely up, casting soft amber light through the slats in the stable roof, when Ellie had pushed open the gate to Shimmer’s stall. The mare nickered low in greeting, her warm breath curling into the crisp morning air as Ellie reached out to stroke her muzzle.

“Hey, girl,” she murmured, leaning her forehead gently against Shimmer’s. “Miss me?”

She hadn’t meant to spend this much time here, again. But the stables had become her quiet place—less eyes, less talking, more room to just be. Shimmer didn’t ask questions. She didn’t expect answers. She also didn’t speak her language, so that definitely helped.

Ellie was halfway through brushing her down when the creak of the stable door made her glance up.

Dina walked in, sleeves rolled up, two shovels slung over her shoulder like a farmer out of a storybook. She raised an eyebrow when their eyes met.

“If you’re gonna hang out in here all the time,” she said, tossing Ellie one of the shovels, “you might as well make yourself useful.”

Ellie caught it midair with a smirk. “Wow. Amazing. Ask me on a date out first.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Dina shot back, grinning as she stepped into the next stall and got to work. “Shovel first. Flirting later.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, but there was warmth in her chest she didn’t try to fight off. They worked in tandem for a while, the quiet rhythm of shovelling hay and the occasional grunt of effort filling the space. It wasn’t glamorous work, but it felt good. Normal.

She didn’t even hear the stable door open again until a familiar voice called out, “Jesus, you two starting your own farm or something?”

Jesse stood there in patrol gear, a saddlebag slung over one shoulder. He raised an eyebrow at the scene, amused. “Thought you were just here to sneak apples to Shimmer.”

Ellie shrugged. “Upgraded my duties.”

“She’s got the shovel to prove it,” Dina added with a wink.

Ellie had met him the next day after meeting Dina. He’d come by to see her, she’d introduced him to Ellie… and conversation flowed just as easily as with Dina. Ellie forgot about her problems for a while when she was with them, laughing again and feeling at ease. They didn’t act like they were walking on eggshells like everyone else around her, and it was refreshing.

Jesse stepped inside, brushing some of the early dew from his jacket. “Well, don’t let me stop you. Just here to grab Japan. We’ve got the west ridge this morning.”

He moved past them toward one of the stalls, but not before tossing a look back over his shoulder. “…You two always this productive before breakfast, or is this some kind of competition I should know about?”

Ellie scoffed, jabbing her shovel lightly into a pile of hay. “Don’t be jealous just ’cause we’re better at manual labour than you.”

“Right,” Jesse deadpanned, already unclipping Japan’s reins. “Remind me next time I’m wrangling infected out near the river who the real tough guys are.”

Dina leaned on her shovel, lips twitching with a smirk. “He’s just bitter because he knows Japan likes me better.”

At that, Jesse turned, mock offended. “Excuse you—she tolerates you. There’s a difference.”

Japan snorted at that, flicking her ears as if to weigh in, and Ellie chuckled under her breath.

“You heading out now?” Dina asked, brushing her sleeve across her forehead.

“Yeah,” Jesse said. “Maria’s got me and Seth on a short loop past the old power lines. Shouldn’t take more than a few hours unless something’s gone sideways out there.”

He started adjusting the saddle straps, then glanced up again, softer this time. “You sticking around here all day, Ellie?”

Ellie hesitated, glancing at Shimmer, then at Dina, who gave her a small smile.

“Yeah,” Ellie said eventually. “For a while longer, at least.”

“Cool,” Jesse nodded, giving Japan one last pat before leading her toward the main gate. “Catch you guys later. Don’t work too hard.”

“Tell Seth to shut up,” Dina called after him.

“Always do,” Jesse tossed back, and then he was gone, the sound of hooves and boots fading into the morning light.

For a moment, silence returned to the stables—quiet but not empty. Ellie glanced sideways at Dina, who was already shovelling again, humming some lazy tune that drifted between the hay bales like sunlight. It felt okay. It felt like a morning she wouldn’t mind remembering.

“You two… got going something on?” Ellie asked suddenly, glancing at Dina and to where Jesse had been a moment ago.

Dina raised her eyebrow. “Something going on?”

Ellie huffed, feeling the heat creeping up her neck to her cheeks. She wasn’t sure how to ask, she’d never been around couples much… and she’d only ever liked one person before, Riley. She wasn’t sure if how Dina and Jesse were acting was the same as she and Riley had, but it seemed like they were… familiar. Like friends, but also… not only like that.

“Forget it,” she said.

Dina shifted her weight, suddenly more focused on the shovel in her hands than anything else. “Something going on…” she repeated quietly, like she was testing how that sounded out loud.

Ellie shrugged again, this time smaller. “You don’t have to answer. Just seemed like maybe you guys were, I don’t know. Close-close.”

There was a pause.

Then Dina said, “We’ve known each other a long time. Since we both got here.” She pushed a clump of hay with her boot, not looking up. “He’s easy to talk to, and although he’s a bit older, he’s… nice. But it’s not like—” She made a vague motion with the shovel, like she was trying to draw a map in the air. “—a thing thing. I don’t know.”

Ellie nodded, quietly relieved and also more confused than before. “Yeah. I get that.”

Dina glanced at her, then away. “Do you…?”

“What?”

“Get that. Like, do you ever think about that stuff?”

Ellie opened her mouth. Closed it again. “Sometimes.”

They both fell quiet, the air thick with more than dust and straw now. Ellie tightened her grip on the shovel and tried to think of something cool or casual to say, but her brain short-circuited somewhere between I like girls and please don’t only like boys.

She settled for: “It’s complicated.”

Dina smiled faintly. “Yeah. Kinda is.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy—it was soft. Like a blanket pulled up under your chin when you’re not quite ready to sleep. Neither of them really knew what to do with it, but neither of them backed away from it, either.

After a few moments, Dina let out a breath. “So… we’re still on shovel duty, right?”

Ellie nodded quickly. “Yeah. Totally. I’m great at shovelling hay.”

“You’re terrible at it.”

Ellie smirked. “Only because you distracted me.”

Dina grinned again, a little lopsided. “Come on. Let’s see who can finish their stall faster.”

And just like that, the moment folded itself up and tucked away somewhere safe, waiting for them to come back to it when they were ready.

By the time they finished the stalls, the sun was higher in the sky, and Ellie had hay in her hair, dirt on her shirt, and a stupid grin she couldn’t wipe off.

“Laundry duty later?” Dina had asked while leaning on her shovel, breathless but smiling.

“Sure,” Ellie had said, pretending to think about it. “You promise not to throw soap at me again?”

“No promises.”

She’d said yes anyway.

Now, Ellie walked the dirt path back toward the house, swinging her arms and kicking at little rocks as she went. She should’ve been tired, maybe even annoyed at having been roped into extra chores—but she wasn’t. Not even close. Something about being with Dina just made things feel easier. Warmer.

She was halfway past Tommy and Maria’s house, thinking vaguely about whether or not she could sneak a piece of leftover bread from the kitchen before heading up her room, when the front door creaked open.

Faith stepped out onto the porch, her shoes catching the wood with a soft thud as she descended the steps. She was zipping up her jacket over a t-shirt, head tilted down, not noticing Ellie at first.

And then Ellie did notice something—something small, but somehow impossible to miss.

Faith’s hair.

It used to hang past her shoulder blades in a rough braid most days, the kind of thing someone did more out of habit than care. But now it was… shorter. Cut just above her shoulders, the uneven ends gone. Soft waves framed her face, catching the morning light in a way that made her look—Ellie blinked—different. Not older exactly, just more… herself. Like how she was on the inside.

Faith glanced up then, catching Ellie watching her. She paused at the bottom step, one hand on the railing. “Hey,” when Ellie didn’t straight up ignore her, she tried a bit more. “What’s up?”

Ellie blinked again. “Nothing,” she said quickly, then added before her brain could stop her, “You cut your hair.”

Faith’s hand went up to her now short strands. “Yeah, uh… Asked Maria for some help. Got tired of it getting in the way all the time.”

It wasn’t true, of course. Ellie could tell by Faith’s reluctance to meet her gaze while she said it. But after thinking about the importance of truth and lies for a whole week, she decided she could let this one slide.

“It looks good,” Ellie said, more honest than she meant to be. “Like… really good. Suits you nice.”

Faith smiled brightly and thanked her after a beat. “Thanks,” she said, a little cautious, a little amused. “You look like you lost a fight with a hay bale.”

Ellie smirked, glancing down at herself. “Yeah, well. I won. Barely.”

A faint smirk tugged at Faith’s lips, and she started walking toward the main road, hands in her jacket pockets. “You going back to the house?”

“Uh, yeah…” Ellie took a few seconds, but she eventually walked alongside Faith.

They walked side by side down the road, heels crunching softly on the packed dirt. The town was wide awake —distant hammering from someone fixing a fence, the sharp bark of a dog—but around them, it still felt quiet. Still felt like theirs.

Neither of them spoke for a minute. The silence wasn’t exactly awkward… but it wasn’t easy either.

Then—

“So I—”

“How are you—”

They both stopped, glanced sideways at each other, and then down again just as quickly.

Faith let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh, kicking a pebble toward the grass. “You first.”

Ellie rubbed the back of her neck. “I was just gonna say… I know I’ve been kinda—” She hesitated, trying to find the right word, or any word that didn’t feel like ripping off a scab. “Distant.”

Faith didn’t say anything right away, and that made Ellie push through.

“I wasn’t trying to be a jerk. I just…” She shrugged, voice lower now. “Sometimes it’s easier to not say stuff, you know?”

“Yeah,” Faith said, voice quiet. “I know.”

Ellie looked at her then. And maybe it was the hair, or the way she was walking with her hands swaying at her sides instead of deep in her pockets like her own, but something in Faith looked more… open, too.

“I saw you the other day,” Ellie said, “near the barn. You looked like you wanted to say something. But you didn’t.”

Faith blinked. “I didn’t want to, like, intrude in your space or anything. I figured you didn’t wanna hear it.”

“Probably not,” Ellie admitted. “But I guess I do now.”

Faith didn’t answer, not right away—but her pace slowed a little, like she was listening more than walking now. Her silence wasn’t shutting Ellie out. It was giving her room.

“I’m not good at this stuff,” Ellie added after a beat. “Talking.”

“You’re doing fine.”

That made Ellie huff softly through her nose. “Thanks.”

They reached the front porch of their house, the old wood creaking under their steps. Faith grabbed the door handle, but paused before pulling it open.

She glanced over at Ellie—not with the guarded caution she’d worn all week, but with a quieter kind of curiosity.

“You seem… different,” she said, and it wasn’t an accusation. Just an observation.

Ellie tilted her head. “Different how?” maybe it was because she had been laughing with Dina, or because she had had time to process everything… but she cracked a joke without realizing it. “You should take a look in the mirror yourself, ‘cause I’m not the one who got a glow up, you are.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” Faith smirked, and then she gave a half-shrug, the corner of her mouth curling up. “I dunno, it feels like… you’re letting people in again. Just a little.”

Ellie looked away, trying not to smile but failing. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.”

Faith pushed open the door, holding it for her. “Too late. It’s good to see you again. Really.”

For the first time, walking through the threshold didn’t feel like crossing into a stranger���s house. Next to Faith, it kinda started to feel a bit more like theirs.

(…)

Joel came back home late in the afternoon.

He stepped through the front door just as the light outside started to dip toward evening, brushing the horizon in orange and muted pink. He closed it gently behind him, boots heavy on the floor as he shrugged off his jacket, dust from the repair shop still clinging to the fabric. His arms ached from a full day of hauling parts and coaxing rusted gears back to life, but he didn’t mind it—not when it meant he’d been doing something useful, rewarding, and actually helping others.

Faith was sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, her head bowed slightly as she worked with careful strokes over a sheet of parchment. Scattered around her were pencils, a bit of charcoal, and her mom’s old botanical journal, opened wide like it was a doorway into another time. Joel paused in the archway, watching her replicate the detailed ink sketch of a flowering vine, scaling it up with a level of precision that probably would’ve even impressed her mother.

He opened his mouth, about to gently remind her to take it easy—her shoulder still hadn’t healed all the way—but the words caught in his throat.

He noticed her hair was shorter.

Cut clean above her shoulders, the long braid she used to wear now gone. In its place, soft shorter waves framed her face, catching what little sunlight remained. It made her look… lighter. Not younger, not necessarily older. Just more like herself.

She glanced up when she noticed him standing there. Her pencil paused mid-line.

“Hey,” she said, smiling. She caught him staring then, and she shrunk a bit into herself. “You don’t like it?”

Joel blinked. Then he shook his head slowly, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “No, babygirl, no... You look beautiful.”

A flush crept into her cheeks. She looked down quickly, fiddling with the edge of the paper. “It was just… time,” she mumbled. “Felt like something I needed to do. To let it all go.”

Joel didn’t need her to say what exactly she wanted to let go of, but she didn’t have to. He’d lived the aftermath of her trauma by her side, held her through her nightmares, stayed awake with her when she was too scared to go back asleep… and he felt a deep, fierce sense of pride for her for pushing through the pain and taking a step to recovery. To feel like herself again, happy, learning to live with the scar of trauma on her own terms.

He stepped forward slowly, lowering himself beside her, knees creaking in protest. He didn’t touch her right away, just sat close on the floor by her side with his back leaning on the couch.

“I’m proud of you,” he said quietly. “Takin’ that step.”

Faith didn’t say anything for a second, but she looked at him then, smiling — her shoulders looser, eyes a little clearer— and Joel knew that she was still healing, but that she was getting there. “Thanks.”

She showed him what she was drawing up close, and he listened to her explaining whatever her mom had written down in her journal about the plant she was painting.

Joel listened closely, nodding along as Faith spoke, his gaze flicking between the delicate lines of her drawing and the words she recited from her mom’s notes. He didn’t interrupt, just let her talk, absorbing it all with that quiet kind of attention only Joel could give. It reminded him of Sarah—how she used to come home from school bursting with facts about whatever they were learning, thinking he’d find mitochondria as interesting as she did. And he had, for no other reason than it came from her, just as now with Faith talking to him about some plants.

When Faith finally paused to check something on her drawing’s shading, Joel cleared his throat, easing his weight off his knees and stretching his legs out a little in front of him.

“How was your day with Tommy?” she asked, looking up again.

Joel made a low sound, half a grunt, half a chuckle. “Long,” he admitted. “We got a busted generator to finally quit sparkin’. Had to swap out more parts than we planned, but it’s runnin’ now. And we got the new crank system installed behind the gate.”

Faith nodded, trying not to smile at how he sounded both proud and mildly annoyed after a day of fixing things. “So, not bad then?”

He tilted his head in concession. “Could be worse.”

There was a pause, not exactly awkward—just comfortable.

Then Joel added, carefully “I’m goin’ on patrol with him tomorrow morning. We’ll do a loop just outside the perimeter, get a feel of the area, get to know it.”

Faith looked at him more sharply than she meant to. “You sure you’re ready?”

Joel’s brow lifted, amused. “Thinkin’ I’m not?”

“I didn’t say that,” she muttered, reaching for her charcoal again. But then her expression softened. “Just… be careful.”

It was the first time he’d be leaving Jackson since they arrived. Faith knew that he’d be careful, of course he’d be, but she also got nervous thinking about him going back outside, where the danger always lurked behind a corner. Tommy wouldn’t take up many risks himself, not with Maria pregnant, Faith knew that too… But still, worry tugged at her heart, making it bleed in pain just a bit.

“I always am,” he replied quietly, nudging her side gently—just enough to be felt.

Faith gave him a look but didn’t push away. Instead, she smiled a little to herself and said, “I talked to Ellie today.”

That made Joel straighten slightly. “You did?” He glanced toward the stairs, voice softer now. “She home?”

Faith shook her head. “Nah, she left a little while ago. Said she’d be back later.”

Joel exhaled through his nose. “Huh.”

There was something unreadable in his face. Maybe a bit of hope. A little hesitation. But mostly relief.

Faith set down her pencil and leaned her head lightly against his arm. “She didn’t say much, but… it was a start. I think she’s opening up again.”

Joel let his hand rest on the back of her head for a moment—gentle, grounding, his fingers carding through her now short locks.

“Start’s all we need,” he murmured.

They sat like that for a while longer, the last light slipping through the windows and casting quiet shadows over the room. They had dinner together not much later, something simple Joel had thrown together—some vegetables, some chicken, and a few thick slices of sourdough bread someone from Jackson’s kitchen had passed along that morning. They didn’t talk much while eating, but it wasn’t because they didn’t want to. It was the kind of quiet that settled after a long day, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with anything but presence.

Faith was curled into her chair, one of her legs tucked beneath her, and Joel sat across from her at the small breakfast table, chewing slowly. It was peaceful. The air between them felt light—untethered by grief or worry.

Halfway through the meal, the front door creaked open.

Joel stilled, eyes darting toward the sound. Faith paused with her fork midway to her mouth. They both heard the faint scuffle of shoes on the floor, then the quick shuffle of footsteps heading upstairs.

No words. No knock. Just Ellie, moving like a ghost trying not to disturb the living.

Faith glanced up at Joel, but didn’t say anything. Ellie always waited till they were both done eating, hadn’t sat down for a meal with them in days. They didn’t try to call out for her, because they knew she’d eventually sit with them when she wanted to… Faith just hoped that after having started to talk to her again, she’d sit with them on the table soon, too.

When their plates were scraped clean, Joel stood and stretched, rolling out the ache in his shoulders with a quiet grunt. Faith rose too, slower, careful with the stiffness still clinging to her own shoulder.

“You should head up,” Joel said, reaching for the small bottle the doctor had given her earlier that week. He held it out pointedly, shaking it once. “Take one of these. Remember the doctor said you need rest for that to heal right.”

Faith may have had tried to push her limits the last week, resulting in her being exhausted again. She wanted to start helping around, like Joel was doing, but with her shoulder still healing it wasn’t as easy. The doctor had lectured her about proper healing, and so had Joel after they left the clinic. Faith had put through it, taking a long nap afterwards, knowing they only meant well… but that didn’t stop her from feeling useless.

Faith groaned quietly but took the bottle. “You’re gonna start hovering again, aren’t you?”

“I never stopped,” he said, giving her a wry look as she snatched the pill and downed it with a sip of water. “Good. Go on now. I’ll clean up.”

“You sure?”

He nodded quickly, softly shoving her out of the kitchen. “Go to bed. C’mon.”

Faith turned back slightly, narrowing her eyes at him. “Bossy.”

Joel smirked. “That’s what it takes with you teenagers.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, heading for the hall.

“You’ll thank me when you’re not in agony tomorrow.”

Faith turned halfway at the door, looking back as she gave him a cheeky grin. “You’re not always right, you know.”

Joel gave a soft snort, stacking the dishes in the sink. “No, but I’m right tonight. Go. Bed.”

“Okay, okay,” She rolled her eyes, but her grin diverged into a light smile, her voice softening. “Night, Joel.”

He looked up from the sink, gaze catching hers in the low light.

“’Night, babygirl.”

Faith’s smile lingered as she padded toward the stairs, barefoot and a little more relaxed now that the painkiller was kicking in. Joel watched her go, waiting until he heard her door click shut before he finally started cleaning the dishes, which went fast as they were only two. He made sure to leave Ellie’s plate in the fridge easily for her to find – which also wasn’t hard, as they didn’t have much else in there – and he made his way upstairs too, quiet steps leading him to his own room.

Meanwhile, Faith settled for the night inside her room, slowly, her body aching to lay down again. She was about to toss her sweater onto the back of her chair when something on her bed caught her eye.

Lying neatly on top of her folded blanket was a Walkman. The one Ellie had gotten from Maria. Alongside it was a small square of folded paper, ripped from the corner of a journal.

Faith blinked, then picked it up, unfolding it carefully.

Thought of you. Just press play.

—E.

That was it. No further explanation.

Her throat tightened as she sat down slowly on the edge of her bed, turning the Walkman over in her hands; the tape inside had the band’s name written in it with black ink. The Cranberries.

Huh, fitting.

She slipped the headphones over her ears like she’d seen Ellie do, and pressed the play button.

First there was static. Then a crackle. Then the song started. A low hum of chords. A rising melody. The singer’s voice came in clear — bright and raw, like morning light breaking through a fog.

‘Oh, my life is changing every day, In every possible way…’

Faith sat still, her fingers curled lightly around the Walkman. She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe for a second. There was something about the voice — open, emotional, almost aching — that burrowed straight into her chest.

‘And oh my dreams, It's never quite as it seems…’

Faith closed her eyes.

It wasn’t just the words. It was the feeling of it. That someone out there, once upon a time, had written a song that sounded like lightness — like floating above the heaviness for just a moment. Like joy still existed, even after everything.

And Ellie — Ellie — had thought of her when she heard this?

A smile broke across Faith’s face, slow and quiet. A little stunned. So she’d found her a song, after all?

She tilted back on the bed until her head hit the pillow, letting the music wash over her as she stared at the ceiling, the Walkman resting on her stomach.

‘I know I felt like this before… But now I'm feeling it even more, Because it came from you…’

Her eyes prickled.

Not from sadness. Just… from feeling. The kind of feeling that reminded her she wasn’t alone in the world. That someone, someone quiet and guarded and awkward, had picked this song out of everything else and thought, Yeah. This one’s Faith.

And somehow, she’d been right.

‘And now I tell you openly... You have my heart, so don't hurt me… You're what I couldn't find… Totally amazing mind. So understanding and so kind... You're everything to me…’

Ellie had told her she wasn’t good at talking. Not about the soft stuff. But this? This was her way of saying it. Of being there. Of reaching across the silence with a song. The words weren’t romantic. Not in the way Faith understood romance. They didn’t have to be. They were just… real. About trust. About the rare miracle of finding someone who saw you, even with all your cracks.

‘And oh, my dreams… It’s never quite as it seems… ‘Cause you’re a dream to me, dream to me…’

She listened until the song ended, the last choruses fading in the distance as the music died down until there was silence again.

Without really thinking, she sat up straighter, then pushed herself off the bed. The Walkman felt heavy in her hands, like it held more than just music — like it carried all the words Ellie couldn’t say aloud.

An olive branch. That’s what is really was.

In the hallway now, in front of Ellie’s door, she hesitated a moment, then raised a hand and knocked softly. A few heartbeats later, the door cracked open just a little. Ellie’s eyes met hers — surprise flickering there, quickly replaced by something softer, almost hesitant.

When Ellie saw the Walkman in Faith’s hands, her lips parted, but before she could say anything, Faith stepped forward and pulled her into a hug.

Her tears spilled free, warm and sudden, and Ellie’s breath caught. Something inside her broke open too — all the quiet loneliness, the held-back pain, the unsaid words… Everything.

She wrapped her arms around Faith carefully, mindful of the shoulder that still ached, clinging tight like she was afraid this moment might disappear if she let go.

“I’ve missed you,” Faith whispered, her voice trembling.

Ellie’s own tears slipped down. “Me too,” she breathed back.

They stayed like that for a long moment, like two broken pieces fitting together again as they were always meant to be.

Taglist: @kitdjarin1@christinamadsen@abtjudex@hongjoong-titties@cokoladasljesnjakom@puppi-sonnenschein@elisha-chloe@wwefan2002@hello-lisa1026

[candydollface]

where the silence lives (i can’t quit you)

while reading listen to:

oh my love — john lennon

lonesome town — ricky nelson

thoroughfare — ethel cain

lover, you should come over — jeff buckley

word count: 1,000+

warnings: internalized homophobia, emotional repression, drug use, drug dealing, emotionally destructive relationship dynamics, cheating (implied), rural homophobia (implied), non-explicit sexual content, bittersweet ending / unresolved grief, self-destructive behavior, emotionally abusive upbringing (implied for rafe)

a/n: inspired by the movie brokeback mountain! also i’m 🧁 anon from @starfxkrinc blog so blog reveal! also thank you @cameronsbabydoll for proofreading this bby!

the first time barry laid eyes on rafe cameron, he thought: fuck no.

he was a pretty boy with blood on his boots and hate in his mouth, hands always in motion like he didn’t know what stillness was.

too clean. too careless.

barry didn’t like him.

didn’t trust him.

but then they got sent up into the mountains together—two weeks alone, checking fencing and counting cattle for some old man barry owed a favor to.

rafe didn’t have a reason. he said he was bored. said he wanted out of figure eight for a while.

barry didn’t ask questions.

didn’t realize then that rafe wasn’t running away.

he was running toward something. he just didn’t know what yet.

they drove up in silence.

barry at the wheel, rafe hanging out the window like a dog.

they didn’t talk much the first few days—just worked. set up camp. drank in the evenings by the fire while the cicadas screamed.

and then it rained.

cold, hard, unrelenting. soaked their tent and their clothes and their bones.

rafe couldn’t stop shivering. too proud to say anything.

barry just opened his sleeping bag and looked away.

the first night they slept like that—back to back, heat pressed close, breath fogging—it wasn’t anything.

just survival.

but the second night, it was different.

rafe turned over.

touched barry’s chest.

didn’t say a word.

barry let him.

that first kiss was clumsy and fast, all teeth and panic and hunger.

like they were trying to undo years of being told not to feel.

rafe’s hands were shaking. barry’s jaw was clenched tight.

they didn’t talk about it the next morning.

barry cleaned his gun like he always did.

rafe smoked two cigarettes back to back, eyes fixed on the trees.

—

but it kept happening.

every night, a little closer. a little softer.

the touches turned tender.

kisses slowed down.

hands found places that made them both ache.

rafe would pull away after, sitting out by the fire with a far-off look in his eyes.

he’d throw rocks into the dark like he wanted to break the night open.

“this ain’t real,” he muttered once, almost to himself.

barry didn’t answer.

because it was.

and they both knew it.

—

when the job ended, they didn’t say goodbye.

just packed up and drove down the mountain in silence.

barry watched rafe out the corner of his eye the whole way home—jaw tight, fingers tapping against his thigh like a ticking clock.

he dropped him off outside the cameron estate. rafe didn’t look back.

barry sat in his truck long after he was gone, palms aching from how hard he’d gripped the wheel.

months passed.

they didn’t talk.

barry went back to the usual: late nights, cheap deals, silence.

but sometimes, late at night, he’d still wake up reaching for someone who wasn’t there.

someone he never should’ve touched in the first place.

and then one night, rafe showed up.

drunk. bruised. jacket half-off one shoulder like he’d been in a fight.

barry opened the door before he could knock.

they didn’t speak.

just moved.

rafe pushed him back against the wall and kissed him like he wanted to crawl inside his skin.

when they were tangled up in bed after—bare skin, heavy breath, hearts pounding out of rhythm—rafe said it again:

“this don’t mean nothin’.”

barry stared at the ceiling.

“then why do you keep coming back?”

rafe didn’t answer.

just curled into barry’s side like he always did, like it meant everything.

—

it became a pattern.

rafe would disappear for weeks.

months.

sometimes he’d show up with another man’s cologne still on him.

sometimes he’d come fresh from a bar fight, knuckles split and bleeding.

sometimes he’d cry into barry’s chest like a little boy.

and barry—barry never turned him away.

not once.

because rafe cameron was the only person who ever made him feel alive.

and barry knew he’d ruin himself before he ever let him go.

—

“we could leave,” rafe whispered once, drunk on cheap whiskey and moonlight.

they were out by the river. clothes half-off, skin flushed, laughter still stuck between their teeth.

barry had never seen him look younger.

“just go. start over. somewhere no one knows us.”

barry looked at him.

“you don’t mean that.”

“don’t i?”

barry kissed him, slow and full of grief.

“no, rafe. you don’t.”

because rafe loved the idea of freedom.

but he was raised on power. on pride. on legacy.

he’d never leave figure eight.

never leave the cameron name behind.

he’d choose the cage every time.

—

barry got older.

his hands started shaking more.

he stopped sleeping.

he heard rafe got engaged.

to a girl from charleston.

her father owned banks.

her smile looked plastic.

barry didn’t go to the wedding.

but he saw rafe three months later.

outside a gas station.

middle of nowhere.

they locked eyes.

neither spoke.

and then rafe just said: “i had to.”

and barry said: “i know.”

and then they walked away.

—

the last time rafe came to see him, it was raining.

not like the first time. softer. like something was being washed away.

he didn’t kiss barry.

just sat beside him on the porch, hands curled tight in his lap.

“i can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you,” he said.

voice low. shaky.

“even when i try.”

barry swallowed hard.

“you don’t try that hard.”

rafe looked up, eyes glassy.

“i wish i was braver.”

barry nodded.

“i wish you were too.”

—

and then rafe left.

for good.

—

years later, barry kept a box.

inside:

a photograph of the mountain.

a note rafe had once scribbled on the back of a bar receipt.

and an old, beat-up flannel shirt that still smelled like sweat and smoke.

he never opened it.

just kept it on the top shelf, collecting dust.

like a wound he didn’t want to touch.

but sometimes—on cold nights, when the world was too quiet—he’d pull it down and press it to his face.

and remember.

—

he never loved anyone else.

not the way he loved rafe cameron.

not with that kind of devastation.

not with that kind of ache.

—

“truth is,” barry whispered once, years later, to no one at all—just the wind, and the woods, and the long-empty bed beside him—

“i never could quit you.”

[cowboylikemac]

THE GREAT WAR || F.W

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: During the war, you and Fred Weasley fall into a quiet, slow-burning love. Full of stolen moments, unspoken feelings, and the fear of losing each other.

Warnings: Subtle mentions of war trauma, grief, no major character death

word count: 2k

He was supposed to laugh so hard it shook the walls. Supposed to flash that lopsided grin at everything, even when it wasn’t funny. He was supposed to be chaos in a person— messy hair, sarcastic remarks, and the smell of soot from too many experiments gone wrong.

But now? Now he barely said anything.

You watched him from across the Burrow’s kitchen, one hand curled around a chipped mug, the other resting limp in his lap. The room buzzed with soft conversation, Arthur murmuring with Remus in the corner, Molly humming something old as she stirred soup but Fred didn’t join in.

He just stared out the window like he was somewhere else entirely.

It wasn’t your business. You weren’t his best friend. You were just… someone who ended up in the same war at the same time, and stayed too long.

But you noticed.

You always had.

“Soup’s ready,” Molly called, breaking the quiet.

People shifted, scraping chairs and clinking spoons. Fred didn’t move.

You slipped from your spot by the door and made your way to him, quiet footsteps on creaky floorboards.

“You planning to eat, or just brood dramatically until the world ends?” you asked lightly.

Fred startled. Then, slowly, that ghost of a grin appeared. “What would the world be without a little dramatic brooding?”

“Healthier, probably.”

He snorted. “Fair.”

You slid into the seat across from him. “Eat with me.”

Fred raised a brow. “Was that a command?”

“More like a request. Strongly worded. With pleading eyes, if necessary.”

His mouth quirked. “You’ve got weird tactics.”

“You’ve got a weird face. Come on.”

He finally stood, stretching a little before grabbing two bowls and ladling soup into each.

When he handed you yours, your fingers brushed. Warm. Steady.

Too much.

⸻

You weren’t sure when it started—the quiet noticing. The ache in your chest every time he looked tired. The way your stomach flipped when he said your name like it meant something.

You never said anything.

There were bigger things to worry about. Horcruxes. The Carrows at Hogwarts. People disappearing. People dying.

But sometimes, in the middle of the night, when Fred found you sitting on the steps with a blanket around your shoulders, you let yourself pretend there was nothing else.

“You okay?” he asked, one night, his voice low.

“Yeah,” you lied.

“Bad dream?”

You nodded. “You?”

He didn’t answer right away. Then: “Not a dream. Just… a memory I can’t turn off.”

You didn’t ask what it was.

You just leaned your shoulder against his and stayed quiet.

⸻

Fred started sitting next to you during meals after that.

Sometimes he passed you notes when Molly wasn’t looking. Dumb little drawings, stick figures dueling with spoons, or charmed scraps of parchment that played music only you could hear.

Other times, he just looked at you. Like he was trying to memorize something he didn’t want to lose.

It terrified you.

Because this wasn’t a world for falling in love.

This was a world for hiding. For surviving.

But Fred Weasley made you want something more.

⸻

“I think I’m forgetting what happy feels like,” you said one night.

Fred looked at you sharply. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true.”

He shook his head. “You haven’t forgotten. You just haven’t felt it in a while.”

You swallowed. “Same thing, isn’t it?”

“No.” He hesitated, then reached over and took your hand. “It’s still there. It’s just buried under all the crap.”

Your breath caught.

“Fred,” you whispered.

He looked at you, really looked. “What?”

You wanted to say: I’m scared. I’m tired. I think I’m in love with you, and I don’t know what to do about it.

Instead, you said, “Nothing. Just… thank you.”

⸻

It had been a long day. You were soaked, cold, exhausted. The wards around the Burrow had almost failed—again—and everyone had been on edge. Snapping at each other. Running on fumes.

You ended up in the broom shed, hiding from the chaos, wiping mud off your sleeves.

Fred found you there, his own clothes damp, hair stuck to his forehead.

“Are you okay?” he asked, again, like always.

“No,” you whispered. “I don’t think I’ve been okay in a long time.”

He didn’t respond.

Just stepped forward, wrapped a hand around the back of your neck, and kissed you.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t slow.

It was desperate. Fierce. Like he’d been holding it in too long.

You kissed him back like you were falling and he was the only thing that would catch you.

When you pulled apart, breathing hard, he whispered, “I’ve been wanting to do that for ages.”

You nodded. “Me too.”

He rested his forehead against yours. “Is it stupid that I’m scared?”

You shook your head. “Not stupid. Just human.”

⸻

After that, it was different.

He wasn’t just Fred anymore. He was your Fred. In stolen moments and shared glances. In the way he pulled you behind him when something felt dangerous. In the way he held your hand under the table, thumb tracing soft circles on your skin.

But still no one knew.

You didn’t say it out loud.

Didn’t say love.

Didn’t say forever.

Because you didn’t know if either existed anymore.

⸻

One night, weeks later, he sat beside you in the attic where you’d both been sleeping. Everyone else was already drifting off. The room smelled like dust and rain and something sweet—lavender, maybe, from your pillow.

Fred shifted closer, wrapping an arm around you.

You leaned into him without thinking.

“I’m leaving in the morning,” he murmured.

You stiffened. “What?”

“Just for a day. Me and George. Order business.”

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

“I’ll come back,” he said, immediately.

“You always say that.”

“I always mean it.”

You turned to look at him. “Promise?”

He hesitated, just for a second.

Then: “I promise.”

And he kissed you again. This time softer. Slower.

Like he meant it.

Like maybe he’d come back to tell you he loved you.

⸻

He did come back.

Bruised, scraped, but alive.

And when he saw you waiting on the porch, arms crossed like a challenge, he dropped everything and kissed you right there in front of the whole order that waited alongside you. Not that Fred gave a damn.

“Still mad?” he asked breathlessly.

You smiled, just a little. “A little.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

You nodded. “You better.”

⸻

The war didn’t end that week. Or the week after.

But you stayed with him.

And when the Battle of Hogwarts came, you fought beside him.

You cast spells until your voice went hoarse. Held the hands of strangers as they fell. Screamed his name when you lost him in the smoke.

And when you found him again alive, bloodied but breathing. you collapsed into him, sobbing.

“I thought—”

“I know,” he choked out. “I know.”

He kissed your temple. “I’m here.”

And you clung to him like he was home.

Because he was.

⸻

After the war, things didn’t magically get easier.

Grief still sat heavy in your chest. Sometimes he woke screaming. Sometimes you did. Sometimes you didn’t talk at all, just sat in silence and held each other like that was all that kept the pieces from shattering.

But one morning, months later, you woke up in the flat above the new Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes shop to the smell of toast and a mug of tea on your nightstand.

Fred leaned against the doorway, shirt rumpled, eyes soft.

“Morning,” he said.

You blinked. “You made tea?”

He nodded. “And breakfast. Thought we could eat on the roof. Catch the sunrise.”

You sat up slowly. “Why?”

He walked over, crouched beside your bed.

“Because,” he said softly, “Every time you look at me, I remember why I want to stay alive.”

You stared at him, heart thudding.

“Fred.”

“I know it’s still hard,” he whispered. “But I want this. I want you. Every version of you. The broken bits too.”

You swallowed. “I love you.”

He smiled, and for the first time in what felt like years, it reached his eyes.

“I love you too.”

a/n: daddy’s home :)

leave recommendations in my inbox and check out my masterlist .ᐟ

tags: @lydiascabinsix @lydiasfalling @laufeysvalentine

[midnightquips]

That Old Feeling

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: It's been years since you've seen Bucky Barnes. You didn't plan to see him, but he definitely didn't look surprised to see you. Something's different, though. The looks. The heat. Maybe it's always been there. Maybe... you've just been too blind to see it before.

Themes: AU Thunderbolts, teasing officemates, possessive Bucky, friend's ex, Thunderbolts chaos (a consistent theme), friends-to-lovers, college crush so pining

🔴 MINORS DNI 🔴 Warnings: 18+ content, eventual smut, dirty talk, praise kink, soft aftercare, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex

💫 That Old Feeling Masterlist 📌 Sign Up for TAGLIST

Chapter 2

Part III – What Are We Doing? 

You’re relieved that you managed to avoid Bucky for most of the day. You were almost successful. Until now.

You’re walking across the nearly empty parking lot, tote bag slung over one shoulder, head full of numbers from a late client call, when you spot him. Leaning against your car. Because of course he is.

“Seriously?” you mutter under your breath.

He hears you, then straightens up like he’s been waiting. Which, judging by the look on his face, he absolutely has.

“You stalking me now?” you call as you approach.

He shrugs, completely unbothered. “Saw you forgot your charger at your desk. Figured I’d bring it out. Do the chivalrous thing.”

You had been looking for your charger before you left and wondered where it was. How suspicious it was with him. You had a feeling he did this on purpose. But what bothered you more was how it actually didn’t bother you. 

You reach for it, but he doesn’t hand it over. He simply holds it up between two fingers like bait.

You narrow your eyes. “What do you want, Barnes?”

He pauses. Then: “Dinner.”

Your brain stutters. “What?”

He softens, the smile less cocky now. “Dinner. As in, let me take you to one.”

You blink. “Like… a date?”

“I mean, you kissed me like you might want to sit across from me for an hour and eat pasta.”

“That was…” You trail off, then try again. “That was just—”

“Tequila and nostalgia?”

You frown.

He grins. “I know what you’re gonna say. I just figured I’d ask politely instead of begging on my knees.”

You sigh and cross your arms. “Why?”

“Because I want to,” he says simply. “Because I think we missed something back then. And I’d like to see if we can get it right now.”

It’s annoyingly sincere. You hate how your stomach flips. “I don’t date coworkers.”

“You don’t date ex-roommates’ exes either,” he points out. “And yet...”

You scowl. “You’re really not gonna let that go, huh?”

“Not when I finally have a shot.”

The silence stretches. You shift your weight, glance at your car and finally back at him.

“Fine,” you say eventually. “Dinner. As colleagues. Reconnecting.”

His eyes sparkle. “Sure. Totally professional.”

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t get cocky.”

He smirks. “No promises.”

He hands you the charger and walks you to the driver’s side, like he’s worried the car might disappear if he looks away. You pause before unlocking it.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Not really.” He shrugs smugly

You shake your head, not able to keep the small smile from appearing. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re gorgeous.”

You stare at him. His words catching you off-guard. 

His expression shifts and slows. “Can I say that?”

You swallow. “You just did.”

Suddenly, he steps in closer. It was just a few inches but you can feel the heat between you, the memory of his hands on your skin already creeping up your spine.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about last night,” he says, voice low. “The way you tasted. The way you moved.”

Your breath catches. “Bucky…”

“I know,” he says, raising his hands. “Not the time. Not the place. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say I want more of it.”

You try to keep your voice steady. “We said it was just a moment.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “But I want another one.”

You’re quiet. Too quiet. Because your brain is busy screaming danger and your body is saying please.

And then, before you can change your mind, before you can throw logic back in his face, he leans in. You think he’s going to kiss your cheek again. Polite. Safe. But his mouth lands right beside yours again. Like it did yesterday but this time on purpose. 

The kiss is on the edge of your lips. You shift just slightly. Just enough that suddenly it’s a kiss again.

This one’s different this time. Not frenzied. Not wild. Just slow. Deep. The kind of kiss that builds heat in your chest and travels down your spine like a fuse. 

He groans into it, low and quiet, like he’s been waiting all day for this exact moment. You part your lips, let him in, just once. He brings his hand to hold your face, sliding his tongue into your mouth. 

It makes your gasp. Then, you step back. Because if you don’t, you’re going to let him fuck you in the backseat of your car.

He’s breathing harder than before. Eyes hooded.

You lick your lips, but regret it instantly.

“Text me,” you say, unlocking the door. “If you still want to have dinner when your brain’s back online.”

He opens your door for you, still dazed. “I already do.”

You slide in. “Try not to camp out by my bumper tomorrow.”

“No promises.” 

You close the door before you can smile too much. But you see it in the mirror as you drive off. Bucky is standing there, watching you go, looking like he’s already planning what to wear.

Taglist: @enchantingwitchballoon @emilyswortwellen @tellybearryyyy @kiatjuddae @Luannastylinsonlupin @OtterlyCanadian @winchestert101 @bxtchboy69 @biggestfangirl @luannastylinsonlupin @Sebastians-love @fveapplestall @snhoe @ruexj283 @avengersfan25 @in-omn1a-paratus @avengemepercy

[huginsmemory]

Where's that one Ford art post thats like I'm in the best years of my life clutching a hot pink thermos thingy with hot gurl juice when he's clearly not. cause damn . Yeah

[madamechrissy]

Blueberry Yum Yum

The art in this banner is from my AMAZING moot @sweetlandspos who makes the most delicious Kuna art ahhh! go follow her <3

pairings - Fratboy Plug Sukuna x Nerdy stoner reader

summary You decide to ask your plug, Ryomen Sukuna for a hook up - but can he match your freak!? Just a fun ass oneshot about falling for your hot ass plug - he won't give you free weed though! :') WC- 11k

warnings - college AU, explicit sex, oral ( m and f receiving) Sukuna whimpering, reader is a nerdy lil freaakkk, weed smoking, jealousy, Sukuna talking shit, p in v sex - with and without protection, cum swallowing (both) tummy bulges, back shots, Kuna has piercings hehe, aftercare, Sukuna being a little yandere tbh

Comments/rbs so appreciated if you enjoyy - also I hit 18k followers the other day, I wanted to thank you all so muchhh for following me! :')

"What if we like... had sex?" Sukuna starts coughing up the thick smoke of his purple haze, wondering if it's fucking laced with something as you sit there, blunt in your hand and your legs crossed, casually smoking it as if you brought up the fucking weather.

"The fuck did you say!?" He demands after he catches his breath, you inhale your blunt now, you're by far his nerdiest client, you shocked him when you asked to buy from him the first time.

You scream good girl, certified Velma from Scooby-Doo - annoying  'actually - jinkies' nerd. The two of you even hanging out was a fucking anomaly, a mathlete and a frat boy, one he didn't try to figure out. He enjoyed selling weed to you and smoking with you, hearing your stupidly intelligent thoughts, he enjoyed looking at you too. Sure you were fucking gorgeous in that soft, sweet way.

So what the fuck was this!?

"It's been a while," you murmur, handing him the blunt back now, he takes a huge rip, coughing again as you speak. "If I'm not really your type it's cool."

"If you're... you... I..."

"Shit, it's fine. Calm down. Just was thinking it'd be fun." He keeps staring at you, mouth wide open, and you sigh, rolling your eyes. "Dude it's fine don't freak out. Forget it."

"Forget it? The fuck?" He's glaring ruby eyes at you, while you take a wad of money out of your little black backpack, decorated with anime pins all over and a ridiculous amount of keychains.

"Here," you hand him the cash, fingers brushing for a moment while he just stares. "Shit, I made it weird."

"Yeah you fucking did. Who just says that?" He glares right at you, thin brows low over his narrowed eyes, those sooty pink lashes too fucking pretty and long, god you're jealous of them!? Are they so pretty because you're baked?

"Sukuna, you've fucked like half the girls I know, I have heard you're pretty good at it." He blinks again at that, a rare blush to his cheeks, not fitting his cocky persona while you put out the blunt, letting it smoke against the tray. "Here's the money. Thanks again."

You turn, and he grips your wrist, pausing you, it feels way too good. Not only has it been way too long, Sukuna was fucking hot, every time he got too close you felt that heat, you literally clenched when he just brushed a big hand across your shoulder to grab something. And your boyfriend broke up with you six months ago, you thought maybe it would be fun to fuck him, Sukuna is sexy as fuck and chill. Now you want to disappear, clearly reading the room wrong as usual. 

You suck at that.

"You wanna fuck me? What, like... some friends with benefits? Or one time shit?" He stands, hovering so fucking tall, you turn and look at him, blazed whites of his eyes red, you swallow nervously, eyeing the tattoos on his chest in that thin white wifebeater that's just unfair to wear around you while you're ovulating, you can see his nipple piercings through it, and it's doing too much.

"I thought like once, if we liked it sure we could do it more. If we're both single and... get along... plus you're hot."

"Yeah I am." He grins and you roll your eyes.

"You know... never mind."

"Wait brat, shit." You sigh, looking up at him now, as he turns you to him, his cock twitching just looking at your dilated eyes behind thick glasses, your parted lips. His fingers brush against the softness of your sweater, watching your nipples press against the material.

"It's cool if you don't want to. Like I am chill about it  promise." He fingers the edge of your sweater, blitzed off his ass wondering if you're some fucking dream for a moment. But he feels the heat of your skin as his fingers slip up your waist.

"Think you can keep up with me, huh brat?" He murmurs then, snarky with his smirk. You step closer, your finger drifting up his hard chest.

"The question is if you can keep up with me, Sukuna." He scoffs at that, raising a brow that has two little barbells - eyebrows shouldn’t be so sexy, but then Ryomen Sukuna just is sexy, everything about him from his tattoos and piercings, to his ridiculously strong body. His height, his face… his eyes.

It’s no wonder girls do flock to him.

“Me, keep up with you?” He’s chuckling now, sitting on the couch, legs spread wide, impossibly cocky as he eyes you, acting like his heart isn’t racing when you set down your bag. “You won’t get any free weed from it.”

“I don’t want free weed, and you’re kind of an ass.” He chuckles again, when you sink to your knees however he falters, vermillion lips parted, you unbuckle him and look right under your glasses at him then, smiling just a bit.

Are you… cocky too!?

Sukuna hasn’t ever had this happen, someone just smiling as they unbuckle him with ease, he’s sure though when you see his cock you’ll pause. He’s a solid ten inches and thick as fuck, even if you’re some dick sucking pro, you’re gonna give pause. Your eyes widen then, licking your lower lip, making him ache to kiss you.

What are these corny ass thoughts!? He’s scowling at them, irritated that you on your knees has him, Sukuna, nervous!? Since when is he nervous about shit- and when you’re revealing him, and he doesn’t even help you tug down his black silky boxers, you let out a little whine that almost ends him. His hand enwraps in your hair, and your eyes meet his again.

Why are they so pretty? Why is he thinking that instead of being excited to get a blow job, as usual? You’re running your finger over his tip, making his hips jerk just a bit, moaning softly. “Are you sensitive, Sukuna?”

“Am I… you’re a brat, ya know that?” He glares as you giggle, acting like his cock isn’t way too fucking big, and you’re figuring out if you’ll be able to walk after this. “Stop teasing and show me what you got, running that pretty mouth huh?”

His thumb brushes the plump lower lip, you stroke him then, looking right at him as the rough pad of his thumb caresses soft lips, calloused from years of football but so gentle over little teeth indentations on your skin. You swallow, a little nervous suddenly, before taking a breath and leaning forward, pink tongue lapping at the precum already oozing from his slit.

Sukuna whimpers when you do.

You think you imagine it, this giant man whimpering, but as you lap again at his reddened tip, your hand slipping down his thick length, he does it again, quieter, hand pulling your hair so hard tears prick your eyes. The sight is so sexy you can’t take it, taking more of his thick tip deep in your mouth then, looking up as you suck him, your glasses fogging up from your breath.

“Oh, fuck…” He shakes it off, biting back another pathetic whimper as you start sucking hard then, he’s acting like he’s controlling your movements but he’s just pulling your hair, watching as you make more and more of his cock disappear. “Can you take more, brat?”

“Sure can,” you taunt, pulling back with a suctioned pop, but he is intimidating. But damned if you would back down from a challenge. You have next to no gag reflex, but you’ve never had a cock this big to contend with. You start sucking him deeper, head bobbing, the sounds of your saliva and his cock fucking your mouth lewd in Sukuna’s apartment.

The sight of him losing it as you suck his cock deeper in your throat, until he’s burning and stretching it with his thrusts is far too attractive, you can’t help but clench your thighs, grinding on nothing for friction watching him. His red eyes are bright, pupils shrunk to pinpoints as he fucks into your throat, the mix of need and the weed making you even wetter.

Whatever strain this was, it was making you unreasonably horny.

“That’s it, suck me deeper if you can,” he taunts softly, hips bucking up as he cups your face almost gently, fucking your throat so deep, feeling it tighten as you reach down and play with yourself under your skirt. “Fuck, fuck, fuuckk…”

You’re swallowing all you can, relaxing your throat as you find your clit, moaning then and vibrating right around his cock as he fucks your face. Your hair falls, and he uses one hand to hold it into a ponytail, letting out the weak little whine again while you slide two little fingers in your slick hole, aching for his cock inside you - even if you couldn’t walk the next day.

You’re thinking of how perfect all the ridges and veins would feel while you keep fingering yourself, tears pricking your eyes, glasses so fogged you can hardly see. He’s so close to cumming from just a few minutes of your mouth it’s pathetic, he yanks you off him then, looking down and seeing your hand between your thighs.

“What’re you-” You’re slipping your panties off eagerly then, straddling him and making his breath catch when you grind on his cock. “Let me touch you, fuck…”

“Don’t need it.” He glares ruby eyes at your audacity- he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get to touch your body, your tits that are enticing him with every breath, that soppy little pussy.

“Well I do, fuck you’re slutty, huh?” You ignore him, focusing on how good his hot, heavy cock feels between your slit, whining out when he yanks down your sweater, revealing your lacy bra.

“Fuck me, please,” he huffs at that, revealing a pretty breast and moaning, thumb brushing over your pretty nipple, making you whine. “Ah!”

“Let me take my time, shit,” he mumbles, sucking your nipple into his mouth then, your hands entangle in spiky pink locks, feeling the softness of his hair as his other hand grips your ass under your skirt, dragging you over his cock. “This soaked, how? Haven’t touched you.”

“Touched myself,” he glares again, sucking your other nipple, having both your perfect breasts out for his mouth, while his hands sink into your hips, grinding that cock against your clit then, watching your head fall back. “Mnh!”

“You touched yourself, sucking me got you that excited?” He taunts, only for you to reach down, stroking his cock again, watching the blush on his cheeks as you move it up and down, twisting your fist just so. “Fuck…”

“Condoms?” You whisper, he nods, tapping your hip real quick for you to get off him. When he’s back with a gold magnum from the drawer, you’re straddling him again, but he’s lifting you up, sinking two of his fingers in your cunt now, and you whine out at the stretch. “Ah!”

“God, you’re tight… fuck…” He groans as his fingers curl inside your slick, gummy walls, gripping him so good, watching your eyes roll back into your skull. “Think you can take this cock, really?”

“Y-yes, I c-can…” he chuckles, shaking his head and hitting your spongy spot now, making your cunt gush down his fingers as you cry out.

“Cum f’me first,” he murmurs - he would never let a girl not cum before he gets his cock in her. He’d love to eat you out but you’re not giving him many chances to do shit. He’d love to kiss you, but he’s leaning back watching you fall apart for him, nodding just a bit when he curls them just right in your hole, gasping. “That’s it, can’t help yourself can you, slutty little brat?”

You should be offended, but you’re shattering for his thick fingers, gushing as the orgasm smacks you, rushing all over your body until you’re making a mess, the sound loud and echoing as he groans. Watching you cum, intense as he stares, something you’re not used to - gasping out when he sucks your juices off his fingers, moaning while he cheeks hollow.

He’s tasting you.

The sight has you faltering for a moment, cunt pulsing from aftershocks as you watch him, hearing his moan, when he hands you the gold wrapper. “Fuck, you taste that good?”

“It could be the weed,” you tease, breathless. He chuckles a bit, leaning forward, pressing a kiss on your lips, unsure of what you were okay with. But you meet his lips, and that’s when Sukuna almost cums then and there, he’s never felt whatever the fuck that is. “Mmm, your lips are so soft.”

“Surprise you?” He teases, but you nod a bit, a rough man with plush lips so soft they’re pillowy is surprising. “Take what you want, brat.”

God he’s fine as fuck.

You’re hiding your nerves when you tear open the packet, slipping it over his huge cock, did it get bigger, harder somehow!? Even the magnum barely stretches over him as you roll it down his shaft slowly, watching his sooty pink lashes flutter as you do. His lips kiss yours again, and you taste yourself on his lips, when his tongue slips into your mouth.

A mix of weed and your juices, along with something sweet - whatever flavor Sukuna is.

It’s too intimate then, yeah you’ve last fucked your boyfriend, but you’re not inexperienced either with hook ups or a friend with benefits. You’re choosy, but you’ve done this - but for whatever reason your heart races as he lets you take what you want, as his tongue ring clicks against your teeth, and you picture how good it’d feel everywhere, your tummy tightening.

The scent of the weed still smoking out in that ash tray mixes with his cologne, heady and dizzying, your glasses get so fogged you take them off, earning his chuckle as he pulls them off, sitting them on the table. “You blind now?”

“Literally… I can still see you though.” You whisper, it makes his heart race, seeing your eyes without them for the first time, he cups your face as you rub his latex covered tip on your soppy cunt.

“Pretty fucking eyes, shit,” he curses then, seeing them grow lidded, as your tight little hole starts sucking him in.

“Fuck…”

You both whisper it at the same time, as you sink down on his cock, bit by bit, and he can’t help his moan, loud as his hands move to grip your skirt, yanking it up and using it to pull you down. Your gasp fills his ears with the squelching of your greedy, slutty little cunt sinking more and more on him, and he can’t help but think if he was raw he’d already have busted.

That would be so fucking embarassing, he is Ryomen Sukuna!

He thanks god for the layer, but it still feels far too good, your cunt so tight, gripping him as you move your hips, rolling them in a way no woman should know how to do. He’s pausing you when you do it again, glaring. “You know how to ride cock that fucking good?”

“Show me what you got, Sukuna,” you whisper, acting like his cock wasn’t burning with that stretch, like you weren’t on the edge. He glares now, picking your hips up with those huge fucking hands, slamming you until he’s against your cervix now, watching with a mean grin as you scream out. “Oh my g-god!”

“Ride it now, huh pretty little slut?” He whispers, repeating it again, hands leaving marks on your ass as his fingers sink into the fat of it. “Where’s all that talk?”

You glare, shoving his back against his soft leather couch, moving your hips again and eliciting that whimper, making you smile. “You whimpering, Sukuna?”

“Oh I’ll fuck your vocal chords up next time, swear to - mmm…” he’s crying out again as your fingers grip his soft shirt, and you glide up and down his cock again. “Fucking brat.”

“Mmhmm, can you handle it?” You’re gliding up and down his cock, watching him fall apart even with your blurry ass vision you see it, how handsome he is, feeling his strength as his hands wrap your waist, and he bites his lower lip, brows drawing together as you hit just that spot in your cervix. “Mnh!”

Sukuna groans, kissing down your collar bone, your tits bounce as you work him, and he’s worried you were fucking right, how can he hold back his cum when your cunt is gripping him like that!? He’s lifting you up, slamming you back down hard, you scream out, your nails pressing into his shoulders, and he does it again, again, harder inside you, until you fucking drool.

“That’s it, can’t talk shit stuffed full of this cock, huh?” You don’t talk shit back, your eyes are rolled back as he fucks his hips up into you, holding you right up in the goddamn air damn near and using you like a little fuck toy. “That’s it, gonna cum aren’t you?”

You answer that when he slams hard and hits your cervix again, reaching down to find your clit with the rough pad of his thumb. “Sukuna!”

God, you crying out his name fucks him up, when he rolls it, feeling how soaked you are, making a mess down his thighs and yours, dripping with how much wetness is pouring. “That’s it, can’t help yourself,”

He’s pressing too perfectly, hitting that spot in you again when his tip drags along your slick walls, and you’re screaming out, the orgasm so hard it’s blinding, you’re trembling in his hold while he watches you, moaning at the sight. Your scream is ridiculous when he pulls back his thumb, sucking more of you off him before bottoming out inside you as much as he can.

“Ah! Sukuna…” You cum so hard you have tears of overstimulation, two little ones falling, just making you hotter. Sukuna groans, fucking up into you again and again, wrapping his arms around you as he moves you, and your cries are caught by his lips. “Mmm!”

“Mmm,” he’s lost inside you then, your little body moved where he wants you, your lips parted in screams that he drinks. Sukuna’s close, so fucking close, slowing his thrusts then and looking at you, saliva hanging from between your joined lips when they fall apart. “Fuck you’re pretty.”

“I a-am?” You whisper, confused and fucked out. Sukuna didn’t seem the sweet words type of guy, he swallows, adam's apple bobbing as he pulses inside you, making you whine out again.

“Shut up,” he scowls, you blink and giggle breathlessly then, trying to roll your hips only for him to smack the fuck out of your ass. “No more of that, I’m about to…”

“Cum.” You whisper, rolling them and earning another smack, loud and stinging your skin, just making you more desperate. “Cum for me, Sukuna.”

“Brat.” He huffs, sinking his sharp teeth into your neck, making you gasp out at the sharp tearing of your delicate skin, when you feel him fuck into you hard, his thick cock ruining your cunt, while he’s teeth hurt so bad you’re cumming from the fucking pain.

You shouldn’t have talked shit.

He’s way too big for it all, smacks of skin louder when he uses you, moves you, all you can do is gasp and cling to him, while he’s busting inside that condom finally, slowing as he moans right in your fucking ear. You’re clinging to his back, nails pressing in, screaming out as he pulses so deep, rocking you on his cock himself now, tongue slipping up the curve of your neck as he busts.

He’s never cum like that.

He can’t see for a fucking second, biting back that whine as he nips at your ear, barbell flicking against it, and he feels your aftershocks milking him, picturing filling that cunt up so full then. The thought makes him leak more and more cum inside the barrier he wants to rip the fuck off, groaning out as he hears your little whimper, as he feels you trembling under his hands as the run across your skin.

He wants you all naked, spread for him, hands slipping over curves he only got to see bits of. Wants to see that pretty cunt spread wide for him, shit he felt it - how does it look? How would it look pouring out cum for him? He’s kissing you again, rocking you on him, still hard inside your tight walls, which keep quivering around him, until he pulls back, looking at your fucked out face.

Holy fuck. - It’s all you can think in your head, mouth opening and shutting, when he smirks up at you.

“Think I kept up with you huh?”

“Shit…” You just take a breath, smiling a bit then. “I took it easy on you.”

“What now?” He glares again as you giggle, easing off him, hissing at how sore you are. “Acting like you can even walk after that?”

“I can walk f-fine.” Your thighs are aching, trembling when you stubbornly stand, blushing as you look at the cum spurted into his condom, so much of it too, it makes your throat go dry, wanting to swallow him up next time -

Next time - Would he want one?

You shouldn’t care, but you feel it, the nagging need again that shouldn’t exist, when you grab your glasses, putting them back on and bringing him even more clearly into your vision. He stands up then, walking over and throwing the condom out, wincing as he touches himself, so sensitive and still throbbing, while he watches you slip your panties back on.

“No free weed huh?” You tease, he chuckles then, shaking his head - as if you didn’t suck dick so good he wouldn’t buy you a fucking rock if you wanted to do that every day.

“No way,” he teases back, you brush back your messy hair, giggling a bit when he comes back, buttoning his pants. “Want me to fix your hair? Looks like shit.”

“You are a dick!” He smirks again, but you nod, and he grabs a brush, a flat black one with a wide handle. “You don’t have to.”

“I fucked it up, might as well fix it,” his voice is husky then, he turns you around, slowly running it through the tangles he’d caused, and something feels way too easy, too perfect. Your head falls back a bit, eyes fluttering shut, he’s sweeter than you thought he’d be, that’s all.

Right?

He’s methodically running it through your hair slowly, until it’s much closer to where it was when you walked in, and for a moment you feel so vulnerable, sucking his dick and riding him was intimate, but this feels even moreso. Aftercare is not something you’re crazy familiar with, you were always one to dart out of wherever you were after sex.

But you don’t really want to leave.

You’ll blame the weed and his huge cock, for your mind turning to mush, when he starts braiding your hair. “Sukuna, what are you up to?”

“Shut it, think it’ll look good on you,” he huffs, running his fingers through your strands now. He’d braided hair a ton during endless football events where the cheerleaders joined in, a lot of the football guys were actually pretty good at that and even curling hair.

Your hair is silky and gently falling through his fingers as they card through it, until he holds out a hand for a ponytail. You take one of the few off your wrist when he finishes his work, slipping it over your shoulder. You touch it gently, feeling far too many emotions hitting your throat then at the sweet gesture from an outwardly rough and brash man.

“Does it look cute back there?” You tease, looking up at him, and he clears his throat then.

“I’d love to see how you look from the back,” his husky words are met with a tug on your braid, you bite back a gasp at how good it feels - when his doorbell rings, making him grimace. “Yeah what?”

“Sukuna, open up,” he hears Satoru’s pouty voice, making him sigh, and you step away now, hastily grabbing your back, looking at him. Your little braid is tempting him to no end, to yank it, to bend you over the couch, so much he can hardly fucking stand it.

He’d always found you pretty, but it’s like he can’t get his eyes off you after it, after kissing you.

The fuck is in this weed!?

“Sukuna!”

“God, hold on.” He sighs and walks over, opening the door while you grab your lighter, decorated with some nerdy anime guy you seem to be obsessed with. He’s on the back of your car and on your bag, he noticed.

Sukuna looked better than any anime guy, surely.

Satoru and Suguru are at the door now, holding up baggies of weed, bright blue and green nugs that look way too pretty and fluffy, when their eyes catch sight of you behind them. “Heyy, it’s the hot nerd.” Satoru teases, earning your eye roll.

“Oh whatever,” they laugh as they walk in, Suguru carrying a case of beer. It was the summer after college, but they used to all live in a huge frat house together, now they’ve all moved into this insanely fancy apartment together - you could fit your entire dorm in their living room - as they moved on to their Master’s degree. You were an underclassmen, still a Senior in college.

You remember them all very well, but they’re all pretty annoying. Honestly, Sukuna at least seems to be a little more mature than them, but not by much. He’s taking a beer out of the case, as they plop themselves down, Suguru puts the rest of the twelve pack in Sukuna’s fridge, Satoru busts out the rolling tray and eyes you with insane blue eyes.

“Wanna smoke, sweets?” He asks, and you shake your head with a little smile.

“I already have, and still have to drive back to the dorm,” they laugh again.

“Shit those suck, though I hear there’s a big party at the old frat house this weekend,” Satoru murmurs, handing Sukuna the blunt to finish rolling. When his stupidly long pink tongue laps at the seam of it, your tummy clenches, eyes unable to remove themselves. “You coming, nerdy girl?”

“I don’t know, not really my thing. And should you be calling me nerdy, when you’re wearing Lucemon on your shirt?” Satoru glares, and Suguru and Sukuna snort in laughter.

“You know who that is? Damn, you just got even hotter.” He smirks and earns another eye roll, they chuckle but Sukuna’s jaw tenses.

He does not like someone flirting with you.

Holy fuck did your mouth work a number on him like that!?

“Uh huh, I might go, I don't know. Um…” You turn to Sukuna now, tilting you head back to look up at him. “Thanks for…”

What do you say - thanks for the dick?

Thanks for kissing you, braiding your hair, making you cum?

“Um… the smoke, I appreciate it,” you murmur, not wanting to just blurt everything out in front of his friends. He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck, biceps tensing and bunching, you see your crescent nail prints in his skin then.

It makes you ache to see the visible proof.

This was a dumb fucking idea. When you thought of fucking him, you figured it’d be great, it’d be fun, but you didn’t anticipate whatever feeling this was, the one where you didn’t even wanna leave. This wasn’t how you were - you can chalk it up to the breakup, chalk it up to the weed, to the huge - at least ten inch - cock that has currently fucked you stupid…

Yeah, chalk it up to that.

“Thanks for,” Sukuna trails off now too, seeing the evidence of his teeth against your lower lip, swollen from brutal kisses. His cock is back on hard when he also notices how your sweater is hanging off a shoulder, and there are marks along your pretty collar bone from his suction, damn near making him feral as he thinks of it. “Coming over.”

“Yes, of course um… bye you all.” They wave as you rush out, leaning against the door and exhaling now, trying to collect your breath as you hear them murmur.

“Do you like her or something?” Suguru’s voice is muffled, but you hear it, and you can’t help but act like some spy, listening when you shouldn’t for the answer.

Did Sukuna…

“She’s cool, we hang out I guess.” Is his gruff answer, and you hear the echo of laughter. “Drop it, so what’s up with this party?”

You sigh, stepping away, sitting in your car for a moment too long, looking up at the window of Sukuna’s apartment for a moment, wondering if you made it all fucking weird now. You wouldn’t say you two were ‘friends’ but you were cool with each other, and now you were listening if he liked you - as if you’re silently listening on the phone with a friend in middle school or something.

You shake it off and head home, ignoring the gnawing feeling, shifting in your seat at how sore you are, you really talked more shit than you should have, you need a good hot bath after taking him.

Sukuna shuts the blinds, having looked at you as you walked, just to make sure you were good. “You hit it, huh?”

“Shut up, Suguru.” They’re snorting as the smoke fills the room.

The three of them usually share all the details of their encounters, but he sure the fuck wasn’t sharing anything about you - how you are probably the best thing he’s ever felt wrapped around him. How you sucked him stupid - got him whimpering!? - yeah, no fucking way he admitted that to anyone.

*****

It’s been a week since you last talked to Sukuna, and during that week you’re absolutely mortified by the amount of times you thought about texting or messaging him on his IG. Much, much worse, after you looked at some of his gym posts before bed, you woke up the next morning cumming thinking about your fucking plug and his huge cock inside you, fuck it was embarassing.

You wanna message him now even, but he hasn’t written you, and you don’t wanna be the girl who mentions - let’s hook up - then gets clingy. That’s just not you, and it’s not fair, you’d brought it up and it wasn’t like he asked to hook up with you. When your friends bring up going to a DnD match tonight - instead of going to that frat party, nine times out of ten you’d go for the DnD.

You don’t dig parties, and the DnD group has primo weed too.

Sukuna supplied for all of them after all.

But you instead find yourself dying to go to the party tonight - you may even find yourself buying a whole outfit. Like some goofy, corny ass 90‘s movie where the nerdy girl gets hot with a dress, except you sure the fuck weren’t taking your glasses off for that moment, since you’re damn near blind without them.

When Sukuna took off your glasses though?

God.

Snap out of it?!

You may or may not have freaked the fuck out when he hearted your instagram story before the party, biting your lip and giggling way too fucking much. You don’t even take pictures for shit, but you were feeling cute, and that just cinches it in your mind - you want to see him again and not for some weed. You just…

Want to see him.

Plug Sukuna - Hey brat, you coming to the party or doing nerd shit?

You roll your eyes a bit, ignoring the butterflies in your tummy at how excited you are to have him messaging you.

You - Do I look like I’m going to DnD?

Sukuna flushes, looking at your insta story for the twentieth time, surrounded by girls wearing literally next to nothing, coming up to him as he sits on the couch alone - shit Sukuna never did at parties. He was the life of the party usually, beer pong champion, the one making sure everyone had the best smoke or really anything they asked for.

But all he can think of is seeing you again, and he wishes it was just your pussy and not that he misses your cute little laugh - how you snort just a bit - how you push those glasses up your nose. How excited you get as you’re trying to convince him to watch your cartoons - sorry, anime - and how you take a hit from that blunt, just a bit of your glittery gloss on the tip.

He’s got one rolled up right now in the middle of a party with music blaring, mixing with the conversation and laughter of so many people, dying to share the blunt with you, to talk to you - he wanted to hit you up so many times, but he sure didn’t wanna be the dude who got pussy whipped in one encounter. You mentioned casual, one time maybe more- but the two of you hadn’t spoken since.

Sukuna was used to women blowing up his phone, begging for it again, even now he has women coming to sit on his lap, which usually is par for the course, but he just doesn’t find much excitement in it. He happens to have one on his right thigh right now, when he watches you walk into the room - and Instagram didn’t even do you justice.

You look so fucking cute, sexy little pleated skirt and a black top that shows that his marks on your pretty breasts faded - they’re just begging for more on them. He swallows nervously, god why is he nervous, it irritates him!? But he is, as your eyes meet his, and of course dart to the girl on his lap, you give him a little wave and smile, and he curses as you turn away and talk to someone then.

Sukuna unceremoniously shoves the girl off his lap, he can’t say he feels bad about it either, as he heads straight toward you, hearing one of the underclassmen gushing and simping over you. You’re just staring with a brow raised, unimpressed at the fumbling man, when he walks over smoothly with a blunt, holding it out.

“Wanna smoke, brat?” You look at him now, he’s unfairly hot and shirtless basically, unless you wanna call that black silk open kimono a top. You can see those nipple piercings, a fucking belly button ring leading to a light happy trail that makes your brain short circuit.

You hadn’t seen him shirtless, even sucking him.

“We were talking - oh, it’s Sukuna, shit! Sorry…” the boy learns fast, backing up and stuttering when Sukuna glares at him. “Catch you later?”

“Sure,” you sigh, taking the blunt from Sukuna’s fingers now, yours brushing against his softly. “I gotta pay for this?”

“Nah,” fuck he was a dick huh? He always is, but for a moment he feels bad, even though you’re teasing with a little smile, holding the blunt up for a light. Sukuna immediately busts his out, bright orange flame igniting the tip, watching the cherry brighten as you puff on it. “It’s blueberry.”

You inhale it like a fucking pro, when don’t you? Heavy, thick smoke falling out of your mouth then getting sucked back into your mouth. You look so good doing it, handing it to him without even a cough, just exhaling it back out, a smile on those pretty lips of yours. He pauses, unsure of even what to say, as he puts it to his lips, and your eyes drift lower.

Your thoughts are filthy as his, his tattoos curve with his body in a way that’s just slutty actually, black thick lines that aren’t fair honestly. Your body remembers him far too well, when he snatches up two drinks as you two walk over to a quieter part of the party, past a sea of bodies that eye the two of you. You take it gratefully, then wince as the liquor hits your tongue.

“Lightweight.” Sukuna teases, earning a playful shove from you, but your hand pauses on bare skin, watching his rippling, cut abdomen tense as you do.

Fuck.

Your pussy is pulsing from touching his skin, ugh it’s annoying. You know he hasn’t asked you to come over, so you shouldn’t be thinking this badly about him, but how can you not? The memories flit through your mind, his big hands that now hold a blunt and a red solo cup, and how they touched you.

“You look…” He pauses, wanting to say dumb fucking words.

Beautiful.

You do look beautiful.

Your eyes lock up with his, and he’s just sputtering like a fucking idiot, as if he’s never talked to a woman, he notices the shimmery shadow you’ve brushed across your lid as he looks down at you, so small compared to him. Sukuna towered over everyone, he was used to it, but something about it makes him want to pick you up, carry you somewhere and devour you.

Watch his cock in your tummy bulge.

“I look what?” Your whisper breaks his racing brain, he sips his drink and sighs now, clearing his throat and putting on a smirk.

“Hot.”

You blink a bit at that. “Hot?”

“Yeah, hot.” He curses himself internally.

“Thanks,” you trail off, it was nice you guess, but you supposed Sukuna said that to every girl, including the ones on his lap as you walked in. And you really hate that it made you sick to see it, off one time fucking him. “You look good too.”

“I always do.” You roll your eyes and laugh a bit, the sound making him ache, when his name’s being chanted by the pong table.

“You’re being summoned, Sukuna.” You tease, inhaling his blunt and stepping closer, so close he inhales your scent, driving him fucking insane.

It takes so much to save face and not drop to his knees and beg you to just allow him to lick your entire body. And he would, fuck, if you let him.

What is wrong with him.

It didn’t help he’d jerked it to you this morning, and every morning, since you’re clearly some succubus hitting all his dreams and making him wake up leaking pre.

“You good?” You ask softly, he clears his throat then, glaring at the men waving him over.

“Yeah, catch you after I wipe the floor with them?” He teases, and you nod, just a bit disappointed, but it wasn’t like you were close to Sukuna suddenly.

You were just…

A buyer, and he was your plug. A plug you had literally propositioned, seduced. Him being friendly was sweeter than he even needed to be. You put a hand on his shoulder then, feeling the weed hitting - mixing with the drink in your system, but when you touch him again it’s something else.

“Of course, I’ll be here for probably an hour or so, I don’t know too many people here.”

“Tch won’t be three minutes they’ll all be shitfaced and losers.” You laugh at that, but it’s forced, a little awkward.

The party goes on, and every time Sukuna wants to find you, you’re hidden, when he does see you, someone’s in his fucking way. Like everything and anything is blocking his way - why does he know everyone? Right now he doesn’t wanna fucking catch up, or talk, he just wants to talk to you.

He’s standing with Suguru and Satoru, as the three of them are sipping on drinks, and he sees you again finally, emerging from one of the bathrooms, but before he can think, there are three dudes talking to you. His jaw clenches at the sight of it, and he can’t keep excusing it to good sex, or wanting to hit again, it just doesn’t feel the same.

Sukuna can’t stand seeing you getting hit on, he’s glaring right at those men, sure he’s only fucked you once - but that’s enough to make him lose his shit. Suguru and Satoru are trying to get his attention, waving the blunt at him as he scowls over at the pretentious assholes talking to you. Your eyes catch his, you’re clearly unused to the attention it seems, a blush on your cheeks.

Or you like those losers.

Sukuna has been dying to fuck you again, but not just that - been dying to talk to you again, smoke you out, he didn’t say all he wanted to that day. Was it just a one time thing for you? He didn’t even get to drink your pretty pussy, didn’t get to hit it from the back, fuck he has so many positions he wants to do with you, he wants to-

“Earth to Sukuna.” Satoru says, and he clears his throat, taking a hit of the blunt and letting it fill his lungs.

“Yeah?” He grumbles, and their gazes go in your direction.

“You really like the cute little nerd, huh?” Satoru teases, earning Sukuna’s glare.

“Shit, you’re down bad bro.” Suguru chuckles, taking the blunt from Sukuna’s fingers then.

“Shut the fuck up. Just… we hooked up and…” He trails off again, and his friends chuckle, nudging each other.

“So you did, called it. And how was that, is the nerd freaky?” Satoru asks, sipping his solo red cup, and Sukuna scowls right at his best friends.

“None of your fucking business.”

“Oh shit, real bad,” Suguru says then, coughing as he takes his hit.

“Learn to take a real hit, and shut up. Not telling either of you shit.”

“We share everything, that means…” Satoru takes the blunt between his lips now, inhaling and smirking as Sukuna finds one of the men practically dragging your awkward ass to the dance floor.

You are awkward, hot and pretty as you are, you can’t dance for shit, at some point making a really awkward move Sukuna can only describe as shaking dice in your hands. “Is she… doing…”

Suguru trails off, as Sukuna laughs a bit at you. “Some interesting dance move she learned in DND maybe.” Sukuna murmurs, and he’s almost okay with it, you seem to have no interest, until the guy drags you by your hips against him.

That’s it.

“Shit… we strapping up for a fight?” Suguru asks, and Satoru grins, batshit psycho as always.

“I’m down to fight.”

“I don’t need your help,” he scoffs and stomps right over to you, where you’re being grinded on against, snatching the dude’s wrist up quickly. “She’s not enjoying herself.”

“What bro?” He’s clearly wasted, when Sukuna’s grip tightens he winces. “Shit, is it your girl or something?”

“Go sober up and dance with yourself.” He shoves at him now, and you blink in confusion. You hadn’t known how to dance really, you figured you would try, him grabbing you was creepy, but you figured you’d get him off you in a moment, when a giant, tall ass Sukuna had practically tossed the kid off.

You can’t help but feel it more, that tightening in your tummy, when his angry red eyes flit down to you. “Sukuna…”

“You weren’t enjoying that, were you?” He demands, speaking through his teeth damn near.

“Um… huh?” Are you just really high?

Is Sukuna… jealous?

“C’mon,” he tugs at your wrist now, and you follow him, so confused, yet fucking thrilled by his big hand on your wrist, in a way that concerns feminism you want him to literally throw you over his shoulder. “Short ass legs can’t keep up.”

“We’re not all giants over six four!?” You huff as he keeps tugging, and you yank back weakly, who wouldn’t be weak in that hold? “What’s up with you? You’re acting super fucking weird.”

“Am I?” He laughs, yanking you in his old room - no one has occupied it yet it seems, it was for the head of the frat and they probably haven’t appointed one yet.

“Sukuna, you’re acting… jealous?” You whisper, he scowls down at you, locking the door to one of the rooms then, arm on the other side of you as he is pressing you against the door, making you gasp.

“You didn’t like them, those guys, did you?” He whispers angrily, you blink a bit, biting your lower lip, he tugs it out from under your teeth. “Did you?”

“Would you be mad if I did? Aren’t me and you just… hooking up?” You murmur, earning a deeper glare, as your heart races.

“Once. We hooked up once, brat.”

“Once. You didn’t want more, right?”

“You didn’t want more.”

“Says who!?”

“You never messaged me… you…” He trails off, cursing now, and the two of you just stare at each other, your breasts rising and falling with your breaths, as Sukuna’s hands tighten on your face now, cupping it tightly. “Did you just want it once?”

“What do you think?” You answer back, hand slipping over his bare chest now, and then he slams his lips on yours, tongue ring clicking against the roof of your mouth when it dives inside, huge hands cupping your face even tighter. You whine into his lips, body aching. “So do you want more than once?”

“The fuck do you think?” He takes your hand, putting it right on his cock, throbbing and hard, you brush your hand against it, earning his moan.

“Then say you want it again.” You’re taunting him, nerdy fucking brat, he scowls as he tilts your chin up.

“You talk a lot of shit. Think it’s time to get all your attention focused on me now, huh?”

“How you gonna do that - ah!” Sukuna’s on his fucking knees in front of you, making you tremble, breaths coming so fast you cant function, when he lifts up your skirt, looking up at you with dilated eyes almost black, fingering the fishnet stockings you’re wearing - they have no right looking that good on your thighs. “Sukuna?”

“Hold your fucking skirt up, brat. Now.” You blink again, lost at the giant man slipping your panties down your thighs, moaning when your pussy is in his face. “Fuck, knew it would be pretty but… fuck you for it being that pretty.”

“Fuck me for it!? What’re you even doing down there!” You’re yanking at his hair, and he chuckles now, lapping his tongue along your inner thigh, watching as your pussy drools out.

“What do you think I’m doing? Gonna lick every thought of anyone from your pretty fucking head,” he whispers, kissing your inner thigh again, you gasp. “Haven’t you been eaten out?”

“I have, just… you… you do that?” He chuckles, shaking his head as he looks under those pink lashes at you.

“Of course I do, ya didn’t give me a chance last time, jumping my dick like a slutty little brat.”

“You- oh!” You’re gonna talk shit, but when Ryomen Sukuna licks up your slit then, tongue ring flicking on your clit, you lose any words. “Mnh!”

You almost say you love him from one fucking lick, one wicked stripe of his wet, hot tongue between your lips.

“Nothing smart to say, brat?” He whispers, breath hot against your cunt while he holds your folds open with his thick fingers. You can’t respond, you arch your hips now, resting your shoulders back against the door, silently pleading for more. Sukuna moans softly, flicking his tongue again. “How about you be nice, say please?”

“Please,” you let out breathlessly, and Sukuna buries his fucking face against your cunt then, drowning himself in your sweet taste, your heat, while he listens to your moans mixing with the blaring music of the party, just an echo, his heart racing in his ears as your cunt gushes down him, messy as fuck. “S’kuna mnh!”

You can’t even say his name he muses, palming his erection over his pants, he can hardly stand it, he’d tasted you before off his fingers but this was more intense, the sweetness pouring as he tries to catch it. He looks up at you, your head falling forward, feels you trembling, while you crumple that skirt in one hand, the other balancing on his shoulder.

Sukuna’s tongue slots itself into your eager hole, already pulsing around the wet muscle, curling up wickedly and hitting your spot with that fucking barbell, you scream out hoarsely, head slamming the door as he does. He has you cumming with two more flicks, as his nose bumps right against your engorged, twitchy little clit, your whines and grinding hips urging him on, drawing that orgasm out.

You’re shivering, hips bucking up to fuck his face, wanton and fucking insane how you work them, greedy, pulling at his hair now. “Sukuna!”

“Mmh, you’re so easy f’me, huh?” you want to talk shit, but his tongue flicks and swirls your clit, as your thigh brushes the soft silk of his kimono, and you can’t take it, how fucking good it feels. “Say it, and I’ll let you cum again.”

“Easy… ah!” He’s moaning now, sucking your clit into his hot mouth, vibrating it with his own moans, your skirt falls so he shoves it back up, but your hands have entangled in his pink hair, while he’s devouring all the juices pouring from your slutty little hole, all over his handsome face. “S’Kuna…”

“Can’t even say my name, huh?” He murmurs, pulling back, his face coated in you, the sight should be embarrassing, but instead it’s so sexy you whine out, he smirks - having you whimper this time, when he stands, you wobble. “Can’t stand up brat?”

“Fuck… shut up…” he’s taunting you, but he’s right, he has to wrap an arm around your hips, bending low and running his two fingers up your sensitive slit, watching as your eyes roll back, feeling you tremble in his hold. “Kuna…”

“Not my name, tch.” You’re delirious when he’s pumped his fingers deep, curling in your quivering walls. “Take them off. Now, get on the bed.”

You are not one to take orders, you scowl at first, but when he’s slid two of his fingers in your mouth, and has a thigh between yours, you’re grinding on it, desperate, soaking his pants now. He’s kissing you again, before pulling back, turning you around and unzipping the back of your skirt.

“Do I have to undress you, brat? Where’s all the shit talking? Keeping up with your freak, hmm?” He’s taunting you even as his hands shake, when your skirt slips down, and your head falls back, whining out. “You don’t talk shit when you cum, is that when your pretty mouth shuts?”

“Shut my mouth, Sukuna.” He groans, kissing down across the side of your neck, tugging your top down, then up over your head, turning you as the skirt pools around your heels. He is stunned when he sees your body, swallowing nervously, tracing the swell of your breasts, the nip of your waist, the jut of your hips in wonder.

You’re nervous, him seeing you fully, but his eyes are bright rubies when they hungrily make their way up your face. Your hands slip to his body, slipping off the black kimono, revealing his body fully, so sculpted it’s ridiculous, you lean forward, kissing along a tattoo on his chest, over a thick pectoral muscle, and he huffs, hand entangling in your hair.

“You’re fucking…” he doesn’t know how to say it, fuck.

He’s never said that.

“Hot?” You tease, kissing lower, unbuckling his belt as you do. “You’re gorgeous, fuck…”

“Me? Tch.” You nod, and he sighs now, swallowing a bit, tilting your chin up and making you pull away from kissing across his tattoos. “You’re beautiful, brat, okay?”

“I am?” You blink a bit, and he sighs, nodding, jaw tensing so hard there’s a vein popping out. “Oh Sukuna… thank you…”

“Shut up.” You blink in confusion at him, but he’s already picked you up, your arms wrap his strong neck, as his huge hands hold you. “Don’t fucking dance with anyone.”

“Like… tonight?” You ask curiously, he snorts, shaking his head and carrying you over to a huge bed, one he used to sleep in, sitting you on it and brushing your hair back.

“Like not at all.” Your blush decorates your cheeks, as you bite your lower lip.

“Do you like me, Sukuna?” Your question makes him laugh, a huge tattooed hand cupping the side of your face and leaning down.

“Do I like you?” You nod then, suddenly shy for running it like you do, and he sighs, brushing your hair back as you tug at his pants, going to stroke his cock and eliciting that soft whimper of his that wrecks you. “Yes, I like you… alot. Okay!?”

“You sound so mad about it.” You tease, stroking him slowly, over those veins that wrap his pretty, heavy cock, and he sighs, snatching your hand now.

“And you, brat, huh? Do you like me, baby?” He whispers, flipping you around, your ass arching up and out, two fingers slipping back inside your hole, stretching you out, making your head fall back as you arch for more.

“Y-yes, I do, ngh!” He pauses then, cock slapping your ass so fucking heavy, precum drizzling across your ass cheeks, dancing messy on your skin.

“Shit, you like me?” His surprised words hit even your horny ass, high ass brain, you look back, getting up on your knees, reaching a hand back around to him now, he leans forward, sighing, cupping you under your chin.

“Yes, I really do. I thought… maybe you didn’t?” He shakes his head, he’s not sure the word ‘like’ covers what he feels, but for now it’ll suffice. “As more than a friend?”

“I don’t do that to friends,” he murmurs, kissing you again, fingers running along your slit. “Don’t bury my face in my friends.”

“Then… more than that?” He nods a bit, and you melt, pressing back against him as he wraps his strong arms around you. “I’d like that too - I’d also like your cock in me.”

“Cock hungry brat, can’t have a fucking moment, huh?” You giggle, and the sound wrecks him, he’s kissing you again, tip sliding on your folds. “Wanna fuck you raw, wanna cum inside you.”

“So do it…” Your answer to his insane statements is to get in the perfect arch for him, he moans as you do.

“Fuck, you sure?” You nod, hands clinging to the blankets while you soak his tip, gushing down in a soppy, squelching mess to the bed. “I’m not going easy on you this time, slutty cunt can take it huh?”

“I won’t go easy either, gonna have you whimper - ah!” Sukuna’s slid inside your cunt in a deep stroke, and without the condom you feel every fucking bit of his cock, from that fat, musroomed tip, to every vein in your slick, gummy walls. “Sukuna!”

“Fuck, loosen up,” he huffs, smacking on your ass cheek, you gasp as he groans, trying not to cum while you grip him so tight. “Now, brat.”

“I c-can’t, shit… ah!” You’re shaking as he slips out, then back inside, feeling so fucking delicious in your cunt you moan, glasses falling right off your face as he fucks into you harder now, slamming and bullying his thick cock deep inside you, so full you feel like you’re splitting apart, still wearing those heels and thigh highs, the sight of them right under your ass taking him the fuck out.

“Fuck, feel you, gonna remember my shape, aren’t you?” He huffs, as he fucks inside you, leaning over you now, hand on the mattress, gripping the blankets right next to you, veins raising from the back of his tattooed hands while his leaky tip drools on your cervix. You gasp out, whining when he stuffs you, his other hand cupping under your chin. “Asked you a question.”

“Conceited,” you huff, only earning him slamming inside your cunt, you’re blinded when he does, gasping out, ass arching for more of his brutal thrusts while he gives you the most wicked backshots, the sounds of skin slapping echoing and filling your ears, the party long since faded. “F-fuck, ah!”

“Like me, huh? She doesn’t like me, she loves me, doesn’t she?” He’s whispering in your ear, you weakly nod, you’re not typically submissive, but for him you want to be, when he rolls his hips up just so and hits your spot, you scream out at it. “Say it.”

“No… mnh!” He flips you then, right before you’re about to cum, making you whine, picking your thigh up and pulling it high, your heel and stockings ripped off, one by one, until your legs are bare, and the heel of your foot is against his chest. Like this, him hovering over you, cock prodding your soppy entrance, it’s way too intimate.

Like wasn’t a good enough term.

Fucked up over him was better.

“Wanna watch me fuck your guts up, huh? Bet you haven’t had that have you, cock ruin your fucking insides?” He’s possessive, feral as he looks down, you’ve put your glasses on all askew, he tenderly fixes them before tilting your chin down to watch your cunt make his cock disappear. “God…”

He can’t take it, how sexy it is to see the bulge slowly form as he shoves his thick ten inches as much as he can, between your puffy lips, while you watch him, lips parted, glasses slipping back down your nose again, covered with a sheen of sweat. “Oh…”

You’re watching it, the bulge, ridiculous as he fucks into you so slow, leaning over you and making your leg press up higher, a hand on the back of your thigh, he eyes your face again, as he slips in deeper, till he’s stuffed you far too full. You’re struggling to take him at this angle, deeper, slower strokes, fucking you up with every single one, your eyes going crossed then.

“Wanna see your pretty eyes,” he murmurs, taking them off, setting them aside and leaning low over you now. “Can you see me, blind little brat?”

“Y-yes. Yes.” He kisses you again, while he’s bending you in half, fucking you so deep you feel him everywhere, your stomach, fuck your throat, all of it, he’s ruining your cunt until she will just know his shape and you can’t say you mind, not when he slams hard, and you feel your body tense. “Kuna, please…”

“What, brat, need to cum?” He whispers, saliva breaking apart in a thin, gossamer string as the filthy sounds of his cock wrecking your squelching cunt fill the room. “Say please, huh?”

“Please, mnh! Kuna, please,” Sukuna reaches down, like he already knows your body after two fuck sessions, finding your twitchy little clit and leaning up, rubbing little circles and angling his hips just so, your orgasm hits you so hard, already sensitive from his tongue, his mouth, those fingers.

“That’s it, cum all on me, make a fuckin’ mess,” he murmurs, but in his head he’s already mad with one thought.

His.

You weren’t dancing or talking or smoking with another dude, ever the fuck again - he knows enough people, he can make sure of it too, watching your eyes roll back, that mouth in a slutty O as your cunt starts milking him then. He sucks in a breath, now laying his heavy weight on you, mean strokes hitting so hard and deep the smacks keep echoing as you’re so fucking full.

“Slutty hole wants all my cum, huh? Should I fill you the fuck up, have you drip me the rest of this fucking party?” Sukuna’s eyes are so dark with his blown out pupils, all you can see is black with red rings around them, as he grips your hip bruising. “Can’t even talk? That pathetic huh? Thought I had to match your freak, brat.”

“Mnh…” You wanna talk back but he’s fucking you from one orgasm into another, and all you can manage is a - ‘cum in me’ - which pushes him over the edge.

“Yeah, can you take all this cum, baby?”

Baby.

It’s echoing - Sukuna, your plug, the most popular dude there is, is sweet talking you and rolling his hips. One moment it’s ‘fucking slutty cunt, feel her’ the next it’s - ‘so pretty, look at you’. The mix of filthy, nasty words and sweet whispers, and brutal strokes that ruin your cunt and tender caresses is too much, he’s too much, you can’t formulate words, a girl who's never at a loss for them.

“I c-can take it,” you whisper finally, eyes locking, and then he moans, lifting your thighs up high, shoving them until they’re flushed with your breasts, smushed as his weight presses on your thighs, and he starts fucking his veiny, slick cock harder and harder.

“Yeah? Beg for it, huh?” you bite your lip, glaring. “Beg for me to fill this perfect little cunt, be the only one to.”

“P-possessive… psycho…” he’s chuckling, like he’s really fucking lost it, slamming in one more time. “Beg m-me, huh?”

“Fuck,” he’s done with your ass, you’re literally so annoying, but he also is fucking loving it, your attitude even as he has you bent and folded in half. “Tiny little cunt, bet she can’t.”

“I can, f-fuck… just… cum in me- stop talking and - ah!” He’s done when you demand it like that, when your nails press into his biceps, his head falls back as he feels his release, so much cum, despite jerking it all week it’s been building up, waiting for you. “Sukuna!”

“God, feel her, milking every bit, greedy, slutty,” he murmurs, kissing you over and over, barbell massaging your tongue, his huge hands slipping your thighs down as his ropes of white cum paint your walls. “Fuck…”

“Mnh…” You’re weak, head falling to the side for his kisses, thighs shaking violently when he moves again. “Sukuna!”

“Mmm, never wanna fucking leave your pussy, god.” He keeps kissing and slowly pumping, your nails tear into his back, and he loves it, groaning, hoping you leave your marks as he sucks on the base of your neck, lapping up sweat off your skin.

“You cum so much, holy…” He pulls back, grinning as he leans up, kissing your lips sweetly for just a moment, then glaring.

“You’re my girlfriend now, got it?”

You giggle, breathless, brushing a lock of his pink hair back. “Am I now? Not even gonna ask me?”

His brows lower, ruby eyes narrowing. “Nope. I do have a question…”

“Hmm?”

“Wanna smoke?” You grin, nodding, and Sukuna dips, for a moment you panic, but he’s soon back with water bottles and his bag of weed, while you’re in the bathroom cleaning up. He comes behind you in the mirror, wrapping an arm under your breasts and groaning. “God, look at you.”

You turn, leaning up as he leans down, kissing you again, soon the two of you are lounging in the bed, half dressed and laughing, as he inhales the blunt and turns to his side, studying you seriously for a moment, everything feels so comfy and perfect with him, heady. “What is it?”

“Just… you’re really pretty covered in me.” He murmurs, you flush, eyeing the marks on your thighs, your breasts, taking the blunt from his fingers and inhaling it into your mouth, gesturing for him.

He leans forward, and you blow the smoke into his mouth, he lets it fill his lungs and moans, big hands gripping the narrow of your waist, thumbs brushing under the swells of your breasts. He sucks in the smoke now, exhaling, when he takes the blunt again, sighing, brushing your hair back with his free hand.

“You’re still not getting free weed, you know.”

You scoff, glaring as he grins wide. “You are a jerk!”

“Just saying, you gotta pay. Maybe a small discount.”

“A discount!? You just came inside me.” He laughs now, husky with his smirk, laying back on his arm, bent under his head, inhaling again.

“Hmm, yeah I did, didn’t I? Okay, a good discount.”

“Psh!” You shove at his big body, when he pins you down, sighing and slipping up your skirt.

“Tch, fucked her up, huh?” He leans down, pressing bites, sharp along your thighs, you gasp out, feeling dizzy and weak, cunt throbbing from him still. “She’s wasting all that cum.”

“Wasting, what- oh fuck.” He’s got two fingers shoving his sticky cum back in your abused hole, inhaling the blunt and blowing the smoke right on your clit then, you’re arching your back, hips bucking up. “What the… mnh…”

He sucks his fingers, handing you the blunt, you’re blushing as he makes his way back between your thighs. You inhale the blunt now, letting it hit deep as Ryomen Sukuna’s tongue ring collects the milky white cum oozing from your cunt now.

“Hmm,” you earn a glare when you decide to put your glasses on his face. “You look hot, imagine - Nerd Kuna. Ow!”

Sukuna bites your clit, the glasses looking far too sexy on him, and watches you giggle, making his heart race. “Only nerd here is you.”

“Mnh, Sukuna…” He’s lapping at you more and more, the clicking and squishing of your cunt as he cleans up the mess he’s made, all while your glasses on his face are fogging up.

He puts out your blunt, back inside you, spitting his cum and yours in your mouth, tongues swapping it so messy together, big hand wrapped around your throat, bringing you with him to cum over and over, and you realize that night, in your fifth or so round - You think you might just be in love with your plug.

I had wayyy too much fun, hope you all enjoyed ittt hehe

@teddiiursula @helpmeimbored @sukubusss @lizatonix @kitchen-cryptid @yenayaps @all-with-angel @take-metothe-moon @quackingcrow420 @notsaelty @urlocalsucc @deadasssmut @fauxxfacade @blitziwitch @lvc-lv @niamhssecretlibrary @hiccupberries @yamadramallamaqueen @din-is-a-real-mando @sagegotthesauce @sadrna @saitamaswifey @beabamboo @akirawhore @coralbae @midnightry @ehlaaa @yuaisen @sapphireillusions @rosieandthethorns @sofi4dsam @choerryp1e @hunbun-posts @melotter @hellish4ever @smoooootie @anacod @jkslvsnella @bunbun444 @toffeebrat @ehcilhc @dizzylmwahh @emochosoluvr @tyyqqaaa @mimiluvzu2 @gojoscumslut @bakery-angel @blackbeauties102

[xoxojisu]

CLINGY!

synopsis: in your relationship with rin, you've always been the affectionate one. the touchy one. the clingy one. so one day, you pull back from touching him so much, and it kills him.

notes: "jisu isnt this idea oddly similar to this katsuki fic you just wrote? BOY SYBAU MY BLOG I CAN DO WHAT I WANT.

you always touch first.

you’re the one who loops your arms around him from behind. the one who squishes his cheeks in your hands and calls him pretty. the one who laces your fingers with his while he’s mid-sentence like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

rin calls you clingy.

he says it with a sigh, with a roll of his eyes, with a “god, again?” when you kiss the tip of his nose.

he grumbles and looks to the side, but he never pulls away.

so you thought it was okay.

until you start wondering. what if he’s just tolerating it? what if he just doesn’t know how to tell you to stop?

you don’t bring it up. you just… stop. quietly.

no more casual touches. no more kisses on the cheek. no more spontaneous hand-holding or forehead pokes or clinging to his arm while he scrolls his phone or as you walk.

at first, rin doesn’t notice. not really. he thinks maybe you’re just tired. maybe you’re distracted.

but two days pass.

then three.

and then he realizes something’s wrong.

you still smile at him the same way. still talk to him, still text, still sit beside him on the couch.

but you keep your hands to yourself. you don’t lean on him when you laugh. you don’t reach for him. at all.

and it’s driving him crazy.

he’s sitting next to you now, knees barely brushing, and he’s sweating. his hands twitch in his lap. he glances at you from the corner of his eye and you’re looking down at your phone, legs tucked up under yourself, completely unaware of the war he’s waging inside.

he wants to touch you so bad he feels nauseous.

goddamnit, he feels so.. needy. but he can't even bring himself to care much.

he wants to feel you. in any way, shape, or form. just wants to feel your warmth against his.

but he’s never had to be the one to start it. he doesn’t know how. what if you pull away? what if you don’t want it anymore?

his throat’s dry. his heartbeat’s stupid.

he gives in.

“…are you mad at me?”

you blink up at him. “what?”

he looks away instantly. cheeks dusted pink. “you’re not… doing your usual.. stuff. it's weird. so i figured you were mad.”

you frown a little. “you mean the clingy stuff?”

his eyes flick to you, then away. “…yeah.”

you’re quiet for a second too long.

he panics.

“i didn’t mean it like that,” he says quickly. “i didn’t..! i-it's not annoying. i don’t want you to stop.” the words tumble out like he's been holding them in his whole life.

you look at him, surprised. “you don’t?”

he groans softly, dragging a hand over his face like he’s peeling it off. “i just say that because i've never really had it before. but i like it. i just don’t know how to ask for it. okay? i don’t know how to do that stuff. but you do, and i got used to it, and now you’re not doing it and it’s-” he cuts himself off, looking everywhere but at you. “…i miss it.”

you stare at him.

he looks miserable.

“…you miss me being clingy?” you say slowly.

he mutters, “don’t call it that,” but he’s blushing so hard now.

you try to hold back your smile. really, you do, but you can’t.

“so you like when i hang off you all the time.”

he groans again, turning his face into the couch cushion. “shut up.”

"aweeee, did my rinnie misssss me? he wants to be held?"

"shut up!" his face is on fire. he can't bring himself to look anywhere near your eyes.

you scoot closer. he tenses.

you lean in gently and press your forehead to his temple.

“i thought i was annoying you.”

he breathes in, shaky. “never.”

“so i can be clingy again?”

his answer is immediate.

“yes.”

but then, after a beat:

“but let me try, too.”

you blink. “try what?”

he reaches out with a hand that’s awkward, hesitant, and gently laces your pinkies together.

he won’t look at you. his ears are so red.

you smile so softly it hurts.

and you squeeze his hand back.

he sighs, relieved, and rests his head on your shoulder like he’s finally home.

(he is)

masterlist

[maskedbyghost]

You and Simon aren’t together. Never have been. Never talked about it, never even thought about it.

You just click. You always have. It started as a mission thing—paired up for some op because Price figured you worked well together, and then it just… stuck. You got each other in ways that didn’t need explaining. You liked the same things, moved the same way, anticipated each other’s actions before they happened. You didn’t have to tell him what you needed in the field, and he never had to ask you to cover him. It was easy. Comfortable. The kind of thing that felt natural before you even noticed it happening.

And then it bled into everything else. Eating together. Training together. Sitting next to each other on long flights, in debriefs, in the rare downtime you got between missions. It was never planned, never discussed. Just a thing that happened, like muscle memory. If you were in a room, Simon was there too, and if he wasn’t, he was on his way.

The others noticed, of course. Soap especially. He was the loudest about it, but even Gaz had taken to shooting you both pointed looks when you showed up somewhere at the same time, or when you answered Simon’s half-formed thoughts like you knew what he was going to say before he said it.

Which, honestly, you usually did.

It all comes to a head one evening, the lot of you gathered in one of the common rooms, half-done with the day but not quite ready to call it a night. You and Simon are on the couch, shoulder to shoulder, idly watching something on the TV while Soap, sitting across from you both, groans into his hands.

“You two make me sick.”

You blink at him. “We’re literally just sitting here.”

“That’s the problem!” Soap gestures wildly. “You do everything together. You finish each other’s bloody sentences. You know what the other is thinking. And you’re just—what? Friends?” He scoffs. “Aye, and I’m the Queen of England.”

Simon leans back, tilting his head slightly. “Don’t think you’ve got the legs for a crown, mate.”

Gaz snorts. Price, watching from his spot near the door, only shakes his head like he’s seen this conversation play out a hundred times before. (He has.)

Soap ignores them, pointing a finger between you and Simon like he’s solving some grand mystery. “There’s only one thing you haven’t done,” he declares. “You just need to kiss. That’s it. Only thing missing.”

Silence.

You turn your head. Simon is already looking at you.

There’s nothing in his expression that gives anything away—no smirk, no challenge, no humor in his eyes. He’s just watching you, waiting. And then, with a tiny shrug, he leans in and kisses you.

It’s short, unhurried. Just a press of his lips against yours, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. When he pulls back, his eyes are still on you, searching.

You don’t react. Not outwardly, anyway. You can feel Soap’s disbelief burning into the side of your face, hear the noise he makes—the strangled mix between a gasp and an outraged protest—but you don’t acknowledge it. Instead, you look back at Simon, forcing yourself to stay still even as your heart does something stupid in your chest.

Because, sure, maybe this was just to mess with Soap. Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe it was a joke.

But it didn’t feel like one.

Simon smirks and leans back, turning his attention back to the TV like nothing happened. “Happy now?”

Soap looks like he’s reconsidering every life decision that led him to this moment. “What the fuck?”

—

Later, when Simon walks you back to your room, he’s quieter than usual. His hands are in his pockets, his head tilted down slightly like he’s working through something in his mind.

“I wasn’t trying to make things weird,” he says after a beat. “Didn’t mean—well, didn’t want you to think it was—”

He stops, exhales sharply through his nose. “Just don’t want you to be mad.”

You glance at him. “I’m not mad.”

He nods, but his mouth pulls into something uncertain, like he doesn’t believe you. “Good. That’s—good.”

You reach your door and turn to face him fully. He’s still looking at you, his usual easy confidence nowhere to be found. And it’s funny, really, how the thought of kissing you in front of everyone hadn’t made him hesitate, but now? Now, he’s hesitating. Now, he’s thinking too hard about it. About you.

So before he can say anything else, you push up onto your toes and kiss him.

It’s quick, barely a breath between you before you pull back, but the impact is immediate. Simon’s lips part slightly, his brows drawing together like he can’t quite process what just happened.

You step back, hand on your door handle, and give him a small nod. “Goodnight, Simon.”

Then you slip inside, shutting the door behind you, leaving him standing there in the hallway, staring at the empty space where you just were.

And for once, Simon doesn’t have a single thing to say.

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

@daydreamerwoah @ghostslollipop @kylies-love-letter

[f1lovr]

WE GOT A HUGGER! | LN4

note: i am such a softie for this gif bro, thank you for your service to whoever made it.

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: in which your boyfriend loves hugs

warnings: none, tooth rotting fluff

if there was one thing that you didn't expect from lando when you started dating, it was his love for hugs.

lando's love for hugs wasn't something that was necessarily noticeable. no definitely not noticeable unless you were his girlfriend, who noticed he was a hugger to an abnormal amount.

not that you were complaining though.

you thought oscar was the supposed koala since he was australian but it was lando who was actually the clinger.

you didn't even know when it started, not until one day you had hugged him hello and he had hugged you a little tighter than normal. his hands splayed across your back, head resting on your shoulder, holding you a little longer than normal.

"are you trying to suffocate me norris?" you asked playfully. he only smirked though, moving to tuck his face into your neck like it was the most natural thing in the world for him, like he wasn't just holding you and not letting go.

and that's when you started noticing it. your boyfriend loved hugs a lot more than he had been letting on.

he had stopped hiding it eventually, even going as far to open his arms for you when he saw you, a silent invitation, and once you were in his embrace it was like he could breathe again.

then, you figured out that with each instance, for him there was always a reason to hug you, always a reason to have his arms around you. and from that you slowly started discovering the different types of lando norris hugs.

there was his 'i missed you' hugs.

these typically came in the late hours of the night, after lando gets in from his flight from long race weekends. you typically would have tried to stay up for him only for sleep to take you every single time.

and every single time lando would find you in bed, curled up and waiting for him. and every single time he dropped his bags on the floor of the bedroom you'd stir a bit, just enough that you could feel the way he would immediately climb into bed, his arms finding their way around you, pulling you against him so that you were flush with the rest of his body.

"lan, you're freezing," you'd giggle quietly.

"the plane was cold," he'd murmur into your shoulder, pressing soft kisses to it, followed by a soft and quiet, "missed you."

these types of hugs were all consuming, like in order to breathe properly every part of you needed to be close to him.

then there was the 'you're here and that's enough' hugs.

these were his lazy day hugs. his 'i'm content just where i am' hug.

typically it would look like you curled up on the couch, a book in your hand with a blanket tossed over your legs. lando would wander out from somewhere, looking completely and utterly content.

he wouldn't say a word, just move to sit down beside you, pulling you into his side. he'd exhale, almost as if you just being there filled an emptiness that had been sitting all day.

"everything okay? what's this for?" you'd ask looking up at him.

he would always shrug, his lips quirking into a lazy smile, "no reason, just like being with you," he'd say.

and so you'd sit, your head tucked into the space just under his chin, his arms tightening around you, just the two of you together.

there was also his 'i'm tired' hugs.

these hugs didn't even necessarily consist of just when he was physically tired. these hugs typically happened when the world felt heavier than normal on his shoulders.

he wouldn't ask for them. but the way he would walk, with his shoulders slumped and tired eyes, his hood pulled over his head like it could protect him from something, you would always automatically know.

you never needed to ask. instead you would just stand up, walking over to where he was and opening your arms for him.

he would step right into them, silent. his arms would find their way winding around your waist, like you were the only thing keeping him grounded to earth. his head would bury itself in your chest.

no words. no explanations. only the beating of your heart against his.

your hand would rub his back as you asked softly, "bad day?"

he wouldn't say anything in return, only nodding his head in return, but that was enough for him, enough for you.

you didn't need to fix him, he didn't want you to, you didn't want to. you only needed to hold him until whatever it was hurt a little less.

your personal favorite would always be his 'everything will be okay' hugs though.

these were never for a good reason. they were always when your world was crashing. your hard days where work would go for too long, or something would happen that stressed you out more than normal, everything eating away at you like you were some buffet.

you would put on a smile but lando would always see right through it.

you were always one step in the door when he was there, his hand catching the bag that you would drop onto the floor before it was able to make too loud of a noise or accidentally knock something over, his arms immediately wrapping around you without another word.

and you would break. your face would smush into his chest, your breathing unstable as you sobbed. he never asked. he never needed to.

his hands would run over your back, soothing you as you cried. he would always speak to you in a soft voice, one that was barely there, one that grounded you.

"i've got you. just breathe. you're okay. i'm here."

while the reasons were never good, they were always your favorite, because lando would always be home for you.

your boyfriend was a clinger, there was no questioning it. whether it be the random ones where you would be cooking breakfast in the kitchen and he'd give you a back hug out of nowhere, or where he'd physically demand for one from you.

you were stood doing laundry, just sorting the socks, not doing anything necessarily glamorous, lando leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

he wasn't saying anything, but he had that look on his face. his eyes soft, mouth just barely smiling.

"what?" you asked, your head tilting as you looking at him.

his arms opened, "come here."

you stopped what you were doing, dropping the socks you were sorting and made your way straight into his chest, his arms folding you into him, the only place you were meant to be. your ear pressed against his chest listening to his heartbeat as his fingers drew little, lazy shapes across your back.

"why do you like hugs so much," you asked tilting your head up so your chin was resting on his chest as you looked him.

he only shrugged, "i don't know, everything just feels like it's okay when i'm holding you."

"you're ridiculous," you'd giggle, your voice muffling as you bury your face into his chest again.

"and yet you still come running," he would say with a grin.

and that was lando.

he didn't just like hugs, he needed them. not as some sort of weakness, just reminding him of the different people and the places that grounded him onto earth.

nothing could compare to your arms around him, you in his arms. not the podiums or the wins, or the sensation of driving.

all because you were the safest place for him.

and to you? being loved by him like that, his arms always finding their way around you, it was everything you could ask for and what you never knew you needed.